An Echo in the Darkness(124)

“It’s not guilt I feel, Alexander. It’s sorrow.”

He knew he was making a mess of it.

She spread her hands. Her smile was filled with tenderness. “You knew this day would come.”

He closed his eyes. He shook his head, wanting to deny it. She was putting her life at risk, and he was shaking. He looked at her and wondered. How could she be so fearless? How could he let her go?

“I don’t want you to go, Hadassah,” he said quietly, then smiled weakly. “I didn’t realize how much I’d come to need you.”

“You don’t need me, Alexander. You have the Lord.”

“The Lord can’t sit and talk with me. He can’t look at me with dark, fathomless eyes and lead me to find the answers I need. He can’t stir my imagination with a word, my heart with a touch—”

“He can do all of that, Alexander, and more.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know him like you do. I need you to speak to him for me.”

His words grieved her heart. “I’ve become your stumbling block.”

“Never,” he said fiercely, going to her. “Never,” he said again and reached out to pull her into his arms. He embraced her, keeping silent, knowing whatever he would say at this point would be fruitless and possibly hurtful.

Oh God, if you hear me, if you are there, protect her! Please, do not take her from me forever. . . .

“How long will you stay with her?” he said gruffly.

“Until the end.”

“Hers or yours?” he said, his mouth twisting sardonically.

And she answered softly, having weighed all possibilities: “Whichever comes first.”





29

Mother Prisca sat straight backed upon the couch Iulius had carried on the balcony for her. In all her eighty-seven years of life, she had never been more nervous. She had known Phoebe Valerian was an important and wealthy lady, but somehow she had been able to put aside position within the confines of her own poor tenement room. Here, in this beautiful villa with its grand views of the harbor and Artemision, she could not forget or ignore the social class chasm that yawned between them.

A slave girl brought a tray with an arrangement of fruit and delicacies. She leaned down, holding it before Prisca, and smiled encouragement. Prisca shook her head.

Iulius saw her tension, recognized it for what it was, and tried to put her at ease. “Please, Mother Prisca, be at home with us. How many times have you given us refreshment? And now you would deny us the pleasure of serving you?”

Mother Prisca shot him a look, then took a peach. “Satisfied?” She held it gently in her lap on the folds of her threadbare palus as though it were something too precious to eat.

Phoebe mumbled something, and Iulius bent down to her. Her good hand lay in her lap on a small copper plate. She tapped on it, and Prisca watched as the man listened intently. “Hera,” he said and glanced at Mother Prisca. “How is the child Hera?” Mother Prisca looked at Phoebe in surprise, her gaze flashing to Iulius in question. Nodding, he smiled. “Lady Phoebe can’t speak or move, but she understands what is happening around her.”

His words filled Prisca with a deep sense of pity and sadness. Hiding her feelings, she looked at Phoebe and tried to renew the old camaraderie she had felt toward the younger woman. “The little girl is fine. She still plays with her dolls in doorways. She asked why you hadn’t come lately, and I told her you were not well.” She ran her fingers lightly over the soft skin of the peach, remembering the child’s tears.

“Olympia and her son are doing well,” she went on. “She has found work at an eatery. Vernasia has decided to marry again. The man works in your son’s emporium and lives in the same tenement she does. I don’t think she’s done with grieving for her young husband, but she can’t support herself, now can she? Caius is older, past taking risks. He works on land. He’ll take care of her and her children, and maybe he’ll finally have a few of his own.”

Phoebe listened hungrily to each word about what was happening in the lives of the widows she had visited. When Prisca finished speaking, she sat silent and ill-at-ease. Phoebe saw the sadness etched deeply into the dear old woman’s face and wanted to reassure her. She tapped on her copper plate, using the code she and Iulius had painstakingly worked out. She knew he would understand and convey her message.

“‘The Lord has not forsaken me,’” Iulius said for her.

Tears sprang into Prisca’s eyes. She set the peach aside and rose stiffly. Bending down, she took Phoebe’s hand between hers. “That may be, child, but it grieves me to see someone as young as you like this. Better that it had happened to an old woman like me who’s lived all the years she cares to live.” She kissed Phoebe’s hand and pressed it for a moment before laying it down again. She turned away to go.