Read Online Rebekah's Treasure by Sylvia Bambola - Free Book Online Page B

The house, a good size, is surrounded by a low wall—important for containing our animals when we get them. In the corner is a large hole. I check it briefly, then wave for Esther to come see.
    “Look, a stone-lined pit for storing grain. It needs to be replastered, but otherwise it’s in good condition.”
    “But it’s
empty
.”
    I pat Esther’s cheek good-naturedly. “Then we’ll fill it. And when we do we’ll bake our bread in there.” I point to the nearby domed oven, which also appears in good condition.
    But Esther has lost interest. She stands gazing out over the wall. At first I think it’s because she longs for Jerusalem, but then I realize she’s looking at the beautiful limestone hills a little beyond our house. The hills are covered with rock-lined terraces, terraces that are full of gnarled olive trees and lush grape vines. Dotting the slopes are cisterns carved into bedrock. And tucked among them are olive and wine presses. Tall standing grain waves in fields near the hills, and closer to the house are fig trees and several pomegranates. And mingled among them all are well-tilled plots filled with vegetables.
    “It’s a pleasant land,” Esther says wistfully. “We could have made a good life here, Daniel and I.”
    Her words, mingled with the breeze that carries the scent of wild rosemary, suddenly unlock the secret in both our hearts. “I’mangry with my husband, too, for not coming with us.” I put one arm around her thin shoulders. “For choosing to fight for Jerusalem while leaving us defenseless.” We stand together for a long time, staring off into the distance; two women who understand a common heartbreak.

    As it turns out, the house
is
beautiful—at least I think it is. The roof is repaired, the door back on its hinges. And all the walls, inside and out, have been freshly plastered. There’s nothing left to do but pray a blessing over it and move in. Dozens of my neighbors have gathered to hear Zechariah’s prayer and to celebrate this happy day.
    I glance at some of the people I’ve come to know during the past weeks: Mary, the wife of Simon the bottlemaker; Leah, the aging widow; Obadiah, the carpenter, and his wife, Tirzah. Hannah and her husband Amos, the cheesemaker. Rina, a young widow, and Ira, a carpenter who specialized in making plows and winnowing forks and other tools for farming. But many others have come too—all followers of The Way, and all have, in generosity of spirit, helped clean, plaster, repair. I’ve never experienced such love, such outpouring of goodness. They have so little yet give so much.
    But my joy is marred by the distracted look on Aaron’s face. He’ll not be with us long. More and more he looks to the hills. It’s only his love for me and his kindness that has kept him here this long. He has not said it, but I fear he’ll leave soon.
    And Esther, my sweet Esther, burdens my heart, too. Sadness stoops her like an old woman. And she takes no delight in the company of others. Nothing I say helps. I know it’s for God to heal, but still I try, with words of encouragement and little acts of kindness. She nods, she smiles—if you can call that stiff upturn of her mouth a smile—then looks at me with dead eyes. Oh, how those eyes haunt me. I see them even in my dreams.
    What would I do if there was no Zechariah to cheer me? Or these precious saints, these fellow believers who have gathered in front of my house today? I’ve prepared a small feast to show my gratitude—a simple fare of leavened bread and cheese and watered wine. But there’s another reason, too. Perhaps God will open Esther’s eyes. Perhaps He’ll cause her to see.
Look, Esther, look
.
These people have suffered, too
.
    I leave Mary, the bottlemaker’s wife, who is examining a wine skin, and go in search of Zechariah. I’m anxious for him to say the blessing so the festivities can begin. Suddenly, I hear a voice coming from the side of the house.
    “Soon I must leave,