by Debra Diaz
He decided he couldn’t bear for her to walk alongside him, holding his hand or his arm, and be a world removed from him. Wordlessly, he lifted her to Sheba’s back and she made no objection, settling her gown, and—it seemed to him—avoiding his eyes. He led the horse out of the grove and onto the road to Bethany…and they set upon the final part of their journey together.
* * * *
Rachel felt as though she were floating on a cloud. She thought remorsefully of the wasted years…how could she have gone so long in her condition! No wonder she had been so miserable…and she had caused everyone else misery as well. They had worried about her, and prayed for her, and now their prayers had been answered. A terrible weight had been lifted, and she was happier than she’d been since her childhood. She looked at Metellus walking close beside her, his expression grave, and reached out to touch his shoulder.
“Nothing’s changed,” she said, repeating his own words to her earlier that day. “About us.”
He stopped abruptly, causing Sheba to step backward. It was dark now, except for a rising moon, and a few stars splashed against the black sky. The road was deserted, and white with dust.
“Nothing, and everything,” he answered, his voice low.
She began to slide off the horse, so that he had to raise his arms to catch her and set her on the ground. She placed her hands on either side of his face and, standing on tiptoe, slowly kissed each cheek, where the creases showed when he smiled. But he was not smiling now. He crushed her to him and kissed her like a desperate and drowning man, and she was the breath he craved. Rachel felt herself vanish into him…she belonged to him. It seemed right for his hands to drag the mantle from her head, for his fingers to lock in her hair…and then her senses returned.
She broke away with a gasp. “Oh, I want to, Metellus—but we can’t do this! Not here—not yet!”
His face poised over hers, he thought with wild abandon of the seclusion offered by the trees and bushes along the roadside, and his hands closed over her upper arms. There were worse places to take a beloved bride than on the shoulder of a mountain, underneath a starry sky. He was on the verge of lifting her up when he saw her eyes and sanity caught him…she was frightened, perhaps as much by herself as by him. She struggled against him, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“Wait,” he said, willing himself to be still, and calm. “Don’t be afraid of me, Rachel.”
She stopped struggling and let him hold her, her face turned against his shoulder, and gradually their ragged breathing slowed to a normal rhythm. She felt his cheek against her hair, and…incredibly…he began to laugh softly.
“A mile from Bethany,” he said. “We almost made it with my oath intact.”
Rachel smiled and raised her head, her face close to his. “We did make it—barely.”
He shook his head. “You are not the same as when you left.”
“Older and wiser,” she answered. “But, against all odds, you have fulfilled your vow.”
“Yes, the odds have been against me since the day I saw you! Or rather, the gods have been against me—your God in particular.”
“Please don’t joke about such things…is that the only thing that stopped you just now, Tribune?”
“No. You did, when I saw that you didn’t want to. Stop, I mean.”
Her mouth opened with indignation. “I did, though, didn’t I?”
He answered by kissing her again, lightly this time, and chuckled at her response. He put one arm around her and they began to walk, with Sheba following obediently.
“I don’t think you should rush into the house declaring our marriage,” he said, after a moment. “Give them time to adjust to your being home again.”
“And how long should that be?”
“A few days. You’ll know when the time is right.”
“You are going to stay with us, aren’t you?”
He glanced down at her. “No. I’ll stay at the Antonia.”
The wall surrounding Bethany came into view and Rachel hung back, so that he stopped and turned toward her, his hand sliding from around her waist.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Home,” she said quietly. “I’m home, and everything is all right again, and you are here. God has been so good to me, so much better than I deserve!”
He waited a moment, watching as she closed her eyes for a moment as though in a prayer of gratitude. When she began walking again, he followed her through the gate.
* * * *
Somehow she felt like a stranger when they came to the door of the courtyard, and rather than running in as she always had, Rachel gave a light knock against the wooden panels. Her knees felt weak… she felt weak all over. She swayed slightly, and Metellus reached out to steady her. The door opened and a servant peered at them; her eyes popped and the door slammed shut in their faces. They could hear the girl crying, “It’s her! She’s back! It’s her, and the Roman!”
Rachel laughed and opened the door. The servant was running back across the softly lit courtyard. “Oh, forgive me—you did startle me, my lady Rachel!”
Behind her came Lazarus and Judith, followed by Samuel and the other servants.
“It’s all right, Anna…”
Metellus stood back, away from the exclamations and long, tearful embraces…and then Lazarus approached and embraced him as well.
“Welcome, Tribune! Thank you for bringing Rachel back to us.” Lazarus turned, with a wondering look. “How happy she seems!”
Metellus gave the slightest bow. “It has been my privilege.”
Samuel, who was clutching Rachel with his short arms around her waist, looked up and asked, “What happened to your hair?”
Rachel’s hand went to her tousled hair…she had completely forgotten her mantle, which hung askew on her shoulders. “Oh, you mean—that is, I cut it, because it was so hot.” She looked at Metellus and burst out laughing…how many more times would she be obliged to answer that question? “He tried to stop me once, but the next time it was too late.”
“She has a mind of her own,” Metellus said, but with humor.
Lazarus immediately perceived the bond between them…a bond he could not yet define…but he, too, smiled and said, “Anna, have food prepared. Tribune, of course you will stay with us until your return to Rome.”
Metellus sobered and glanced at Rachel. “Thank you…I will be staying at the fortress. But I won’t refuse your offer of food. I think our last meal was several hours on the other side of Jerusalem.”
“Come, Rachel,” said Judith, and with a look backward at Metellus, Rachel followed the woman to her room.
Lazarus and Samuel gathered around Metellus. Samuel was almost jumping up and down with excitement.
“Did you see the emperor, sir? Did Rachel get her letter?”
“Samuel, my son, there will be time enough for questions later. Is there baggage, Tribune?”
“Yes—I tied her horse to a post outside.”
“Her horse?”
Metellus cleared his throat. “My horse. And I would like to remind you, sir, that I am no longer a tribune. My name is Metellus.”
“Yes, of course—I’m sorry. By the way—someone brought that donkey back—Samuel has been delighted with her. I’ll send for the baggage, and have water drawn for your horse. You will want to wash. Please come this way.”
Waiting for his guest to precede him, Lazarus gave the Roman a long, measuring look.
* * * *
Her family had already eaten, but they joined Rachel as she and Metellus enjoyed a late supper on the courtyard. The lamps flickered under the starlit sky, and even Judith, who was reticent and unassuming, noticed something in the air between the two…though she wasn’t sure what it was. She thought it only camaraderie, and said with shy affection, “We will have a banquet to celebrate your homecoming, dear Rachel. Three days from now, and we will invite all our friends! You must come, too, Metellus.”
“You don’t have to do
that, Judith,” Rachel protested.
“It’s a splendid idea,” said Lazarus.
“Did you meet the emperor, Rachel? What did your letter say?”
“Samuel, you must not be so rude,” said Judith, flushing with embarrassment.
“Oh, not at all, Judith. Yes, dear, I met him, and he really isn’t a monster. And my letter—” She paused, as Lazarus and Judith looked at her expectantly. She could tell they wanted to know what was in it.
Rachel glanced at Metellus, who was watching her. “I think I would like to read it to you all. I left it in my room, on the table by the window. Would you get it, Samuel?”
The boy scampered from the room, and a silence fell over the courtyard. Rachel couldn’t help herself…her hand sought his under the table and gripped it tightly. But when the letter was brought, she stared at it and couldn’t find her voice. It was so private and precious a thing, yet she wanted to share it.
“Tribune,” she said finally. “Would you read it?”
He hesitated for so long that everyone thought he was going to refuse, but finally he slipped his hand away from Rachel’s and reached for the letter. Again, he paused, meeting her eyes, but she looked at him pleadingly. He began:
I write to you with a full heart from the prison, in which I am treated well, and expect tomorrow to meet the Lord…
Even the servants’ eyes were riveted on him as he read, and by the time he finished, every pair of eyes was streaming with tears.
I know that you love God. I know that you love your mother and me, and that you miss us. Rachel, do you recall the passage from God’s word that you quoted a number of weeks ago? “Wait on the Lord, be of good courage, and he will strengthen your heart.” Never forget these words. May God grant you his grace, mercy, and peace. Your loving father.
Metellus lowered the letter. For the first time, Rachel saw tears in his own eyes as he looked at her, and slowly she took the letter from him.
“Bless him,” Judith said feebly, into the silence. “And your dear mother.”
Lazarus had risen, standing with his back to them, and now he turned. “Thank you again, Metellus, for bringing Rachel back to us. The real Rachel.”
CHAPTER XVI
Rachel did, indeed, spend almost the entire night in prayer. She began on her knees, and still didn’t feel humble enough…finally she lay prostrate on the floor, her forehead against the cool tiles, and thoroughly repented of her resentment toward God, and her rejection of him. It seemed impossible that, as strong as her faith had been as a child, she had allowed herself to turn away from her Savior, Jesus Christ. But she could no longer deny, even to herself, that she had done so. She was terribly sorry, and even as she prayed, she knew that she was forgiven. She knew that he had always been with her, patiently waiting, still protecting her, still loving her. Yet there had been a price to pay…her own misery, and she could only hope that there would not be further consequences of her sin.
She beseeched the Lord to save Metellus…it was all she could do for him, for she knew his stubbornness, and to push too hard would be to lose him forever. When she finally rose in the early hours of the morning, she felt as refreshed as though she had slept all night, but she climbed into bed—and because it was her own bed in her own house—slept in utter comfort until almost midday.
A messenger had been sent to Simon and Daphne, who left their farm and came immediately to Bethany. They had already arrived when she woke, and welcomed her so lovingly that she could not stop her tears. After a while, Daphne followed her into her room as she began to unpack her belongings.
“I’m so happy to see you as you are, Rachel!” Daphne exclaimed, settling down in a chair to watch her. “How well you look, except for your hair and that dreadful tan! Whatever possessed you to cut off your hair?”
“It was heavy and hot—don’t worry, I’m going to keep my head covered whenever we have guests.”
Daphne caught at her arm. “Have you made peace with God?”
Rachel smiled broadly and nodded. Daphne released her with a sigh.
“Oh, thank you, Lord! And—the letter?”
Wordlessly, Rachel reached for the letter and handed it to Daphne. The other woman stared at it for a moment, her brow furrowed, and lay it again on the table. “I don’t think I can read it,” she said, almost inaudibly. “Tell me what it says.”
Haltingly, Rachel told her. Daphne rose and paced about the room, only sitting down again when Rachel had finished. She appeared to be very moved.
“To think of all those wasted years,” Rachel said sadly. “The very time when I should have trusted the Lord, and clung to him all the more tightly.”
“It’s over now,” Daphne told her, touching her hand. “What does the Scripture say… ‘and I will restore to you the years that the locust has eaten’.”
Rachel smiled and turned to resume folding her clothes, which were spread out on the bed. Daphne watched her for another moment, and said, “There is something else about you, Rachel. A secret look—tell me, what is it?”
Rachel felt the blood rushing warmly over her face and turned away. “It’s nothing.”
“Why, Rachel, you can’t fool me!” Daphne leaned over to look at her. “What about this tribune? Did he treat you well?”
It was true…there was no fooling Daphne.
“You must promise not to tell anyone. Not yet.”
Daphne became very still. “What?”
“I’m in love with Metellus. We’re—we’re married.”
It was not easy to shock Daphne, but her mouth dropped open and she said loudly, “You’re what!”
“Shh!” Rachel hurried to explain what the emperor had done.
“But, has he—have you—”
“If you’re asking if we have had—relations,” Rachel said calmly, “the answer is no. Not yet.”
“But Rachel!” Daphne drew a deep breath. “Has he come to believe in the Lord?”
“Not—yet,” she said again.
“Oh, I had so hoped—” Daphne broke off as Rachel looked at her sharply.
“You hoped…”
Daphne got to her feet. “I had a feeling about him—the moment I met him. He reminded me of—someone—and I believed that he would be good for you. But I knew that first he must become a believer. Rachel, you cannot stay married to him!”
Rachel felt a surge of defiance. “I will stay married to him! I love him, and I will never love anyone else!”
“Oh, you are so young…Believe me, you can come to love someone else.”
“I will not discuss it!” Rachel cried.
“Listen to me,” Daphne said urgently. “You know how much I love Simon, but—before I married him, there was a time when I was in love with someone else. Someone I could never have. I know what you must be feeling.”
“You can’t know. He—he’s part of me, even if we haven’t…I belong to him, Daphne, and he belongs to me. I want to have another wedding, according to our beliefs.”
“It would be a travesty—if he doesn’t believe!”
“Please don’t say that. I know that—soon—Metellus will come to accept the Lord.”
“But what if he doesn’t?”
“I would die. But without him I will die!”
“What a ridiculous thing to say! Oh, but I do know how you feel. Rachel, what are we to tell Benjamin? He has visited us, and Lazarus, several times…so impatient for you to return.”
“I was never going to marry Benjamin. You will stand by us, won’t you, Daphne?”
“I would have no hesitation, if he were a Christian. Romans are so strange—they either want to worship anything and everything, or nothing at all. I should know, for I am a Roman. It was no small thing to change me, especially when—” She stopped, looked anxiously at Rachel, and said, “I suppose if there was hope for me, there is hope for this tribune.”
“His name is Metellus.”
“Yes. I know his name.”
The door op
ened and Simon came into the room, smiling. He put his arm around Daphne. “You’ve had her long enough…come to Lazarus’ study, Rachel. We want to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“You will see.”
They walked to the study where Lazarus waited, beaming. “There will be a feast in your honor, Rachel. And the tribune’s. We’re inviting all our friends, even the church leaders from Jerusalem.”
“Thank you, Lazarus. I suppose Metellus will come.”
“Of course he will come. And—” Lazarus paused and looked slightly troubled. “I am inviting Benjamin.”
Rachel stiffened. “There is no need to invite him.”
“He still wants to marry you, Rachel. These months of waiting have been difficult for him.”
Rachel avoided Daphne’s eyes. “I have told you—I won’t marry him.”
Simon stepped forward, looking exasperated. “But you’ve given us no good reason why you won’t marry him, Rachel.”
“Then I will give you a reason. I’m in love with Metellus.”
Simon gaped at her. “What did you say?”
“I love Metellus. And—and I will be the mother of his children!”
Dead silence met her pronouncement. At last Simon asked, in a muffled voice, “Do you mean to tell me that you are—”
Indignantly, Rachel turned to the door. Daphne put out her arm to stop her. “Rachel,” she said gently. “Tell them the truth.”
Rachel looked at the two men, whose faces were white. “Very well. I am Metellus’ wife. The emperor made us marry, because he feared for my honor. But we love each other. No, Simon, I am not with child. But I hope to be, very soon.”
Simon almost choked. “Has the marriage been consummated?”
“No, but it will be!”
“Rachel.” Lazarus’ voice was calm, cutting into the maelstrom of emotion. “It was not my wish to bring all this up on the first day of your return. I only meant to mention certain things to you. But surely you cannot consider your marriage to be holy…performed by pagans, in a pagan ceremony, no doubt. And it is very simple to end a Roman marriage.”