When Jesus Wept: A Novel by Bodie & Brock Thoene

Author:Bodie & Brock Thoene [Thoene, Bodie and Brock]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction - Historical, Biblical Studies, Israel, Judaism, Faith & Religion, Christianity
ISBN: 978-0310335962
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 2013-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

The following morning there was still no sign of imminent doom. I rose before dawn after a fitful, sleepless night. To the west, hanging above the Mount of Olives, the star Vega shone like a blazing torch in the midst of King David’s Harp. I prayed for courage and strength. As I faced about toward where the sun would soon punch its way over the heights of Moab, the orange eye of Aldebaran and the kindlier twinkle of Capella studied me from the placid heavens.

It was the northern sky that drew my attention. The breeze in my face was barely a whisper. I sniffed as if trying to catch the odor of trouble above the aroma of blooming flowers and ripening figs.

Was there an acrid tinge to the otherwise sweet morning air, or was I imagining it? I had eaten roasted grasshoppers before and did not care for them. There was a bitter, almost metallic sensation connected with the taste and smell, but perhaps that was a result of the oil in which they were cooked.

Was I truly scenting a locust horde on the wind? Or was it merely my nervous mind playing tricks on me?

The men I hired to help defend the vines slept wrapped in their cloaks at the end of the rows in case the plague arrived during the night. Now it seemed as if I had paid for an expensive set of unneeded guests, some of whom had helped themselves to grapes and figs from my crop.

Martha awoke also and came to stand beside me as gray light spread upward in the eastern sky. “There’s fresh bread and cheese,” she offered, gesturing toward the cookhouse behind our home.

I shook my head. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“What about the men?” she asked.

“Let them rest. If the locusts come, we may not sleep again for days.”

“Do you think they might not come this way, David?”

“It’s whatever the Almighty wills,” I said, shrugging. “If the breeze has shifted and is blowing more out of the west, then the hoppers are right now crossing Jordan to eat the Perean vineyards of Herod Antipas.”

“And well does he deserve it,” she concluded. Martha pointed toward the Judean hills in the direction of Shiloh and squinted. “The wind must be getting stronger. I think I see a dust cloud rising up.”

I stared toward the north as the sky’s pale blue luminescence increased and the stars faded. “I see it,” I finally agreed. “You have good eyes, sister. A brown smudge against the ridgeline. To left and right the hills look more sharply defined. In the middle they are blurred.”

“A dust storm would be a help, would it not?”

“Sweep the locusts away like Elijah’s whirlwind, eh?”

Samson joined us at the front gate of the estate. “The men are waking, mistress. Are the trays of bread ready?”

That was when I first noticed a persistent rushing sound in my ears, like the noise of surf sliding up and back a sandy shore.

I shook my head.

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