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Martha was carefully sorting through her words.
    "If only I were a younger woman," she murmured at last.
    "Why don't you sit," Abigail invited. "I still have fresh water here from the well."
    Martha sat down, her back remaining straight, chin lifted in a stubborn set.
    Abigail went to dip a cup of the cool water. Martha accepted it without comment and drank long and deeply. She passed back the empty cup, seeming somewhat restored.
    Abigail quietly took a place on the bench beside the woman. Martha would talk when she was ready.
    But after several moments, Martha still had not said a word. Abigail decided she had waited long enough.
    "You would wish to be a younger woman, you said. Why is that?"
    Martha shook her head and lifted her shawl to wipe her face.
    "Could it be a young man has caught your fancy?" Abigail added with a smile.
    Even the stoic Martha, after a shocked glance at Abigail, could not suppress a laugh.
    "A man," she mused, dabbing again at her warm brow and damp hair. "And a young one, you say. Now, whatever would I want with one of those?"
    Abigail shrugged. "You would need to explain it to me."
    "Such foolishness," Martha said with a shake of her head, but there was no edge to her tone and her chin had lowered. She fanned at her face with the edge of her shawl.
    "So-?" prompted Abigail.
    Martha shook her head and sighed. "How are we ever to keep up with the work load? There are more and more people coming every day. Peter rejoices with every new face. As I do. But Peter does not feed them. He does not spend every waking moment bending over hot stew pots or scrubbing dirty dishes. No, not Peter. He just calls them to come on in." Martha waved a hand as though welcoming whoever might be at the door.
    Abigail said nothing. She indeed knew that dear Martha was as eager as anyone to see new members joining the community of followers. But the older woman was obviously weary, overwhelmed with all that must be done. And she needed to express her feelings without criticism.
    "Do we again have additional-?"
    "A good two dozen of them. All tired and hungry, I expect. Peter has just ordered them fed and bedded. Do you see any more food in the pots? Any empty spaces where we can spread out mats?" Martha's arms swung through the air with her rhetorical questions.
    Abigail stirred. "I think we may have some bread and goat cheese left. There are a few grapes. Will it feed so many? God has blessed loaves before-"
    "Of course. And I have not forgotten it." Martha stopped fanning and lifted her shoulders. "I'm just a tired old woman, speaking without guarding my tongue. I should be ashamed."
    "You have been on your feet all day in this dreadful heat, serving countless souls. You have no necessity for shame. You-"
    "If I were a younger woman ..." But this time she smiled at the thought.
    "If you were a younger woman you would not have the wisdom and fortitude and skills that it takes to do the job. Now, Martha, you sit here and rest a spell. I will call some of the younger ones, and we will see that the newcomers are fed. Then somehow, miraculously perhaps, we will also find a spot for them to roll out their mats." Abigail hoped to coax another smile from the woman.
    Martha began to rise from her seat, but Abigail put out a hand to press the woman back in place. "You must rest. If you don't, we will no longer have your wise counsel. Then what will we do? We need you. You keep us all going in the right direction, Martha, in an organized fashion. You guide us in our doing and in our praying. We can't do it all without you."
    Tears came to the older woman's eyes. She reached out and took Abigail's hand. "I don't know what I would ever do without you, Abigail. Even with your painful leg-oh, don't look surprised, I see you wince when you think no one is looking-you still manage to do the work of two people."
    Abigail had been surprised. She'd thought she was hiding her injury. But she should not have thought to fool Martha. The woman