Avenger of Blood (41 page)

Marcellus smiled. “You know me well too. I was going to say that I could try to find someone to stay with John.”

“You wouldn't be able to find anyone who could take care of him the way you do.”

Why couldn't Antony be more like Marcellus?
Rebecca wondered as they neared the new house. There was a man who understood commitment. Even though the doctor had important things he wanted to do, taking care of John was his number-one priority. The venerable apostle was declining, and he had missed a Sunday service recently— something Rebecca could never remember happening before.

“It's such a nice location for a house,” Marcellus said when they arrived. “You'll love living here.”

“If I ever get to,” Rebecca complained.

“You will. Just be patient.”

“That's what Antony said.” It didn't rankle her quite so much, however, when it came from Marcellus.

They spent a pleasant half-hour walking through the new house, making plans for what would go where. They had visited the construction site almost daily, and Rebecca had loved watching the spacious stone house go up.

It was really three separate buildings joined by a common area, a large two-story atrium with a louvered skylight that could be opened to let in the sunshine or closed to keep out the rain. The atrium was so lofty and airy, it gave the impression of being a much larger space than it actually was.

The rooms off the atrium to the left, the side that overlooked the city, would be for Antony and Rebecca. There was one large bedroom downstairs, plus a study for Antony, with smaller bedrooms upstairs for Victor and their future children. The kitchen and dining room were in the building at the back of the atrium, directly across from the courtyard entrance. And to the right of atrium was a small one-story dwelling for Helena and Priscilla. A stairway led from the atrium up to what would have been the second story of this section. For now, it would be a long balcony overlooking the hills, but the area could be walled off and converted to rooms later on, if needed.

Peter had hired a double crew of masons in order to get the project completed by the end of summer. The tile workers had spent another six weeks laying the flagstone floors. There were no intricate mosaics or expensive patterned marble, so the installation had gone quickly. The trimmers were still there, finishing a few details on the inside, but the supervisor came up to Rebecca and told her she could move in whenever she was ready.

She was more than ready. The home was by no means fancy, but it suited her tastes, and Rebecca couldn't wait to make it truly hers.

When they returned to the villa, Marcellus went off to the library and Rebecca went to find Agatha and the children. Agatha visited frequently, and she often helped out with the relief work, which Helena was once again taking an active part in, freeing Rebecca to spend some time at the new house. Since her healing, Helena especially loved to visit the sick and pray for them. Rebecca and Agatha took care of distributing food and clothing.

Agatha had looked downcast when she'd arrived that morning, and as Rebecca went upstairs now, she thought about what Quintus had once said, that Agatha had had a lot of pain in her life. She and Quintus seemed very happy together, but every now and then Rebecca noticed that Agatha would slip back into—not sadness, exactly, but a kind of mild melancholy. And Rebecca still didn't know where they went or what they did in the predawn hours, but several times she'd seen Quintus and Agatha walking home across the hills just after sunup. As she'd promised, Rebecca had never said anything. But now she resolved to ask Quintus about it. Perhaps those early-morning sojourns had something to do with Agatha's melancholy moods.

Rebecca grinned at the sight of Victor and Aurora toddling all over her bedroom, chasing and reaching for each other, then falling down on their little bottoms, jabbering happily the whole time. She was not as happy to see Agatha with a dust cloth in her hand.

“How many times do I have to remind you that you are no longer a servant?” Rebecca asked gently.

“I was just sprucing up the room a bit,” Agatha said, blushing at being caught working again.

“You're a friend, not an employee, and I don't want you ever to feel obligated to work when you're here.”

“I don't,” Agatha said quickly, “I don't. It's just that your family has been very good to me, and I love to do things for you. Besides, I never was one for sitting around. I always have to be up doing something. You know that.”

Rebecca smiled. “And you couldn't help noticing that the new housemaid is not up to your standards.”

“Well, it's a huge house. I remember how I never could seem to stay on top of it at first, even though I was only responsible for the upstairs rooms.”

Slightly tired after the long walk, Rebecca sat down on the long chaise in front of the window and invited Agatha to join her. The two women talked for a few minutes while their babies laughed and squealed.

“They're so precious,” Rebecca said as she watched the children play. “And growing so fast. It makes me want to have another baby soon.”

Agatha observed her with a miserable expression, but quickly turned away when Rebecca looked up.

“Why are you so downhearted sometimes?” Rebecca leaned forward and appealed to her friend. “I shouldn't pry, I suppose, but I can't help noticing and wondering what's wrong.”

“It's . . . it's nothing,” Agatha said, trying to smile but failing.

“You mean it's none of my concern?”

“No, I didn't mean that. I just . . .” Agatha closed her eyes momentarily and bit her lip, then looked down at her lap.

Rebecca waited, silently praying that the other woman would speak again.
When the time is right, she'll tell you,
Quintus had said, but Agatha didn't respond.

Finally, acting on an internal prompting, Rebecca asked, “Are you wanting to have another baby too?”

Agatha looked up, lines of grief etched in her face. “It's been almost two years,” she said softly. “Two years.”

Rebecca thought for a moment. “Since you had Aurora?” she asked. Agatha's little girl would be two in a couple of months, Rebecca calculated.

“I really wanted another baby before Aurora was weaned. I've searched and prayed so hard,” Agatha said. “Almost two years . . .”

Rebecca was puzzled. Why was it so important for Agatha to have another child before Aurora was weaned? And why had she been praying for two years? She and Quintus had only been married seven months.

“You can still have a baby,” Rebecca said. “It will happen—just give it time.”

Agatha continued as if she hadn't heard Rebecca. “Aurora still nurses, but it won't be much longer before she's fully weaned. And then what will I do if there's not another baby?” The distress was evident in her voice, and she was on the verge of tears.

Rebecca reached out a hand to offer comfort. Before she could think of something to say, the new housemaid came scurrying into the room. The girl was so flighty, it drove Rebecca to distraction, and her timing was completely inappropriate; she was always interrupting conversations. Rebecca had spoken to the steward about it. Evidently he had said something to the housemaid because she suddenly slowed down and with a slight bow said, “Begging your pardon, ma'am, but we have visitors.”

“Who is it?” Rebecca asked. She wasn't expecting anyone, and whoever it was couldn't have come at a worse time—just when Agatha was about to open up and talk about what was troubling her.

“Foreigners,” the girl said, “wearing strange-looking clothes. One of them says he's your brother.”

“My brother?”

Rebecca jumped to her feet and Agatha shooed her out with a wave of her hand. “I'll bring the babies,” she said. She swooped Victor up, grabbed Aurora by the hand, and followed Rebecca, who was already flying down the stairs.

Rebecca would hardly have recognized Jacob if she hadn't heard that her brother had arrived. He was indeed wearing foreign clothes— some kind of long coat with trousers, and a funny-looking hat. An older man with streaks of silver in his dark hair wore the same kind of outfit as Jacob, and with them was a very tall, very exotic-looking woman with short black hair and beautiful olive skin.

“Jacob!” Rebecca ran to her brother and embraced him. When he squeezed her tightly, she couldn't help crying. For the second time, her brother had returned when she had all but given him up for dead.

“I didn't know if you would be happy to see me,” he finally said.

“Of course, I'm happy!” she cried into his shoulder. “How could I not be?” She drew back for a good look at Jacob. “We've been so worried about you. Almost a year, and we didn't even know where you were.” Rebecca reached up and wiped her eyes. “I wasn't even sure you were alive.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I had no way to get word to you.”

“And just look at you!” Rebecca almost laughed at the unusual garb her brother wore. “Where have you been?”

Agatha arrived in the atrium with the two children, and Marcellus came in from the library, holding a partially unrolled scroll.

“Someone should go to the harbor and get Peter and Quintus,” Rebecca said. She turned to ask Marcellus but he was transfixed by the arrival of the foreign visitors as well, and Jacob was starting to answer her question.

“I've been in Cappadocia,” Jacob said. He took the arm of the tall woman and brought her forward, presenting her to Rebecca. “This is my wife, Livia.”

“Your wife . . .” Rebecca could scarcely believe it. Jacob had not only come home, but he'd brought a wife with him. Rebecca started to extend her hand to the woman, then opened her arms and hugged Livia instead. “Welcome, sister,” she said.

Livia seemed overcome by the affectionate greeting and Rebecca thought for a moment that she had stepped outside the bounds of propriety. Perhaps where Livia came from such behavior was too demonstrative. But Rebecca was so overjoyed at Jacob's return that she couldn't help herself.

“This is Gregory,” Jacob said, “Livia's uncle.”

Rebecca greeted the older man, then Jacob waved Marcellus over to introduce him, but the retired soldier stood motionless. All the color had drained from his face.

After a long, awkward pause, Gregory stepped forward and held out his hand. “Hello, Marcellus. It's good to see you after all these years.”

The scroll fell from Marcellus's hand, the wooden spindles clattering on the tile floor as the parchment rolled out to its full length. Marcellus made no move to retrieve it; all he could do was stare at his daughter.

He had always wondered whether he would recognize Livia if he ever saw her again. He needn't have worried. Except for her height, Livia was the image of her mother. Looking at his daughter now was like being transported back in time. Twenty-five years ago Claudia had had the same high cheekbones, the same glossy-black hair, the same large, luminous eyes—eyes so expressive and deep that looking into them was like falling down a mine shaft. When Marcellus had met Claudia, he'd tumbled down that shaft and couldn't climb out.

So in spite of the incompatibility of family life and an army career, Marcellus had married her, and they had produced a wonderful daughter. He had feared that daughter was lost to him forever, but here she was.

Marcellus turned his gaze away from Livia long enough to shake hands with his former brother-in-law. Gregory clasped his arm firmly for a moment, then the two men embraced.

“I don't understand,” Livia said. “You two know each other? How is that possible?”

Flustered by the question, Gregory stammered, “Your . . . Marcellus was . . .” He gave his niece a confused look. “I guess you could call him a student of mine. I taught him all about herbs.”

“I've never forgotten what you taught me,” Marcellus said. “The knowledge was very helpful over the years—I even became a doctor.”

He turned to Livia. “You don't remember me, I'm sure. I believe you had just turned six the last time I saw you.”

Marcellus couldn't help being disappointed that Livia did not recognize him, even though he'd known that would be the case. After all, he had been away on a military campaign when she had been born, and had probably spent more time apart from his young daughter than with her.

His eyes threatening to fill and his voice full of emotion, Marcellus said, “John told me you would come, but somehow I couldn't quite believe it.”

Perplexed, Livia turned to her husband. “John?”

“The Apostle,” Jacob said. “I've told you all about him.”

“I know who John is. But how did he know who
I
am? Or that we were coming?”

“I've been praying for you . . .” Marcellus began to explain. Then he noticed Gregory shaking his head, pleading silently for Marcellus to keep quiet. What was the problem? Marcellus wondered. Of course, Livia was bound to be shocked at being reunited with a father she didn't recognize after all these years. He understood that, and he didn't want to upset Livia. But why should it upset Gregory if Marcellus let Livia know who he was?

“It's a long story,” Marcellus finished lamely.

“And we'll hear it later,” Rebecca said, putting a reassuring hand on Marcellus's arm. She told Livia, “I'm sure you're probably tired after such a long journey.”

Rebecca stepped toward Jacob and linked arms with her brother. “How long have you been traveling?”

“Almost six weeks,” he answered. “We took our time.”

Marcellus watched helplessly as Rebecca took the awkward situation in hand. She turned to him and asked, “Would you mind going to the harbor to get Peter and Quintus? I'll show our guests upstairs so they can rest a bit. Then we'll have a big family dinner and catch up on all the news.”

As Rebecca led the travelers upstairs, with Agatha and the babies in tow, Marcellus bent down and picked up the scroll. He carefully rolled the parchment back onto the spindles, wishing he could roll back time, wishing he had never been separated from his only child.