An Echo in the Darkness by Francine Rivers
“Who was this master?”
“His name is Jesus,” she said. She took Boethus’ hand between hers. “He said something else, too, Boethus. He said that man doesn’t live by bread alone.” Leaning toward him, she told him the Good News. They talked quietly all the while the prostitute was with Alexander.
The woman came out and handed Hadassah a copper. “Keep the two quadrantes change for yourself,” she said. Surprised, Hadassah thanked her.
Boethus watched the woman hurry away.
“Sometimes,” Hadassah said, smiling again, “the Lord answers prayer in swift, unexpected ways.” He glanced at her as she rose and left him again to speak briefly with a young man who had a severe cough. She went behind the curtain again.
“What do we have next?” Alexander said as he washed his hands in a basin of cold water.
“His name is Ariovistus and he’s twenty-three years of age. He’s a fuller and has a cough that won’t go away. It’s deep in his chest and has a thick sound.” She took a money box from a small concealed shelf beneath Alexander’s worktable. “Severina gave us a copper. She wanted me to keep the two quadrantes change.”
“She was probably grateful to have someone speak to her,” he said and gave her a nod. Giving thanks to God, she took the two small quadrantes from the box and replaced it beneath the worktable.
Boethus was still sitting on the stool beside the small table outside. He glanced up as she came from behind the curtain. “My headache’s gone,” he said, bemused. “I don’t think I need to see the physician after all. I just wanted to wait and thank you for talking with me.” He stood.
Taking his hand, Hadassah turned it palm up and placed the two small coins in it. “From the Lord,” she said, closing his fingers around them. “Bread for your family.”
Needing a moment’s respite, Alexander came out of the booth. He needed a breath of fresh air. He was tired and hungry, and it was getting late. He glanced over the patients still waiting to see him and wished he was more than human, that he could command time to stop. As it was, he could not see everyone who needed him. People such as these, who had little money and even less hope, came to a physician as a last resort. To send them away without the care they desperately needed sat ill with him. But what else could he do? There were only so many hours in a day . . . and only one of him.
He saw Hadassah had set her stool before a woman who held a crying child in her lap. The mother’s face was pale and intent as she spoke, her gaze flickering to him nervously. Alexander knew that patients often were afraid of him, certain that whatever cure he might dispense would involve considerable pain. Unfortunately, that too often was true. You couldn’t suture wounds or set limbs without pain. He struggled with the sense of frustration that welled within him. Had he the money, he would give doses of mandragora before he did his work. As it was, he had no choice but to save the drug for use during surgery.
He sighed, then smiled at the woman, trying to ease her trepidation, but she blinked and looked quickly away. With a shake of his head, he turned his attention to the scroll on the small worktable. He ran his fingertip down the names written carefully onto the parchment and found the person he’d just finished with. He announced the next patient.
“Boethus,” he said and looked over the people standing and sitting around the front of the booth. Four men and three women were waiting, not counting the woman with the crying child. He had already seen ten patients and knew there wouldn’t be time to see more than two or three more before he needed to close and rest himself.
Hadassah leaned heavily on her walking stick and rose.
“Boethus!” Alexander said again, impatient.
“I’m sorry, my lord. Boethus left. Agrippina is next, but she’s agreed to let Ephicharis go before her. Ephicharis’ daughter, Helena, has a boil on her foot and it’s causing her terrible pain.”
He looked at the mother and gestured. “Bring her in,” he said abruptly and went behind the curtain.
As the mother rose to follow, her child screamed, struggling in her arms. The mother tried to reassure her, but her own fear was evident: her eyes were wide and shining with it, and her mouth trembled. Hadassah stepped toward her and then hesitated, knowing Alexander wouldn’t want her to interfere with what had to be done. Ephicharis carried her child behind the curtain.
Hadassah wanted to cover her ears as sounds of terror splintered the air. She heard Alexander’s voice, and it was none too patient. “By the gods, woman! You must hold her down or I can’t work.” Then the mother spoke, and Hadassah knew she was crying as she struggled to do as she was told. The screams grew worse.
Clenching her hands, Hadassah remembered the pain she had felt when she had revived after being mauled by the lion. Alexander had worked on her as gently as possible, but the pain had still been excruciating.
Suddenly Alexander yanked the curtain aside and ordered Hadassah into the booth. “See if you can do something with them,” he said, his face strained and pale. “One would think I was performing vivisection,” he muttered under his breath.
She moved around him to get near the shrieking child. Tears poured down the mother’s white face, and she clutched her daughter, every bit as terrified of Alexander as the child. “Why don’t you get something to eat, my lord?” Hadassah suggested mildly and turned him toward the curtain.
As soon as he was gone, the child’s sonorous screams eased to gulping sobs. Hadassah set two stools near the hot brazier. She indicated the woman could sit on the one while she lowered herself painfully to the other. It had been a long day, and her leg ached so badly each movement sent pain shooting up to her hip and down to her knee. Yet, she was certain her pain was far less than the poor child was suffering. Something had to be done. But what?
Alexander was too eager with his knife.
She remembered suddenly how her mother had treated a boil on a neighbor’s hand. Perhaps the same method would work here, now.
Please, Lord, let this work for your glory.
First, the child had to be calm and cooperative. Hadassah rose again, asking the woman questions about her family, while she poured fresh water into a basin and set it on the hard ground in front of Ephicharis’ feet. The child looked down at it suspiciously and then hid her face in her mother’s breasts. Hadassah kept speaking softly, encouraging the mother to answer. As Ephicharis talked, she relaxed. And as she relaxed, the child relaxed with her, turning to sit on one knee and stare at Hadassah adding salt crystals to the steaming water in the pot on the brazier.
“Why don’t you take the bandage off her foot?” Hadassah said. “She’ll be more comfortable. I’ll put a little hot water in the basin, and she can soak the foot. It’ll ease her pain.”
The child moaned when the mother did as Hadassah said. “Put your foot in the water, Helena. That’s it, my love. I know it hurts. I know. That’s why we’ve come to the physician. So he can make your foot better.”
“Would you like me to tell you a story?” Hadassah asked, and at the child’s shy nod, she told of a young couple traveling to a distant town to register for taxes. The lady was expecting a baby, and when it came time for the child to be born, there was no place for them in the inn. In desperation, the mother and father found shelter in a cave where cows and donkeys and other animals were kept—and there the little baby was born.
“When the baby was born, Joseph and Mary wrapped him in swaddling cloths and placed him in a manger.”
“Was he cold?” little Helena asked. “I get cold sometimes.”
The mother stroked the fair hair back from the child’s face and kissed her cheek.
“The cloths and hay kept him warm,” Hadassah said. She poured some water from the basin, then added more hot water and set the pot back on the brazier. “It was spring, and so the shepherds had taken the sheep out on the hillsides. That night, up in the dark sky, they saw a beautiful new star. A star that shone more brightly than all others. And then a wondrous thing happened.??
“What happened then?” Helena said, eager for more.
“Well, the new family stayed in Bethlehem for quite a while. Joseph was a good carpenter, and so he was able to work and support his family. Some months later, some men came from another country to see the child who had been born under the new star. They recognized that this child was very special, that he was more than just a man.”
“Was he a god?” Helena said, eyes wide.
“He was God come down to live among us, and the men from the far country brought him gifts: gold because he was a King, frankincense because he was the High Priest for all men, and myrrh because he would die for the sins of the world.”
“The baby was going to die?” the child said in disappointment.
“Shhh, Helena. Listen to the story . . . ,” the mother said, caught up in it herself.
Hadassah added more hot water to the basin. “There was a wicked king who knew the child would grow up and be a King, and so he looked for him in order to kill him.” She set the pot back on the brazier. “The men from the far countries knew of this king’s plans and warned Joseph and Mary. They didn’t know what to do and waited for the Lord to tell them. An angel appeared to Joseph and told him to take the mother and child to Egypt where he would be safe.”
As she told the story, she continued pouring some of the cooled water from the basin and adding more and more hot water, until steam came up from the pan in which the child had her foot. The gradual increase in temperature caused no increase in pain and was little noticed.
“The evil king died and El Roi, ‘God who sees,’ sent word to them by another angel—”
Little Helena gave a startled gasp and a soft groan. The water in the basin reddened as the boil burst and emptied.
Hadassah stroked the child’s calf. “Good girl. Keep your foot in the water. Let the boil drain,” she said and thanked God for his mercy. “Doesn’t that feel better?” Leaning heavily on her walking stick, she rose and made a poultice of herbs such as the ones Alexander prepared for patients with festering wounds. When she finished, she glanced back at them. “Your mother is going to put you on the table, and I’ll bandage your foot,” she told Helena, and Ephicharis rose and did as she instructed.
Hadassah gently rinsed Helena’s foot and then dried it, making sure all the vicious blood-tinged, yellow-white fluid had drained. She placed the poultice gently and wrapped the foot tightly with clean linen. She washed her hands and dried them. Tapping Helena on her nose, she said playfully, “No running around for a day or two.”
Sitting up, Helena giggled. Her eyes flickered and a serious expression spread across her small elfin face. “What happened to the little boy?”
Hadassah folded the extra linen. “He grew up and proclaimed his kingdom, and the government rested on his shoulders; and his name was called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.” She put the linen back on the shelf.
“There now, Helena. The little boy escaped all harm,” Ephicharis said.
“No,” Hadassah said, shaking her head. “The child grew and became strong. He increased in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and men. But men betrayed him. They told lies about him and turned him over to be crucified.”
Helena’s face fell and Ephicharis looked dismayed, clearly wishing Hadassah had left this part of the story untold.
Hadassah tipped Helena’s chin. “You see, even his followers didn’t understand who Jesus really was. They thought he was just a man, Helena. His enemies thought if they killed him, his power would end. His body was placed in a borrowed tomb and sealed, and they had Roman guards watch over it. But three days later, Jesus arose from the grave.”
Helena’s face lit with a smile. “He did?”
“Oh yes, he did. And he’s still alive today.”
“Tell me more!”
Ephicharis laughed. “We have to leave, Helena. Others are waiting.” Smiling, she handed Hadassah two quadrantes and then lifted her daughter Helena. “Thank you for tending her foot—and for the story.”
“It wasn’t just a story, Ephicharis. It’s true. My father witnessed it.”
Ephicharis stared at her in amazement. She held Helena closer and hesitated, as though she wanted to stay and talk more. But she had been right. There were others in need waiting outside. Hadassah put her hand on the woman’s arm. “Come back any morning, and I’ll tell you all the things Jesus did.”
“Oh, please, Mama,” Helena said. Ephicharis nodded. She drew back the curtain and started when she saw Alexander sitting on a stool right outside. She gasped an embarrassed apology and stepped past him. Helena turned her head away and clung more tightly to her mother. Bowing slightly, Ephicharis quickly left the booth. Alexander watched her hurry away. He had seen the fear in her eyes—and in the child’s eyes—when she looked at him. Yet, they both trusted Hadassah completely.
“Where are the others?” Hadassah said.
“I told them to come back tomorrow.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“No. I’m the one who told you to see what you could do with them. I just didn’t expect . . .” He gave a rueful laugh and shook his head. He rose and looked down at her. “I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you or you’ll steal my other patients out from under my nose.” He gave her veil a light, good-natured tug.
Entering the booth, he closed the curtain and took the money box from its hiding place. “By the way, why did Boethus leave? Did you heal him while he was waiting?”
Hadassah decided to answer his teasing question seriously. “I think his physical complaints were caused by fear.”
Alexander glanced at her, interested. “Fear? How so?”
“Worry, my lord. He has no work and a family to feed and shelter. He said his stomach troubles began a few weeks ago. That’s when he said he last worked at the docks. And his headache started a few days ago, about the same time his landlord said if he had no money for rent, the family would be put out on the street.”
“A sizeable problem, and not uncommon. Did you solve it?”
“No, my lord.”
“So he was still suffering from his ailments when he left?” He sighed. “He probably got tired of waiting.” He took some coins from the box and slammed the lid. “Not that I blame him,” he added, shoving it back into its cubbyhole. “If only I could work faster, I’d be able to treat more patients. . . .”
“He said his headache was gone.”
Alexander glanced back at her in surprise. Straightening, he frowned, uneasy. It wasn’t the first time he had felt this way in her presence. He had been almost too afraid to touch her after her festered wounds had cleared without any logical explanation. Surely her god had intervened, and a god with such power should not be taken lightly. “Did you invoke the name of your Jesus?”
“Invoke?” she said and straightened slightly. “If you’re asking did I utter an incantation, the answer is no.”
“Then how did you entreat your god to do your will?”
“I didn’t! It’s the Lord’s will that prevails in all.”
“You did something. What was it?”
“I listened to Boethus.”
“And that was all?”
“I prayed and then told Boethus about Jesus. Then God worked upon Severina’s heart, and she gave me the two quadrantes for him.”
Alexander shook his head, completely baffled by her explanation. “That makes no logical sense whatsoever, Hadassah. In the first place, Severina gave you the money because you were kind to her. In the second, she didn’t know anything whatsoever about Boethus’ problems.”
“God knew.”
Alexander stood perplexed. “You talk too freely about your god and his power, Hadassah. I would think af
She realized he had been sitting close enough to the curtain to hear every word she said to Ephicharis and Helena. “Whatever it may appear, the world belongs to the Lord, Alexander. What have I to fear?”
“Death.”
She shook her head. “Jesus has given me eternal life in him. Let them take my life here, but God holds me in the palm of his hand and no one can take me from him.” She spread her hands. “Don’t you see, Alexander? Boethus didn’t need caution on my part. Nor did Severina, or Ephicharis and Helena. They all need to know God loves them just as he loves me. And you.”
Alexander rolled the coins in his hand. Sometimes he was afraid of her convictions. She had already proven how deep her faith ran, deep enough to give up her life. He wondered if it would someday take her from him. . . .
He quickly pushed that thought away, not stopping to analyze the sharp stab of dread that shot through him. Losing her was not something he was willing to contemplate. . . .
He was even more afraid of the power he sensed in her. Was it hers alone or was it a gift from her god that could be revoked at any time? Whatever the answer, sometimes she would say things that raised gooseflesh on him.
“I need to think,” he muttered and stepped past her.
Moving along with the current of people heading away from the baths, Alexander debated what he knew about medicine with what Hadassah had said about anxiety causing illness. The more he thought about it, the more curious he became to see if what Hadassah suggested might be proven through proper record keeping. He purchased bread and wine and headed back, eager to talk with her.
Alexander took the partitions and closed off the booth for the night. He took his bedroll from beneath the worktable and sat on it. Tearing off a portion of bread, he handed it to Hadassah as she sat on her bedroll opposite him. Taking down the goatskin, he poured wine for each of them.