As Sure as the Dawn(110)

“Don’t touch him!”

She flinched and drew back slowly, her hands clenched in her lap, her eyes shut. Caleb started to cry.

Atretes scooped him up, knocked some tasseled cushions from the couch, and set him among them. Momentarily distracted, Caleb was content.

“How many others know about your past?” Atretes demanded, pacing again.

“Everyone in the church of Ephesus.”

He stopped and stared at her, the muscles in his face jerking.

“Were you proud of it to tell so many?”

Her eyes welled with tears. “No! I shared my testimony when I accepted Christ, and then whenever the Lord called upon me to do so.”

“Why?”

“To help others find their way out of the same kind of darkness I lived in.”

Anger surged through him. “Why did you tell me? Why in Hades did you tell me now?”

“You asked. I said I’d never lie to you,” she said very quietly.

“Better had you done so!”

“Better for whom?”

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

Dear Lord, is this what it comes to? She looked into Atretes’ blue eyes and saw death staring back at her.

“What do you expect me to do now that I know all about you?”

God, still my trembling heart. He’s hurt and angry, and it’s within his rights to take my life. Your will be done. I will trust you. I will trust Caleb to your keeping. Only, Lord, please . . .

“Tell me!”

“You’ll do whatever you feel you must.”

Was she challenging him? Did she dare? Atretes drew his dagger from his belt and crossed the room. He caught her by the throat and pulled her to her feet. “What I must.” Her eyes flickered and then became calm, accepting. When his fingers tightened, she didn’t raise her hands to defend herself. “What I must.” He could feel her pulse racing beneath his thumb, but she made no plea.

Unbidden, the memory of his last meeting with Julia came to him. She had been hysterical, clinging to him, swearing the child she carried was his. Had she not been pregnant, he would’ve killed her for being unfaithful. Later, he had told Hadassah that even if Julia laid the babe at his feet, he’d turn and walk away, even knowing the child was his.

Lies, lies . . . Julia, Rome, all the rest, lies.

He looked into Rizpah’s dark eyes and knew she had told him the truth about everything. “I will never lie,” she had said shortly after arriving at the villa in Ephesus. No matter the cost.

He saw no fear in her eyes, only sadness. She stood before him, her life in his hand, and said not a word in self-defense. “I will give you a solemn vow, Atretes. I will never lie.” His heart beat faster. One thrust of his dagger and it would be finished. Or he could squeeze. . . .

The palm of his hand grew clammy with sweat. “I should kill you.” The room was silent except for his own harsh breathing.

“I deserve death. I know that. A hundred times over.”

His chest tightened at her words and at the look of grief in her eyes. His mind filled with the faces of men he had killed.

“It’s by God’s grace my life is different,” she said.

He let go of her. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head, trying to deny everything she had told him.

“I’m sorry, Atretes,” she said, trying not to cry and make it worse for him. “I never thought the choices I made mattered. My mother was dead. My father . . .” She lowered her head. “I didn’t care what happened. It was painful enough staying alive without thinking about how I did it. But I was wrong, so wrong.”

She put her hand on his arm. When he drew back sharply, she tensed instinctively, expecting a blow. His eyes narrowed darkly and he stepped back, his hand clenched.

Whatever he meant to do to her, she had to finish.

“Jesus shed his blood so that I could be cleansed of what I’d done. He forfeited his own life for every one of us, forgiving us all our sins. He opened a new path for any who choose to take it, and I did. And I will continue to do so, no matter the cost. I cling to Christ with all my heart. And I won’t let go.”

Atretes remembered Hadassah standing in the corridor of the dungeon. “Though he slay me . . .”

“He offers you new life, Atretes,” Rizpah said, “if you but receive it.”

All her concern seemed to be for him rather than herself. “So, like this unseen god of yours, I’m supposed to forget everything you’ve done. I’m supposed to forgive?”

“You won’t forget any of it any more than I can,” she said quietly. “Remembering how I lived and what I allowed myself to become makes me that much more grateful for what Jesus has done for me.”