“But from where I’m looking,” Ruth continued, nodding between his legs, “you are, in truth, a young woman.”

Jesus snapped his legs shut.

Ruth let out a deep, rolling laugh. “You certainly act like a young man, though!” She gently lowered his legs. “Mother Susana was right, we will have our hands full with you.” She sponged his arm, taking time to massage his palm and fingers. The gentle touch loosened his tongue.

“Why did you kill the other shepherd?” he asked.

“Kill?” Ruth blurted, her eyebrows reaching for the sky.

“I saw them taking his body away. I saw the blood,” he challenged.

Ruth frowned. Her cheeks reddened. “That was Sister Samara,” she said with quiet deference. “And we did not kill her. She was murdered. By someone outside.”

Jesus watched her round eyes fill with tears. He followed one as it trailed down her cheek and dropped onto her chest. It was then that he noticed the medallion around her neck. It held the same likeness of the sycamore as the one he had worn!

Ruth saw the recognition come into his eyes. “You have much to learn,” she told him. “But not today.” She finished washing his neck and tossed the dirty water down a hole in the floor. She knelt and uncovered a plate of olives, bits of bread, and plants Jesus did not recognize. She placed an olive near his lips. He wanted to resist but his hunger was too great. She smiled as he chewed the small fruit. “There are those among us, those in the Circle, who do not want to heal you,” she admitted. “They feel that you threaten our safety. They worry you will try to escape if you are made well.” She sighed. “But after intuiting you, I said you would eventually decide to stay.” She threw him a wink.

Jesus felt his distrust faltering. It was hard not to like Ruth and her dimpled cheeks.

“So tell me,” Ruth said. “Deep in your heart. When your leg is better, will you try to escape?”

Without a thought, Jesus said, “Yes.” And knew it was true.

Ruth laughed again, deep from her belly, sending rolls of mirth down the corridors. “I thought you would say that!” she said and offered him another olive.

During the next month, Jesus heard the caves buzzing with activity. There was much to be done, it seemed, though he could see nothing of what was transpiring. He had also noticed that the women had stopped questioning him and rarely visited his chamber. Even Sister Ruth had ceased to come any longer, having passed his care onto a younger woman. Tabitha was her name, and she arrived every morning to rub a sour-smelling oil into his leg and manipulate his joints.

“You are healing f-f-fast! D-does it feel b-better?” Tabitha asked through a pronounced stutter.

Jesus nodded. Noting her simplicity, he decided to try to wheedle information from her. Clues that could help him escape.