A Stray Drop of Blood (A Stray Drop of Blood #1)
Roseanna M. White
To my husband, David.
You’re my heart, my love, and my inspiration.
Chapter One
Abigail’s tears were unneeded. Mourners enough had been hired by her mother’s husband, and their loud keening drowned out her grief. She risked a glance at Silas, who stood with an appropriately sorrowful expression in the corner. Her mother’s husband, but not her father. Her father was dead. Mother too. And this family would never be her own.
“Abigail.”
She turned to the doorway, where Rebekka, Silas’s first wife, beckoned. Abigail darted one last look at the body laid out on the table, but her mother could offer her no protection now. She left the room, following Rebekka’s voice down the hall. “She is eight years old. Very strong–she gets that from her father. But beautiful, as her mother was.”
Even at eight years old, Abigail recognized the jealousy in Rebekka’s tone at the mention of Mother’s beauty. She stepped into the room, felt her head go light when she saw the man within.
A Roman soldier.
Rebekka motioned her forward, and though she wanted to remain rooted in place, she dared not. One step, another, and she was under the Roman’s full perusal. Deafening silence pounded her until the man nodded and reached to the money purse on his belt. Her fingers clenched, her breath caught, her eyes ceased blinking. If possible, she would have stopped her heart from beating.
Had it come to this? First her father’s death, then her mother’s, and now she was to be slave to a Roman dog?
The man drew out several coins, but as he handed them to Rebekka, he offered Abigail a smile. And she knew. She knew that she would have more of a home with this Roman than with these people she could never call family.
Something inside shifted, making her shoulders edge back. That place from where tears sprang went cool, ran dry. An image of a cracked, parched streambed flitted before her eyes. That was what she would be. Hard and empty. If her own people would sell her to their oppressors, then so be it. She would be a humble slave. No more whimsy, no more dreams.
It was obviously what God intended.
“Does she speak Greek?” The man’s gaze stayed on Abigail, though his words were aimed at Rebekka.
“Of course. She is a bright girl, able to obey any command.”
He nodded, offered that smile to Abigail again. Strange . . . it was younger than his dignified years suggested, not unlike those of the boys who ran the streets. And kinder than any Roman’s smile had a right to be. “What is your name, little one?”
“Abigail.” Her voice sounded flat to her own ears. Barely more than a breath.
He crouched down, much like her father had once done when he wanted to speak to her. “Well, Abigail, you are to be my wife’s helper. She is a Hebrewess and wishes for a young girl to teach and keep her company. You will enjoy spending your days by her side.”
Enjoyment? Perhaps Roman masters could speak of such a thing, but Abigail had long ago given up on it. Ever since Father’s death, there had been no joy to be had.
Her eyes sought the ground and stayed there as she followed him out into the early-morning bustle of Jerusalem. With every step that took her farther away from all that she knew, her heart grew heavier. Only God knew what her future held now, and he had never shown her any favor.
But he would not forsake her, no matter how much she may wish it. Mother had died a loyal child of Jehovah, and Abigail knew no better end awaited her. The Lord would not relinquish her. Even if the Roman had not come, she still would have been a slave to him.
*
Cleopas Visibullis glanced at the waif that trailed behind him and fought back the urge to scoop her up and carry her the remaining distance to his home. Ester would take one look at her and admit her into her heart as a daughter. The thought made him smile. He had known when she begged him to go see about the girl for sale that if he brought her home, it would be as a slave only in the loosest sense.
But with Jason bound for Rome this afternoon, his wife would need the distraction. A companion. The impending departure not only erased his smile, it brought a pounding in his head. In some ways, he knew Rome would do his impetuous son good. But in others . . . would he even recognize him if or when he returned?