Return to Exile (17 page)

That just left Cyprian. So far it seemed he had some kind of natural immunity, because as much as he’d been around measles, he should have contracted them by now. She regretted the need to dispose of the unused vaccine vials before she could inoculate him as an added precaution. The vaccinations may not have gone like she’d planned, but after seeing the relief on Mama’s face when she vaccinated Laurentius, she would plunge through the portal again just to save her half brother.

Mama had convinced her to put Maggie and Junia to bed and to try to get some rest herself. Mama would take the first shift with Diona.

Thankfully, Maggie’s preoccupation with her new friend had spared them a long discussion as to why her daddy had two wives. Lisbeth tossed and turned for an hour, but between the continual coughing of patients in the hall and her replaying the events of this long day, sleep would not come. She could not close her eyes without thinking of Cyprian and Ruth sleeping side by side in the gardener’s cottage, his hand upon Ruth’s belly, their child stirring beneath his touch.

A biting chill seeped deep into Lisbeth’s bones. She drew her shawl. Spring would not be put off forever. Soon warming winds would blow in from the desert, stir Aspasius from his den, and awaken his fury. A ship would be sent to fetch Cyprian home. And when the proconsul learned he’d been bested yet again, there would be no corner of the empire where Cyprian would be safe.

Lisbeth’s eyes traced the outline of the coast. Not far from the trodden path that led from Cyprian’s villa down to the water was the vine-clad pergola where she and Cyprian had made love for the last time. For six years she’d grieved the eighteen centuries and thousands of miles that separated them. Now here she was, not a stone’s throw from where he slept, and it dawned on her that she’d felt closer to her husband then than she did now.

To be fair, how could Cyprian possibly have known she would return? He couldn’t. He
should
have gone on with his life.

She had. Maggie hadn’t given her much choice. Infants don’t care for themselves. She’d moved forward, but she hadn’t remarried. She’d believed what they had together, although brief, was real. True. Something worth risking everything to keep. Replacing him wouldn’t have felt right.

Beyond the pergola’s deserted columns, linkboys snuffed the
swan lamps of the ships docked in the doughnut-shaped harbor. Once the weather turned predictable, Aspasius would open the harbor gates and launch this life-snuffing sickness throughout the Roman world. Someone had to stop him.

“Lisbeth!” Mama’s summons drew her attention to the door. “You better come see this.”

“Is it Diona?”

“She’s not presenting like the others.”

Lisbeth grabbed her backpack. “Brief me on the way.” They set off in a sprint.

“Abdominal pain. Pea soup diarrhea.”

Lisbeth’s stomach lurched. “Does she smell like freshly baked bread?”

“How did you know?”

“Bad hunch.”

They zigzagged through the maze of mats until they got to the corner Diona’s family had claimed.

“Why is she getting worse?” Vivia’s hands thrashed beneath her stola.

“Do something, please,” Titus said.

“I need you to hold the lamp.” Lisbeth dropped beside Diona. “Can you do that?”

Titus nodded.

Lisbeth dug her stethoscope out of her bag. The yeasty smell emanating from Diona’s glistening skin was nauseating. In the flickering light, she did her best to conduct a cursory exam. Fever. Rash. Dry cough. Abdomen tender. “Looks like typhoid.”

“Are you sure?” Mama squatted on the opposite side of the mat.

“Without blood tests it’s hard to be certain, but waterborne diseases thrive in nasty environments. Bacteria love to set up house in the ruins of a virus. From what I’ve seen and smelled of
the city’s current state, I’m guessing Aspasius still hasn’t completed those aqueducts.”

Mama shook her head. “His workforce is too depleted.”

“Without proper sanitation support, sewage backs up. Bacteria can infiltrate the city’s water source and spread through the supply system faster than an army on steroids.” Lisbeth sighed. “And before you know it, every tap in town is contaminated.” Lisbeth’s gut liquidized. “I only brought a limited supply of antibiotics. We’ll have to find a place to quarantine their entire family, start the girl on some serious oral rehydration solutions, and disinfect anything she’s touched.”

Mama agreed. “I’m guessing your expertise is not an accident.”

“I did an infectious disease fellowship.”

“So you went home, had a baby, finished your residency,
and
tackled a fellowship?” Pride beamed on Mama’s face. “Admirable.”

“More selfish really.”

“Selfish?”

“I wanted to come back and save our futures.”

“Wait. Where are you going?”

“I need to get Maggie out of here.”

“Didn’t you have her inoculated?”

“Of course I did. But typhoid vaccinations are still only fifty percent effective in kids.”

“I was hoping something more reliable had been developed.”

“You mean like the common sense I seem to be lacking?”

18

“A
NOTHER BAD DREAM?” Ruth
pushed up in bed. The wooden frame creaked with her movements.

“The same dream.” Cyprian turned from the tiny window, his neck stiff from peering into the darkness.

He’d spent the night pacing the tiny cottage while asking God questions bigger than the universe. How was he supposed to fix this? Especially now. Titus Cicero had discovered not only his whereabouts, but Lisbeth and Magdalena’s as well. The news was sure to reach the ears of Aspasius before Cyprian had the chance to get everything in place.

No matter what he did, these precious women were going to get hurt. And what about the children? If Lisbeth took Maggie back to Texas, how could he be in two places at once: a father to the child of his time, and a father to the child of the future?

So far the dissonant howl of the wind had been his answer. The old closeness he’d felt to the Lord in those early days after his conversion had disappeared into a dark chasm. Perhaps his mummified emotions had made it impossible to detect God’s presence. Or worse, perhaps God had grown as weary as he of his anger and had officially deserted him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, Ruth.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. “This one was as restless as his father last night.”

“He?”

Her eyes twinkled. “I think so.” One hand rubbed her belly, the other patted the bed. “Tell me why you spent the night wearing out the floorboards.”

Living with Ruth these past six months had proven as difficult as he had anticipated. Not because she was hard to live with. She’d done everything she could to make this arrangement work. Their union was her suggestion, after all. A federation of weakened states joining together for the good of the Lord’s kingdom. Marriage would give him credibility with the senators, and Barek would provide the suitable heir necessary to contest Aspasius’s seizure of Cyprian’s vast wealth should the unfortunate need arise. But they both knew that he was not the man to fill Caecilianus’s shoes . . . or his bed.

Late at night, after their physical attempts to fill the emptiness, grief’s fog would creep between them. Cyprian would roll to his side, and Ruth would turn to hers. As her silent sobs shook their downy tick, icy fingers reached inside his chest and squeezed the breath from his lungs. Unable to bear her tears or his own hypocrisy, he would rise and pace the cliffs. For hours, he’d stare at the dance of moonbeams upon the restless sea. Somewhere across the span of ocean and time Lisbeth might have been looking at the same moon. Did she know how much he had loved her and always would?

“Cyprian? You’re scaring me.”

He turned and took her outstretched hand. “It was only a dream.”

“And was
she
in your dream?” Ruth’s question lacked the edge he deserved. Instead it was kind and forgiving, like her, and asked with the same genuine concern she lavished upon all the strays, including the ungrateful Titus Cicero.

His hasty decision to jump into another marriage had done enough damage. Why hurt this wonderful woman with words that should never be thought, let alone spoken? He shook his head, unable to voice a lie, and changed the subject. “I’m sorry about Titus.”

“I’m not. It will give me a chance to demonstrate to Barek how to forgive those who wrong you.” She looked at him in that disarming way of hers that meant she had more to say. “Back to your dream. Under the circumstances, how could you help but dream of Lisbeth?” Ruth smoothed the tousled strands of her braid. “I feel I’ve aged a hundred years in the time she’s been gone. Yet she hasn’t changed a bit. She’s still so determined and certain of her convictions.” Ruth let her hand slide from her hair to his arm. “And even more breathtakingly beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Ruth, I—”

She laid a stick-straight finger across his lips. “She was your wife . . .
is
your wife . . . and my friend. We must talk about her. I want to talk about her.”

“And say what? Persecution. Plague. Exile. And now two wives.
‘Why this, too, God?’
”

“He’s big enough for our questions.”

“Then why doesn’t he answer?”

“Why would you say such a thing?”

“Caecilianus prayed all the way to his death.” He saw her stiffen a little at the mention of her first husband.

“It was not for his own life my husband prayed. It was for the future of the church. God has answered that prayer. We are still here.”

He stood. “Why didn’t he save Lisbeth from Aspasius?”

“He did,” she said with a reassuring smile. “He sent her home.”

“Then why did he wait to bring her back until it was too late?”

Ruth recoiled, and he immediately wished he could return his
misery to the dark recesses of his soul. “You’ll have to ask God,” she whispered. “His timing is seldom our own.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve tried. Truly I have. But I can’t hear him, Ruth.” He pulled up a stool and faced her, the bravest thing he’d done since his return. “When Caecilianus first told me of his one God, the one more powerful than the totality of my false gods, I could hear that God. His voice rang in my ears the day he told me to trade my life for Lisbeth’s.” He lowered his head into his hands, then slowly raised his eyes. “And now . . . I hear nothing, nothing but the infernal howl of the wind.”

Ruth considered him for a moment, her eyes watery. “After Caecilianus died, I felt like you do now. Angry. Lost. Afraid.” She flung back the covers and lifted his chin. “If there’s one thing I know”—she leaned forward, cupped Cyprian’s face with her hands, and lightly kissed his lips—“loving others is the only way back to him. Don’t be afraid to love again, Cyprian. No matter how daunting the task may seem.”

The saltiness of her tears lingered, along with his shame at letting her down. “You must give up the church, Ruth.”

“What?”

“It’s only a matter of time until Aspasius learns I am back. And when he does, he’ll come after me, and then he’ll come after the church.” He picked up her hand and kissed her roughened knuckles. “I don’t want to give him any more reason to target you and the baby.”

“How do you know what tomorrow will bring?”

“Titus.”

Her brow furrowed. “What does Titus Cicero have to do with us or the church?”

“If Diona dies in my house, who else will Titus have to blame but the Christians tending her?”

She put her hand on his shoulder and stood. “Giving up the
church would be giving up on everything Caecilianus believed in, everything I believe in. Everything I know you still believe in.”

“I’m not asking you to give up your leadership forever. Just until things settle down.”

“But who’ll guide and care for the people in the meantime? No one else cares for them. They’re frightened little sheep easily scattered in these shaky times.”

“Felicissimus.” Cyprian took her hand. “Have you not encouraged me to relinquish my affairs to him?”

“The church is not a business to be managed.”

“You said he rallied the believers after Caecilianus’s death. Isn’t that why you rewarded him with the appointment of deacon? If anyone can weather these hard times, it is our brother Felicissimus.” Cyprian gave her a worried, provisional expression. “Ruth, until we’ve sorted what it means that Lisbeth has returned, neither you nor I have any business trying to tell other people how to live.” He let the embarrassment of their situation sink in before issuing his summation. “We must turn the church over to Felicissimus.”

“Caecilianus wanted
you
to lead the church.”

“But, apparently, God did not.”

19

R
AIN USHERED IN THE
gray light of dawn. Not as little drops, but as great walls of cold water sent to snap the world from its lethargy.

Lisbeth and Mama huddled under the eaves. The moment one clay jar filled, they grabbed it; dumped the clear, fresh contents into a barrel; and set the crock out to fill again.

To avoid setting off a full-scale panic, Lisbeth had agreed to wait until she had a chance to reexamine Diona in better light. Not one Koplik spot could be found inside the girl’s mouth, and the rash on her upper torso was limited to only five lesions. Add those findings to the continual diarrhea and severe stomach cramps, and Lisbeth felt certain typhoid was the correct diagnosis.

She left Maggie and Junia sleeping soundly in the master suite. She would move them to the gardener’s cottage once they woke. She closed the door and went to wake everyone else. All hands would be needed to scrub every inch of Cyprian’s home with fresh, uncontaminated water.

Soaked to the skin, she and Mama joined those gathered for the emergency meeting in the kitchen.

Lisbeth decided the best way to get through the necessary details of what must be done was to focus on Naomi, Barek, and Mama. She purposefully avoided making eye contact with Cyp
rian or Ruth, who’d answered her frantic summons wearing their bedclothes. Ruth’s belly was even more pronounced in the thin, wet undertunic that clung to her curves. “This piggyback bacteria we’re facing has symptoms similar to measles: Fever. Cough. Headache. Sparse, pinkish rash.”