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shaped and planed heavy pieces of olive or cedar or pine. From dawn till dusk, he toiled at work that brought him no personal reward. Abigail knew there were men who loved the feel of the wood as they ran their calloused hands over the intricate grain. They understood just what it was as God had formed it, envisioned what it could become under skillful shaping and building. And also what it had been in the Carpenter's hands. Not Jacob. To him it was merely a task. Tedious and unrelenting.
    She replied, "Visiting some of the brethren, I've heard."
    He merely shrugged.
    The walk to their meeting place was enough to cause her leg to throb with pain once more. She tried not to limp as Jacob's stride brought him abreast and then steps ahead of her. Her accidental burn from the scalding wash water had healed over, but the skin across the wound remained tight and sensitive to any stress or bump or bruise. And her days were often filled with such incidents. As she hoisted heavy clay jars or worked with other women in the close quarters of the kitchen, she often moved or stretched in a way that bumped against objects, causing a bruise or small tear in the scar. Normally she said nothing, simply waiting for the new injury to heal itself. She had never been one for complaining. In fact, she would much rather sing, even on the worst days. But there were times when she could not hide her limp or conceal the discomfort that no doubt showed on her face.
    Jacob looked back at her, then slowed his pace.
    The simple act brought tears to Abigail's eyes. In spite of his moodiness, he still sought to assist her. To protect her. He always seemed to sense when her injury was causing her pain.
    They caught up to fellow worshipers heading to the courtyard. With brief greetings they joined step, their voices hushed as they moved forward. It would not do to draw attention to the growing numbers that gathered each day.
    A familiar shiver of excitement ran through Abigail. Will this be the day?
    When first the Lord had departed with the promise of his return, they had begun every day with that question on their hearts and lips. Later they greeted one another with the unspoken question in their eyes. Gradually they steeled themselves to accept that the Messiah might have other plans or there might be some unknown reason why he was delayed. Certainly their numbers were expanding daily. They had been charged with spreading the Word, to bring in others, to be his witnesses there in Jerusalem, in Samaria, and throughout the world. Was that not sufficient reason for him to prolong his coming?
    Gradually the group endeavored to put aside their yearning for his swift return and to reach out to those who still needed the truth of his first arrival among them. But Abigail, in spite of her longing to be a good follower, often found herself hoping that this would be the day. Doubts and fears and threats-and pain-could all be left behind when their Messiah was once again among them in person. She had felt his healing touch once already, lifting the deep sorrow in her mind and heart. And maybe this time her leg ...
    She glanced again at Jacob. She was sure that when the Lord returned, Jacob's unhappiness would once again be turned into the joyful exuberance she loved. She would gladly suffer the rest of her life if that could be so.

    Abigail was busy scrubbing cooking pots with sand and rinsing them for the next meal when Martha hurried into the kitchen, back straight, lips firmly pressed together. Abigail sensed immediately that all was not right but held her tongue.
    The older woman stopped, took a deep breath, and brushed her arm over her forehead, sweeping back a few strands of delinquent hair. She looked flushed and weary with the day's work and the afternoon heat. Body and soul weary, Abigail thought, but she did not speak. She straightened from her task and reached for a towel. Her eyes sought Martha's for an answer.
    It did not come quickly. It was as though