“The only one remaining was a slave boy who said the doctor made them all leave. I would have thought they would have contacted you.”
The general shook his head, his brows drawn. “I am certain it was Drusus, we knew he was coming. But we received no missive. Did the boy not know where they went?”
“No.” Titus sighed. “And they have not returned. I cannot imagine them simply leaving Abigail unless the situation was dire.”
“I will ask Julia. Perhaps she knows something I do not.”
Titus nodded. “If so, send word. I will be at the Visibullis house with Abigail.”
The general did not question his determination as Menelaus had. He merely nodded in return and went back to his duties. Titus hurried through the rest of his tasks, and when he walked out of the garrison an hour after entering it, it was as a civilian.
But strangely enough, being no longer a part of the military did not make him feel free, as he had anticipated. Instead, he felt a weight of responsibility that he had never before known. It settled over him heavily . . . yet rather than bearing him down, it bolstered him up. He returned to the house of his late friend and decided he would not leave it again until either the child was born or. . . not.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The pain grew steadily worse, but Abigail stopped noticing it. Her eyes, strained and tired, were focused on the window, watching as darkness stole over the land.
A day. It had been a whole day since the pains began, and she had nothing to show for it. No baby, very little progress; her hope was wearing thin.
“Jehovah, please,” she whispered into the empty room–Tabitha and Titus and Samuel were all eating, and she knew they would be back in a matter of moments. Her voice wavered as her heart inclined toward heaven. “I ask you to spare my child. I know he was conceived in sin, and I know your justice demands punishment for that. But please, my Lord, I have lost Jason, Cleopas, I know not where Ester is. I ask your mercy, not for me, but for the men who loved you so much. They deserve for their name to live on.”
A particularly sharp pain gripped her, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Eli!” she called out, then panted. “My God, I beg you. Spare Jason’s child. Take me if you will, but not the babe. Please, not the babe.”
Her words had faded to little more than a breath by the time she finished her plea. She opened weary eyes into the dismal room, then choked on her own air when a shadow fell over her.
He stood tall, almost regal beside the bed, his best clothes hanging on him as she had seen them do so many times. His hair looked clean, his skin glowing in health. And his eyes–his eyes had that ever-soft quality that deepened in love as he looked at her.
“Jason!” She squeaked more than spoke, trembling at the vision.
He sat beside her, and though she could feel the warmth of his body seeping into her legs, the mattress did not sink under his weight. He reached up and brushed a damp, limp lock of hair away from her face. “Faith,” he whispered.
It was the same voice she had heard for the past year, but not. Though nearly silent, the one word echoed through the chamber, resonating in every crevice.
“Jason . . .”
He put a finger over her lips. All she could feel of the touch was a warmth, like the heat of a candle.
“You believe,” Jason said in the same resounding quiet. “It is enough. Your faith will see you through.”
He put his warm hand on her stomach, and it covered the splatter of blood that had fallen there the day before. The same searing cut through her again, the same burning ignited in her blood and traveled through her. She felt the child turning within her, and she cried out at the glorious hurt it caused.
Within seconds, her shout brought footsteps flying down the hall, and a moment later the door sprang opened. All three stopped in the threshold when they saw the man sitting on the bed. She saw their eyes widen.
Jason stood again and smiled first at Abigail, then the others. “Thank you.” He inclined his head in gratitude, and turned to walk away. As Abigail looked on, he glided through the wall and disappeared.
“I believe I am going mad,” Tabitha murmured.
“If so, then we all are.” Titus looked to Abigail, whose gaze was still on the wall through which her husband had gone. “I saw him earlier, too. He led me to Tabitha.”
“A miracle,” the midwife said in awe.
“The babe.” Abigail rested her hand on her stomach. “He shifted.”
That was enough to grab everyone’s attention. Titus took his chair, Tabitha her spot sitting beside Abigail, and the boy climbed up uninvited into Titus’s lap. She half expected the man to push him off again, but he surprised her by smiling at him.
As Tabitha began her probe, her face lit with victory. “It is well now. The labor may still take a while, but the child will be born.”
Joyous tears ran down Abigail’s cheeks as she whispered her gratitude to her God.