by John Hagee
“He faced death bravely,” Rebecca said.
Galen had squeezed her hand. “I know. I heard the story.”
After a lingering moment of silence, she said, “I’m ready to talk.”
They walked back outside, and Rebecca leaned against the cool marble while Galen closed the cumbersome doors. When he came and stood beside her, she began, “There’s been so much death around me. Victor was like a gift of life.
“It didn’t seem like much of a gift at first. He was conceived on the worst night of my life, a night I barely survived, and most of the time I was carrying him I felt I was walking through ‘the valley of the shadow of death’—although I never left the mountaintop cave where I was hiding.”
She had told him then about being raped. She didn’t tell him all the gruesome details but neither did she gloss over the facts.
When she was finished, Galen turned his face to the wall and wept. Rebecca came up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek against his back. She was touched by the depth of his sorrow for her.
“It’s all right,” she had said. “I’m all right. I survived.”
In a moment he lifted her hands so he could turn and look at her. He leaned forward and she thought he was going to kiss her, then he bent down and simply placed his forehead against hers. He put his hands on her waist but didn’t embrace her, and she sensed Galen was struggling to comprehend what had happened to her and how it had changed both of their lives.
He didn’t say anything for so long, it began to worry her. “Do you still love me?” she finally asked.
“Rebecca, I could never stop loving you.”
Galen might not have stopped loving her, but he had grown more and more distant. He didn’t come to see her the rest of the week. When he joined the Christians who met at the villa for worship on the Lord’s Day, Galen had greeted Rebecca affectionately and sat by her. Several times he acted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get the words out. He left when the others did, so she never got to speak with him privately.
The same thing had happened the following week, and the week after that. A few times her brothers had asked why Galen hadn’t been around much, and Rebecca found herself making excuses that he was busy. But the truth was, she didn’t know why Galen was keeping his distance, and it was killing her. She alternated between being angry with him and being wounded by his absence. She thought of a number of errands that would take her right past his shop, but pride kept her from seeking him out. He would have to come to terms with the changes in their relationship in his own way, in his own time.
A month after Rebecca’s return, she had finally been propelled to action when her mother’s longtime friend, Helena, had cornered her one Sunday. “When are you and Galen getting married?” Helena asked bluntly. Rebecca didn’t have an answer, and she realized just how much she needed one. She deserved an answer.
She found Galen in the atrium as he was leaving and managed to get him alone. “I need to talk to you,” she said. “Now.”
He looked trapped, and she felt a brief moment of sympathy. It passed quickly. He had treated her badly.
“I have some questions, and I deserve some answers,” she said when they had walked outside, away from the others.
“Yes, you do.” He glanced at her briefly, then looked away. “I just don’t know if I have any answers yet.”
Find some soon, she was tempted to say. Instead she took a deep breath. This was definitely one time she didn’t want to have to pull Galen’s thoughts out of him, especially because she was more than a little afraid of what those thoughts might be. But she’d gotten to the point at which not knowing was worse than knowing.
“You said you’d never stop loving me, Galen. What kind of love is it when you don’t want to be alone with me, when you won’t even talk to me?”
“You know I’m not very good at talking sometimes.”
“That’s not an answer; it’s an excuse. You may not have been the most talkative person, but you were always good company—and you were always here, with me, every spare minute you had.” Bittersweet thoughts of those happy times flooded her mind, but she didn’t stop to dwell on the memories. “You haven’t been to see me since that first night after I returned, and when you are here for church, you try to avoid me. Why, Galen? Why?”
He pushed his hair back with both his hands, holding it off his forehead for a moment, then letting it drop with a sigh. “Every time I look at you, I think about how much I love you, then I think about what he did to you, and I just can’t get over it. I think about him touching you, and it makes my skin crawl. I can’t stand the thought of your being with another man—”
“I wasn’t ‘with’ another man, Galen. I was raped!”
“I know.”
“But do you understand that? It wasn’t an act of love. He touched me because he assaulted me.”
“I understand that. I just don’t know how to deal with it, how to keep from thinking about it, how to . . .” He looked down at the ground, and Rebecca knew there was something else he wasn’t saying. Something that bothered him a great deal.
“What else?” she asked.
“You have his child,” he said without looking up.
Rebecca lost all the air in her lungs as suddenly as if he’d punched her. “Yes, I have a child,” she said slowly. “And I love my son dearly.” She took another deep breath and held it an extra beat before asking, “Is that something else you can’t get over?”
Galen didn’t reply, and Rebecca realized his silence was an answer in itself.
“You don’t want to marry me now.” She didn’t even bother to phrase it as a question.
He reached for her hand, and the wistful look in his eyes nearly broke her heart. “Maybe I just need more time, Rebecca.”
“Or maybe you need more love.”
As she thought about it now, Rebecca realized that she should have reached that conclusion earlier. She always had understood Galen better than he understood himself.
He did love her; perhaps he always would. But Galen had idealized her. When she returned from Devil’s Island, she no longer fit the ideal, and he was unable to accept a less-than-perfect version of love.
Rebecca punched the pillow and lay back down, trying to get back to sleep after her nightmare.
It didn’t matter now. None of it did. The only thing that mattered was Victor.
Galen was gone, out of her life. She’d had a dream and lost it, then found it and lost it again. Her heart was broken, but it would mend. And when it did, she wouldn’t ever make the mistake of falling in love again. The risk of losing another dream was simply too painful. No man was ever going to accept the fact that she’d been raped and borne a child, and she might as well face that now.
Rebecca decided it was God’s will for her to remain single. She would devote herself to a ministry of works, and to her son—just as soon as she got him back.
5
“THIS IS NOT a social visit,” Jacob said, cutting off Naomi’s patently insincere greeting.
From the moment she had swept into the room in one of her typically grand entrances, Jacob had known she was expecting them. Naomi did not look the least bit surprised. She did manage to look regal, however, even though she had already unpinned her hair for the evening. Voluminous waves of deep auburn fell over her shoulders, which were draped in an emerald-green stola that sparkled with threads of spun gold. Jacob couldn’t help thinking of what her tunic and stola must have cost; Naomi had always taken great pride in her wardrobe.
“Then tell me why you and your . . . friends . . . are here at this late hour.” As she spoke, Naomi looked Marcellus and Antony up and down, finally dismissing them with an irritated look and a wave of her hand, as if she were shooing away a couple of unwelcome flies at a banquet table.
“I think you know why we’re here,” Jacob said testily. It was late, he was tired, and he was angry. They’d walked the better
part of an hour—down Mount Koressos, across Ephesus, and up the hill past the Temple of Artemis—to get to the house Naomi had rented. If there hadn’t been a full moon, they would never have been able to see the way. He also resented Naomi’s arrogance, and he was in no mood to play games. A life was at stake. Jacob was almost certain she knew who had abducted his nephew, and he was determined to drag the truth out of her. His voice rose with his temper. “I want some answers, Naomi. And I want them now.”
Antony stepped forward, positioning himself between Jacob and Naomi, and introduced himself. “I represent the family in legal mat-ters—” he began.
Naomi interrupted him. “I’m part of the family and you don’t represent me.”
“You are not part of our family.” Jacob was almost shouting now.
“Your sister’s child is missing,” Antony continued diplomatically, “and we simply wanted to find out if you knew anything about it.”
“I didn’t even know Rebecca was married.” Naomi’s mouth curved in a slight smile.
“You cold-hearted—” Jacob had had enough. “Where is Victor?” he demanded. “Where is the baby?” He started to lunge toward the conniving woman—he no longer thought of her as his sister—but Marcellus held him back.
Jacob was angry enough to throttle her, and Naomi must have realized it. She blanched and took a step backward.
“Calm down,” she said, “and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
The slave who had let them in suddenly reappeared in the doorway. Naomi said, “It’s all right, Lepidus. You may wait in the other room. If I need you, I’ll call.” The tall, well-built man bowed almost imperceptibly toward his mistress, then backed out of the room.
“Start talking,” Jacob said. He shook off Marcellus’s restraining hand, nodding to indicate he had himself under control.
Naomi sat down, carefully arranged the folds of her skirt, and took a deep breath. For the first time, Jacob realized that she was not quite as collected as she had first appeared. Beneath the cool surface, she was deeply troubled.
“You’re right,” she said. “I do know what happened.” When Jacob gave her another murderous look, she quickly added, “The baby is not here. But I can assure you that he’s safe and well cared for.”
The news that Victor was all right brought Jacob a bit of relief, but it raised as many questions as it answered. “Where is he? Who took him? Who has him now?”
Again, Marcellus put a friendly hand on Jacob’s shoulder and squeezed, urging him to slow down. “You can imagine how worried Rebecca is,” Marcellus said to Naomi. “Please tell us where we can find the child, and we won’t disturb you any longer.”
She did not look at Marcellus but continued staring at her brother. “That information will cost you.”
Cost me? Jacob wondered. He should have known that whatever information Naomi had, it would come at a price. He started to verbally assault her, then held back, gritting his teeth in frustration. The important thing was getting Victor back; after that he would say whatever he wanted to Naomi.
Assuming a polite but official tone, Antony said, “I suggest you tell us where he is immediately. You have no legal right to the child.”
“But I do have a legal right to my share of our father’s estate.”
Jacob was outraged. “Father disowned you.”
“Father was a traitor who forfeited his entire estate to Caesar.”
“You’re the traitor!”
Jacob would gladly have continued the shouting match with his sister, but Antony again intervened. “The court will decide how to settle the estate,” he told Naomi, “but I think you know that you’re on very shaky legal grounds. It’s unlikely you will ever see a denarius of the family fortune.”
“Give up, Naomi.” Jacob managed to say the words without shouting, but bitterness kept a bite in his voice. “You have a piece of paper signed by a dead emperor—a dictator who was despised and has now been dishonored. A worthless piece of paper, that’s all you have.”
“You’re wrong. I have something else.” Naomi had regained her composure. Her smile was malicious, and it made him go cold inside. “I have Victor.”
She stood again and this time looked directly at Antony. “Tell the family you represent,” she said, heavily emphasizing the word family, “that I will drop my legal claim against the estate, and I will see that Victor is returned to his mother. But I want something in return.”
“And what is that?” Antony asked.
“I want the shipping business.”
Jacob exploded. “You want what?”
“I want control of the shipping business. You and Peter and Rebecca can have all the rest. The villa here, the one in Rome. The vineyard in Gaul, the olive groves on the Mediterranean coast. You can have all the bank accounts. I’m sure there are substantial amounts stashed away—more than enough for all of you to live in luxury the rest of your lives. All I want is to run the shipping business.”
“You’re out of your mind.” Jacob could not believe what he had just heard, even though he knew Naomi was right: even without the shipping income they would have no financial worries. But money was not the issue. The shipping empire had defined his father. It was quintessentially Abraham, and the thought of Naomi seizing it—by kidnapping Abraham’s grandson, of all things—was beyond comprehension.
“And you’re out of time.” Naomi turned and called for Lepidus. He returned, accompanied by another slave. “Please see these gentlemen out,” she instructed them.
“Go home,” she told Jacob. “Talk it over with the family. You can let me know tomorrow. Or the next day. Or whenever you finally decide you want Rebecca’s baby back.”
Naomi turned and started to walk away. “You’ll never get away with this,” Jacob said.
She left without responding.
He looked at the others, wondering what they should do next. He was so furious, he could barely resist shoving Lepidus and the other slave out of the way and charging after Naomi. We outnumber them, Jacob thought. Three of us to two of them. The second man was not as big and foreboding as Lepidus, but he looked plenty tough.
Jacob’s fingers were itching for a fight; Marcellus and Antony, however, shepherded him toward the door, the two slaves following to make sure the trio left.
Once outside, Jacob started to say something but Antony shushed him. When they’d gone a distance from the house, they stopped.
“I know you wanted to tear into them,” Antony said, “but it wouldn’t have accomplished anything.”
“I won’t let her get away with this,” Jacob replied in an angry whisper.
“I’m not saying you have to. But there’s no sense risking our lives without knowing where Victor is.”
Marcellus said, “I listened for any sounds that would indicate a baby was nearby, but I didn’t hear anything. Do you think she was telling the truth about Victor not being there?”
“I don’t know,” Jacob answered. “But I’m not taking any chances. I think we should stay and watch the house.”
For the next few minutes, the three men talked it over and made a plan to spy on Naomi, in the hope she would lead them to the kidnapper.
“I’ll stay with Jacob for now,” Marcellus said to Antony. “You go back to the villa and get some rest. Let Rebecca know that Victor is safe—at least, we think he is.”
“All right. I’ll meet you back here in the morning and we’ll trade places.”
As Antony left, Marcellus and Jacob stepped off the road and into the shadows, trying to remain unseen as they walked back to Naomi’s house. They had already agreed that the stand of juniper trees just a few yards from the front door would be their hiding place, and they crept toward it.
Jacob crouched behind one of the trees and stretched out on the ground, drawing his cloak around him. He lay on his stomach, watching the house and thinking back over the meeting. Even though she had obviously been expecting them, there had been something odd about
Naomi’s behavior. Not that her behavior could ever be considered normal, he reflected. Still, it puzzled him.
Gradually his thoughts drifted from Naomi to Damian. Jacob knew he had to be somewhere nearby. With every thought of Damian, Jacob seethed.
Over and over his mind returned to the biblical accounts of the cities of refuge. They had been part of the ancient Hebrew legal code. If a man committed manslaughter—that is, if he killed another person accidentally— then he could flee to one of six designated cities for protection from those who would otherwise seek vengeance and bring upon him a disproportionate punishment. But if he intended to kill someone—if he committed murder—then he would receive the death penalty. “The avenger of blood himself shall put the murderer to death,” Scripture said.
Jacob’s first goal was to find his nephew. But after that, when Victor was back in his mother’s arms, Jacob had a score to settle with Damian. He knew John’s feelings on the matter. He knew what Rebecca and Peter and Marcellus thought. He knew they no longer lived under the ancient Hebrew legal code but the vaunted Roman system of justice. And he knew, as John so often quoted, that vengeance belongs to the Lord.
Jacob knew all of that, but he still could not help thinking of himself as the avenger of blood. He vowed silently, I will make sure there is no refuge for you, Damian.
“I can’t believe you did this to me.” Naomi rubbed her temples. Her head was throbbing after the nerve-wracking meeting with her brother.
Damian strutted back and forth in front of the chair where she sat. “You certainly weren’t getting anything done on your own,” he said.
“So without even consulting me, you kidnap my sister’s baby. And then you just show up here this afternoon with him.” She didn’t bother to disguise her disbelief or her profound irritation.
“As I told you earlier—you need leverage. Something to bargain with.”
Naomi silently acknowledged that her case needed bolstering; she hadn’t needed Jacob’s lawyer to tell her that. But she had certainly never imagined that a squalling infant would be the solution. She’d gone along with Damian’s unannounced plan—what else could she do when Jacob had shown up before she’d had time to think things through?—but she wasn’t happy about it.
