He stood there, stunned, but before he could say anything more, she had disappeared into the crowd. He scanned the sea of faces quickly for any sign of the strange woman but could find none.
He was jarred by the blare of a trumpet in the distance. He knew instantly that something was about to happen as the many men, women, and children stirred.
The sound of pounding hooves from an oncoming cavalry echoed from the west, prompting several in the crowd to hiss and recoil. Michael panicked and moved with them in the opposite direction, to the east, darting in and out of the crowd.
Suddenly, the buildings began to look familiar and Michael realized that he was close to where he believed the tunnel to be.
There it is!
As he hurried across the street, he wondered if he should go back and get Elizabeth or find help in Northport. But as he neared the sewer grate, people in the street surged forward against him.
The crowd grew suddenly, impairing any attempt he made to move, like standing in the path of a mass of people swelling off a subway car during rush hour. They pushed up against Michael as he tried to turn and look back to see the source of the commotion.
His view of the street was entirely obstructed. After trying in vain, he glanced around behind him until he found a discarded basket. He grabbed at it before anyone could unintentionally crush it and placed it beneath him. Standing now half a foot higher, he made out a man riding a donkey from the east. Michael could see bands of people, eight or nine at a time, dropping and bowing in front of the man, who sat motionless as he passed between them.
Shouts of “Messiah” came from the excited crowd. Michael froze, watching the back of the man’s head as he traveled farther away. What is this?
As the man made his way up the street, a group of soldiers moved toward the procession. They swatted several people with the backs of their spears, knocking a child and a woman down. Despite the violence, the crowd rose up, blocking their path.
“Is that him? It can’t be . . .,” Michael murmured, his gaze fixed on the scene before him.
Turning to his left, he could see the bank of sewer grates just thirty yards away, and yet, Michael found himself running toward the man on the donkey. Throngs of people were behind him as he made his way down the street. Michael weaved in and out of the crowd. He could see clearly now that many were placing palms in the man’s path.
Michael was moving farther and farther away from the tunnel and closer to a group of soldiers. But the excitement of the crowd engulfed him, overshadowing his fear.
“Jesus?” The word sprang to his lips, surprising him. It was as if some part of his being could make sense of this chaos before his mind could rationalize the reason. Somehow he knew this was Palm Sunday, described so precisely, yet inadequately, in the Bible. Now that he was experiencing this moment, he knew that the Bible didn’t do justice to the powerful, raw emotion of the crowds. He finally understood the act itself: Jesus’ nonconfrontational response to the devastating show of force from the Romans, parading with their endless supply of gilded military might, in step with the drumbeat from the west. It began to dawn on Michael in a way that he had never fully understood how this moment truly defined Jesus’ amazing character. He was so human and yet so divine in the same breath. It swept over him like a cresting wave. Before he knew it, he, too, was yelling, nearly screaming to get his voice heard above the roar of the crowd. “Jesus! Can you help me? Is Vicki okay?”
Michael found himself pushing harder between those around him. He was now within only a few yards of Jesus’ humble advance.
“Halt,” yelled a disconnected voice from farther down the line.
“There he is, the one who ran from me before,” Marcus bellowed. Michael reeled around, recognizing the voice of the malicious Roman soldier. He was only a few yards away.
“Help me, Jesus,” Michael yelled, turning away from Marcus in terror.
“I will find her!” shouted Marcus, his advance clearing a wide path through the masses. “Grab him!”
Michael opened his eyes, seeing Jerusalem swirling around him. He looked down at his hand, where the piece of Elizabeth’s T-shirt was cradled. In a moment of bravery, he sprinted wildly across the street, crudely tying the cloth to the sewer grate. Not wanting to leave, but feeling exulted that he had at least left a marker for his return, he scurried back across the street and in the opposite direction of the procession. He moved swiftly, but randomly, without any purpose or knowledge of direction.
And he didn’t look back.
Leah glanced over, noticing how the ladder was casting a long shadow on the floor. It was getting dark and still he had not returned. They had never eaten lunch, certain that they should wait for him. But soon the sun would set. She must feed the girl and find some way to calm her.
“Elizabeth,” she called out into the courtyard, “we’ll set up an early dinner so that we’ll be ready when your father returns.”
Elizabeth turned around, looking over at her from where she had been sitting under the fig tree. “It’s dinnertime already? Where is he? We should have stayed there until we found him. We have to go back and try again.”
“I know. But it’s not safe for you to go out alone. You saw how the soldiers treat us.”
“Then come with me,” Elizabeth said sharply as she walked into the house. “I won’t be alone then.”
Leah smiled, remembering how independent she was at Elizabeth’s age. “Your father may think you are just a girl, but in many ways you are a woman.”
“Then you will go with me?”
“No,” Leah said, wondering where he could be.
“Could he have been at the same parade we were at?”
“I don’t know. But if he was, it’s over by now.” Leah paused. “Your father feared for you and asked that we stay here. If he found out I let you go to town to find him, he’ll be very upset.”
“Why would you listen to him?” asked Elizabeth, trying to work every angle she knew. “You don’t even know him.”
“I don’t know you. . . but I do care about your safety.”
Elizabeth stood quietly against the wall while Leah began preparing food for dinner. She offered Elizabeth a drink of water. She accepted, turning back to go into the courtyard.
“Would you like to bring the lamb as company for you?”
“What? I guess so . . .”
Leah moved past Elizabeth, opening the gate to the lamb’s corral. She handed Elizabeth a basket of grain. “The lamb is probably hungry. Can you feed her? I need her to eat as much as possible.”
“Why?”
“I’m preparing the lamb for sacrifice. The Passover is coming this week, and I’m offering her up for the feast.”
Elizabeth was horrified. “You want me to help fatten up the animal so you can kill and eat it? I can’t do that.”
Leah put her arm around Elizabeth. “I know you can. Please take care of the lamb while I finish dinner.”
Holding the basket, Elizabeth reluctantly lured the lamb out to where she had been sitting before under the fig tree. Here she could see the gate to the road. She sat looking out to the road feeling apprehensive that her father was lost and would not know the house when he passed it. Maybe I should go now ? He could be waiting for me near the tunnel. What if he’s been caught? Then what will I do?
Elizabeth stared a few more moments until the lamb’s cries disrupted her thoughts. She turned and faced the lamb, extending her palms. The lamb nibbled away at the grains in Elizabeth’s hands while she whispered secretly to it, “Do you know where my dad is? He’s been away so long.”
The lamb nuzzled up against her, its soft wool brushing against her arm.
“Oh, you’re so soft,” she said, watching the gate for any movement. Elizabeth placed her head on the lamb’s back, rubbing the animal affectionately.