Anna looked up. Knowing that Ruth would not address her most pressing question directly—of why she had been brought to them—she decided to come at it from another angle. “I want to know about your medallion,” she said. “Why do you wear it? And what does it mean?”

Ruth tipped her head. “You ask because Zahra gave you hers and you want to know why?”

Anna nodded. “Yes.”

Ruth took a moment to think. Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “The sycamore is an ancient and enduring symbol of what we believe. The values that inspire and comprise The Way.”

Anna held still, listening intently.

“We wear the medallions,” she went on, “in honor of what we believe, and as a token to prod us into remembrance. Especially when we are faced with adversity.”

Hearing this, Anna’s eyes grew wide. “So Zahra was a Sister of The Way, too?” she asked.

Ruth nodded.

Anna’s eyes narrowed. “But just what is The Way? Are you the ones who practice ‘the old ways’?” she asked, remembering the disdain with which her father, and Peter, had spoken of such people.

Ruth smiled and wagged her finger. “I promised to answer one question,” she said. “As it is, I have already answered two!”

Anna sighed. Though Ruth’s answer had proven somewhat unsatisfactory, she felt relieved by the Sister’s sudden willingness to entertain questions. And she hoped that, perhaps soon, Ruth might agree to answer more.

Ruth turned to observe the growing pile of fleece. It had begun to lean to one side. “I will go and collect others to haul away your treasure,” she said. She looked again at the young shepherd. Studying her, she sensed the eager force of her curiosity. Wanting to put things in perspective for the shepherd, Ruth stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“How long does it take a ewe to produce a lamb?” she asked.

Anna shrugged. “Almost a year,” she said.

“Ah,” Ruth said. “That is a long time to be patient. But not the longest I know of.”

Anna’s forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

Ruth smiled. “Do you know how long it takes before a fig tree can bear its first fruit?”

Anna shook her head. “No. But why are you asking me—?”

“Five years.”

“What?”

“A fig tree must patiently wait five years before bearing its first fruit.”

Anna kicked at the stones beneath her sandals. “Are you saying that—?”

“I am saying that every creature must endure some period of waiting before the longed-for moment of fruition arrives. For some, the wait is longer than for others.” She paused, then asked, “Do you understand?”

Anna’s lips tightened. “Yes. You are saying that my wait is to be long,” she mumbled.

“Perhaps,” Ruth said with a nod. “But let us hope not.”