Sara Rose by A. H. Holt

Sara Rose by A. H. Holt

Genre – Frontier Action Adventure
Time Period – 1800’s
Location – Ohio, Illinois
Description – Sarah Rose’s husband comes home drunk and angry once again. He lunges to grab Sarah Rose and falls down the cellar stairs breaking his neck. Sarah Rose knows his family will accuse her of murdering him so they can take her children. With the help of her Uncle, Eli, she devises a way to hide his body so that no one will find it, packs up her three boys and leaves Ohio to settle on a claim on the plains of Illinois.

Hashtags

#marriage #love #abuse #abusive husband #murder #northwestern #frontier #covered wagon #Conestoga #historical #novel #travel #Ohio #Illinois #books #land grab #action #adventure #crime #suspense #1860’s #overcoming #romance #strong female lead

Places to Purchase

Amazon
Kindle
Paperback – Coming Soon
Hardback

Smashwords
Google Play

Facebook Page

Lulu
Paperback
Hardback with Dustcover


First Chapter

Sarah Rose grasped the polished handrail and leaned forward, straining to see into the gloom at the foot of the stairs. The dark shadows made it impossible to see all the way down to the last step.

“Are you hurt Hans?” She called for the third time.

Hans didn’t answer. Sarah turned away from the open cellar door and rushed across the kitchen to get a lighted candle from the table. Returning to the open doorway, she held the candle holder high to throw light onto the bottom of the steps.

Hans’ long legs splayed across the last step. Gray dimness hid the rest of his body.

Descending the steep stairs step by careful step, Sarah continued to hold the candle above her head.

Her heart pounded. A crushing fear made it hard to breathe.

But I must find out. I must know.

As she moved down the staircase, Hans’ entire body came into view. Her thoughts raced and jumbled.

Maybe he’s knocked himself out. He probably hit his head and knocked himself out. He looks as limp as an old rag.

Hans lay perfectly still. Sarah gathered her skirts and hopped awkwardly over the last step to avoid touching his sprawled out legs.

Bending low, she placed the candle holder on the hard dirt floor. She moved back a few feet to watch her husband’s face.

His ruddy cheeks were deathly pale, and his eyes were closed as if asleep. He still did not move.

I’m afraid to move nearer–afraid Hans might only be pretending he’s knocked out.

Sarah expected her husband to jump up from the floor at any moment, reach his rough hands out to grab her. He would laugh out loud when she screamed in fright.

Minutes seemed to stretch into hours as she stood trembling, watching her husband. He didn’t move.

Still afraid, but finally beginning to hope, Sarah bent close to Hans. She reached out to touch his chest with one finger.

When she felt no movement she hesitated, caught her breath and gathered her courage to place one hand flat in the middle of his waistcoat, just above his gold watch chain.

She felt nothing. There was no response to her touch, no sign of life.

Hans wasn’t breathing. He really wasn’t breathing. Still trembling with fear and dread, Sarah moved closer to kneel at the man’s side.

She placed the fingers of her right hand along the side of Han’s throat. Her heart seemed to leap when she could feel no movement. His skin still held warmth, but he was surely dead.

Dead. Hans is dead. He would never hit me again—never scream at me again, drunk or sober.

Gasping with shock at the rush of gladness that filled her body with strength. Sarah Rose straightened to her full height to stare down on the body of her husband of eight years.

She felt stunned. She was almost numb with the shock of her reaction, but she could feel no shame for her joy.

Hans came home only a few moments earlier. He was drinking, or to be precise, he was drunk.

As usual when he drank too much, his voice grew too loud and raucous and his temper became uncertain.

He visited his brother Otto’s tavern in the village to drink and gamble almost every evening in the last few months. The hour was extremely late. It was long past midnight when he threw open the back door.

Sarah Rose sat at the polished oak table in the main room of the house. She was writing a long overdue letter to her brother James.

Both of Sarah Rose’s brothers were much older. They left home years before, determined to see the world and make their way doing anything except farming.

Sarah Rose remembered the comfort of their love and care when she was a small child. It had been so long though, she could hardly remember their faces.

Michael still wandered somewhere. No one knew where. He hadn’t written in years, but James finally grew tired of his aimlessly traveling here and there and moving from job to job. He met a young woman somewhere in the west, fell in love and married.

He and his wife took up a land claim and started a farm near a place called Lacon in Illinois. He wrote to Sarah Rose every month, telling her in great detail how he progressed in planting crops and building a home.

Hans began yelling even as he slammed the back door wide open so it banged against the wall. “Why are you sitting up here in the middle of the night wasting a good beeswax candle, you stubborn, thoughtless woman? What are you doing?”

“How many times must I speak to you about your wastefulness? Will you never learn anything? Are you unable to learn anything?”

Sarah jumped up to stand beside her chair. Staring down at the floor, she kept silent, letting the tirade flow past her.

She knew from experience that anything she might say to defend herself would only make matters worse. When Hans was far-gone in drink there was no reasoning with him.

Hans closed the door and stopped to hang his hat and coat on the pegs in the wall near the back door. He took time to straighten his coat with exaggerated precision. He adjusted the drape of the coat twice to make sure it would stay exactly as he placed it.

He always became excessively careful of his clothing when he drank. He finished fussing over his coat and hat and turned to reel across the room. He fell into the chair Sarah Rose vacated when he entered the house.

  The candle light sparkled on the gray hairs just beginning to show in his thick hair. Still a handsome man, with his dark hair and large eyes in a well-shaped face, his excessive drinking could be seen in several ways. He had gained a lot of weight, and the skin around his eyes was puffy and discolored. 

“Since you’re astir anyway Woman, fetch me some food. I’ve not eaten a bite since I ate my dinner at the mill this noon.”

Sarah Rose turned to open the cupboard. She took down a platter of ham and some biscuits left over from supper.

Suddenly, Han’s eyes fell on Sarah Rose’s almost completed letter to James. He jerked himself forward in his chair to stare down at her words.

Angered either by what he read or by the whole idea of the letter, he reacted by grabbing up the sheets of paper in one hand and waving them over his head. He leaped from the chair, knocking it over backwards with a crash as he lurched across the room to confront Sarah Rose.

Placing one hand against the side of the oak dish safe to steady himself, Hans screamed, “Why are you writing to that good-for-nothing brother of yours again?”

“Look at this. Just look.” He shook the papers over Sarah’s head.

“I told you before I will never again allow you to truck with such a fool in any way. What’s wrong with you? When he refused to give up his foolish adventures and come back here to civilization to help me with this farm I forbade you to ever write your brother another letter.”

“Don’t you remember what I said? Can’t you remember anything I tell you?” 

“But, Hans, please. I must write to James. He’s my brother.”

“Why do you insist on defying me? Do you have no respect for me as your husband? Is that it?”

“No Hans. No–of course that isn’t it.”

Hans’ face flushed an ugly red. His words slurred and his voice took on a far-away, thick sound.

He took a step closer to Sarah Rose. He still held the crumpled pages of her letter to James high in the air with his left hand.

Holding the platter of ham in trembling hands she turned to face him. He stared down at her for a long moment, then reached out to slap her cheek sharply with the fingers of his right hand.

Jerking away from the sting of the blow, Sarah Rose dropped the wooden platter of ham slices to the floor and turned to run toward the back door. Hans reached out to catch her shoulder and spun her around to face him.

“Don’t attempt to get away from me, you clumsy fool. You can’t get away from me. You’ll never get away from me.”

“You know I’ll always catch you and when I do I promise you. Your punishment will be ten times worse than if you stand still and face me.”

Roughly pushing down on Sarah’s shoulder, Hans continued yelling, his head down, his face held close to hers, “Just look at what you’ve done now.”

“Look,” he repeated, pointing to the platter and the pieces of ham scattered on the floor.

“How can you be so wasteful? You know I’m short on money this year. Anything we don’t need to eat we could sell.”

“Do I have to watch you every minute? Get down there on the floor and pick up that food.” 

“You don’t fool me at all, you vindictive witch. You dropped that meat on purpose. You dropped it because you knew I wanted it, didn’t you?”

“No—no, of course I didn’t, husband. Please, I’ll pick it up. I can clean it so it won’t be wasted.”

“Do you think I would eat food from the floor like a filthy dog?”

Sarah dropped her head and didn’t try to answer.

“You will though. You’ll eat every mouthful. Do you hear me? I’ll see you get nothing else to eat until this meat is gone, until you eat every piece of it.”

“Maybe that will teach you not to be so wasteful. Now hurry and clean up your mess. I still need my supper.”

Sarah knelt on the floor at Hans’ feet. With shaking hands she gathered up the slices of ham to place them back on the platter.

As she hurried over to the larder to replace the platter on the shelf, Hans turned back toward the table, bending to pick up the over-turned chair from the floor.

“I’ll cook you some bacon and an egg or two. It will only take me a moment, Hans. See, the fire’s still bright.”

“I don’t want any bacon or anything else. You’ve completely ruined my appetite with your clumsiness. Go get a rag or something and clean up that streak of filthy grease you left in the middle of the floor. Try not to be such a slattern.” 

“My mother would be horrified if she could see this. I think you do things like this hoping to shame me with my family.”

Head down, Sarah Rose crossed the room to open the cellar door. She felt angry and afraid, but helpless.

I know Hans is burdened with debt and directs his fear and anger over that at me, but he will eventually kill me in one of his drunken rages. Perhaps I’ll be better off when he finally does it.

She knew from bitter experience, she could do nothing but agree with Hans until he stopped his raving and dropped off to sleep. He always became completely unreasonable when he drank. He seemed to regret it though. He never failed to beg her forgiveness and vow never to drink again the next morning.

Sarah Rose grabbed the rag mop from its hook behind the cellar door. Leaving the door standing open, she rushed back to scrub the mop at the streak of grease the slices of ham left on the polished oak floor.

When the floor was clean of grease, Sarah Rose started back across the room to return the mop to its place on the cellar door. She heard heavy footsteps behind her and realized Hans rushed after her.

Startled and afraid, without thinking, she whirled to face him, still holding the mop handle in both hands.

When Hans reached one hand out to grab Sarah she flailed out in panic with the mop handle, striking him sharply on his right shoulder.

Clearly beside himself with drink and consumed with rage that she would strike him, Hans made a harsh sound deep in his throat—an animal like growl as he spun to lunge for her, both hands like claws. She jerked away in fear, moving closer to the cellar door.

In his maddened rush, the tips of Hans’ fingers slid from Sarah Rose’s shoulder. He staggered a step or two and lost his balance.

One hand grabbed for the doorjamb, but could not hold his weight. He fell backward through the open door.

Heart pounding and hands trembling with shock Sarah continued to stare down at the body of her husband.

Over and over she thought. I am free. Free of his drunken rages.

He will never scream and rail at me again. He will never again hit me or twist my arms to torment me.

I am free of Hans. I am free.

Then full realization came to her. A sickening knowledge that shook her so deeply she almost cried aloud. She was wrong. Completely wrong. Free of Hans she certainly was. Yes, but she was not free of Hans’ family. She was not free of Otto and Han’s mother.

As soon as Hans’ brother Otto and his mother know he is dead they will surely accuse me of murdering him. They will see me hanged so they can take over this house and farm.

After that, it will be easy for them to take all of Hans’ property. They’ll take the Mill, everything.

They will take Hans’ sons as well. They will take my sons.

Still trembling with shock and fright, Sarah bent over the body of her husband once again. She placed her hand against her husband’s throat to further assure herself that his blood did not flow.

It seemed so impossible Hans could really be dead. She felt compelled to reassure herself.

Convinced her husband indeed lay dead, not just knocked out, Sarah stood up, straightened her shoulders and stepped over his legs to climb back up the stairs. When she reached the kitchen she transferred the candle to her left hand and used her right to carefully shut and latch the cellar door.

Her soft lips set firmly in an expression of determination, Sarah Rose moved quietly but purposefully. She immediately crossed to the front of the house and climbed up the ladder to the unfinished second floor.

When she reached the middle of the ladder, she thrust her head and shoulders through the opening and into the loft. Holding the candlestick high. she could see the pallet her sons Daniel and Thomas used for a bed spread close against the chimney for warmth. Both boys slept soundly. Only the tops of their white-blonde heads peeked out above the quilts.

Relieved the children slept undisturbed through her husband’s tirade, Sarah climbed back down the ladder. She walked over to place the candle in the middle of the table.Resuming her chair, she sighed aloud and dropped her head into her hands.

I must think of something to do. There must be some way to keep Otto and the rest of Hans’ family from finding out he is dead. To keep them from finding out at least long enough for me to get the children away from here.

The obvious thing would be to dig a hole in the dirt of the cellar floor, bury him and cover the place with old furniture or something.

No-No. That wouldn’t work. That wouldn’t work at all. Otto would know Hans was somewhere on the farm as soon as he saw his horse in the paddock.

Even if I got rid of the horse, Otto would search everywhere until he found Hans’ body. Then when he named me murderer my guilt would be unquestioned. If I do that I will certainly hang.

Minutes passed. Suddenly, Sarah Rose finally knew what she must do.

Raising her head high she let her hands fall away from her face. Pushing her chair back and squaring her shoulders, she stood up.

She walked over to the eastern side of the house to lift the curtain and peer out of the window. It was almost dawn. No red yet lay in the pale gray sky of early morning.

As soon as it’s light enough, I’m going to run to Uncle Eli’s cabin. I’ll fetch him back here to the house to help me.

Eli will help me–I know he will. He’s strong enough to help me. I will need his strength to do what I must.

Taking a spill from the fire, Sarah Rose lit the lantern she kept hanging beside the cellar door. Opening the door again she slowly descended the stairs.

Shuddering in distaste, she pulled her skirt close to her side to avoid dragging it against Hans’ legs.

When she reached the dirt floor, she crossed the cellar to look intently at the two barrels sitting on racks that rested against one earthen wall of the cellar. Grasping the edge of the largest barrel with one hand, she shook it as hard as she could. It barely moved.

Nodding her approval of the sloshing sound the liquid made when the barrel moved, she turned back to the stairs, again carefully avoiding Han’s body. She hurriedly climbed back up to the kitchen, closed the cellar door firmly and re-latched it. Blowing out the lantern, she returned it to its peg.

In the few minutes left before full light, Sarah quickly but carefully folded the best of her clothes and all of the children’s things. She emptied most of the fine hand-embroidered linen out of her wooden trunk and packed it full of clothes. She even took all of Hans’ clothes that hung on the wooden pegs driven into the wall near his side of the bed.

Moving about the bedroom as quietly as she could, she worked in the dim glow thrown through the door by the candle on the table in the main room.

She didn’t want to bring the candle into the bedroom for fear the light would cause baby William to wake.

When she finished packing the clothes, Sarah Rose returned to the main room. She gathered up the books and slates she used to teach Daniel and Thomas their letters.

Once she arranged the school things in the trunk, she added her grandmother’s candle mold and made room for a few of her favorite books. Satisfied she had remembered the most important things, she forced the trunk lid closed and locked it.

Sarah Rose stopped her work and returned to the window now and again to look out at the sky. As soon as the first streaks of red touched the horizon, she went in the bedroom bent over the cradle a moment, checking to make sure the baby was well covered and slept soundly.

Grabbing a knitted shawl to throw around her shoulders against the morning chill, she crossed the kitchen to pinch out the candle flame. Silently, she left the house by the back door.

Gathering her skirts against her legs to keep them away from the wet grass and weeds bordering the narrow way, she ran along the path to Eli’s cabin.

Plans—desperate plans filled her thoughts.

Eli is big and strong. If I can only convince him this is the right thing to do. He’ll agree to help me do it–he must agree to help me.

 He’s all I have—the only one who can help me. We’ll be able to do this together.

If the children will only continue to sleep for another hour, it will all be over. They’ll know nothing about it.

We will be safe. Everything will be all right—will be hidden and we’ll be safe.

Eli must understand. I know I can make him understand.

Soon Sarah’s breath took on a ragged sound, as much from nerves as from the effort of running. She raced past the fallow fields and through the edge of the wood to enter a tiny clearing.

Eli’s cabin was small, perfect for a man living alone. It had one room and a sleeping loft, with a shed addition where he stored wood out of the weather and kept his horse. Sarah never saw the inside of the cabin any way but neat and spotless.

Eli even kept the yard area around his home swept free of leaves and brush. He said it was to keep snakes away.

Pounding on the door with her fist, Sarah Rose called Eli’s name twice then stepped back away from the cabin far enough so he could identify his early morning visitor through the window.

Already awake and dressed when Sarah knocked on the door Eli jumped to his feet to answer. She heard the sound of his boots striking the floor before she finished knocking. He lifted the bar, and threw the door open.

“What is this, Sarah Rose? Whatever is wrong?

“It’s not even full light yet. Is someone sick at your house?”

“Oh, Eli, I desperately need your help. I have killed Hans.”

Eli froze in place as though something held him still. His mouth dropped open in astonishment.

He didn’t say anything—he couldn’t, but after a long moment he sort of shook himself and hurriedly stepped back from the door, motioning with his hand for Sarah Rose to step inside. Turning to shut the cabin door firmly, he dropped the wooden bar back in its brackets as though to keep out an invisible enemy.

Eli didn’t speak, but turned away from Sarah Rose to walk over to the fireplace. Taking a cloth from the pocket of his loose vest he lifted the iron teakettle from the bracket that held it over the fire.

Moving to the table he poured hot water into a china teapot.

Returning the iron kettle to the hob, he took a tin canister from the chimney-piece and poured a generous number of black leaves into the pot.

“Come over here and sit down at the table, girl. Your face is as white as a sheet and you are obviously beside yourself.”

“You must drink a cup of this hot tea. Then you can tell me what in the name of heaven really happened. You’re not making sense.” 

“Here, put some of this sugar in your cup—use more. The tea will be ready directly. You’ve clearly had a terrible shock to be talking so wildly.”

He pushed a pewter dish half filled with brown sugar across the table so Sarah Rose could reach it easily.

“Oh…Eli.” Sarah bowed her head to cover her face with both hands. After a moment, she drew a deep breath and dropped her hands.

Staring up at Eli with haunted eyes, she fixed her tea, took a sip and spoke in a shaky voice, “You must listen to me, Eli. I’m telling you the truth. I killed Hans.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Please Eli, just listen to me. Don’t argue—just listen.”

“Hans came home in a drunken state very late last night, as he often does these last months. You’ve seen him. You know.”

“He screamed and shouted, ordered me to fix him some supper. When I began preparing the food he found a letter to James I had just written lying out on the table.” 

“The sight of the letter inflamed Hans with anger. He literally screamed at me in his rage.”

“He finally struck me. You can see the mark on my face.”

“His raving and the blow unsettled me so much I dropped a platter of meat on the floor. After I picked the meat up, he ordered me to clean the traces of grease the meat left on the floor.” 

“I opened the cellar door to get the mop and without even thinking, I left it standing open. When I finished cleaning the floor and started to return the mop to its hook on the back of the door, Hans suddenly jumped up and ran across the room behind me. I heard his footsteps and realized what he intended.”

“I don’t know how it happened, Eli. I felt so frightened I really don’t know what I did.”

“I still held the mop in my hands. I can’t remember exactly how, but some way I hit Hans on his shoulder with the mop handle.” 

“When I did that, his face got so red and ugly he was simply terrifying. He reached out for me again, but in his wild anger and drunkenness his hand slipped off my shoulder.”

“He lost his balance and fell through the open cellar door. He hit about half way down the stairs.” 

“He fell really hard, Eli. He must have struck his head on one of the steps or something as he went down.”

“I thought at first he was only knocked out or maybe even lying there faking, hoping I would come close to check on him so he could reach out and grab me to give me a fright.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him, Eli. I swear to Heaven I didn’t mean to kill him, but he’s really dead.”

“I put my hand on his chest and he wasn’t breathing and then I felt his neck. He is truly dead.”

“Don’t fash yourself so about it Child,” Eli’s face paled with shock and surprise. He turned away from the table to pace back and forth across the room.

Finally came back to stand beside the table. Looking down at Sarah Rose, he said, “It was clearly an accident Girl, anyone can see that—it was an accident.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Sarah Rose. It wasn’t your fault. Hans did it to himself.” 

“Everyone who knows Hans knows he is—was drunk more often than sober lately. He stayed drunk most of the time for almost the whole of last year.”

“His excessive drinking has been a scandal for at least two years. All you must do is explain what happened, just as you’re telling me now.”

“Hans’ brother Otto won’t know it was an accident, Eli. You know he won’t. Neither will his mother.”

“They hated me from the first—you know that.” Sarah’s voice sounded strained and her eyes were full of fear.

“They’ll deny Hans ever drank himself into such a state.No one will refute their word.”

“That is probably true, Sarah. I hadn’t thought of that. Otto wants this farm, doesn’t he? He may even have taken a mortgage on it when Hans borrowed money from him to start the mill.” Eli shook his head in concern and lowered himself into the chair across the table from Sarah.

“Eli, you must listen to me.” Sarah put down her tea cup to stand up and lean over the table toward her uncle. “Otto and his mother will go to law and accuse me of murdering Hans.”

“That is how it will be. Surely you can see that.”

“I can say I was there at the house with you and saw what happened, Sarah Rose. I will swear it was an accident. That it happened because Hans was drunk.”

“That won’t work either, if you stop and think it through. You know it is as I say. Otto will only accuse you of lying to protect me and he will be believed.” 

“Remember, Otto and Han’s cousin Luther Biedermiester is the county magistrate. Luther will believe exactly what Otto tells him he must believe. He will agree with Otto and his mother when they say that I killed Hans deliberately and you are only lying to protect me.” 

“I know that if I don’t do something this morning I’ll be hanged for Hans’ murder. They will take my sons and this farm and all the other lands my father left. They will find a way to get even the fields and woods that are to go to my brothers.” 

“Think Eli–please think. You can’t get involved in that way. They will never believe you. They may even say you helped me to murder Hans and hang you for murder as well.”

“What in the world do you mean to do Sarah Rose? How can I possibly help you?” Eli stood up and began pacing back and forth again.

“Come back up to the house with me, please Eli? I have an idea, and I need your strength. What I must do I cannot do with only my own.”

Eli Rossberg stared at his sister’s child for a long moment. Tall and well made, when she stood up straight as she did now her brilliant blue eyes were almost level with his.

Strands of dark hair escaped from the thick single braid that reached below her waist. Soft wisps had pulled loose to curl around her face.

Even pale and worried sick with the burden of this trouble Sarah Rose was strikingly beautiful. Her lips were usually smiling when she visited him, but today she held them grim and tightly closed.

Her head was high and her chin firm. Three angry red streaks left by Han’s fingers stood out on her white cheek.

“What is it that you plan to do, Sarah?”

“I’m going to hide Hans’ body so no one will ever find it. Once it is safely hidden we will pack the big wagon full of food and tools.”

“We’ll take my boys and go to my brother James in Illinois. Later we will take up a claim of our own near James. We will be free of Otto and the rest of Hans’ family forever.”

“My conscience, Child. You can’t even think of doing such a thing. Hiding a body is like admitting guilt. Besides, there is no time to do it anyway.”

“Otto will be here in a few hours. He will surely catch us. You know he comes here every week to see his brother, and he hasn’t been here since early last week.”

“No he won’t, Eli. No. Otto won’t come here today—not today and not this week. He left yesterday morning for Philadelphia.”

“How do you know this?”

“Hans told me day before yesterday that Otto would go. He said Otto needed to tend to some business about wagons for the new hauling enterprise he started. He won’t be back here for close on to three weeks.”

“I thank the Lord for small blessings. We’ll be gone away from here long before he comes back. If I have my way, we’ll be packed and loaded and gone from here before this day is over.” 

“I’ve thought it all out Eli. Listen to me—just listen.”

“We won’t carry any furniture with us. We’ll take only what we must have to live and those things necessary for us to start a farm when we get to Illinois. If we work fast we can pack everything in the wagon and leave before this day is gone.”

“If we do that we’ll be completely out of Otto’s reach by the time he returns from Philadelphia. We’ll be so far out of his reach we’ll never have to worry about him or his mother or any of Hans’ family ever again.”

Eli shook his head. Watching Sarah’s strained face, he asked, “What made you think of this, Child?”

“I’ve told you. You know I have dreamed of going to Illinois to be near James for years. It was impossible before, but now it’s the only way.”

Eli Rossberg continued to pace for a moment, then he turned to face Sarah Rose. “Let me get my hat and coat. You finish your tea and I’ll come with you.”

Sarah Rose moved to the door. “I must run ahead back to the house. Baby William will be waking. It will soon be time for his morning feeding.” 

“Please stop and check around the paddock when you come up, Eli. It’s almost a certainty that Hans’ horse will need tending.”

“He was very drunk when he came in last night and he often forgets—he often forgot to tend the animal when he drank too much. The poor thing is probably standing outside the gate still saddled and with the bit in his mouth.”

When Sarah left Eli’s cabin it had grown light enough for her to run freely along the path back to the house. Her thoughts were a jumble strained. She felt almost dazed.

This plan to leave and join my brother has lived in the back of my mind for a long time. Many nights in this last year, waiting for Hans to come home and fearing he would come home drunk yet again, I dreamed of leaving him someday.

I made the lonely hours pass by planning and scheming and dreaming of finding a way to leave him. A way to take my boys and homestead near James in Illinois.

A woman with only young boys to help her can’t begin to fell large trees to clear land and earn a living creating a farm in the forests here in Licking County. It’s impossible, it takes great strength—a man’s strength—to cut trees and remove stumps to clear land and prepare it for planting.

My father left me this farm but only a few of its acres have yet been freed of the forest. What few trees that were cut since Hans and I made it our home were cut with hired labor. Han’s showed little interest.

He always disliked farming. He was much more interested in other ways of earning a living.

He did well for us at first. He sold a large piece of the farm to pay for the materials he needed to build his woolen mill and for several years enjoyed great success.

The mill preyed on Hans’ mind. He got in trouble financially. He didn’t want to have to go to his brother or his mother for help.

They helped him find part of the money he needed to build the mill in the first place. Shame made him hide his need.

He caused the trouble himself through his gambling—gambling and drinking. He lost money he needed to keep the mill in raw materials and pay the workers.

Hans always found difficulty controlling his temper, but as the trouble at the mill worsened, he began to drink more and more.

When he drank, Hans always became loud and ugly. He made no effort to control himself.

I love James’ letters—I read them over many times. He describes in detail the open plains interspersed with stands of timber covering the area of Illinois where he and his wife settled and built their home.

He repeatedly mentions there are many open claims made up of naturally cleared acres just waiting for the plow. He also notes proudly that there are few stones in the soil of his claim.

James makes Illinois sound an easy land. A land filled with deep, rich soil perfect for growing corn and other grains.

Moving there to take up my own claim is my dream. My beautiful but futile dream for three years–a waste of thought I indulged in to take my mind away from my unhappiness.

But now—now it’s possible. I can join James, take up a claim where the land is naturally cleared and ready for plowing.

I can make a home for my children. I know I can support myself by farming with Eli’s help.

Places to Purchase

Amazon
Kindle
Paperback – Coming Soon
Hardback

Smashwords
Google Play

Facebook Page

Lulu
Paperback
Hardback with Dustcover


The Malefactors by A. H. Holt

The Malefactors
By A. H. Holt

Genre – Christian Fiction
Time Period – Life of Jesus Christ
Location – Jerusalem, Israel
Description – An epic tale spanning the lifetime of its characters. Set in Israel during the time of Christ, the story follows the life and times of two thieves. Jerusalem as its background, the story moves from the brutal life of a highwayman to the warmth of family and to the ultimate betrayal and a shattering revelation.

Hashtags

#Bible #Christ #Jesus #Biblical #Love #Family #Palestine #Two Thieves #Thief #Jerusalem #Brutal #Betrayal #Revelation #Rome #Israel #Jews #Roman #Crucifixion #Historical #Suspense #Action #Adventure #Crime #Treachery #Procurator of Judea #Pilate #Tiberius #Pilate #Caesarea #Galilean #Golgotha #Galilee #Christian Fiction #Christian

Places to Purchase

Amazon
Smashwords
Good Play

Facebook Page

Lulu

Paperback
Hardback
Hardback with Dustcover


First Chapter

The hot, high sun of late afternoon beat relentlessly against the craggy rock cliffs overlooking the empty Roman road west of Jerusalem. Argubus the cripple seemed barely alive. He lay snuggled into a niche under a wide-overhanging cliff, high above the north side of the highway.

Many, many hours the old man spent sitting quietly, watching the road below, ever on the lookout for travelers. His lot, among the many followers of Barabbas, was to watch for some victim for the small robber band hiding in the bush filled wadi below. It was a trying, tiresome task, but one that him paid well. For Barabbas was generous in the division of spoils.

As he lay half-dozing in him as Argubus the Prophet. He the hot shade, Argubus’ thoughts were of the clever ways of his life. In the teeming city, people knew forever warned anyone who would stop to listen to his tirades of the anger God felt for his chosen people. They committed many sins.

Most mornings found him at the entrance of David Street. He marched up and down before the gate, waved his arms about and loudly prophesied the forth-coming curses that would soon be visited upon all Jewry by a vengeful God. He told his listeners of a God angered with his people for collaborating with the Romans—for allowing graven images to be displayed in the Holy City and for their many, many sins.

After his harangue, Argubus would go through the crowd holding out his beggar’s cup, seeking coins—coins he loudly proclaimed he would use to help the poor. He stared into the face of each person, a wild look of madness in his yellowish-brown eyes. The grim and fearsome expression on his sun-darkened face intimidated many out of at least one small coin.

When he gathered sufficient contributions, he would then leave the city, announcing to everyone in hearing distance that he was going into the desert to commune with God. He promised he would return the next morning to reveal his message to the people. Many scoffed at the old man’s preaching of doom, yet others believed and were fearful.

Argubus chuckled to himself as he thought of the foolishness of the devout. Especially those who believed him and gave of their small possessions, for he was a wealthy man according to the standards of his followers. He thought gleefully of a small hoard of coins hidden in a rock cleft directly behind where he sat. It was only a small sample of his treasure. He started to reach for the coins, to know the joy of holding their round smoothness in his hands, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a small dust cloud rising far up the road.

Keeping his head down, he crawled to the far side of the overhanging rocks. Staying bent close to the ground, he scurried down the steep path to the ravine behind the cliffs.

“Josias, Josias, hurry to the lookout and see who comes.”

Alarmed and excited, every member of the waiting band dropped what they were doing and rushed to gather around the old man. He waved one arm toward the lookout post.

“Go and see for yourselves.”

Josias, leader of the band and Emilack, the youngest member, rushed to climb the cliff path to the spot overlooking the road. Josias pushed his long hair away from his face and held one hand over his eyes to shade them as he cautiously peered over the rocks. The caravan was hidden from his view by a bend in the road. He motioned for Emilack to drop down lower in the rocks to assure he could not be seen.

The two men chafed at the long wait. Finally, the approaching caravan came near enough so they could examine it. Made up of a string of pack asses following a richly dressed merchant, the train moved slowly. The man rode on a fat black mule with richly caparisoned harness. Six poorly armed guards marched on each side of the merchant. The men moved dispiritedly, as though they were exhausted from a long day’s march.

Josias crowed with delight as he turned to Emilack. “Look, my friend. The caravan will be rich. Watch the way the guards walk—they’re exhausted. They’ll be no threat to us and there are no soldiers within miles. This could turn out to be an afternoon well spent.”

Still keeping their heads low, he and Emilack rushed back down the path to the waiting men. Motioning for them to come close so he would not have to shout, Josias ordered, “You men see to your weapons and get mounted. We’re going to take that caravan. It looks as if it was made for us.”

After a great scurrying about, Josias and ten well-armed men mounted their small but sturdy horses and rode to the narrow pass west of camp. Argubus returned to his lookout—he knew his part well. The robber crew hid themselves in the rocks and brush and waited impatiently for the old man’s signal to attack.

Argubus looked up and down the road again, to make sure no Roman Patrol rode within sight. As the caravan came abreast of the opening of the wadi that hid Josias’ band, the old man screamed the signal to attack. The men swept down on the caravan guards, scimitars swinging. It was over in no more than an instant and the tired guards were dead.

Josias himself held the merchant with his sword point in his throat. He ordered his men to clear the road of all evidence of the raid. Working in tandem, the men dragged the bodies of the slain guards into the broken rocks and brush and tipped them over into the ravine.

When the bodies lay all piled together, Josias’ men broke the rim of the ravine and pushed dirt over the dead guards. Finally, the robbers lead their own horses and the heavily laden mules through the mouth of the wadi and out of sight of the road.

Simon of Cyrenia sat his mount quietly, watching the eyes of the robber who still held his sword at his throat. Other members of the man’s band rummaged through his merchandise. His chest swelled with anger to know that the robbers touched his possessions, but he was cautious. Wisely reasoning that if the robbers planned to kill him he would already lie dead, he kept silent. All he could do was wait and see what would happen.

Tired of the golden-haired bandit grinning at him, Simon finally said, “I shall inform Rome of Pilate’s inability to make his province safe for honest merchants.”

“And well you may someday, my fine merchant,” Josias said, smiling at the anger so plain to hear in Simon’s voice. “If it happens that our master sees fit to hold you for ransom instead of taking your life.”

Simon of Cyrenia was one of the most successful traveling merchants in the Empire. He began his work young and seemed naturally shrewd to all those who dealt with him. Many named him a worthy descendant of Phoenician traders.

Usually he gathered costly items along the Southern Mediterranean Sea, conveyed them across the old Syrian caravan routes to Damascus and from there took them to Antioch and Corinth. He sold these goods to the wealthiest residents of those cities. Men and women demanded the best of the Empire’s offerings. Everything Simon offered his customers was of great value. The robbers shouted with joy as they opened the packs and examined their loot.

When it was full dark and safe, the men set out on a familiar path, leading the laden animals around the city to Gihon. From that place they could smuggle goods into Jerusalem by a secret door in the side of Nehemiah’s tunnel.

Moving everything in the packs took many trips by all members of the band that could be spared from guard duty. Carrying the heavy packs on their shoulders, the men splashed their way through the cold waters that flowed under the city’s walls. As soon as the merchandise all lay safely hidden away, Josias turned Simon over to two of his most trusted men.

“Take this merchant to the hidden valley, Micah. You and Elias stay there to guard him. Keep careful watch as you turn west of Mount Guarantania and Jericho. There will surely be Roman patrols moving about in that area. Take care you do not ride into them. This man will bring us a rich ransom.

“Don’t you dare forget to blindfold him when you get close to the mountain. He appears sharp and will probably remember everything he sees on the way. It wouldn’t do for him to remember the road to our valley.”

Barabbas watched Josias’ face as he recounted step by step every minute of the successful raid and described the valuable merchandise the men hid in their secret place. The bandit leader tried to keep a scowl on his leathered face, but could not contain an occasional grin. He was undeniably pleased with the returns from the attack on Simon the Cyrenian’s caravan.

He felt dismay however, when he learned that Josias decided to hold the merchant for ransom. It was Barabbas’ policy to kill everyone in a caravan. That policy served him well and kept his band in safety for many years. Only Josias dared to resort to holding his victims for ransom.

“You will let your greed for gold be our downfall, man. You’re a fool to hold men captive instead of killing them.” Barabbas began to shout angrily to Josias as soon as he rode into the hidden camp.

Josias showed no fear of Barabbas. Dismounting, he dropped the reins of his horse and approached the bandit chief. “Master, please listen to me. This is a truly wealthy merchant. He is far different from the usual petty traveling peddlers we find. His family will pay well for his release.”

“Yes, I suppose they will at that. But what of the day you hold a friend of Caesar or another official of the empire?”

Grinning impudently, Josias said, “That time Master, may be the day we have our fill of excitement.”

Barabbas stared at Josias thoughtfully. He valued the man greatly, but feared that his shrewdness and lack of fear would someday take him too far. He could endanger the entire band.

 “Meet me at the summit beyond Rimmon at dark tomorrow. We will ride to the valley and see this merchant. I, Barabbas, shall decide his fate.”

A little after moonrise the next night, Josias and Barabbas heard the challenge of a guard as they made their cautious way along a steep, rocky defile afoot, leading their horses.

“Halt where you are.”

“It is I, Barabbas, and one of my captains.”

“Enter Master, and peace be unto you.”

A small fire guided their way to a cave-like shelter. The opening was hollowed out from the limestone cliff by some ancient river. All the men of the band except the guard at the narrow entrance and one other man slept beyond the fire, rolled in their blankets.

Without a word of greeting to the man beside the fire Barabbas announced, “We will sleep the night out here, and tomorrow I will talk to the prisoner.” Taking his own blanket from the back of his mount, he joined the men who lay around the fire and soon fell asleep.

There was a great stir in the camp when the men wakened and realized Barabbas joined them in the night. Lucius, the captain of the band, feared the bandit chief’s visit. His band had found little luck in the last few weeks. He felt tremendous relief when after breakfast Barabbas covered his face with a scarf and called for Josias’ prisoner to be brought before him. Lucius’ heart swelled with pleasure when he noticed the serious look on Barabbas face.

I hope he’s so angry with that Josias he kills him as an example—right here before my men. If he does it here, it will make the cowards even more afraid not to obey my orders.

Following a guard, the prisoner emerged from an adjacent cave to stand before Barabbas. Turning to Josias and speaking pleasantly, Barabbas said, “Tell me about this fine prisoner we have here.”

“He calls himself Simon of Cyrene, Master. He is surely a merchant of great importance.”

“Is this so?” Barabbas said, laughing a little. “We shall see. Were his possessions many, my friend?”

“Yes, his goods are on their way to the usual place to be sold. I am convinced they will bring a tremendous price. Here is a heavy pouch of gold I realized from selling the fine animals of his caravan.”

Pulling a rolled sheepskin from a fold in his robe Barabbas said, “Good, let us write a demand to his steward for ransom. Here, use this fine sheepskin. To what relative shall we send our ransom demand, Simon of Cyrene?”

Simon’s voice trembled with anger. He held himself proudly, and stared into Josias’ eyes, “Write it to my son, James of Cyrene.”

“You will be pleased at the high value we set upon you Simon of Cyrene.” Barabbas turned to Josias, saying, “Captain, write the ransom for five hundred shekels.” He laughed aloud when he turned back and saw the expression of smoldering anger on Simon’s face.

Barabbas handed Simon his own business seal, stolen from the merchant’s personal possessions. “Here Merchant,” Barabbas said, “Stamp the demand at the bottom with this, so it will be recognized by your son.”

When Simon finished placing his seal on the document and handed it back to Barabbas, the bandit chief asked, amusement apparent in his voice, “Are you sure your son will think you worth such a sum?”

Simon turned away, pretending interest in the fire and refused to respond to the man’s crude humor.

Rolling the piece of skin tightly and tying it with a strip of rag, Barabbas summoned one of his men. “You will take this message to Cyrene. There you will find the house of Simon and give this to his son’s hand. The man you seek is known as James.”

Leaning forward, he stared into the man’s eyes. “Do not fail me. If you do you know I will punish you and all those you love. Remember what I say, I know where your family lives.”

Without another word, Barabbas stepped to the other side of the fire. Still masked, he confronted Lucius. “I am disappointed in you and your men, my friend. I will give you only a few more weeks to do your part.”

He turned away from Lucius without waiting for an answer and joined Josias at the horses. The two men immediately set out for Jerusalem, leaving Simon of Cyrene to wait in captivity for the many months it would take the messenger to deliver the message and return with the ransom.

The eastern band of Barabbas’ men, under control of Barsubus the Philistine, known to his men as Lucius the Hawk, because of his prominent nose and vicious ways, operated along the old King’s Highway in Perea. This was a vast, thinly populated area of wild and desolate country. There were many places to hide and escape if chased by the Roman Legion. The country, filled with rocks and gorges, contributed more to the band’s success than the wisdom of their leader, for although Lucius was noted for his savagery, he did not have the cunning of Josias.

After Barabbas and Josias left the camp, Lucius sat in the shade of an acacia tree, nursing his jealous anger over Josias’ success. “He’s got the best place to operate. Old Argubus advised it. Damn both of them any way.

“I’ll show them, I’ll pull the biggest robbery ever heard of, bigger than Josias ever dreamed. Salem has gone to Gadara to watch for the next large caravan coming in this direction. He’ll have plenty of time to ride ahead and warn us so we can get set.

“We’ll give Barabbas something to brag about of us. It will be a relief to stop him always talking of the exploits of that infernal Josias and his men.”

Lucius’ very jaws ached when he thought of the insult he suffered when Barabbas chided him for his poor showing with his men looking on.

 Josias and Argubus throw it up to me every time I see them. That Josias might not brag much, but he has a lofty air. He walks around with his head up in the air as though he thinks he’s better than anyone else—that’s worse yet—I’ll find a way to get even with him someday.

Far into the night Lucius schemed and plotted future deeds. He planned how he would execute the biggest robbery the Empire ever experienced. It would be so big it would bring out a whole legion from Rome. Then he, Lucius the Hawk, bandit leader, would have followers of his own. He would be able to get out from under the heavy thumb of Barabbas.

Lucius schemed on, completely unaware of his shortcomings. He never knew that Barabbas only kept him around because of his murderous ferocity. His activities often kept Pilate’s Legion searching the hills east of Jerusalem, leaving the road between Joppa and Jerusalem clear and enabling Josias to overcome many travelers.

It chafed Lucius greatly that he must await Barabbas’ orders as to what caravan he

might raid, and what merchant he might attack. He shook his head in bitterness as he thought of the ignominy. He could feel the shame in his gut, pressing, pressing against him.

Attack this one, it is poorly guarded. Do not attack that one–that one is a favorite of Rome or do not dare touch this other one, or this man is owed a favor. He did not need this rigid control, he could decide for himself. He could decide just as the upstart Josias did—and he would do it soon.

The headquarters of Lucius’ band lay well hidden in the foothills east of the Jordan River. The camp was in a small clearing amidst a jumble of rocks, locust trees and wild grapevines. It gave the band almost impenetrable cover. A spring furnished unlimited sweet water and some small caves in the stone wall more than filled the need for shelter during falling weather.

A merciless leader, the men of the band and their women feared Lucius’ unpredictability. Oftentimes he got the idea that one of his men may have complained to Barabbas of his cruelty. The thought didn’t bother him overmuch. He knew Barabbas had grown soft and would have little heart if it ever came to a fight between them. Lucius believed he would easily kill the bandit chief in hand to hand combat.

Late one morning, after dreaming into the night how he would glorify himself, Lucius was awakened by the high sun reflected on mica flecks in stones at the cave’s entrance. It was much later in the day than he usually rose.

Throwing aside his blankets and moving closer to the small campfire, Lucius chuckled as the women scurried to prepare his breakfast, thinking he was still in the bad mood of the previous night. He looked around the camp. Men were posted at the valley entrance and atop a high pinnacle of rock. Without instruction, they watched the road.

“Are there travelers on the road?” he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to the man on lookout.

“I see no one, Master.”

The man’s answer greatly amused Lucius. He required his men to call him master whenever Barabbas wasn’t about to hear them. It helped somewhat to overcome his feeling of inferiority to the man who owned him, for Lucius was a slave.

Early in the afternoon, one of the lookouts rode into the camp with news of a large caravan heading to Jerusalem from Damascus. He described the caravan as well laden with goods and heavily guarded.

Jumping up to face the man, Lucius shouted, “Did you count the guards?”

“Yes Master—I counted twelve. They were well armed with spears and swords. Each of them carry one of those huge Damascus shields.”

“Were they mounted?”

“No Master, they are not. Only the merchant was mounted. He rides like a Samaritan. Two guards walked ahead of the caravan and the rest followed behind. Those men drove twenty heavily-laden pack asses before them.”

Turning to his men, Lucius raised his voice to say, “Prepare for an attack at first light. I will ride ahead and spy out their camp.”

Salem, the lookout that brought the message, stepped out of Lucius’ reach and spoke softly, “Master, it would be better for us to ride now and attack as they make camp. Those guards are all tired to exhaustion from their long march. We would have a great advantage over them. Also, we would have the entire night to escape.”

“You would give orders as Barabbas?” Lucius jerked around to face the man, yelling in his anger and astonishment at such temerity.

Cringing farther away, Salem said nothing more. He hurried to join the men who were busily stuffing food into their saddlebags. When they finished they brought the hobbled horses closer to camp, and made ready to ride. There was none of the normal jesting and laughter. Few of the men relished the idea of attacking so strong a force.

It took only a few minutes for the men to lead their horses away from the camp far enough to reach a flat area. Once the reached the plain and all were mounted, they spurred their horses to a gallop and headed for a hill several miles to the west.

When he reached the brow of the hill, Salem held his hand high, signaling for the men behind him to stop. Stretching out his arm, he pointed to the group of animals, off to the side of the roadway. A large fire revealed the outline of men huddled close together partly within the circle of light. Another, smaller fire glowed nearby. It undoubtedly provided warmth for the merchant.

Without dismounting, Lucius leaned forward to speak softly, “Withdraw out of sight in that hollow to the right. That’s well out of sight of the merchant’s camp. We can’t risk a fire. Even if they didn’t see it, they would smell it. You can sit close together to keep warm. Get some sleep if you can, and be ready to attack at first light.

“I’m going to check the area and make ready for a surprise attack at dawn.”

The men sat huddled together in the darkness of their hiding place, glumly muttering about “lambs led to the slaughter.”

Raising his head, Salem spoke softly, but loud enough for all to hear, “Surely Lucius is demented. He is planning for us to attack a caravan with more guards than he has followers.”

“I wonder about him of late,” Aaron of Judah muttered, “He has done some strange things since we were sent here from the Joppa road.”

A deep voice from the shadows said, “We were only sent here because Barabbas trusts Josias more that he does Lucius.”

“Shh—keep your voice down—he comes.” Salem cautioned.

Lucius dismounted and thrust the reins of his horse to the nearest man without looking at him. In a harsh whisper, he demanded, “Are all of your weapons sharpened? Have you checked your shield bucklers? You know a loose buckler can cost you your life—check them now—all of you.”

“All is in readiness, Master.” One of the men answered for the group.

In the semi-dark and cold of the early morning, ten reluctant highwaymen mounted their horses to follow Lucius as he rode over the hill and onto the sandy edge of the highway. Holding their animals in to move quietly, they headed for the camp of the Samaritan.

Lucius, overbold and dreaming of his forthcoming triumph, allowed his horse to wander from the sandy roadside onto the main track. The animal’s shod hooves struck the stones of the road. The sharp sound awakened one of the soldiers who guarded the camp.

The man jumped up and screamed a warning to the rest of the guards as he grabbed for his weapons. “We’re attacked. Prepare to defend the camp.”

All surprise was lost. Lucius spurred his horse over the rocks and into the camp shouting for his men to attack.

“Kill them, kill them all.”

His men, lacking confidence from the start, followed him to the edge of the camp, but once there, most of them turned aside, urging their horses into the rocks and trees away from the road, desperate to escape what appeared to be certain death. A tall Syrian slammed the side of his spear against Lucius’ head, unhorsing him.

Much later, Lucius stirred and tried to move. His head hurt as if it would split. His arms were bound behind his back. The shaft of a broken spear passed though the bend of his elbows. Groaning, he opened his eyes. Three of his men lay dead. Their bodies still sprawling where they fell. He could see no other prisoners.

Bitterly, he swore to himself. “The rest of the cowards ran away.”

The tall Syrian, evidently the leader of the guards, was shouting at the merchant. “Let us kill the vicious scum and have done with it. That will surely be his fate if we take him to Jerusalem.”

“No,” the white bearded Samaritan ordered in a soft but stern voice. “That is the way of the ungodly. We will turn him over to Pilate’s jailers when we reach Jerusalem. If there will be blood shed let it be on their hands.”

“It would be better to kill him now.”

The old man still shook his head. “No. I’ll hear no more of it.”

Much to the disgust of the guards he ordered, “Get shovels, you men. We’ll bury these souls here.”

The merchant stood by until the three dead highwaymen were well covered in a common grave. He added greatly to the chagrin of the guards by bowing his head to say some sort of prayer to his strange god.

The Syrians muttered among themselves about the strangeness of Jews. The tall guard said to the others, “They’re always praying to some god men cannot see—a spirit they call their Lord. I’m convinced they are fools—they’re all fools.”

That night, the caravan camped near another that traveled north, in a smooth flat area hard by the sweet wells of Jericho. Still bound, Lucius leaned against the rough trunk of a palm tree, unable to sleep for the torture of the tight ropes and the hard spear shaft pulling against his back.

“Shh–.” A voice whispered close behind him.

Lucius felt a hand on his bare forearm. Almost immediately, he heard the whisper of a sharp knife against the rope and his bonds fell away. His savior touched his arm again and motioned for him to follow. After crawling some distance away from the sleeping guards, his liberator rose and ran ahead of him. Lucius ran at the man’s heels.

Soon the man stopped beside two saddled horses waiting in the dense blackness of a vineyard. Once mounted, he and Lucius whipped their horses so that they ran wildly between the rows of vines. Soon they emerged onto a deserted roadway and turned south to race through hidden paths. Finally, they reached the safety of the hideout, in the rocks west of Guarantania.

Obed, one of the newest and youngest of Lucius’ followers, sat beside a small fire. The rest of the band sat in a group behind him, their heads hanging dolefully, refusing to meet Lucius’ eyes.

Lucius said nothing, but his eyes and expression clearly expressed the disgust he felt for men who would desert him. Wordlessly, he leaned from the saddle to grab a sword and spear from the nearest man. Strapping the sword around his waist he looked over the men’s heads and barked an order in a voice that dared anyone to disobey him, “Get ready to ride.”

Turning his horse, he spurred away, leading the band west. After a series of long night marches they finally reached a remote hideout in the desolate hills west of Gennesaret in Galilee. Lucius was afraid of returning to Jerusalem. He knew the guards and the Samaritan they attacked could give the Romans a good description of him and probably of several of his men.

He was even more afraid when he thought of the anger of Barabbas. He dreaded their next meeting. He knew Barabbas would rage over the abortive robbery attempt. He would be furious over the loss of men, and more than furious at Lucius’ failure to gain control of the rich train. Lucius brooded; knowing his failure would do nothing but increase Barabbas’ confidence in Josias.

He is Barabbas pet—the perfect Josias of Bethany—he will be even more the pet now. It is Barabbas fault. He should not have given me such cowards as followers. This was not my fault. We would have won the train if the fools had not run away. But I will be blamed—I know I will be blamed. Then he will think Josias is even more perfect.

Places to Purchase

Amazon
Smashwords
Good Play

Facebook Page

Lulu

Paperback
Hardback
Hardback with Dustcover