Chapter 1
18 years later
Phoebe beamed with joy as she walked along the riverbank, watching the ducks sail low along its surface. She breathed in the scent of the tumbling water. Ever since her brother, Mattan, had married that delightful wife of his and moved to Jericho to be with her and her family, Phoebe had loved to come and visit them. And now that they had the wondrous creation which was Achan, her delight overflowed. The toddler was nearly two and was waddling along at her side, his hand entwined with hers, his gaze rapt with attention on every new thing which crossed their path. The large fish swimming along the rocks, the trio of Roman soldiers riding across the bridge ahead, the cluster of small, white flowers at his feet - each one became an object of fascination for him.
Clouds drifted, fluffy and white, across a sky as blue as the cloth of her dress. The scent of fresh grass wafted in her nose. It seemed the day could not be more perfect.
At last the boy grew weary. She drew him up into her arms, pressing him in against her chest. Ah, but the child was a delight. If only she could be so blessed, when her own wedding day arrived.
A breeze swirled around her, and she shivered, drawing a fold of her dress around to shield the child. And then her brow creased. It was mid-January. Certainly not a day to be swimming. And yet, up ahead, it seemed like there were a group of people -
Ah. She smiled. It was John the Baptist. She could see now the camel-hair loincloth he wore, held on by a heavy leather belt. His hair was wet and plastered to his head, and his voice rose, warm and rich, to the small crowd of onlookers. Several stood knee-deep in the water, apparently waiting their turn.
She drew to a stop, watching the scene from her overlook. She’d been intrigued by John since he first came into the area. She’d been taught from birth that confession was done directly to God, in prayer. One had to voice one’s sincere apologies for what one had done and then offer oneself up to God for His eternal forgiveness. It was simply the way things were done. She had never thought to question it. It was as natural as the sun rising each morn or the baby suckling at his mother’s breast.
But John had whirled out of the wilderness with a new idea. He felt that being baptized by water helped one wash away their sins. Just as dirt and mud could be cleansed from the feet, so could impure thoughts and urges be scrubbed clean of the soul.
Phoebe found she liked the imagery. She resonated with the idea that her soul was a precious pearl, nestled deep within her. It seemed right and natural that a swirling of clear, blue waters could help to keep it pure and shining.
She looked down at the young boy now asleep in her arms, and she smiled. Pure like the babe in her arms.
A breeze rippled the stream, sending golden lights dancing along it, and she glanced up.
A man was approaching John. She felt as if she knew him, somehow, even though his face was not familiar. His pale brown hair fell to his shoulders, and there was a serenity about his gaze which made her heart ache. He was wearing a long, white robe which reached down to his sandaled feet. She could not hear what they were saying from where she stood on her grassy bank, but the discussion seemed to be a serious one.
At last John nodded to the man. John put out his hands and gently lowered the white-robed man in a baptism.
The world drew in a breath.
The man rose from the water, and the sun shimmered out from behind a cloud, sending golden light across the river. A white dove fluttered into the sky from a nearby tree. The flash of its wings were sparkling and bright in the mid-winter day. She followed its flight -
Her eyes caught.
A Roman soldier on horseback was paused on the stone-arch bridge which lay between her and the baptism scene. He was perhaps five years older than her. His hair was as dark as a raven’s wing, and his piercing eyes held the strength of a wolf. His tunic was blood-red, with metal scales hanging in overlapping layers to shield his chest and shoulders. His helmet hung from the side of his saddle and she could see the edges of his curved shield and javelin on the other side.
He was looking right at her.
There was something in his gaze. Something rich and full of powerful emotion. She glowed beneath its strength -
His eyes flashed in concern, and his hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.
A strong arm grabbed Phoebe’s, whirling her around. A man’s voice, rough and sharp, snapped out, “Woman! What are you doing?”
Phoebe knew that voice, and she sighed as she found her footing. It was Joel. His hair was already receding and paunch had pushed out his belly. He made his living as a tinsmith and she’d discovered early on that he liked to keep a large bowl of dates by his side as he worked. Some days it seemed he spent far more time eating the dates than creating a new lantern or window covering. He was only eight years older than her, but at times he seemed more a crotchety grandfather than her betrothed.
He shook her by the arm. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay away from that crackpot. He’s dangerous.”
Phoebe held back her annoyance and brought a reassuring smile to her lips. “Oh, Joel, John isn’t a crackpot. He just has a different way of viewing the world.”
Joel’s small eyes narrowed. “Different indeed. What you mean is that he’s wrong. I don’t want you infected by him.” His eyes flashed as they glanced over at the group standing along the riverbank. “I don’t know why your brother lets you come out here. Once we are married, I will absolutely forbid it.”
Phoebe’s shoulders slumped, but she kept her mouth shut. She’d learned over the past six months that arguing with Joel would get her nowhere. Her mother had advised her to be complacent for now. Sarah had promised that, once Phoebe and Joel were wed, there would be countless ways to ease a husband’s mind without arguing.
Phoebe certainly hoped so.
Joel’s stomach rumbled, and he licked his lips. “In any case, it’ll be evening soon. Come on, your brother sent me to fetch you. Your sister-in-law nearly has dinner ready for us. She’s going to make that fish stew that I love so much.” His eyes moved greedily to hers. “I hope you have the recipe thoroughly memorized.”
“I do, I do,” she reassured him. She tucked little Achan closer to her body. The child murmured and fit into her as snugly as a puzzle piece. A smile came back to her lips. Perhaps, once she had a small Achan of her very own, life would fall properly into place.
Joel’s tone eased. “You are a good girl, Phoebe. I know you’re just confused right now. When we are wed and settled into our own home, everything will make sense.”
“I’m sure it will,” she agreed.
There was a flutter of white, and she turned back to look to the bridge, to where the Roman soldier had been standing.
He was gone. And in his place was an emptiness - one she hadn’t realized had existed, until now.
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