Perpetua: a Bride, a Martyr, a Passion by Amy Rachel Peterson

Author:Amy Rachel Peterson [Peterson Amy Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: -
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2019-03-26T00:00:00+00:00

Aria’s letters to her brother were captivating. I skipped breakfast the next day and retreated to the garden with them in hand as soon as I’d dressed.

Antonius,

Forgive my brevity, but I’ve little time, and must have your advice before my husband sails. Many men have been lost already in this campaign, and I cannot be sure that Festus will return. You know the measure of his hatred toward Christians. He yet knows not that I am one. I am afraid for his soul and feel the weight of his blood on my head if I do not speak. But you also know the position I will be in once it is revealed. I would not hesitate for the sake of my safety, but the child within is in my care. Give me your prayers and thoughts.

Aria

I sighed and leaned back against the garden bench, imagining her here, pacing the dark formal walks by torchlight, a bit of red wax splashed across the fingers that hastily sealed her plea a moment before. Her letters revealed a feisty, passionate woman, not much older than myself. I laughed at the now-dim image of a calm ghost-like creature who awaited me in the tower window-room. Perhaps if she had lived a hundred years longer … but she hadn’t. I was almost as tense as she. Would she tell Festus she was a Christian?

My Dear Antonius,

I knew deep in my heart what I must do, but my soul rebelled. I needed your rebuke, ah, even if that is not what you would have called it. I have told him. I have begged him to follow Christ. His heart is hard. But suddenly I have no dread for tomorrow, such as I have lived with since my conversion. Why had I never confessed Christ before the man who might hurt me for it? Christ told us He came to bring division … even between myself and my husband. I have a strange new confidence that He will confess me before His Father. Me, in my multitude sins and fears and hardnesses. Me, in my rebellious, anxious, immature thoughts. Me, in my restless, vague passions. Have you seen the tapestry I sent to Mother recently? You will hardly identify it as mine. Even I can see the difference my submission has made. As for the future, Antonius dear, he was angry. Do not be surprised if I meet our Lord before you do. But know I would have it no other way, if this is God’s will for me. I want to drink the cup.

In faith,

Aria

I cried. She saw the same suddenly rosy blooms in the east corner of the garden; the same shaped hedges guarded her tread; the same spring life drew her out onto the portico and beyond the gates; yet she wanted to drink the cup.

Do I want to, Lord? I wandered up and down the walks, clutching her finely scripted pages to my waist. Do I want to? The wine looks bitter, but Your hand, the hand holding it to me, is sweet and gentle.

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