Excerpt

I cant pay for a room right now, the tall, broad-shouldered man explained to Jerome, but Ill make it up to you when I find work. Ive been working as an apprentice to a blacksmith in Cyrene, and Im hoping the blacksmith here in Bethlehem will hire me.

How about it, Deborah? Jerome asked, tongue-in-cheek. Think hes worth the risk?

Oh, Jerome, give him the room, Deborah answered, smiling. Several are empty, and our business wont go under for the price of one room for the night. She studied the face of the man, possibly in his late twenties. What was it about him that seemed so familiar?

Big-hearted Jerome chuckled. Just what I hoped you would say, Deborah. I didnt want to add to your burden of chores without your agreement. Just sign your name on the register, son, and Ill show you to your room. Its late, and I know you dont want to tarry. Simon wrote his name on the register and turned to go.

Simon! Deborah called. Youre the shepherd boy, arent you? Elons son?

Simon turned with a displeased sigh. Yes, he answered, Im Elons son. You remember me? He hadnt forgotten the kind innkeepers who offered hospitality that night. But he had hoped to escape recognition. He wasnt in the mood for conversation and had kept his eyes averted from the stable as he came in.

Deborah was just as beautiful, although a little heavier, with a few lines across her brow. Jerome looked nearly the same, other than a few gray hairs and crinkles around his eyes. Simon thought of Herods slaughter, wondering how many of the gray hairs and wrinkles came from the trauma of that day.

How could I forget? Deborah answered. You were here the night Jesus was born. You were so touched. I will never forget how you led us in praise. Her words sent an angry rush of blood to Simons head. Memories he had tried to suppress washed over him. He subconsciously gripped the thumb, burning with tingling heat, which Jesus had held.

Jerome, you do remember Simon, dont you? Deborah asked.

Of course! Jerome replied. But its beenwhat? Twelve years? Mary and Joseph stopped by here on their way to the Jerusalem Passover last spring. Didnt they say Jesus was twelve, Deborah?

Deborah laughed. Yes, remember how Jesus frightened Mary and Joseph by his tarrying behind in Jerusalem? She hastened to explain to Simon. Coming of age, he felt they would understand him making decisions on his own.

Thats right. Deborah. Twelve years old. Where do the years go? Simon, I didnt even recognize you. I just talked with your father a few days ago. He told me you were in Cyrene.

Yes, I was, Simon answered, mind swimming with thoughts of twelve years ago, of angels and stars and exultation. But Ive returned. My wife died....

Oh, Simon! Deborah cried. Im so sorry to hear that! Are you on your way to your fathers house?

Ive been there, Simon spoke curtly. Deborah thought she saw a simmering emotion in his dark eyes. I left my two sons there with Rachel. I cant care for them and work, too.

Two sons! Jerome exclaimed. Thats wonderful, Simon! Where do the years go? But your father was looking for another shepherd when he was here, Jerome said. Did he not....

Simon turned on Jerome with eyes burning like hot coals. Can you show me my room now? he spoke brusquely.

Of course! an insightful Jerome placated.

Deborah stood staring after the two men as they climbed the steps out of sight. What has happened to turn that gentle little boy into this angry, belligerent man? she wondered. She recalled Simons mother had died not long after Jesus birth. And then to lose his wife, too. No wonder he looked so unhappy! But why did he not want to talk of his father, Elon?

That night, during prayer, Deborah mentioned her uneasiness to Jerome. We must pray for Simon, she said. I feel hes in great need of it.

Upstairs, Simon couldnt sleep for conflicting emotions roiling inside him. He kept remembering the touch of the baby, the wonder of that night when the angels sang, and the peace he felt in his heart until his mother died. What had happened to the infant? He would be?Simon counted on his fingers?yes, twelve, as Jerome said. The age he had been when he saw Jesus in the stable. And where is he tonight? Simon wondered. Jerome had mentioned his family passing through. Did they live nearby? Was the child really sent by God? But the angels had said, Peace on earth, good will toward men.

I have had little peace since that proclamation, Simon grumbled to himself. And if the angels were talking about Gods good will, Ive seen little of that, too!

Flopping over on the mat, he stirred a scent of straw, another vivid reminder of that night in the stable. He jerked the cover over his head and squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldnt shut out the vision of the baby on Marys lap or ignore the warmth burning in his thumb. How Simon wished he had bedded down far from this place. The cold Bethlehem hillside or his fathers sheepcote would have been preferable. Anywhere but this place!