Wings of Refuge

by Lynn Austin

  “They told me that he was some sort of secret agent for the government.”

  “A spy, yes.” She emphasized the word dramatically, but her eyes smiled as she said it. “Though you would never meet a more unlikely candidate for the job—sweet, gentle Ben. I suppose that’s what made him so good at what he did. People expect a spy to resemble a suave James Bond, not a jolly grandfather.”

  “Was that the reason someone killed him? Was it some sort of spy drama? Who would do a thing like that . . . Palestinian terrorists?”

  Hannah leaned against the bench and sighed. The sound of it seemed to blend with the sighing of the sea. “Not necessarily. It could just as easily have been our fellow Israelis—one of the many factions that doesn’t want to negotiate with the Palestinians. Ben was very involved with the peace process these past few years. He often told me he was willing to risk his life so that future generations could live in peace. He wanted to bring an end to the hatred and the endless cycle of revenge. Blood feuds are a terrible practice that go back for centuries, even millennia . . . you killed my brother for killing your father, so now I’ll retaliate by killing your son . . . on and on until no one even remembers who started it in the first place.”

  “But wouldn’t Mr. Rosen’s family want to see his murderer caught and punished?”

  “Of course, but justice should be accomplished through our court system, not through blood feuds. In ancient times, after Joshua conquered the Promised Land, his first act of government was to establish cities of refuge—safe places where the accused could seek justice and halt the vicious cycle of retaliation. Thousands of years later, we’ve seen the miraculous rebirth of our nation, yet the cycle of revenge continues.”

  Abby felt an ember of hatred flicker to life in her own heart, as if Hannah’s words had fanned a smoldering coal. She knew how it felt to wish for revenge.

  “In any event,” Hannah continued, “though we mourn for Ben, we also know that the Almighty has a plan and a purpose for everything that happens.”

  “Even for adultery . . . and betrayal?” The words flew from Abby’s mouth before she had a chance to stop them. Hannah’s dark eyes studied her for a moment. Abby felt as though they were gently searching her heart, probing it as a physician might examine a patient for pain.

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” Abby stammered. “I didn’t mean to say that. . . .”

  “It’s all right. I think you needed to say it.” Hannah reached for her hand again. “What do you hope to gain from this trip, Abby? Why did you come to Israel?”

  “Well, the easy answer is that I’m a history teacher. I love ancient history, love reading about archaeology. So when I saw the list of dig opportunities and the call for volunteers, I jumped at the chance to fulfill a dream.”

  “But there’s something more, isn’t there?”

  Abby paused, staring into her lap. It didn’t feel at all strange to unburden herself to a woman she had just met. It felt safe, in fact—as if she had fled to one of the cities of refuge Hannah had mentioned. “Yes. I’m also running away, escaping the pain of my failed marriage . . . the humiliation, the emptiness of what used to be our home.”

  “You’ve fled to a good place, then,” Hannah said. “Isaiah wrote that this land would be a refuge and a hiding place from the storm.”

  Abby looked up at her again. “I understand that thirst for revenge you spoke about, Hannah. I’ve been angry . . . so angry it scares me. I want to hurt my husband as much as he hurt me. Maybe more. I want to get even, strike back at the other woman.” She paused, surprised at the vehemence of her feelings as she voiced them aloud for the first time. “I guess I came here to sort through all those emotions. And I also need to decide what to do about my future. Before I left home I applied for a teaching job near Chicago, thinking I might start all over in a new place this fall. I tried to resign, but my superintendent asked me to wait and see how I felt when I got back from Israel. Either way, I’ll probably sell our house. My two children will both be in college this fall, and I can’t afford it on my salary. Besides, there are too many memories in that house.”

  Abby closed her eyes, remembering against her will the hours of hard work she and Mark had spent together on that old farmhouse—sanding floors, tearing out plaster and lath walls, their hair white with dust. She couldn’t live alone in their house. But what about the handprints Greg and Emily had made in the wet cement on the front porch steps? How could she ever leave those behind?

  “Sorry,” Abby said after a moment. “I didn’t mean to dump all my garbage in your lap.”

  “I don’t mind. You helped me tonight by letting me talk about Ben. When we’re carrying a heavy load, it helps to set it down now and then. Or better still, to share it with a friend.”

  “I sensed that you were safe. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone else about my marriage. It wasn’t fair to unload on my kids, and most of my friends are also Mark’s friends. I’m too ashamed to talk about it at work.”

  “Why? You’re not the one who committed adultery, I assume.”

  “No, but people think there must be something wrong with a woman who can’t keep her husband. And I can’t talk to my parents, either. They think it’s scandalous for Christians to have marriage problems. They would probably say it’s my punishment for straying from the church.”

  “Is that what you think, too? That God is punishing you?”

  “Maybe . . . deep down. I used to be very involved in church activities—like my daughter, Emily, is now. When all this happened with Mark, I realized that something was lacking in my life. So I decided to use this trip to try to . . . re-discover my faith.”

  “An excellent plan. Jesus said, ‘Come to me and I will give you rest.’”

  Abby stared. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but aren’t you Jewish?”

  “Yes.”

  “But . . . you just quoted Jesus.”

  “I’m a Jewish believer in Yeshua—Jesus, the Messiah promised in the Jewish Scriptures,” Hannah said. “I know that verse firsthand because I also had to suffer pain and loss before I found rest in Christ. I hope there will be an opportunity to share my own spiritual journey with you before this summer is over, but tonight it is late. And I think we are both exhausted from all that has happened today.”

  Hannah turned and groped beside the bench, retrieving two orthopedic canes fitted with arm braces. She pulled herself to her feet, and as her caftan billowed in the breeze, Abby saw that from the knee down a prosthesis replaced Hannah’s right leg.

  “Walking on this beach must be difficult for you,” Abby said as they began the slow, limping trek through the deep sand to the hotel stairs. “May I help you, Hannah?”

  “Yes, thank you, dear.”

  Abby wrapped her arm around Hannah’s waist, supporting her, steadying her.

  “This leg of mine is a nuisance, that’s for sure,” Hannah said. “But I’ve learned not to be afraid to accept help. It always draws me closer to the one who is offering it. See how we’re holding on to each other? I hope you won’t be afraid to let me help you with your struggles, Abby.”

  “You’ll have to teach me how to lean on someone. I’ve had to get used to being independent since Mark left.”

  “I was pretty independent, too,” Hannah said. “But in my line of work I often have to climb around in rough terrain. Archaeological sites can be treacherous, even without these sticks. Quit or accept help, that was my choice. I chose to accept help.” They reached the steep wooden stairs to the hotel and started up them.

  “I admire your courage,” Abby said. “Most of us hate to be dependent on others. Our pride says it’s a sign of weakness.”

  “It isn’t, though. It’s really a sign of strength,” Hannah said, breathless from the climb. “Life has a way of handicapping each of us in one way or another. Those who don’t limp have probably quit—or else they haven’t come to terms with their loss yet. When I fall—which happens often—I can either lie there fe
eling sorry for myself or I can accept help, get up, and go on. Perhaps God wants to teach you a similar lesson.”

  Hannah paused to rest at the top of the stairs and opened her arms wide. Abby hugged her, as she had hugged Benjamin Rosen earlier that day—had it really been that same day? She felt the strength of Hannah’s embrace in return. “Thank you,” Hannah said. But somehow Abby felt as though she had been the one who had been helped.

  * * *

  When she returned to her room, Abby calculated the time in Indiana and decided that Emily would be home from her summer job by now. Abby sat cross-legged on the bed and dialed the long string of numbers, amazed at how simple it was to call someone halfway around the world. She felt childishly excited, longing for the sound of her daughter’s voice. She pictured Emily in shorts, barefooted, sitting outside on the porch swing with the portable phone propped against her shoulder.

  “Hello.”

  A man answered the phone, not Emily.

  “Greg? Why aren’t you at work?”

  “Abby? This isn’t Greg, it’s me . . . Mark.”

  Rage boiled up inside her, out of control. “How dare you come into my house the moment I’m gone! Get out, Mark! Get out right now!”

  Abby thought she had finished trembling for the day, but she began to shake uncontrollably. She heard Mark’s muffled voice as he handed Emily the phone, telling her to talk to her mother.

  “Mom, I’m sorry . . . please don’t be mad.” Emily was crying. “I asked Daddy to come over. Somebody broke into our house. They trashed the place, Mom. I came home from work and saw the mess and . . . and I was just so scared! I called the police and then I tried to call Greg but I couldn’t reach him, so I called Daddy at work. He just got here a few minutes ago.”

  Abby leaned against the headboard and closed her eyes, trying to take it all in. What more could happen on this disastrous day? “It’s all right, honey. Don’t cry. How . . . how much did they steal?”

  “It’s hard to tell with this mess . . . and we haven’t finished looking yet. So far we’re missing some cash and that little TV you keep in the kitchen . . . and Greg’s portable CD player and maybe your cell phone, unless Greg has them. The police think the thieves were mostly looking for money.”

  “I’m coming home.”

  “Mom, no! Don’t do that! You worked so hard to save for your trip. I’ll be all right. Daddy offered to sleep here for a few nights until I stop shaking.”

  “Emily—”

  “I’m scared, Mom. The police said that sometimes the thieves will wait until you replace everything and then break in again. Besides, I don’t have a clue what to do about the insurance and everything.”

  Abby could barely control her fury. “I don’t want your father and that . . . woman in my house!”

  “She’s not here, Mom,” Emily said in a lowered voice. “Just Dad. He knows how Greg and I feel.”

  “Well, your father is not moving back in! He can stay tonight, but then I want him gone!”

  “All right . . . I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you, Mom. I didn’t even ask how you were or how your trip went. Did you survive the flight okay?”

  Abby didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. For some reason—maybe the fact that Mark was with Emily—Abby suddenly decided not to relate her story. “Well, I’m here,” she finally said. “Which is more than I can say for my luggage.”

  “You’re kidding! They lost your luggage?”

  “It never showed up in Amsterdam.”

  “That’s awful!”

  Not nearly as awful as having an Israeli spy die in your arms, Abby wanted to add. “It happens,” she said instead. “Airlines lose luggage every day. In fact, it’s a wonder any of it ever shows up in the right place.”

  “Mom, hang on a minute. Daddy wants to talk to you.”

  “No! I have nothing more to say to him—”

  “Hello, Abby?”

  As soon as she heard Mark’s voice, Abby slammed down the receiver.

  CHAPTER 3

  NETANYA, ISRAEL—1999

  Abby awoke the next morning to the soft, distant sigh of waves breaking against the beach. She pulled open the curtains to a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean, the water silvery in the early light.

  “Beautiful . . .” she whispered to the empty room.

  One of the things she missed the most was having someone beside her to share the sunrise. She and Mark were both early risers, and dawn had been their favorite time of day—especially during the summer months on their family camping trips when they would dress in thick flannel shirts and sip strong coffee together outside the tent, watching the forest nudge itself awake.

  She turned from the window. Getting dressed this morning would be simple, her only option Ramona Voss’s sunflowered clothes. Abby’s reflection in the mirror embarrassed her, especially when she recalled Ari Bazak’s blunt analysis.

  “I do look terrible,” she said aloud. She tried on Ari’s blue shirt over the top, tying the shirttails around her waist and rolling up both sets of sleeves. It looked a little better, but since she didn’t want to encourage Ari’s friendship, it seemed overly presumptuous to continue wearing his shirt. She took it off again.

  Breakfast wouldn’t be served for another half hour, so Abby settled back on the bed with her Bible and the small book of devotions her daughter had given her for the trip. Abby hadn’t realized how far she had drifted from God until her marriage sank and she discovered she was without a life-boat. Now it seemed like a long journey back to shore, but she opened the devotional, entitled God of Refuge, and began to read.

  After skimming through the introduction, she reached for her Bible to look up the first Scripture reference. She remembered how reverently Benjamin Rosen had held the small black book as he had paged through it, comparing it to his own. She quickly blinked away her tears and turned to the book of James. Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

  Abby slammed her Bible shut. Consider it joy to suffer the betrayal and loss of her husband? She almost decided against reading the devotional, but then she recalled Hannah’s words from the night before: “I also had to suffer pain and loss before I found rest in Christ.” Drawing courage from her new friend, Abby opened the book and continued reading.

  Twenty minutes later, she had just finished praying the printed prayer, asking God to use her trials to draw her closer to Him, when someone knocked on her door. The moment she opened it, Ari Bazak thrust a shopping bag into her arms.

  “Here. I thought you could use some decent clothes.”

  Abby didn’t know how to respond. His manner was gruff, as if he was forced to perform this act of charity against his will.

  “Um . . . thank you. Where did—?”

  “You are closer in size to my wife than to Dr. Voss’s wife.”

  “Please tell her thank you for me.”

  “Sure.”

  He returned to his own room before Abby could finish. What a strange man! She doubted if she would ever understand him, but at least she would feel more comfortable around him now that she knew he was safely married.

  Abby took the bag inside and dumped the contents on her bed. There was a sheath dress of pale yellow linen, white slacks with a lightweight navy blazer, several pairs of shorts with knit tops or blouses to match, and even a bathing suit that looked brand-new. Ari’s wife was also a size ten—and she had excellent taste in clothes. These were nicer than the clothes Abby had brought from home. Feeling lighthearted, she changed into one of the blouses and a pair of shorts, then took the elevator downstairs to breakfast.

  An hour later Abby was seated on the tour bus, listening to the excited chatter of the other dig participants as they rode to the first lecture stop: King Herod’s seaport capital of Cae-sarea Maritima. She noticed that everyone
sat in pairs except her: husbands with wives, students with roommates, a few student couples snuggling and holding hands. Abby felt a wave of loneliness, which she tried to push aside by fiddling with her camera. She knew she was still weepy and emotional from yesterday’s ordeal. How long would it take her to get over the shock of Mr. Rosen’s death? And how long until it no longer hurt to be reminded of Mark?

  As the bus parked, she glimpsed the sea again, sparkling in the distance beyond a cluster of ruined buildings. Hannah and Ari were already waiting for the group beside his car, and Abby felt pleased to see Hannah, as if they were old friends, already linked by yesterday’s violent tragedy. She quickly climbed off the bus and hurried over to where Hannah stood studying a map Ari had spread out on the hood of his car. Hannah’s gestures were so graceful, the way she carried herself in her long caftan so elegant, that once again Abby thought she resembled a celestial being or a figure from a dream. The contrast was especially great as she stood beside Ari, who was as ruggedly solid as a bronze statue.

  “Good morning,” Abby said.

  Hannah looked up, and for the space of a heartbeat, her face wore an odd expression, as if something about Abby’s appearance had startled her. It quickly disappeared, replaced by her warm smile.

  “Abby! You look well rested this morning.” But before they could speak further, Dr. Voss interrupted them, charging off the bus like an angry bull. He was dripping with perspiration once again.

  “We need to talk, Hannah . . . alone.”

  “Of course, Ted.” Hannah finished folding the map and handed it to Ari. “Would you please take everyone through the Crusader ruins for me, Ari, and get the lecture started? I’ll meet up with you in the amphitheater.”