The Damascus Way by Davis Bunn & Janette Oke

Author:Davis Bunn & Janette Oke [Bunn, Davis & Oke, Janette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
ISBN: 9781441214072
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2010-11-08T16:00:00+00:00

Abigail gave herself to tasks she knew and understood. The stall and storeroom and living chamber all needed a thorough cleaning. She swept the floors with a thatch broom the previous tenants had either overlooked or deemed too paltry to take. Alban and Martha walked with Dorcas to the communal well and returned with two leather buckets brimming with water. They also brought rags and a makeshift mop – all borrowed from neighbors, along with the news that the entire market was talking of nothing save their arrival.

Alban added, “Some other stall holder wanted to take this place over, but Yelban would not permit it.”

“He is both an honorable man and our ally,” Martha announced stoutly.

Abigail asked Alban, “Shouldn’t you be resting after all you‘ve been doing today?”

“In truth, I feel as though Philip’s prayers yesterday were meant as much for me as for the man upon the bed. I cannot remember feeling better than now,” he assured her.

“It is not fitting that you be scrubbing floors like a servant,” Martha muttered.

He chuckled. “You say that to one who began his military duty cleaning stables.” He dipped a rag in the bucket, then paused and looked around at them. “Didn’t our Lord himself wash and dry the disciples’ road-soiled feet? I too want to have that servant attitude.” He scrubbed another segment of the floor, then spoke the words Abigail had been half afraid she all too soon would be hearing. “I should be leaving shortly for Capernaum.”

Abigail saw her daughter’s lips draw down, and she quickly crouched beside the little girl to halt the protest before it was formed. She held Dorcas close and spoke to Alban. “Your own little son must be missing you. And your wife too. Isn’t that so, Dorcas?”

Her daughter did not answer but managed a small nod.

Alban rinsed his rag, then switched his attention to wiping down the front wall. “I won’t be leaving just yet, my friends. Leah would want me to make sure the weavers treat you fairly.”

“We will be glad for every hour we have together, and then see you off with grateful hearts.” Abigail gave her daughter another squeeze. “Won’t we, dear one?”

Whatever Dorcas might have been preparing to say was cut short by a youngster who appeared so suddenly in the doorway that Martha gave a little cry of surprise.

The boy was perhaps ten or eleven and blade thin. He gasped out, “I am Yelban’s son. My mother has been stricken. My father says, ‘For the love of the one who guides your steps, please hurry.’ ”

As they quickly emerged from the empty shop, a caravan appeared on the northern horizon. “Phoenicians,” the boy tossed over his shoulder as he ran ahead of them. “Bandits with camels. They will bargain for hours and spend coin like it was their own blood. This way.”

He beckoned them quickly on through the square, now a hive of activity. Youngsters scampered out toward the approaching caravan, many with wares draped over their arms.

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