The Hidden Flame

by Janette Oke;T. Davis Bunn

  The man's expression carried the heat of a branding iron, one that scalded the inner reaches of Linux's heart. "All your dreams and more are here on offer. If you agree to be my chosen man."

  C H A P T E R

  NINETEEN

  IT HAD BEEN SUCH A SATISFYING MORNING. The intense heat, of course, had added to the strain of working since before dawn in the kitchen and distributing the meals. A chance to just sit and relax for a few moments . . . But neither the heat nor her weariness could erase the joy that filled Abigail's being. Both legs were strong and ready to take her wherever she wished to go. Besides the healing itself, what a marvel it was to be directly touched by the Lord.

  But she had to admit the hours of work left her body aching from her neck to the soles of her feet. Many of the women were considerably older than Abigail. She felt responsible to carry as much of the load as she could.

  She had kneaded bread for the ovens and set it to rise. Then, having decided after all that she preferred to make her own selections, she headed for the market stalls. She hoped the fresh garden and vineyard produce would already be laid out by the time she arrived. There was no waiting, and she was able to quickly fill her two baskets and start back. As she struggled through the streets, the heavy load slowing her steps, the roosters had awakened, admonishing their flocks to also get busy.

  By the time she made it back to the compound the bread was ready to be baked. It was needed for the first meal of the day.

  From then on the day sped forward without slowing for a moment. It seemed to Abigail that every day brought new people to the compound who needed provisions. Peter had ceased trying to keep count of how many were being baptized into the community of believers.

  It was true that only a few of the followers of the Way actually met and ate at these central quarters. All over Jerusalem and stretching into the surrounding villages and farms, other groups were housed.

  But in the morning and afternoon many came to the compound for their daily rations of food to prepare in their own kitchens. A cart and additional donkey were purchased so more food could be brought from the market. That was now how much of Abigail's day was spent. Her new assignment to aid overburdened Martha included managing the distribution of the food-it had to be sorted, portioned, and handed out to those who came.

  Responsibility for keeping track of donated funds and outgoing expenses was Stephen's. He showed the same open heart to everyone, both those giving and those in need. Abigail found herself in awe of his calm demeanor and his giving heart. Particularly this day, when God's presence seemed so very close to her, she enjoyed a prayerful calm as she saw to her myriad tasks.

  That afternoon, as usual, Peter and another apostle prayed over the food and funds coming from volunteers, asking the Lord to bless it and increase it as needed. Abigail had never had to turn anyone away from the distribution table empty-handed.

  Abigail watched the last of the afternoon crowd hoist their baskets and head back out into the street. She heaved a sigh, thankful that another day was nearing an end.

  Seated at the central courtyard table, Stephen wrote his last entry and rolled up the scroll of his records. He nodded to her. "You look hot and tired."

  "I am both. But weariness is nothing like the pain-"

  "The entire gathering has spoken of little else besides the miracle." He motioned to the bench opposite his, now cast in afternoon shadows. "You should take a moment and rest. Have you eaten?"

  "I don't remember." They both laughed, and she added, "Not since daybreak."

  "You must keep up your strength if you are to care for others."

  Abigail nodded and went into the shadowy cooking alcove to pour herself a mug of goat's milk. She returned to the table. Though the compound remained a center of activity with people still coming and going, this one spot was both public and yet somewhat isolated. "Will you take anything?" she asked before she sat down.

  "Not for the moment, thank you." He fingered the corner of the scroll. His usually tranquil expression held a look of concern.

  "Is ... is something the matter?"

  "God always supplies. His miracles abound, as we have been so profoundly reminded." He nodded toward her with a smile. "We are indeed blessed by his abundance. I need only see you moving so well about the compound to be reminded of these truths." But his face was grave again.

  "Yet something troubles you, I can see it."

  Stephen leaned across the table and murmured, "We have almost nothing left. Not even a few coins to pay for tomorrow's supplies."

  "We have no money?" Abigail could not believe her ears.

  He simply shook his head.

  "What will we do?"

  Stephen ran a finger along the edge of the scroll, as though tracing the accounts of each passing day. "We wait. We trust." He straightened his shoulders and said, "Then we marvel when God meets the need."

  Abigail hesitated, then confessed, "I wish my faith were that strong."

  His smile returned, and all his features seemed transformed by that simple act. "Do you know, for weeks I would sit here working and praying and worrying. And then God answered my prayers by bringing you."

  Abigail was so shocked she could not respond.

  "Indeed. What a wonderful reminder of his power, seeing you walk across the courtyard, smiling despite your weariness. With your wound utterly healed." His dark eyes shone with renewed purpose. "We have God's promise. You have helped me remember this."

  She lowered her eyes, not wanting Stephen to see her doubts. What would they do to feed the people if the money did not come? So many followers depended upon them.

  She managed what she hoped was a confident smile. She too must allow faith to guide her thoughts and expectations. A brief nod, and she replied. "Please tell me ... when it happens. I will rejoice with you."

  Stephen stood and tucked the scroll under his arm. "I will," he promised. "We will not have long to wait. Funds are needed for the morning purchases."

  They had just finished evening prayers, including some fervent requests for "God to supply all our needs," and a weary Abigail was wrapping her shawl about her shoulders when Stephen approached her. "I have news," he said, the shine in his eyes saying even more than his words.

  Abigail allowed herself to be guided to one side of the courtyard, a few steps away from the bustle of departing worshipers. "It's already happened." His voice was low, but his expression was clear in the glow from the courtyard torches. "The money. For tomorrow. For many, many tomorrows. It's here."

  "But how ... ?" There were so many questions. "Where did this ... this miracle come from?"

  "I was just putting the accounts away in the locked chest when the Levite Joses, a Cypriot- Do you know him?"

  Abigail felt almost overwhelmed by Stephen's excitement. She forced herself to think. "The apostles call him Barnabas?"

  "Yes, that's the one. He sold a property, and this very evening he set the money at the apostles' feet."

  "What-all of it?"

  "Everything. We have enough for months to come." His voice held a quiet triumph. "Another wondrous sign that God is taking care of us."

  Abigail murmured words of thanks she scarcely could hear herself. When the young man moved away, she looked down toward her healed leg. Why had she ever doubted? It was just as Stephen said. The Lord promised. The Lord supplied.

  Abigail continued to find wonder in the smallest of acts, such as picking up the baskets and heading off to market. Or knotting the day's coins in the corner of her shawl, and smiling with Stephen over the miracle of money for all their needs. Now it was up to the community of believers to spend the funds wisely.

  Stephen nodded a farewell to her as he and Philip started off in the donkey cart to transport supplies to those in greatest distress. As reprisals against the followers of the Way grew in intensity, there were more and more who needed such help. Many had lost their jobs because shop owners feared Temple reprisal if a follower was found in their emp
loy. Looks of contempt were cast on them when they were recognized in the streets-or even curses, spitting, or handfuls of dust. It was clear their increasing numbers had the whole city on edge.

  Abigail was mentally busy with all these concerns as she moved from stall to stall, selecting, bartering, and filling her baskets. When the task was accomplished she was happy to head for the compound.

  She stopped at the well to draw water to wash the vegetables and then carried the pail to the clay trough. Thankfully, the trough and the stone bench alongside it were still held in shadows. The cobblestones surrounding the well reflected the sun and created even more heat.

  And then there's Jacob.... Her brother was a study in contrasts these days. He was overjoyed by her healing. Yet he remained extremely troubled. Abigail knew it was at least partly his yearning to join the Roman army. Yet she also sensed that Jacob was upset with her. Why, she had no idea. But sometimes she found him watching her, his face veiled in anger and frustration. Occasionally he would bring up Linux as a possible suitor, and when she pointed out that Peter had insisted they wait for Alban, he would fume in silence.

  She was so taken up with her concerns about Jacob that she was halfway through her task at the trough before she realized a man and a woman nearby seemed to be arguing. She heard the woman say, "The land was given to me to arrange the betrothal."

  Abigail's hands, holding a leek, stilled. She recognized the voice as Sapphira's, a member of a wealthy Judean clan. Wife of Ananias, both of them part of their group. And she was sister to Ezra, the merchant who sought her hand....

  The voice came from the other side of the stone wall providing her shade. A teahouse fronted a narrow ledge that overlooked the city's ancient walls. Abigail had passed it any number of times but had never been inside. Sapphira must have been seated right beside the wall.

  She heard the man say, "Which gives them even less right to demand any part of such a gift. Especially after they have refused your brother's entreaties."

  Abigail was certain the voice belonged to Ananias. She started to move away, but something held her in place. Fear, certainly. There had been no word from Ezra since Peter had said he would pray and consult with Alban before making any decision about whom she might wed. But Abigail had no doubt such a powerful man could make trouble for them all. And especially for her.

  Sapphira was saying, "It was not a gift, really. He paid me with the land."

  "A payment of sorts, I suppose. But what's important here is that the land belonged to us. Ezra placed no conditions on it, and neither should anyone else."

  Abigail frowned, bewildered. What could they be arguing over?

  "Well, it's sold. You took care of that in a hurry." She sounded angry. "I'm not sure it was the wisest thing to do. Such property would only go up in value-but it's gone."

  "And it brought a good price."

  "That's not the point, husband. We find ourselves in a dilemma. You know what Barnabas did. And what others are doing. Whatever they receive from such transactions, they give. They will expect the same from us."

  "Why do they have to know?"

  "Why? It's not a matter of why. They will, that's all. Does any land in this city change hands without the world knowing about it? No. Of course not. Everyone will have heard of the sale before this day is out. If you hadn't sold it so hastily we ..."

  Abigail tried to concentrate on the vegetables, but the voice on the other side of the wall could not be blocked from her hearing.

  "All right-so maybe I acted in haste. I did not think of this ... this situation."

  "I don't think you thought at all."

  A bold statement for a woman to make to her husband. But Sapphira sounded too angry to be guarding her tongue.

  "So what do we do?" Ananias had lowered his voice in defeat.

  "Well, we have to give it. We will feel their disapproval-and maybe worse-if we do not."

  "But ...'

  "But ?"

  "That's a great sum-"

  "Of course it is," Sapphira said. "The property was worth a small fortune."

  "I know. I know. You've told me that several times. But do we have to give it all?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Nobody will know the price we got for the land." Ananias spoke more swiftly now. "I could give them double what Barnabas did. We would still retain more than half."

  "I suppose-"

  "Then it's settled. I'll bring in the bags of silver in the morning and give them to the treasurer, Stephen. No, no, I'll give them directly to Peter."

  The voices faded away as the couple must have left the teahouse. All Abigail could think of was the excitement this additional amount would bring to Stephen. He had a great responsibility in caring for the needs of so many people. And the two had said this gift would be twice what Barnabas had brought. Abigail was tempted to run and tell Stephen right away. But, no, that wouldn't be right. This was not her secret to tell. She never should have heard the conversation in the first place. She would let Ananias and Sapphira be the bearers of the good news.

  But she couldn't help but smile as she dumped the water from washing the vegetables and carried the baskets of clean produce toward the kitchens.

  The next morning Abigail was busy in the kitchen with Martha, her sister Mary, and two younger girls when they heard a commotion from the courtyard.

  "What is that?" asked Mary, lifting her head.

  "What?" Martha's hearing was not as keen as it once had been.

  "I heard some noise. It sounded like a ... like a muffled scream."

  "I heard it too," Abigail agreed, wiping her hands on her robe. "But it wasn't really a scream. It was ... I don't know. I've never heard anything like it before."

  When they heard nothing further, they shrugged and continued their meal preparation.

  It was not long until Philip appeared in the kitchen doorway, his face as pale as chalk. He told them, his voice hushed, that Ananias had come with money from the sale of property. He had presented it to Peter, claiming it to be the full amount of the sale. Instead of praising him, Peter had condemned him. Not for his generosity, which was commendable, but for his lie.

  "The land was yours," Peter had told Ananias, his eyes flashing fire. "The money was your right to keep. But you have lied to the Holy Spirit." And right on the spot, Ananias had collapsed on the cobblestones. They could not revive him, and he was dead.

  The women struggled to accept what they were hearing. But Philip was not finished with his report. Even more frightening, when Sapphira had arrived, the whole scene was repeated.

  They were gone. Both of them. In only the matter of a few hours. Peter had ordered some of the men to take them out of the compound and bury them.

  The group of women stood aghast. Abigail felt faint. So that was the result of the conversation she had partly overheard. The shocking turn of events sickened her.

  Abigail wrestled with her troubled thoughts the rest of the day. What had just happened? Was their God really that vindictive? As she moved about the courtyard serving those who came for their daily supplies, she saw the little clusters of whispering people, eyes wide with both wonder and fright. Word had traveled quickly. People dared not even ask questions or express their concerns.

  Peter was not seen until evening prayers. He rose and addressed the entire gathering. Abigail had never seen the compound so full, or so silent.

  "Brothers and sisters," Peter began, his booming voice drawn to a husky murmur. "You all know of the sudden deaths today of two of our members. It was not for the good they were attempting to do that they were struck. No. The God we serve demands an open and honest heart. It was not to me that the lie was told. It was a lie before a holy and just God. God sees the heart. He knows our thoughts. May this caution each one of us to be honest in all our dealings. We cannot"-his voice rose then-"we cannot deceive God."

  Peter looked out over the crowded courtyard. His voice rang with fervent pleading. "If we are to fight evi
l in our world-as we are called to do-we cannot harbor deceitfulness in our hearts. May God give us the courage and the strength and the wisdom to live as he wants us to live. He is a holy God. And he is also a God of love. He desires only our good. He will show us what we each must learn from this experience today."

  Abigail and Jacob did not speak as they walked home that night, but Abigail reflected on Peter's words all the way back to their small quarters.

  C H A P T E R

  TWENTY

  EZRA WALKED BEHIND THE SERVANT past the sentries and out the Dung Gate, his questions held tightly inside. He had not spoken since Ananias's servant had arrived with the appalling news. Despite his panic and his dread, he would not shout such news to the city. If it was indeed true. And why?

  The servant had appeared at Ezra's door, his face still wet with tears. He had been sent alone by Ananias's family-no one else could bring themselves to face him. The servant, a follower, had related all that had happened, everything he had witnessed from his place among the gathering.

  Even as the servant had related the news, Ezra had reshaped the words into something more acceptable. Clearly the servant had witnessed something that had shocked him to the core. This much was certain. Yet Ezra's mind refused to accept what the servant had told him. His sister dead? Her husband also? Within hours of each other? Impossible!

  A drover shouted a warning at Ezra and prodded his sheep toward the gate. Ezra stepped off the road, stumbling over the uneven earth. The ground did not seem stable beneath his sandals. Nothing was as it should be.

  Ahead of him, the servant took the turn onto the lane leading south into the Kidron Valley. Ezra demanded, "Where are you taking me? Where is Sapphira?"

  The man pointed ahead, his hand trembling. He did not speak.

  When the man's destination finally struck home, Ezra stopped as if struck dead himself. The reality of where they were headed condensed the heat and the sunlight until it held him fast. He had to struggle to breathe.