The Hidden Flame Read Online Free PDF Page B

the blissful comfort of slumber. She fanned the air above her, both to get some movement into the stillness and to scare away the pest.
    Her simple motion served to pull her further into the morning and into the responsibilities and challenges facing her. She stirred. What would this day hold? Simply another round of toil? Further revelations about their Messiah to one or another of the group leaders? Longed-for news from Alban and Leah? Threats from those who did not accept the truth? Or maybe even Messiah's return?
    Abigail rolled from her pallet, now totally awake. After Leah and Alban's harrowing escape over two years previous, she and Jacob had returned from their overnight hideout to her quarters among the followers. Later they had moved to the small lean-to at the back of the fishmonger's shop, and Jacob had settled into his Hebrew studies with varying degrees of cooperation, depending on the opportunities for adventure that day, while she continued her duties among the women.
    She heard no movement from the tiny loft above the room they called home. Jacob was either still asleep or had already left without her. They met each morning with a group of the followers for a time of thanksgiving and supplication, a practice maintained by members of their group throughout Jerusalem.
    Abigail rolled up her pallet and pushed it to the side of the small room. "Jacob, I fear we are late. Didn't the rooster crow?" she called.
    She had always depended on their neighbor's fowl to rouse her from her bed. "Jacob!"
    The muffled reply drifting down from above brought an unconscious sigh. Jacob had truly accepted neither the reality nor the reasons for Alban's sudden departure without him. Though Jacob did not speak of it, she could feel his sorrow, his discontent. She knew Alban's leaving had left an enormous hole in her brother's life. She also knew he did not enjoy his work assignment among the carpenters since his bar mitzvah. She had observed him sitting at the end of the day, saying nothing, just staring at his roughened and blistered hands. Abigail was sure she could read his expression. These are not made to be handling rough wood, gathering splinters, forming callouses. No, they were made to clutch a sword. To signal an order to those under my command. If only Alban ... Some days Abigail felt she was losing her brother, one day at a time. He was becoming more silent, more withdrawn, and there seemed to be nothing she could do or say to bring him back.
    As many times before, she whispered a prayer as she prepared herself for the day. "Dear Father, may this be the day we hear from Alban. And keep Jacob . . . "
    She heard shuffling steps as Jacob slowly descended the ladder from the small loft over her head. His hair was tousled, his jaw set in a grim line. He said nothing. Not even a morning greeting.
    "Did you sleep well?" she asked cheerily.
    He merely nodded.
    "We must hurry. I overslept. I didn't hear the rooster-"
    "Maybe we've been blessed and it died."
    Abigail cast a quick glance his way. His expression had not changed.
    They soon left together, Jacob lingering a step behind. Already the streets were crowded, though the merchants and stall owners were not yet displaying their wares for barter or sale. In the half light, no Roman soldiers paraded prancing horses over the cobblestones. A slight wind shook the leaves of the palm branches overhead, offering a breath of refreshing air that Abigail knew would soon become stifling with the day's heat.
    "I wonder who will lead prayers this morning," she mused aloud, hoping to engage her brother. "I believe Peter and John are both away.
    "Where are they this time?" grumbled Jacob.
    Abigail turned toward him, new sorrow and regret filling her heart. A desire to protect this beloved brother welled within her. He was still young in her estimation-not yet fifteen, and already doing a man's work, though this certainly fit with their traditions. Day in and day out he carried and sawed and