by Ted Dekker
The first: no man could love her.
The second: she could love no man, because she certainly could never love the man who’d imprisoned her here.
The third: she was trapped. If she set one foot outside this pathetic village, Braun would kill the only person who meant anything to her.
She rounded the corner and glanced back. No sight of the American. She stopped for a moment, swallowed, and then hurried down the street. Her memories flitted to Hansen. She was eighteen, and he was a strong young man with bright blue eyes and a wide smile. Braun had killed that budding desire. Literally. She’d cried for two straight weeks. Her first and last true love. Braun’s decree could not have been more clear. The men stayed away from her after that. And she from them.
Her earliest memories took her back to age six, when she first began to realize that she was different from the other children. She had no mother, no father, only uncles. And her uncles were mean men who cursed often.
When she was eight, the other children seemed to turn on her. She remembered the day on the playground clearly. Freddy had called her a whore in front of all the other children. She didn’t even know what a whore was. No one had stood up to him.
She learned the truth of her life when she was twelve—why she had no memory of her parents and lived with mean uncles and aunts.
She caught the eye of Armond across the street, keeping his eternal watch over her. She squared her shoulders.
What would they all say if the American ran up to her again and pronounced his undying love? Was she lovable? Was she not a woman? The American seemed to think so.
She secretly wished that Stephen David would do just that. That he would chase her at a full sprint and fall to his knees and cry out his adoration for all the village to hear.
But that was a foolish fantasy. And a dangerous one.
“Please leave,” she whispered. “Leave this town.”
STEPHEN LOOKED around. Three men angled toward him, intentions clear. They were coming to the aid of a woman who’d been attacked by a foreigner.
He stepped into the alley, took several long steps until he was sure he was out of their sight, and ran. What had he just done?
The alley ended. He veered to his right and slowed to a walk. How could she not be Esther? What was the probability that a woman who so closely resembled Ruth just happened to live in the very village Braun had named?
On the other hand, Stephen wasn’t a student of faces. In the past twenty-four hours, a hundred women who resembled Ruth had made his heart jump. He had seen her face in the clouds, in the rocks, even in the Volkswagen emblem on the van’s steering wheel.
Stephen began to run again, terrified by the possibility that he had just let Esther go. He had to at least warn her about Braun. Where could she have gone?
The answer came quickly when she walked out onto the same street, fifty yards ahead. He instinctively threw himself into a doorway. Somehow skipping up to her for another hug didn’t strike him as the most effective way to gain her confidence.
He poked his head around the corner and looked both ways. The men had either given up their pursuit or had opted to follow her to safety. The girl who wasn’t Esther was walking away, deeper into the village.
He stepped onto the sidewalk, lowered his head, and followed. The floppy black hat was a beacon now; he pulled it off and tossed it in a doorway. Ten paces later, he braved a glance. She wasn’t walking as if she was concerned. Even if she wasn’t Esther, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. Of course, that was probably because he’d imagined she was Esther, and his mind had been ruined by . . .
She began to turn. He leaped to his right, behind a garbage bin, and dropped to a crouch. Someone chuckled, and he turned toward the sound. It had come from an older gentleman seated in a doorway. The man waved, and Stephen waved back, embarrassed.
He sneaked a peek. She was entering another alley, headed back toward the church! Stephen stood, immobilized by indecision. If he ran down the street she’d emerged from a moment ago, he might be able to intercept her.
He ran. If she was Esther, Braun hadn’t arrived yet. The thought propelled him into a sprint, legs pumping like a world-class runner. The old man’s cackle chased him down the street and around the corner. He ignored a dozen alarmed villagers, took a sharp left at the next corner, and blasted for the alley from which he knew she would emerge.
He slid to a stop at the corner, took one deep breath, and jumped out. Another second and he might have landed on top of her. She jumped back and shrieked.
The leap had been a bit much, he immediately saw. A nonchalant, suave entrance would have accomplished the same thing with far more subtlety.
She held a hand to her chest. “What are you doing, you idiot! Get away from me!”
He held up a finger. “Shh!” Looking into her eyes again, he was sure she was Esther. He felt as though he’d searched for those eyes his entire life.
“Why are you attacking me?”
Her accusation shocked him. “I wouldn’t dream of hurting you. How can you say that? I’m here to save you!”
“Throwing yourself at me and then stalking me in broad daylight is your idea of saving me? They’ll kill you for sure now.”
“Stop it!” he yelled. Footsteps pounded behind him. They’d heard her cry and were coming. Stephen pulled out the photograph and spoke quickly. “Help me, I’m begging you. This is Ruth, Esther’s mother. She gave her life for me in the concentration camp at Toruń. There isn’t time— Braun’s on his way here now. For Esther.”
The woman stared. Running feet entered the alley.
“Please,” Stephen said quietly. “I swear I thought you were Esther, otherwise I wouldn’t have done that. Please, I have to help her.”
A rough male voice spoke in German behind Stephen.
The woman hesitated. “I’m okay,” she told the man.
The footsteps left.
“Thank you.” He was still holding the photograph out to her.
Her eyes searched his for several moments and then lowered to the photograph.
“I wish I could help you,” she said. “But I can’t.”
“You must!”
She stood defiant, but he thought her eyes were misty.
“I don’t know who Esther is,” she said, “but I do know they will kill you if you continue. Braun’s well-known here. He doesn’t value life.”
“And he’s on his way here now.”
She stepped around him and hurried for the street.
Stephen walked after her. “Please—”
“You must leave before you get both of us killed.”
He ignored the glares of onlookers and hurried to catch her.
“I’m telling you the truth. My name is David. I go by Stephen. I was born in Toruń. My mother’s name was Martha. Do you know any of this?”
She veered up the stairs to the church doors. Her jaw was firm, but he saw a tear escape her eye, and the realization nearly crushed him. What had Braun done to make her so terrified?
He followed her into an arching foyer with stained glass high above. “I just came from Los Angeles. Braun was there looking for the Stones of David. Doesn’t any of this mean anything to you?”
She spun. “You have no idea!” Her eyes blazed, but she could not hold back another tear that ran down her face. She was Esther after all! She had to be.
“Look at it!” he said, shoving the picture forward. “This is your mother! She gave her life!”
Esther looked at the photo. But her eyes stayed on the image. Surely she saw her own features in it.
“You are Esther!” He turned the photograph over. “Read it!”
Her eyes dropped to the writing.
My dearest Esther, I found this picture in Slovakia after the war. It is your mother, Ruth, one year before your birth.
Not an hour passes without my begging God that you and David will find each other. I will never forget. You are
the true Stones of David.
“No. It can’t be.”
Her lips quivered. Stephen resisted an impulse to take her into his arms again.
Dear Esther, I am so sorry. What have they done to you?
She shook her head. “You have the wrong person.”
Stephen grabbed his collar and ripped his shirt open, exposing the scar on his chest, daring her to deny it.
She stared, unable to move her eyes. Her face softened, and the tears began to run unrestricted. She lifted a trembling hand over her heart and slowly, as if in a dream, pulled the neckline of her dress down just enough to reveal the skin below her collarbone. There, burned into her flesh, was an identical scar.
“Esther,” he said.
Her eyes rose to meet his. “Yes.”
He stepped forward and put his hand on her shoulder. Anything else seemed inappropriate. She slowly rested her forehead on his chest and began to cry.
42
A YEAR HAD PASSED SINCE ROTH LAST VISITED THE VILLAGE. HIS MEN usually did the honors. From the road, the town looked unchanged.
Gerhard had his journal, but the Stones of David were still missing. With the threat posed by the journal behind Gerhard, Roth had little trouble stirring up his father’s passion for the Stones.
Gerhard hadn’t been so delighted in thirty years. Roth was pleased. And he had a plan.
When he’d received the phone call nearly two hours ago saying the Jew had arrived, Roth had nearly wept for joy.
Stephen had come, as surely as Roth had known in his remarkable judgment he would. The Jew would chase this fantasy of his to hell and back if necessary. Why not? After all, Christ had.
Little did Stephen know.
The danger of playing the game so close to the wire was both thrilling and unnerving to Roth. What if the Jew outwitted him as Martha had outwitted his father? Or worse, what if the Jew had already left?
“Straight to her house, Lars.”
“If she’s not there?”
“Then we’ll find her at the church,” he said. “Just hurry.”
The car surged forward, down the steep grade.
He lifted his father’s old red scarf, pressed it against his nose, and inhaled deeply. It smelled like Ruth, he thought. Like Esther. He glanced over his shoulder. Esther was about to get a wake-up call.
“Faster.”
“Any faster, and we’ll be off the side,” Lars shot back.
Roth took a deep breath. The thought of what lay ahead tested even him.
STEPHEN WATCHED Esther pace behind the last pew, content to study her fiery brown eyes and her blue dress, which flowed lazily with each turn.
Esther. This was Esther. This stunning creature who paced before him was really Esther. He could still hardly believe she was Ruth’s daughter.
They’d burned forty minutes in the church, far more than he knew was reasonable considering their predicament. But he was asking her to leave the only home she knew on a moment’s notice. Half an hour ago, he was jumping out at her from the alleys; now, he was asking her to head to the hills with him. Unlike her confession, this wasn’t something he could force.
He’d walked among the pews and discreetly watched her weigh the choice before her. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in Stephen’s mind: he was born for this woman. And he would win her love or die trying. No other woman could compare, not even in the smallest way—he was sure of this, though he hardly knew her at all.
Yet he did know some things. She had the spirit of an eagle caged by evil. If ever there was a victim of cruelty, it was her; and yet she endured it with her chin level. Because of this alone, he was utterly in love with her. He would set her free.
And there was more. The flip of her wrist, the darting of her eyes, the smell of her skin, the sound of her voice. She had the skin of a dove. She was his soul mate, created for him. And he for her.
His pearl of great price, as Martha had put it.
His obsession had taken flesh, and he would embrace it. Protect it. Its name was Esther. Gerik was surely right—man was created to obsess.
Despite the danger that now faced them, he could barely keep his mind on the task at hand. Perhaps because the task always had been love. It made sense that he was now as concerned about love as he was about staying alive or finding the Stones of David. Of course, staying alive was a prerequisite to winning Esther’s love.
He knew she couldn’t possibly feel the same about him. After all, she hardly knew him. But he thought maybe she was warming to him. Her apprehension was understandable. Once they got out of this mess, he’d give her time and space to grow to love him. He’d romance her properly. Candlelight, roses, moonlight strolls on the beach—the lot. She wouldn’t be able to resist . . .
He looked over and stopped. She was gone! His heart jumped into his throat.
“Esther?”
“Yes?”
Her voice drifted in from the foyer. He vaulted the pew and ran in. “Don’t you ever do that again!”
“Do what?” She stood before a large mirror, looking at her scar. “I walked ten paces. Just because I leave the room doesn’t mean I’ve fled.”
“I crossed the ocean to find you.”
“And if I would have known about you, I would have done the same,” she said.
This was good, right?
“I’ve been lost my whole life,” Stephen said. “Until now.”
She didn’t respond, but her eyes spoke clearly enough. She was as lonely as he, just as desperate. The only difference was that she hadn’t dwelt on the matter for a week as he had.
She looked back at the mirror. Even watching her now, his knees felt weak. He felt completely unreasonable and soft. Really, his whole life had been moving inexorably toward this day.
“Please don’t go anywhere without telling me,” he said. “Braun’s out there somewhere.”
“Stephen.”
“Yes?”
“Will you come here?”
He walked over, feeling awkward. “Have you decided whether you’ll come with me?”
“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly.
He stopped. “Yes?”
She looked over at him. “Yes.”
“So you’ll come with me?”
“I said yes.”
“Then we should go now.”
She eyed him, amused. “Will you come here for a moment?”
He stepped up next to her in front of the mirror.
“May I see your scar?” she asked.
He exposed the burn on the left side of his chest.
“Come over here, on this side.”
His hand that held the shirt open was trembling. He released it. “Please, Esther. If we don’t get out now, we may never get out.”
“Please,” she said softly.
A strange faintness drained Stephen. Her words were a lovely, sedating drug. Just a simple word, please, yet he felt he might crumple where he stood!
Stephen swallowed. “Okay.”
She guided him to her right side, so they stood shoulder to shoulder, exposing their burns to the mirror. Hers was a full foot lower than his.
“Wait here.” She brought a padded stool that sat beside the door. “Here, kneel on this.”
He watched her. She did everything with an incredible grace. The way she picked up the stool; the way she carried it over as if it were made of feathers; the way she bent her legs to set it down; the way she said “kneel on this.” No woman could move or speak so gracefully.
He knelt on the padded stool. Now they were at roughly the same height.
“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” she said. “Your mother did this to us so we could find each other.”
Stephen focused on her scar. Here they were, kneeling in front of a mirror, Esther and David, the two children from the camps, shoulders bared, branded for each other. The sight was so perfect. Terrifying. He jerked his shirt back up to cover his chest.
“Please, Esther, we have to le
ave.”
She covered her shoulder and turned away. Was something wrong?
“Esther?”
She walked to the window, peered out, and then turned back. “You have to understand something, Stephen.” The fire flashed in her eyes again. “I can’t leave here yet. Not as long as Braun is alive.”
“What? We don’t have time for that! We should be somewhere else. As far away from here as possible. Why can’t we just leave? He has nothing to gain by coming after us.”
“No. He won’t permit me to leave.” Her jaw was set.
“What can he possibly do?”
“More than you can know.”
“What do you mean? We have to leave. Now!”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m a prisoner of Braun.” Her eyes snapped open. “Believe me, he’ll find us both, and when he does he’ll kill us. I can’t leave as long as he’s alive.”
“You have to. We have each other; we can run.”
“Where can we go that he will not follow? No. I will not run.”
Urgency swelled in Stephen’s chest. “He’ll kill you if you stay.”
“That is why I have to kill him before he gets to me. Leave if you have to, but I can’t. There are other reasons.”
“I can’t leave you!” He placed both palms against his forehead and paced. “That’s crazy. If you only knew what I’ve been through.”
“I’m sure it’s no more than what I’ve been through. Or my mother. Or your mother. This doesn’t end as long as Braun is alive. The man is obsessed.”
Her use of the term stopped Stephen. “And so am I.”
“Then go find your obsession.”
“I already have.”
Her eyebrow arched.
“You,” he said. “You’re the obsession I’ve searched for my entire life.”
“Really? We met only an hour ago. In an alley, if you recall.” She looked deep into his eyes. “To what ends will you go to protect this obsession of yours? Will you kill the beast who threatens her, or will you hide so that he can live to stalk her another day? Believe me, Stephen, there’s more here than you can know. I can’t leave this place as long as Braun is alive.”
He frowned, struck as much by her suggestion that he would do anything less than protect her as by the sudden realization that he had to do exactly that.
