Amos and Rebecca had lived. There was a lovely view down the pathway that led to the city, the metropolis of Ephesus, almost as populous as Rome.
The pen was home in the summer to two workhorses of Amos that pulled to the cottage the trees hewn in the forest. There they were cut and trimmed for sale as lumber.
No workhorses were present, only a white stallion at the far side of the pen. He was turned away from her. She could hear the sighing of the wind in the treetops.
As she walked closer to the pen, she felt a warm breeze caress her face.
The horse flicked the summer flies away with his tail, oblivious to her presence until she called to him. Then his head turned toward her. They regarded one another, horse and human, both with an even unblinking gaze. Neither moved.
At last the large head turned away. She was tempted to walk around the pen to come closer to the stallion, but a sudden feeling of peace filled her and she remained still.
She slept soundly through the remainder of the night.
When she awoke, dawn was breaking. The details of the dream remained clear.
Amos came to the cottage later. He brought fresh fruit and cheese that Rebecca had churned from their cow’s milk and let ripen in the spring.
Mary asked him if he had a new horse to help with his farm work. A white stallion.
He smiled. “Not enough Roman coins in hand for another horse. Why do you ask?”
“A dream I had in the night. A white stallion was in your pen.”
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