Lord from lifting up our thanksgiving.” Caleb tilted his chin, looking toward the sky. “I believe the Lord to have a compassionate heart toward those who love Him. If He did not, the world would have perished with the flood.”
A breeze blew across the rocky desert and encompassed Ari, cooling his skin from the blazing sun. It was as if the Lord had commanded the wind to agree with Caleb. Perhaps, his master was correct. Perhaps, the all-knowing God, creator of heaven and earth was more concerned with the intent of a man’s heart than his actions.
“Help me down, Ari.”
“Yes, adon.”
Caleb wrapped his arm around Ari’s shoulders as he helped him off the donkey. “You must quit calling me master, Ari. You are a free man, and soon, I pray, my son.”
“Until that day, I will continue to give you the honor due you, adon.”
“So be it.” Caleb wrapped his bony fingers around Ari’s arm and shuffled toward a small grove. He knelt and motioned for Ari to do the same. “Let us thank the Lord for safe travels and the protection of our people.”
Ari watched as Caleb lifted his tunic off his shoulders and draped it over his head. A pang of longing gripped Ari.
He did not want to take the time to pray. He wanted to run back to the village. To Joash and Mira posthaste. He needed to see with his eyes, not just hope in his heart, that they were well. However, he must trust in the Lord, even blindly. If only it were easier done than said.
After their prayers were finished, Ari helped Caleb back onto the donkey and tugged rider and beast through the fields and between a canopy of branches. It did not take long for the sweet scent of the afarsemon to be replaced with the distinct scent of charred wood.
What had only this morning been vibrant greenery with blooms, was now a blackened mess. Their steps slowed as they took in the sight. Ari assumed shock had overtaken Caleb’s tongue. For Ari knew he hadn’t words for the desolation, either. Only disbelief and anger at the needless destruction of Caleb’s crops. And a deep concern for what lay ahead of them.
They rounded the corner and Ari halted his footsteps. He reached out and wrapped his arm around Caleb to steady him lest he fall from the donkey’s back. Ari gaped at what should have been an altar at the edge of the fields as Caleb’s shoulders shook with his sobs.
All that remained of the altar was a pile of rubble. Ari dared not inspect the smoldering pile further. Knowing the cruelty of Athaliah’s guards, Ari feared the worst. However, all he saw were chopped portions of branches from the surrounding olive trees.
“Who would do such a thing, Ari? Who?”
Ari closed his eyes. There was no need to answer Caleb, for both knew the truth. Besides, he wished not to waste another moment before he set eyes on Mira, and of course, Judah’s rightful king. “Let us be done here.”
As if realizing he might find the same horror at home, Caleb’s eyes widened in fear. “You are correct, Ari.”
Lord, what have I done? I never should have left them alone. Even for a short time.
Ari could argue the whys of the matter, but the truth was he was responsible for this tragedy. And he had no doubt Athaliah would have a grand laugh when she realized Ari’s part.
His conscience ate at him as they approached the walled village. For he heard nothing but wailing. “Lord, forgive me,” he muttered beneath his breath.
“What need of forgiveness do you have, my son?”
It was not the Lord who had asked the question, but Caleb. Ari would much prefer to speak with God on this matter.
“For my iniquities, adon,” Ari responded, hating his deception.
“I suppose we all have them, do we not?”
Unable to speak, Ari nodded.
Just as they were about to enter through the gate, Ari halted. “I do not think it safe for you to go any closer. Not yet.”
“I must,” Caleb said.
“I will go.” Ari would go and see the destruction. He would—what would he do? Bury the dead to save Caleb from such devastation? Ari drew in a ragged breath.
“We will go together.” Caleb laid his palm on Ari’s shoulder and searched his eyes.
Ari’s shoulders sagged.
“I must know that my family is unharmed.”
“But, adon—”
“No!” Caleb snapped. In his years of service, Ari had not once heard his master raise his voice.
“Yes, adon. I understand, you must do what you must.”
Afraid of what they would find, Ari felt the urge to drag his feet. Yet he wanted to drop the donkey’s lead and run as fast as he could. He would not breathe easy until his gaze touched Mira and Joash.
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