“You must be a doer of the Word, Rizpah. Remember the Scriptures. Let God’s Word enter your heart and bear fruit.
“Be steadfast. Set your mind on the things above. The mind set on the flesh is death, but the mind set on the Spirit is life and peace. Guard your heart, for from it flow springs of living water. Imitate the Lord. Walk in love.”
Scriptures came, flooding her mind.
“Greater is he who is in you than he who is in the world.”
“I love my husband, Lord. I love my son.”
“I am the Lord your God, and there is no other.”
God’s Word came like a clap of thunder and then followed with a gentler rain.
“I am sufficient. I am sufficient. I am sufficient.”
And she wept, knowing what God asked of her.
“O Lord, you are my Rock and my Redeemer. You hear my supplication. You receive my prayer. You have heard the sound of my weeping. Help me to stand firm in you. Give me strength, Abba, for I have none of my own. Fill me with the knowledge of your will and keep me in the way everlasting. O Lord, my God, I live to worship you.”
And as Rizpah poured her heart out in surrender to the Lord, the God of the universe poured back into her love and assurance. She wept, and his Word comforted her. She was weak, and he strengthened her. Scripture upon Scripture came back to her, vital and alive, driving away fear and loneliness, obliterating all doubt. As the days wore on, dark forces closed in around her, but Rizpah clung stubbornly to Christ and her passion deepened.
“We can rejoice,” Theophilus had said during a time of tribulation. “We can pray. We can praise God.”
And she set her mind and heart upon doing these things, no matter what came against her.
50
“It’s been ten days, Atretes,” Freyja said and saw the flash of anger in her son’s eyes, clear warning he didn’t want to speak of his wife. But she had to speak of Rizpah. Ten days was too long for a woman to be on her own at the edge of the forest. And he knew it. She had watched his tension increase with every day that passed. Rizpah had no food other than what little might be growing in the Roman’s garden, and how long would that last? She had no protection, and Freyja felt the spiritual forces moving until the air trembled.
“You can’t leave her out there on her own.”
He was pale, his emotions raw. He continued staring into the fire, the muscle working in his jaw.
“You must bring her back.”
“No.”
“Caleb needs his mother.”
“He has you.”
“He misses her. You miss her.”
Swearing, Atretes stood abruptly. “Leave it be!”
She saw the pain behind his fury. He had expected Rizpah to capitulate. When he had returned from the funeral fire, he had thrust Caleb into his mother’s arms and sat before the fire. She had asked where Rizpah was, and all he had said was, “She knows who did it, but she won’t tell me. Until she does, she’s not welcome in this house.” He sat before the fire, leaving her stunned and filled with questions. “She’ll come,” he said, punching his right fist into his left palm. “She’ll come before morning.”
He had waited all night for her. When morning had come, he was still sitting before the fire, staring so intently into the flames that he didn’t even hear the pitiful wailing of his hungry son. She had taken Caleb to Marta who was still nursing Luisa. She had milk enough for two.
Now Atretes looked around the room. “Where’s Caleb?” he said, eyes blazing. “Did you take him to Rizpah?”
“I took him to Marta. He hasn’t been weaned.”
“He’s old enough.”
“He’s confused and frightened enough without doing that to him.”
“I don’t care,” Atretes said, running his fingers through his hair. “Do what you think best, only don’t give him to Rizpah. No matter how much she pleads, don’t let her touch him.”
“She hasn’t come to me. She hasn’t pleaded. She—”
“Enough! See to the boy and leave me alone!”
Varus spread the word through the village that Atretes had cast Rizpah out because she refused to tell him who had killed the Roman. No one understood her reasoning, least of all Varus, who carried the news. Why would the Ionian set herself in the path of vengeance over a man she had loved as much as Atretes? It made no sense. Her logic defied reason. Had the Ionian gone mad with grief?
Only Atretes knew it was not madness. It was her stubborn will that kept her from giving in. And knowing made him all the more angry.
People could talk of little else, though they didn’t dare do so in Atretes’ hearing.