Everybody's Daughter (13 page)

Michael grimaced.

“Did I say something wrong? Are you not with a family?”

Michael shook his head. “For many sunsets I felt I didn’t have much of a family, but after traveling here, I realized how much I truly have. I wish I could join you. It would be an honor to share the holy days with you. But I live so far away. It would be impossible to keep this friendship.”

“I do not understand. You have traveled to my town. Why would you not come back?”

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime trip for me. It’s the only way I can explain it.”

“This saddens me, Michael. You are a good man, a true friend. I hope you can stay long enough to meet my wife.”

I’ve already met your wife. And I’ve fallen in love with her.

“Join us for dinner, my friend. My Leah is a wonderful cook. You will feel welcome.”

“I’m sure I would. I really do have to get back to my family. I have a long journey ahead. I want to make sure I get home to my daughter.”

Yochanan smiled. “How old is your daughter? What is her name?”

“She’s going to be fifteen next month. Her name is Elizabeth.”

“Fifteen?”

“Oh. Right. She has a few more sunsets than the average child.”

“Is she married?”

“No. Not for a while.”

He gave Michael a baffled look. “Our customs are certainly different from yours.”

“I’ll try to visit someday, maybe for the next holy day,” Michael said, trying to fend off any more questions. “I promise. The most important thing is that you return home safely to your wife. Yes, your wife, Yochanan.” His voice trailed off as the emotional reality chewed away at his heart. There would be no life with Leah. No snow-filled evening walks along Main Street. No sharing meals as a family. No holding hands like teenagers. No kisses under a sparkly tree under a moonlit sky.

The only important thing is making sure Yochanan is home with Leah and returning to Elizabeth. I have to be there for my daughter.

They made their way down the hill and proceeded to the city streets, still bustling with shoppers and vendors being observed by Roman soldiers.

“I will buy some fruit for our meal,” Yochanan said. “I owe this to my Leah. We have not shared many dinners lately. She has been so patient and loving with me, allowing me to grieve.”

Michael nodded several times as if the movement of his head would accelerate Yochanan’s pace. It didn’t. Yochanan examined the market place options, picking up some fruit, touching the texture, and placing it back in the basket.

“I test my Leah’s patience when we go shopping. She is quick to choose the food while I am slow.” He winked and Michael half-smiled.

Maybe this isn’t the day. I don’t see any danger right now. Leah was never specific about the day and the time. If it isn’t, then what do I do? Do I stay? Do I tell him about what I know and how I found out? No, that’s crazy. He’ll dismiss me as a nut case. He knows about the dangers here. He’s a strong guy. And my life is in Northport with my daughter.

Yochanan juggled three watermelons in his hands, feeling the weight of each. He exchanged words with the vendor about the prices and placed them down. Nearby, a scuffle broke out between several men a couple of storefronts away, drawing the attention of two Roman soldiers.

“Yochanan, can we leave? I don’t like what’s happening over there.”

“Do not worry. This happens all the time. Fights happen when people shop.” He smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Someone must be looking for a bargain.”

The noise from the fray grew louder as several men pushed and shoved each other. A Roman soldier wielded his spear at the angry people, trying to disperse the mob.

“Ah, a treat my Leah would love,” Yochanan said with joy, ignoring the skirmish. He held up a medium-sized watermelon. “What do you think?”

“Yes, it’s good. Can we go? The fight over there is getting worse.”

A crowd formed a circle around the Roman soldiers who held their spears at their side. Michael heard the muffled cries of children.

“I wonder what happened?” Yochanan asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t like this.”

“We should see why the children are crying.”

Yochanan paid for his watermelon and walked with Michael to the perimeter of the crowd. They peered through several men and women, noticing a few boys and girls weeping, being held by adults.

“Grandpa, you are bleeding,” one cried. “Someone help him.”

Two men knelt beside the injured man, tending to him. He was mumbling, bleeding from the side of his head.

“Saul? What happened?” asked Michael as he fell to the ground to offer aid.

“Grandpa was hit by that man,” yelled a child, the same boy who had tried to help him find Yochanan.

Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw a tall soldier, now with his spear drawn in combat position. “What’s your problem?” he said with some heat. “Why did you have to hit him?”

“He dared to wave his cane at me.”

“He’s harmless. What kind of a sick man are you picking on someone so old who can barely walk?”

“Move away,” shouted a voice as a soldier knifed his way through the crowd on a horse. “Why is this man laying here? Is he drunk? Remove him. Put him in prison.”

“What?” said Michael as he stood.

The soldier pointed his spear in a threatening position.

Michael’s heart pounded.

It was Marcus.

A soldier grabbed Saul by the legs as the children screamed. “Leave my grandpa alone. He is bleeding. Help him.”

Another soldier pulled on Saul’s arm and the old man winced.

“Stop,” Michael shouted, pushing back at the soldier.

A spear stung him on the side of the head, buckling his knees. Marcus swung again. Yochanan defended the assault with his watermelon as red juice and chunks of fruit splattered in every direction.

Marcus sneered. “I see we have two rebels.”

Michael clutched the spear and yanked hard, jerking the soldier off the horse. He fell to the ground, his helmet clanging on the stones.

Three young men picked up Saul and carried him across the street, away from the danger.

The crowd scattered, afraid of retaliation by the Romans.

Marcus was groggy but wasn’t injured. He adjusted his helmet. “You will die for interfering with the Roman mission and authority.”

Michael didn’t have time to rationalize his predicament; he was cornered and acted like a caged animal, swinging the spear wildly to hold off the soldiers.

Yochanan retreated to an alleyway, kicking at the bottom of the wall. He dislodged a piece of concrete and rubbed its edges hard. He took aim and hurled his sharp weapon. The rock struck Marcus, making a loud clanging sound as it ricocheted off the top of his helmet.

Marcus pointed toward Yochanan, who was already several steps down the street, running. “Track him down.”

The soldiers charged after him, prompting Michael to follow, still carrying the Roman’s spear. Marcus retreated to his horse.

“Come back here, rebel. Drop the spear,” he roared.

Yochanan far outpaced the Romans in their heavy armor. He waited several yards away. Michael grew fearful as the heavy footsteps of the horse behind him drew near.

I’m going to have to kill him now. Or he’ll kill me.

Michael stopped, spotted Marcus and waited until he could see his eyes. He threw with all his might. “Take that.”

The spear sailed over the soldier’s head, clattering along a stone road many yards away.

The Roman on the horse backtracked, giving Michael ample time to catch up to the pursuing soldiers chasing Yochanan.

“Run, my friend. Go the other way,” Yochanan shouted.

“No. No. I’ve got to help you.”

Michael picked up a rock not far from the well near Leah’s house and hurled it at a soldier, connecting with the middle of his back.

“Yochanan,” cried a woman from a rooftop. “Yochanan, what is happening?”

Leah?

“Do not stop, my friend,” begged Yochanan.

Michael saw Marcus back on his horse, spear in hand. He watched in horror, knowing what would happen next.

The spear struck Yochanan in the leg, staggering him. As he tried to limp away, a large rock smashed into his forehead. Michael raced toward him.

“Yochanan,” Leah yelled as another soldier barreled toward him.

“Leah, get help,” Michael shouted, fidgeting for his cloth. “I’ll help him.”

A rock struck Michael’s arm. He fell backwards. The cross around his neck dislodged and the cloth flew out of his hand.

Two neighbors dragged Yochanan’s body to the well.

“No. Stop,” Michael shrieked as he retrieved the cloth and waved it. “Bring him back. I can help him.”

The men shouted back in an unfamiliar dialect. They put their hands up to tell him to stay away.

The cross. I’ve got to get it.
He crawled on his knees to pick it up. Leah screamed again. “Yochanan, Yochanan!”

A rock smashed Michael’s knee as he put the cross around his neck. “Oh, God.”

He picked up the cloth and looked around to find Yochanan.

“Michael,” Leah shrieked, “Watch out. The soldiers.”

“Get the rebel,” Marcus roared. “Take him alive. I want to kill him myself.”

Michael ignored the sting in his knee and sprinted for his life back in the direction of the city and tunnel.

This time, he wasn’t sure that he was going to get out of this century alive.

Leah stayed on guard all evening, occasionally staring out the window. Relieved when Elizabeth fell into a deep slumber, she eavesdropped on the late-night noises.

I must get Elizabeth back home soon. She must not wait for her father. I will insist she leave. She has no choice.

Then her thoughts drifted to Michael.

What has happened to you? Are you hurt? Are you lost? Did Marcus capture you? No. I must stop thinking this way.

She prayed that Michael wouldn’t show up at her house. She knew that if Marcus returned he would kill him.

Leah agonized in silence, not wanting to disturb Elizabeth but also worrying about the danger lurking over her own family. She needed to remain strong so that her brothers and their families could live peacefully. The long, torturous past was only relieved by those few precious moments with Michael and her quiet time in the garden, praying. When Marcus was not around, she drew strength from the Temple, meditating toward the goal of finding salvation and redemption. But the threat of an encounter with the soldier’s rage destroyed any long period of joy.

Elizabeth stirred, interrupting her thoughts. “Rest, my daughter,” she whispered.

Leah climbed down the ladder holding a blood-stained bedroll. She grabbed an empty jug and carried it into the courtyard.

Before going to the well, she took a small shovel and dug a hole about a foot wide and long. She carefully placed the remains in it, quickly covered the hole with dirt, and said a prayer.

She paused for a moment and listened. The sky was black, the air crisp, and the neighborhood was quiet.

She hoisted the jug and took the final few steps to the well. The creaking of the swinging bucket alarmed her so she only filled it halfway. She cupped her hands and splashed water first on her face and washed the bottom of her garment, trying to dull the red stain.

She retreated a few steps from the well.

A hand clutched her shoulder roughly. “Why are you out here at this time?” Marcus demanded.

Frightened, she backed away. “Oh, it’s you. I needed some water.”

He slapped her across the face. “Do not lie to me.”

She shielded her face from the next blow. “I am not lying.” Leah handed him some water and watched Marcus spill most of it on his face and armor.

He glared at her. “Do you have any wine?”

“I am sorry but I do not have any,” she lied, knowing wine fed his belligerence.

He whacked her so hard her ears rang from the blow. “Why?” He raised his hand, ready to strike her once more but she managed to stumble away. “Come back here,” he yelled, slurring his words.

She stopped, thinking quickly. “Please, Marcus. You have been drinking. Go back to the prison and stay there so the neighbors will not report you.”

“Who is going to report me?”

“I do not know. I do not want you to get in trouble.”

Marcus let out a sinister laugh. “It is odd that you are suddenly so concerned about me.”

He staggered a few steps toward her and fell down. He lay there for several moments before she went over to see if he was hurt. He didn’t move.

She left the jug near the well and ran.

“Where are you going?” said Marcus, rising to his knees. “Help me.”

Leah grimaced and turned back. She helped him to his feet, hoping he would fall again and hurt himself. But he leaned on her heavily and she had no choice but to half-carry, half-drag him back to the house.

He crashed down on a chair in the kitchen. “Make me something to eat. I am hungry.”

With Elizabeth upstairs, Leah was more than happy to keep Marcus occupied downstairs by feeding him. She grabbed several pieces of bread, poured some porridge into a pot, and started the fire. He removed his helmet and his face mashed into the table.

Leah watched him carefully out of the corner of her eye.
I could hit him with something.
But many of the cups and plates were upstairs.

The lamb’s occasional braying interrupted Marcus’ grunts.

“I am going to kill that animal,” he said, then thumped his head down again. “When will you have the food ready?”

“Soon, Marcus. The fire is going.”

A short search of her bedroom for a weapon yielded nothing that could deliver a sufficient blow. She heard movement upstairs and ran up the ladder, only her head visible to Elizabeth. “Quiet,” she whispered. “Marcus is downstairs. Do not move. I will let you know when it is safe.” A hand touched her leg and she jumped. “Oh.”

“What are you doing?”

“I am looking for another cup for some water, Marcus. I will be right down. Go back down.”

“Hurry.”

Elizabeth grabbed a mug and handed it to her. Leah tripped descending the ladder, almost dropping it. “You see, I found one.”

He pounded a fist on the table. “Bring me my food. Now.”

She returned to the fire where the porridge was almost ready. “I shall be right back. I left the jug outside.” She placed her hands on his head, pushing it down on the table. “Rest.”

Leah ran outside, picked up the jug and returned inside within minutes.

Marcus sat straight for a second or two and then wobbled.

“Here’s a cup of water,” she said. “The food is done.” She spooned a big portion into a bowl and stayed near the ladder. When she looked up, Elizabeth’s worried face stared back. “Go back,” she mouthed quietly.

“I want more,” Marcus commanded.

Leah obliged. “Are you going back to the prison now?”

“No.”

“Are you going to travel and see any friends?” she asked.

“Why are you so interested in what I will be doing?”

“I need to know what I have to pick up at the market tomorrow for dinner.”

“We can go to the market together.” The ugly twist of his mouth told her he was suspicious. “You are not thinking about leaving?”

“No.”

“Good. Because you know what will happen if you do.”

“I do.”

Marcus finished the last of the porridge and held out his cup for more water.

Leah filled it and the soldier stretched his arms and belched. “I think we will stay together tonight. I need a woman.”

Her stomach lurched. She could see Elizabeth’s disgusted face at the top of the ladder, peeking down. “Go to the roof,” she mouthed.

Marcus spun around. “What did you say?”

“Let us stay down here for the night since you are so tired.”

“We always stay down here.”

“Oh yes, my mistake.”

“You seem more nervous than usual.”

“I am. You scared me at the well.”

“Come join me when you are done cleaning up.”

He retreated to the bedroom and took his armor off and lay on a bedroll.

Leah picked up the cup and bowl and left them on the table. She glanced up at the second floor.

Elizabeth’s frightened eyes stayed glued to the kitchen area. “What should I do?” she said in a hushed tone.

Leah motioned to her to retreat and whispered, “Go to the roof.”