The crowd fell upon them. They braced for an attack, but none came. Only the clamor of desperate requests and invisible hands grabbing at their robes and feet. Please help … My father is ill … My brother … The special herbs … My hand … She is blind … Evil spirits inside her! … Have you come to save us? Please, please … The air hung heavy with the smell of filth and hunger and infection. Tabitha swooned under the onslaught. Ruth reached out to support her, fearing that the crowd would crush her.

An elderly woman entered the circle and batted the people away with a staff. “Get back! Get behind me!” she shouted until the villagers retreated. When she had cleared a space, the old woman stood before Jesus and his sisters. She knelt and bowed at their feet. “Forgive them,” she said. “We are but poor people and our needs are great. We had heard rumors of your gifts—”

The crowd again pressed forward. The old woman turned to face them. “Have you lost your heads? Can you not see that our guests are weary from their travels? Let us first offer a meal before making requests of them.”

She turned back to Jesus and his sisters. “Follow me,” she said.

The old woman’s son met them at the door to his house.

“Who are these?” he asked of his mother, casting a sharp eye on Jesus and the women.

“They are my guests,” she told him.

The young man lowered his voice. “Mother, the women are pagans. I will not permit them inside my house.”

The old woman looked him directly in the eye. “Son, I am old and my time nearly come. Surely you will not deny me the pleasure of a few visitors?”

“But, Mother—”

She threw him a powerful stare. He relented, stepping aside with disgust.

The old woman led her guests through the door. Together they sat inside her son’s house while his wife and daughters stoked a fire and set thin loaves of barley bread to bake above the flames. Unwilling to join them, the young man loafed in a far corner, his brow drawn tight.

Outside the dwelling, Jesus heard whispers. He noticed, as before, eyes peering through every window and crack. The expressions were starved and desperate. The sheer number of onlookers and their intensity made him uncomfortable. In an attempt to remain calm, he told the old woman, “We must thank you for your hospitality.”

The old woman smiled and leaned forward. In a whisper she said, “It is the least I can do for those who keep our wisdom.”

Ruth and Jesus shared a furtive look.

What did the old woman mean? Was she referring to The Way?

Keeping his voice low, Jesus asked, “How is it that you seem to know us when we have never been here before?”

The woman chuckled and pointed to Tabitha. “It is the color of your robes,” she said.