And yet Jesus had not returned.

Long after Solomon had declared Jesus dead, Peter had spotted his friend everywhere—rising atop ridgelines, drifting through bobbing flocks, approaching camp at mealtime. He would even have sworn he had heard his voice—calling out to the birds, to the sheep—and to Peter.

Worse still, Peter’s growing despair had led to dangerous oversights. On one occasion, only a few weeks into their arduous crossing, he had allowed his lead sheep to wander straight into a cobra’s nest. His error had resulted in the animal’s agonizing death. Afterward the shepherds missed no opportunity to berate him. Chastising him for his idiotic and costly mistake.

As a consequence, the self-assurance that his friendship with Jesus had helped instill had begun to fade. Leaving him vulnerable, once again, to the voices from his past. During the long lonely nights, he found his father’s disapproval intruding ever more into his thoughts.

How could my loins have issued such a weak and pathetic son? he remembered his father crying in anguish, the night before he had sent Peter away forever.

Peering through the smoke, thickened with burning fat, he spotted Solomon sitting on a distant ridge. As of late, the men had noticed that their leader had again become preoccupied and distressed, just as he had outside Jerusalem. Most assumed it was because he blamed himself for the loss of their best shepherd. Others were not sure what had caused his fresh apprehension. And still others stewed over what their leader’s anguish might portend for the future.

As for Peter, he did not care to trouble himself with Solomon or his woes. He hoped, in fact, that the elder shepherd did blame himself for the loss of Jesus. A loss from which Peter felt certain he would never recover.

CHAPTER 13

Somewhere within The Narrows outside ancient Palestine—20 A.D.

Sister Ruth ambled down the narrow path that led to Anna’s cave. She had set off earlier than usual and the pre-dawn air felt soft against her skin.

When she arrived at the chamber, she found the shepherd already gone. Only a ring of bright coals remained in the place of her morning fire. Setting down the meal, Ruth went to a small stone enclosure. She knelt down and drew away its heavy, flat top. In the cool cavern underneath, she found goatskins full of milk. This morning the skins were three in number rather than two. Ruth smiled at the ample supply. The sheeps’ bounty, and Anna’s gift for tending them, had added much-needed flesh to the Sisters’ bones.

Ruth had just bent to heft the skins of milk onto her shoulders when she heard loud mewing. The animals sounded close. This was unusual since Anna normally led them toward a distant valley. Curious as to why the flock remained nearby, she replaced the stone lid and left the cave.