The Greatest Gift

by Michael John Sullivan

  Thump.

  He peeked in the hole and saw her mouth, tied with a cloth. He stood again and shoved the top cart with his shoulder.

  “Sir, what are you doing?” asked one of the workers.

  “Oh, I am just putting these carts back. They must have slid off each other during the journey.”

  “Let me help you,” he said, as he pushed the top one. The worker stopped and wiped his hands. “They are wet.” He turned to Michael. “Help me.”

  “Oh, right, sorry,” Michael said.

  They both shoved the box back on top. “There, we did it,” he said with a smile.

  “Yes, we did,” Michael replied. He waved to the worker. Once gone, he slammed the top cart with his fist. He dropped to his knees, bent over and spoke into the hole. “Stay calm, Elizabeth. At least I know where you are. I need some time to think of a way to get you out of there without anybody noticing.”

  He left the carts and approached Augustus. “How long before we reach Caesarea?”

  “Not much longer. Look,” Augustus said. He pointed to the horizon where some light had emerged at the lower portion of the sky.

  “Your eyes are better than mine,” Michael said. “I am having a hard time seeing that far.”

  “You must be old,” he said, laughing.

  Michael paused a moment. “Blurry eyes. Another name for it.” He leaned closer to Augustus as they stood by the railing. “I have a problem and I – ”

  “What might the problem be?” asked Alexander.

  Michael turned and saw him emerge from the stairway, holding his spear.

  “How can we help you?” Alexander asked, taking a few more steps forward.

  “I was getting ready to ask Augustus how long before we reach land.”

  Augustus gave him a confused look. “Soon. I said this.”

  “You have your answer, my friend,” Alexander said. “You should get some rest below. You have a long journey home.”

  “He is not going home. He is going back to Rome to find his daughter,” Augustus said. “Did you not know his daughter went with the prisoner on the safety boat?”

  “No. I did not know that,” Alexander said, lying. “How fortunate it was for her to be on that boat. Or was it with that storm approaching?”

  Augustus glared. “You need not remind a father about the hazards of our journey. You should do your best to help him.”

  “You are right,” said Alexander. “I will do my best.”

  Augustus smiled and looked at Michael. “Let him help you.”

  Michael pushed Alexander away, who lifted his spear to his chest. “Whatever help I get will be met with a grateful heart.”

  Alexander laughed. “Let us hope there is more than that.” He withdrew and headed to the far end of the ship where the long carts lay. Michael faced the sea and watched from the corner of his eye as Alexander inspected the area. He looked away and began chatting with Augustus, very aware that Alexander was staring at him.

  “What a journey, Augustus. Was this the worst one you have been on?”

  Augustus’ face lit up. “Why no. Let me tell you about my first trip to Rome. You thought the last storm was terrible? The first one I was on makes this last one look like a small rainstorm.”

  Michael saw his mouth move yet never heard the words. He was too busy watching Alexander move the carts around with two other Roman soldiers. “Augustus, what is in those long boxes?”

  “Huh? Oh. At the end of the deck?”

  “Yes, where Alexander is right now.”

  Augustus lowered his head. “The bodies of three of my workers. They died from illness two sunsets ago.”

  “Oh,” Michael said. “I am sorry.”

  “They were good men.”

  “What do they do with the boxes?”

  “The Romans will take them and give the bodies to the leaders of the cities where they lived.”

  “What cities are they being taken to?”

  “Jerusalem. The three men were skilled fishermen. They had children.”

  Augustus lifted his head and left the railing. Michael turned around and saw Alexander sitting on a small cart next to the coffins.

  “Julius,” Michael said as he saw him pass.

  “Yes,” he said, stopping. “Do you have enough food and drink? It will not be long before we reach land.”

  “I have enough. I do not know how to tell you this,” Michael said with a concerned look. “Can we talk away from the guards?”

  Julius guided him down the stairs to the lower deck. “What is wrong?”

  Michael hesitated and took him a few more feet away from a soldier who was sleeping. “What I am about to say could risk my daughter and her safety.”

  “We are fine here. The soldier cannot hear us. Tell me, why is your daughter in trouble? She left some time ago. You will be able to go back once we reach land. It may take a while.”

  “No. Alexander has imprisoned my daughter.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “She is in one of those carts or boxes or coffins up on deck. Check them. Now!”

  “What carts or boxes are you talking about?”

  “At the far end of the boat upstairs. You have to believe me.”

  “The coffins?”

  Michael glared. “Yes.”

  “Augustus said he lost three men,” Julius said. “There are three carts. You must be mistaken.”

  Julius took a few steps toward the stairway and shook his head. “I saw your daughter get on the boat with the prisoner.”

  “She did,” Michael said, grabbing his arm, “but while Titus was here trying to take me, Alexander had her returned.”

  Julius removed Michael’s hand from his arm. “This is a hard story to believe.”

  “Go and look inside those carts.”

  “Coffins … ”

  “Okay, coffins. Look in them!” Michael grew agitated.

  Julius climbed a few more steps and looked back. “I cannot. Those coffins are resting places for men. Men with families and children.”

  “Please,” Michael pleaded.

  “The Roman soldiers are responsible for this journey and the dead. We would be violating Roman law. I am powerless over the rules.”

  Michael moved forward. “Do you have a daughter?”

  “I do,” said Julius, stopping on the stairs.

  “What would you do if you knew your daughter was imprisoned?”

  Julius kept his back to him. He waited several seconds before speaking. “I will try and look when we reach shore, if we are alone,” he said. “I cannot promise any more than this.”

  “She is in one of those coffins. I saw her.”

  “Let us hope you are right,” Julius said as he climbed back to the deck. “If not, we could both lose our lives.”

  Chapter 60

  Modern-Day Long Island

  Jim Stewart settled back in his new cushioned rocking chair, TV remote in one hand, his evening juice in the other. He stared at the blinking screen as he zipped through several channels.

  Figures. Nothing on tonight. No one around. I hate Christmas. A travesty – the gifts, the phoniness of everyone being nice to each other.

  He leaned forward and pushed hard on the remote. Great. Is the battery going? What a stupid device. Jim took a deep breath and winced. What is that awful smell? He looked to his right and noticed the dried up tree in the corner. An unused metal stand lay nearby while a pile of boxes were stacked against a corner chair.

  I should dump that piece of garbage. Connie knows I won’t put it up or decorate it. Where has she been anyway? I’d better toss this tree outside before the whole house has that stench.

  He placed his drink on the end table and stood for a brief moment. His head spun around, and his vision blu
rred. He fell back into his rocker.

  He tried again, gripped the arm of the chair and got up. He walked forward to the TV and held on, taking a few short breaths. He rubbed his eyes to clear them and walked toward the tree before stumbling. He tripped and the tree landed on him as he fell to the floor.

  Jim pushed the tree off and examined his hands. He pulled a few pine needles out of his arm and swore under his breath.

  Blood trickled down his hand as he rolled the tree over. He grabbed onto the edge of the couch to lift himself up. He wiped the debris off his sweatshirt and pants, tucked in his shirt and took a deep breath.

  He wiggled his toes and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bottle. “Who says flying doesn’t have its benefits?” he said, waving the bottle in the air. He opened it, took a sip and rested for a minute. After he emptied it with another gulp, he reached down and grabbed the top of the tree, dragging it. He squeezed it past the screen door and tossed it down the front steps, watching it tumble onto the snow-coated sidewalk.

  He slapped his hands together and steadied himself on the wooden railing as he turned around, taking his time on the slippery ground.

  He managed to reclaim his chair and proceeded to settle on watching the movie, It’s a Wonderful Life. He poured another glass of whiskey and sipped it while waiting for the commercials to end. Growing impatient, he pressed the button on the answering machine next to him.“There are no new messages,” said the robotic voice.

  He poured more whiskey into his glass, drinking and remembering his dead wife. Christmas is not the same anymore, Becca. How many years has it been since God took you away from me? I’ve forgotten. Seems like yesterday. I’m sitting here alone on Christmas Eve. How about that? Did you ever think we’d raise such ungrateful kids after everything we gave them?

  “Everything,” he said out loud, taking a big gulp of whiskey. The alcohol dripped down his chin before he slurped it up with his tongue. He wiped his face with his sleeve.

  Michael is the most ungrateful one of them all. Walking away from his home and church after his daughter disappears. What kind of a father runs away when his family needs him most? A coward. He must be guilty. A guilty man runs. I know if that happened to Connie, Becca, I’d be busting down every door in town and kicking every sleazeball until I found her.

  He nibbled on crackers and clicked the television off. “Yeah, what a son I’ve got. Not like me. Nope. Not like me at all.” Jim laughed and poured the remaining portion of the bottle into a taller glass.

  He rocked back and forth, sipping and staring at the blank TV screen, examining his reflection.

  “The hell with him,” he said, flipping up the footrest. He grabbed the phone from its holder, dialed and waited for his daughter to pick up. Her answering machine clicked on.

  “Connie, where are you? It’s Dad. You remember me, don’t you?” He paused and then decided to wait for the instructions to delete the message and start over.

  “How’s my wonderful daughter doing on Christmas Day, um, Christmas Eve? Where in God’s name are you? I haven’t heard from you in over two weeks. Are you busy at work? Is there a new man in your life? Your dad is sitting here once again.” He paused. “Alone.” Jim sighed. “Again.”

  He hung up and lowered his head, fidgeting with his wedding ring. “You’re the only one for me, Becca. I’m faithful. Always.”

  He rocked back and forth. I thought we would grow old together. Why did you have to leave me? You knew I couldn’t handle the kids alone. Why did you have to die so young? We had many more good years to live. “Why?” he asked out loud again. He shook his head. “Why? Can someone out there tell me why?”

  Jim leaned his head to the right, numb from too much whiskey. He squinted and blinked several times to clear his vision. He noticed a box-shaped object lying near the tree stand. Wondering what it was, he staggered over to the box and picked it up. He returned to his chair and took another quick sip from his glass. Putting it down, he reached inside the box and chose an ornament. The face of the ornament contained the picture of a bride and groom holding hands. Rebecca and Jim’s First Christmas.

  His hands trembled as he held it. He grimaced and squeezed the round ornament in his hands. It broke into several pieces falling on his lap. He swatted the remains to the floor and stared. A tear dropped from his right eye, sliding down his cheek and onto his top lip. “No. What have I done?” he said, falling to the floor.

  Jim pushed the pieces into a pile and carefully placed them on a napkin. After removing a plastic bottle from the cabinet drawer, he sat on the floor and attempted to mend the old ornament. He only managed to connect four pieces before it broke again. He stood and rolled the napkin into a ball and threw it against the wall.

  “Oh no. What have I done again?” he shouted. He fell to his knees and crawled to the napkin. He smelled it and leaned his head against the wall. “Why did she have to die that way?”

  He emptied the napkin, dropped the pieces to the floor and wiped his face. He closed his eyes and lay against the wall for several minutes. His mind wandered to another place and time, but he was unsure where he was. Ring. Ring. Connie? Could that be her? I knew she’d call. She’s the grateful child. Jim rushed to the phone and grabbed it from the holder. He looked at the screen. Who is this? He waited until the answering machine came on. No one left a message. He slammed the phone into the holder. “Ungrateful children,” he shouted.

  Jim fell back into his chair, picked up his glass and resumed his drinking. When he had finished the remains of the whiskey, he wondered, Now what? He looked inside the box again and noticed an ornament shaped like a baseball. The inscription read, “Our first baseball game. Mets-Cubs, August 1969.”

  “What happened?” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “I gave you everything, Michael. Everything.”

  Jim put the ornament back into the box. He picked up the telephone again and pressed several buttons. “I didn’t think you would pick up, Michael, but that isn’t going to stop me from calling you. This is your father speaking. Where have you been? Do you know there are a lot of people wondering where you’ve gone? I’ve had the police and FBI over here asking about you. Do you know how embarrassing this is to me? The neighbors are talking.”

  He struggled for the next words. “It’s time for some tough love, Michael. You get your butt back here and start looking for your daughter or I’ll find you and ring your neck. Don’t make me come after you. You remember the night you called me to announce your engagement? Do you remember what I said to you that night? I said you needed to straighten yourself out.”

  Jim fingered his empty glass and placed it on the side table. “Well, I’m saying it again. Get yourself straightened out. Enough of your pity party. It’s time you act like a man. I don’t care if you hate me. It’s what parents say to their kids.” He paused for a second. “Call me. I love you.”

  Jim put the phone back in the holder and went to the cabinet in the kitchen. He leaned down and opened the little door. “There you are,” he said, pushing bottles around. He held one up to the light and smiled. “I hate to open you up now, my friend,” he said, “but what are friends for?”

  Chapter 61

  First-century Jerusalem

  The booming voice of Augustus yelling out instructions kept the adrenaline pumping through Michael’s body. His eyes stung from the spray of saltwater crashing aboard.

  “My friend, you should go below,” Augustus said. “You have another long journey ahead of you.”

  “I cannot sleep.”

  “I understand. I have a daughter myself. She always asks me before each journey why I have to leave. I try to stay strong when I tell her I need to make a living. I miss her.”

  Michael stood and rubbed his eyes. He squinted and looked to the far end of the boat. Alexander was gone, but three other soldiers milled around the coffins. He got lost in thought, star
ing at the area.

  He had no plan. He knew he needed to get help from someone who knew how to talk to the Roman soldiers. However, he had no idea whom to trust. There was something about Julius that made him cautious. He seemed like a nice person, but on the other hand he was just like the soldiers. His only concern was silver and how to get more.

  Michael heard Augustus say something, but the words were muffled as he trended deeper into thought. He considered talking to Augustus, wondering if he might be his only hope. He seemed like a noble man, a family man – someone who would understand what was at stake. Maybe he could convince the soldiers there was a better bargain to be had. Then again, they all understood silver. Perhaps Augustus would give him a loan. He could work it off on the next journey.

  He turned to say something to Augustus. “I have to tell you.” He stopped. Augustus was gone. Michael glanced around and was surprised to see that no men were rowing.

  Michael went below and saw the area was vacant. “Hello? Is anyone down here? Julius?” He walked from one wall to the next, pushing away boxes, carts and armor. Strange. I guess I should take advantage of everyone being gone. I can stockpile some food before we hit shore. I may not get this chance again.

  He tugged and pulled at the top of a cart. It wouldn’t budge. He picked up a stray spear. Odd. A Roman soldier would never leave behind such a weapon. He thrust the sharp part of the weapon into the top of the box. It splintered open about a foot wide and long.

  Michael dropped the spear to the floor, stuck his hand inside and wiggled his fingers around. “What is this?” It felt like an old, grubby cloth, much like a Brillo pad back home. He pulled it out and in the dim light, he could see it was light brown and folded over several times.

  He unfolded it and stared. Michael snatched a lantern sitting on the floor nearby and held it over the cloth. “Looks like someone’s face.”

  He lowered his head, holding the lamp over the cloth. He stared again, feeling the texture of the picture. Does not feel like any ink from this time. No wax on it. Cannot be a tablet like the one I wrote on before for Paul. Michael moved the lantern closer to the picture and stood up. “Whoa,” he said. “Is this … ”