by Tessa Afshar
“I sometimes fancy that the completed work of the cross casts its shadow on other parts of my life too. Because Christ has finished the most crucial work on earth and in heaven, something of that completion covers all the unfinished parts of my life. What remains undone in me, through me, finds a resting place in Jesus’ finished work.”
Lydia’s shoulders slumped. “I do not think my indigo will find a resting place in Jesus, Master Paul. It is ruined. I am not finished with my work. I am late. Forgive me. But commerce makes a person practical. It is very well to speak of the cross’s shadow. Still, that shadow will be no good when my angry customer demands to know why his order has not arrived at his doorstep on the expected day.”
Paul bent and looked into Lydia’s shadowed eyes. “You are deeply burdened by this?”
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a moment. “A business is built or destroyed on the back of its reputation. Even small failures can leave a significant mark.”
“I understand your conundrum. It is very real,” he said. “But when Jesus says, ‘It is finished,’ dear Lydia, you can rest in the absolute authority that flows from those words. They are more real even than your indigo.” Paul gave a smile. “Fetch me this ruined dye.”
“The indigo?”
“Bring it to me, if you please.”
Lydia scratched her head. Then, turning, she called, “Epaphroditus, help the dye master fetch a vat of indigo, if you please.” The vat was heavy, requiring two men to bring it into the courtyard, half-bent under its weight. “We purchase our indigo as a prepared paste,” she explained. “The seller extracts the dye from the leaves of indigo plants, and this is how it comes to us.”
Paul took a squinting look at its contents and nodded. He leaned forward and extended a hand over the vat. His lips moved in silent prayer for a few moments. “I think you should try using it again,” he said, straightening his back.
Lydia exhaled the way a dragon might breathe. “We have tried many times, Master Paul. It is no use. A rubbish dump is too good for this muck.”
“Will you not try one more time?”
“For your sake then.” In moments, the dye master had set up the necessary vats with Epaphroditus’s help and bathed a small clump of wool inside the dye. It emerged a royal blue. Lydia, who had slouched against the wall, arms crossed, shot to her feet. “It is impossible. Do it again. Use more wool this time.”
With every trial the wool emerged the perfect shade, a royal blue, the prerequisite first step to Lydia’s purple. “I do not understand. Use another sample of paste,” she said, her voice urgent.
Paul adjusted a pillow against the wall, making himself comfortable, chewing on mint leaves he had plucked from a large pot nearby. Silas and Marcus had joined them, and hearing the explanation from Paul, observed the frenetic activity with wide smiles.
“I never grow weary of days like this,” Marcus said. “Not all the glory in Rome compares to it.”
After one hour of trials, Lydia finally had to believe the evidence before her eyes. “How can this be?” she asked. “I tested the indigo from every single vat. They were all ruined. Not even a string of yarn emerged the right color. And now look at them!”
In her excitement, she had pushed the dye master aside and soaked the wool in the vat with her own fingers, forgetting to utilize the long staff they used for the job. Her hands were blue up to the wrists. She raked them through her hair, pushing aside an annoying clump that fell on her cheeks.
Pulling on his beard, Paul came to his feet and peeked inside one of the vats. “I believe we call it a miracle. The Lord sometimes moves in mysteries we cannot comprehend.”
Lydia froze, arrested by Paul’s words. “God healed my indigo. This is what you meant when you said Christ’s work is more real than my indigo?”
“Yes and no. This time, the Lord chose to give you a miracle. By virtue of his intervention, you will finish your work on time. God has the power to work supernaturally in our midst.
“I don’t want you to think this will be his response to every one of your problems, however. They don’t call them miracles because they are common.”
Silas grinned. “Well, they are more common when Paul is around. Or Peter and John.”
“My point is that the work of Christ casts its shadow on your life whether you receive a miracle or not. He may give you forbearance instead of a miracle. Or peace in the midst of turmoil. He may give you wisdom when you have no more answers. Or he may hold your hand as only the Christ can and impart courage to steady your shaking knees. His work is finished. You see? That fulfillment will cast its shadow on all your unfinished work.
“You can give up your anxiety about being late. Because the Lord has completed the greater work, you can settle into peace, for his work will brace and empower your small tasks. They seem of such importance to you that their weight becomes a great burden, bearing you down. But when you are pressed, Lydia, and filled with fear, remember him whispering, ‘It is finished,’ and it will cut your challenges down to size. He will empower you to finish what you must.”
Lydia twisted blue hands, trying to make sense of Paul’s teaching. She opened her mouth to speak when Chloris galloped into the courtyard, her skirts held high to give her knees room to pump freely. “He is here! Here at the door!” Her chest rose and fell in a fast rhythm that owed more to terror than to her race.
“Who is here?” Lydia asked, though she already knew the answer.
“That man. Antiochus. I was sitting by the window above stairs when I saw a carriage draw up. He is headed inside this very moment. Oh, what shall I do?”
FIFTY
Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.
EXODUS 21:24-25
THE SOUND OF FEET clattering against the stone steps outside interrupted all conversation. Lydia grabbed Chloris by the arm and shoved her into one of the workshops.
“Not a word. Not a sound. And bar the door after me,” she hissed before shutting it.
Paul, Silas, and Marcus stared at the unfolding drama, refraining from asking any questions. “I will explain later,” she whispered. “Pray for me.”
Rebekah arrived in the courtyard. “Antiochus is here!” Lydia nodded, signaling her knowledge. “What is he up to now?” Rebekah hissed. There was no time to answer. Antiochus bounded in, face red, his hair oily with sweat.
“You’ve gone too far this time, Lydia.”
Lydia raised a warning finger. “I do not recall inviting you to my home. And lower your voice. You disturb my guests.”
Antiochus spared a glance for Paul and his friends. “They might as well know what manner of woman offers them hospitality. A slithering water snake of a woman. This is the last time I allow you to interfere in my affairs.”
“If you are here to talk about Chloris again—”
“I am here to talk about my slave, Demetrius.”
Lydia wondered if he had discovered the part she had played in convincing Appollonia to hire Demetrius. She wiped her face clean of expression. “What about your slave?”
Antiochus slapped his hand so hard on the marble bench, the sprig of mint Paul had set there bounced. Marcus took a step forward, his eyes narrowed. Lydia gave him a reassuring smile. He took no action but remained close, his expression alert, like one of the emperor’s Praetorian Guard, ready to swoop if Antiochus took a wrong step. Lydia felt a loosening of the knot in her belly. She had not felt so protected since the passing of her father.
“If you cannot behave like a civilized man,” she said to Antiochus, “I must ask you to leave this house. I have no knowledge of any slave that belongs to you.” That was no lie, for Demetrius had been declared free.
“You know full well the part you played in this outrage. There is no use denying it. I have it from the mouth of the magistrate. You were there a year ago, as my father lay dying, out of his mind with disease and fever. You were there,
goading this treachery.”
The magistrate! She had not considered that the man would reveal her identity to Antiochus. Lydia’s shoulders drooped. Fear, like lava, heated her veins. “Your father swore me to secrecy. What would you have me do? Break my oath?”
“You should have fetched me that night. What man in his right mind would give away a valuable slave like Demetrius? You must have seen that the old man had lost his sanity. The illness had robbed him of his senses, and he never had much to begin with.” He pointed a forefinger toward her. “Look at the company he kept! You had no right to encourage him in his madness.”
Lydia stretched out a placating hand. “Antiochus, your father was weak but in his right mind. You can ask the magistrate. He would not have sealed the documents if he suspected Rufus incapable of thinking straight. You know very well that many wealthy men give faithful slaves their freedom in appreciation for their years of service. There was genuine affection between Demetrius and your father. Rufus wished to repay the man for his loyalty and kindness throughout the years.”
“You lie! Why did he keep all this a secret from me? Not a whisper, not a single warning. Why would he do that unless he was demented? And you encouraged this lunacy. Instead of stopping it, you smiled and squeezed his hand and admired his good decision. The magistrate told me.”
“I did not suggest the deed, Antiochus. Rufus came up with the idea. I cannot deny that I agreed with his arrangement and, yes, I told him so.
“But you misunderstand. Your father did not tell you because he knew you would not accept his wishes. He wanted to die with peace between you, not an unpleasant quarrel that would make his last days bitter.
“He thought of you, of your welfare, till the end. He made Demetrius promise that he would continue working as your steward for a full year and put the affairs of the workshop in good order before leaving. He arranged all this so that you would be handed a strong, healthy trade. I am certain Demetrius kept that promise and served you most faithfully until the final hour.”
“One year? What is one year to me? Do you know how much it will cost me to replace that slave?”
“I am sorry for your loss. But you cannot blame me for your father’s decision. He asked me to attend him that night as a friend, and I could not deny his final wish. This much is true. I could not even serve as a legal witness; the magistrate said as a woman, my testimony would bear no weight.”
“Rufus was sick! If you were his true friend, you would have dissuaded him from this madness. And as he is dead, I cannot contend with him. But you, Lydia, had better watch your back. From this moment on, I will hound you until you are nothing but a ruin and your workshop is cinders on the ground. I will take Chloris from you, and I will crumple her like a sheet of papyrus. I will make you watch while your own insignificant workshop collapses at your feet.”
He noticed the vat of indigo sitting in the courtyard for the first time. “You will be ruined as completely as this indigo paste.” He smirked. His eye caught the mountain of yarn, dyed dark blue.
“What is this? You bought new paste already? Must have cost you a fortune. After paying so much for Chloris, I wonder you can afford it.”
Lydia’s dye master, unaware of the layers of tension, waded into the conversation. “Oh no, Master Antiochus. This is not fresh paste. It’s the old one. The ruined batch. The mistress’s God restored it. Master Paul prayed for it, and it is as good as any batch of indigo I ever worked with.”
“What?” Antiochus turned sharply to Paul and Silas and Marcus. “What nonsense is this?”
“None that concerns you,” Lydia said. Her throat felt raw.
Antiochus laughed. “Gods now, is it?”
The dye master shook his head. “Not gods. God. These men are Jews, and they teach there is only one true God reigning on earth. It is the power of their God that has wrought this miracle.”
“Is that so?” Antiochus turned to Lydia. “Let’s see how many miracles your guests have up their sleeves in the days to come. You will need them.”
Lydia slouched in wordless dread as Antiochus stormed out. She collapsed on the bench, shaking. Rebekah knelt before her friend and took her icy hand in her own. “At least he knows nothing about the part you played on behalf of Appollonia.”
Lydia nodded. “Rebekah, remember the rabbits?”
“I remember.”
FIFTY-ONE
Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, and slander, as well as all types of evil behavior. Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.
EPHESIANS 4:31-32, NLT
“NOT A PLEASANT MAN, is he?” Paul said. “He is after Chloris?”
Lydia nodded. “I bought her so he could not get his hands on her. She is only ten, Master Paul! The law would grant him the right to do whatever he wished if he owned her. I was once a girl her age, and I cannot imagine the harm such a violation could do.”
“You did right.” He patted her hand. “I think I understand the matter with Demetrius as well. You have been carrying heavy burdens indeed.”
Lydia became aware of Epaphroditus leaning against a column, his face bloodless. She saw that he trembled like a tiny leaf in the midst of hail. He came forward and fell to his knees. Lydia blinked. “What is it, Epaphroditus?”
“Forgive me, mistress!”
She frowned. “Forgive you for what, man? Rise up and speak. There is nothing to fear here.”
“I have wronged you.” Epaphroditus kept his gaze glued to Lydia’s sandals and took a gulping breath. “It was I who spoiled the dye. My hand poured in the poison that ruined it.”
Lydia sprang to her feet. She felt heat rise to her cheeks. She had believed him to be her trusted servant! For years, she had placed her confidence in him.
“You betrayed me, Epaphroditus?” Her voice emerged like a bark, hard and sharp. “Tell me what possessed you! Was I ever unkind to you? Unjust? Ungenerous?” She was turning to a rabid dog, every word a bite.
Paul, who had spent several hours the evening before speaking to the man, raised a calming hand. “It is good that you have confessed, Epaphroditus. Tell us what happened.”
Epaphroditus wiped a trembling hand across his eyes. “I had no choice. Antiochus threatened me. He said he would expose me if I did not obey him. Gave me that foul concoction to add to the paste.”
“Expose you for what?” Lydia crossed her arms across her chest.
“He is my cousin, you see. My mother and his father were brother and sister . . .”
Lydia raised a brow. “That is a misfortune, and I pity you for it. But it is not a crime to be exposed.”
“Let the man speak,” Paul said with a frown.
Lydia swallowed her rage, rattled by Paul’s displeasure.
“We grew up together, Antiochus and I, though we lived in very different worlds. My father was a gambler. Before I turned twelve, he had lost everything we had. If not for Rufus’s kindness, we would have starved. One night, when Antiochus and I were scarcely more than boys, he sneaked a jug of wine from their cellar into our home, and we drank ourselves full until our heads were muddled.
“Antiochus had the notion of riffling through my father’s personal belongings. My father had a rough side to him. He drank too much, and as soon as he laid his hands on a few denarii, he gambled it away. Invariably he lost what little he had, which put him in a foul temper. I avoided him as much as I could.
“I tried to dissuade Antiochus, terrified that my father would discover our meddling. He would not listen. I feared a sound beating. I received far worse.
“Antiochus unearthed a gold ring that belonged to Rufus. ‘My father’s ring!’ he cried. ‘We thought it lost. Your thieving father took it.’
“Imagine my shame. My terror. If my father had landed in prison, we would have been ruined. I begged Antiochus to keep my father’s theft a secret. He felt sorry for me and promised not to mention it to anyone.
“Last week he came here, bearing that ring. He threatened to expose my father to the world if I would not undertake his demand. What was I to do? Can you imagine being branded the son of a thief? Can you imagine what such a life would entail, without honor, without a shred of respect from those who were once your friends?”
Lydia’s breath hitched. “I can. Yes.”
“My father is feeble and old now. If Antiochus brings this accusation against him, they will imprison him without regard for his white hairs. It would kill him and ruin me. It has been shameful enough growing up under the shadow of my father’s degenerate ways. But if it became known that he is a thief as well as a wastrel, there would be no future for me in Philippi. Who would trust the son of a man low enough to rob his own family?”
“What you mean to say is that you harmed me in order to protect yourself.” Lydia shook her head. With sudden clarity, she remembered the letter she had entrusted to him. The letter that told Demetrius to meet with Appollonia for a favorable employment opportunity. “What else did you do besides ruining the paste? Did you tell Antiochus about Demetrius? Did you read my letter and betray its contents to your cousin?”
“No, mistress! Never. If I ruined the dye, it was because I was pressed. I had no wish to add to my crime.”
Lydia studied the man’s trembling lips, his stooping shoulders, the clasped fingers. She believed him. But it was not enough. “I would have kept you with me had you told me the truth about your father. As it is, I want no false servant in my house. You can pack your things and leave.”
Epaphroditus’s eyes welled up. “You are just to revile me, mistress. I have wronged you.”
Marcus, who had remained silent through most of this exchange, spoke up. “Epaphroditus, why did you confess? No one would have known your guilt if you had not spoken of it.”