Anna shook her head in frustration. “I do not understand—”

“Just as you cannot take yarn from the middle, so I cannot tell you of the sycamore branches. Or of the reasons you have come here. But trust me when I tell you this: The answers will come. You must learn to be patient.” Ruth said this despite knowing that no one could answer all of Anna’s questions. With Zahra gone, so much about the young shepherd, and her reasons for being among them, could never be known.

Anna frowned, dissatisfied with Ruth’s response. Realizing she was not to receive any of the information she sought, and still feeling uneasy from her dreams, she grabbed up her sling and pouch of stones. “I must tend to my sheep,” she muttered and departed without looking back.

As was their custom, the Sisters gathered for evening tea. Sitting in a circle around a fire, they sipped from their cups and shared news and insights of the day. Behind them sounded the click-clack of Tabitha’s loom as she wove a new tunic.

Sister Ruth approached the fire and sat next to Shereen.

“Greetings of the night.”

“And to you,” Shereen said. Her eyebrows lifted. “Well?” she said, eager to hear what more Ruth had learned from the young shepherd.

Ruth shrugged.

“What did she tell you?” Shereen prodded.

Ruth gazed into the hazy surface of her tea. “That she lived in Nazareth. That despite being friends, Zahra taught her nothing of The Way. And that her father was a carpenter. Quite a bit older than her mother, I think.”

Ruth sighed and blew the steam from her cup. To her the information carried little import. Which was why she was startled by the look that shattered Shereen’s face. A look of utter surprise and … anguish.

“Shereen?” she asked, bewildered. “Did I say something to upset—?”

“No,” she said. She held up a hand. “It is nothing.”

Ruth watched Shereen realign and regain her composure.

Shereen glanced quickly about the circle. Relieved to find that no one had noticed their interaction, she drifted slowly to her feet. “It has been a long day,” she said. “I think I will retire.”

CHAPTER 12

Somewhere beyond the Great Desert—17 A.D.

The men’s laughter rose to Peter’s ears but in it he found no joy. From a distance, he watched the others dancing around a limber fire, wine in their hands, women on their arms, a goat sizzling above the flames.

Having successfully crossed the great sands, the shepherds had stumbled into the village tattered and bone thin. The people’s hospitality had been a welcome relief.

But Peter did not have the heart for celebrating. Ever since the loss of his friend, he had found the world a dismal place. His life devoid of meaning.

Gazing across the barren landscape, it seemed impossible to him that a spirit as vibrant as his friend’s could have been extinguished.