Abigail opened up the crude wooden chest that held her personal belongings and fingered the growing stack of items from Jason. Over the past month he had continued to give her gifts, though it was all she could do to acknowledge them. Each piece of jewelry felt like chains of bondage, and the clothing he had slipped to her made her burn in shame. Never had she dressed provocatively, but the garments he asked her to wear for him turned her into a Jezebel. She despised them.
She despised him for giving them to her.
The sound of Andrew’s door told her it was time to stir herself and go serve the evening meal. She stepped out into the hall just as he shut the portal to his room again.
He smiled. No matter the mood she was in, Andrew always smiled at her. And Abigail always smiled back, though it felt incongruous to the pain inside.
“How was your day?” He fell into step beside her as they headed for the kitchen.
“Uneventful.” Abigail sighed and surprised herself by saying, “I miss our lessons, Andrew. It would seem they are over, though, would it not?”
“It would.” He sounded genuinely saddened, though she knew the studies had never been enjoyable for him. The time together, though, had always left them both laughing. Perhaps he missed that as much as she did. “It seems the master has decided our educations are satisfactory.”
“Mm.” Pausing before the entrance to the kitchen, she turned to face Andrew and offered him a sweet smile. “You were a poor pupil, anyway.”
It had been a long while since she had teased him, and the quickness of his grin told her he had noticed the lack and missed it. He tugged on her braid playfully. “Perhaps it was my teacher who was poor.”
For the first time in a month, Abigail entered the kitchen laughing.
As if responding to her mood, dinner conversation was light and easy that evening. It was not until they carried out the sweet pastry for dessert that Cleopas’s expression grew a bit tight and his eyes focused on neither son nor wife, but addressed them both at large.
“I have been giving much thought to what I have heard about this teacher, the Nazarene.”
A silence fell over the table. Abigail focused on Cleopas just as his family did, awaiting what that comment would introduce.
Cleopas cut off a bite of his dessert but did not raise it to his mouth. “The stories are jumbled. But I cannot deny what I have seen. Jairus’s daughter lives again, though she had died. Vetimus’s son walks, though he was lame. I cannot judge of the other tales, but I hear of what he teaches, and I feel a stirring within me.” Now his eyes met Ester’s, then Jason’s. Both mother and son looked away uncomfortably. “I wish to know what he has to say about his place according to the Law,” he said to his wife. “And I wish to know what it means to those of us who are Gentiles,” he said to his son.
As if those two statements transcribed the entire situation into stone, he took the first bite of his pastry. “The next time he is near, we will journey to hear him speak.”
Ester nodded, obviously at a loss, and Jason made no response at all.
Abigail and Andrew left the room, knowing they would not be needed until the end of the meal.
“Does this surprise you?” Andrew asked quietly while Abigail dished up food for the two of them.
Abigail took a moment to collect her thoughts; given what she and Andrew had talked about when Jason first arrived, of the interest Cleopas was showing, she could not say she was truly shocked. But at the same time, she had never expected her master to actually pursue the teachings of this Jesus. It was one thing to listen to the stories, another to take part in them. “I know not what to think.”
“None of us do.” Andrew accepted the plate that she handed him and sat down at the table with a short sigh. “That is why the master wishes to investigate.”
“That is reasonable. And it is consistent with the way he taught us to acquire knowledge; listen, then ask, then investigate.” She attempted a small smile and managed to forget for a moment her own tribulations. “Our master is a wise man. And as you said before, if this man has gotten his interest, I am not one to question it.”
Andrew smiled. It was soft, contemplative, matched the expression in his eyes. She expected him to say more, but he did not.
When the moment grew too long for her comfort, she arched a brow. “What?”
He grinned and tore off a piece of bread. “Nothing, Abigail. I was just thinking how proud I am to call you my friend.”
For several heartbeats she let herself feel the warmth of the compliment before remembering that she did not deserve it.
*