Would she recognize him? Would she be able to see through his disguise? Would anyone?

His heart ached at the thought.

Ruth woke with a start. The fire had gone out. Her body shook in the chill. She looked over and saw that Jesus was gone. She drew a deep breath and knelt to rebuild the fire.

“Greetings of the night,” Mary said. She lowered herself on the hilltop next to Jesus. Even in the dim light, her eyes glittered. Even in the darkness, she blushed.

Jesus swallowed hard and made room for her.

“Can you not sleep?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She turned toward the invisible horizon. Without looking, she laid her hand on his.

His heart pounded against his ribs. He tried to speak but could not. He tried to intuit her, but could not steady himself.

Her fingers pushed gently between his.

Jesus gasped. He felt torn by joy and grief. For a moment, he considered telling her about his memories. About how they had sustained him. And healed his heart of loneliness. Then his mind shuddered with thoughts of how she would recoil from the truth.

Would he ever be truly loved?

“I remember the first night I saw you,” she said.

Jesus held his breath.

“I remember how you looked right into me. Like you saw me. The all of me, and found it good.” She smiled into the dark. “For that moment, and for the sacrifice of your life that you have made, I do now and will forever love you.”

Jesus trembled with despair.

How she would hate him!

He stared between the stars and became infinity. “Mary,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “There is something I … I am not … who you think.”

She pressed her hand into his.

“I know who you are,” she said quietly. Her tone left no room for doubt.

Jesus stared down in shock and disbelief.

Could she really know the truth—and still find him good?

He lightened at the thought. After a moment, he felt his whole body loosen and lift, ever so slightly, from the ground.

Mary turned slowly and gazed up. Their eyes met in a blaze that sustained itself without end.

Held within this light, neither of them heard the men advance from behind.

CHAPTER 51

Somewhere within ancient Palestine—33 A.D.

Mary ran and ran with a scream caught in her throat.

There had been five of them. Or more. She had not been able to see their faces.

The men had grabbed them from behind and dragged them apart.

As they struggled against their captors, another man had approached, climbing up to the hill’s crest.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he taunted.

Mary and Jesus kicked and thrashed, but neither could break free.