Beatrix’s smile drooped as she slowly rolled a pair of orange woolen stockings. “The herb supplier for our perfumes has a farm outside of the city—not far, a day’s journey if the weather holds, two if it’s wet.” She took a breath and tucked the stockings deep into the bag. “Lucan made trip after trip without incident, but the last time he went, heavy rains kept him on the farm for a week. The farmer urged him to wait until the roads dried, but Lucan refused and set out anyway.”
Iris handed over another set of rolled wool stockings.
Beatrix’s voice dropped. “He was found a few days later, dead on the roadside. There was no sign of violence or accident, so...” She shrugged. “We figured his heart must have just stopped.”
“Oh, Beatrix,” Iris breathed. “I’m so sorry.”
Beatrix nodded and added three pairs of sandals to the top of the pile. A question had been growing in Iris since she’d heard of Delphine’s son Peter, his young life cut short despite their prayers, and now Lucan, by all accounts a good man, also dead. She gave voice to her thoughts.
“How do you cling to God when terrible things happen? He could have stopped them, yet He didn’t. How do you keep from... from clinging to the grief?”
“Ask yourself what you know is true. God is good.” Beatrix’s voice rang firm. “Even in loss, even when He does not answer our prayers as we would have Him do, He is good, and we can trust Him.”
Iris sighed. She didn’t want to argue. She’d experienced the goodness of God more vividly than most—yet the questions lingered. God did good things, but what of all the terrible things that befell His followers?
“How do you know?”
“‘You are good and do only good.’” Delphine closed her eyes and drew in a breath. “When Peter died, that was the only passage of Scripture that came to my mind. The only thing I could hold to. I repeated it over and over because I knew if I did not, I would begin to repeat other things. Untrue things, spoken from the depths of my pain.”
She swallowed back the emotion in her eyes and sank down onto the edge of the bed. “My Peter is dead because our world is broken, but it took many months of crying to God for me to see that.” She stopped, dashing a tear from her cheek. “I long to hold him, to hear his sweet laugh, to smooth those shaggy curls—and the goodness of God made a way for that to happen someday. Just not here.”
“Exactly right.” Beatrix wrapped Delphine in a hug, tears streaming down her face.
Iris swiped at her own cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m not as strong as you are.” She shook her head. “I fear if something had happened to my pater, I would have fallen apart.”
“Your father cannot hold you together,” Delphine said as Beatrix returned to her bag. “But God will. I promise you that.”
Iris nodded. She wouldn’t know until the time came. Deep down she hoped it never would and she could go on trusting in God’s goodness because it was unquestionably evident. Her sight, her father redeemed, Valentine’s love—it was all good.
The bag was fair to bursting as Beatrix heaved it to her shoulder with a wheezing groan and lurched forward with a few steadying steps.
Delphine and Iris reached for her. “Are you—do you have it?”
“Like I said—” Beatrix grunted—“I’m surprisingly strong.”
“At least you’re only walking to the warehouse.” Delphine grabbed the bag and eased it from Beatrix’s back. “I’m sure Val will insist on carrying it anyway.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Beatrix swiped a curl out of eyes sparkling with mischief. “I haven’t even packed forhimyet.”
By the time they’d packed and lugged the bags into a pile outside the culina, Cato shuffled Quintus across the darkened courtyard toward the triclinium. Iris rushed to her father’s other side and tucked her shoulder into his armpit, lifting and supporting him.
“Pater?” She ducked her head to peer into his lowered face. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
He grunted and gave a weak squeeze to her arm. “Not... safe yet.” His words were mumbled and slurred. “Not until we get you... away from... here.”
“Shhh.” They shimmied sideways through the triclinium door. “We’ll be away soon enough. You rest.”
She and Cato settled him onto a couch and Beatrix draped a blanket around his shoulders. In the lamplight, the cuts and bruises stood out stark and black against the pallor of his skin. A few held stitches. Quintus closed the swollen slits of his eyes as if too exhausted to even sit. Iris sat beside him and, once Marius had blessed the evening meal,took a small bowl of cabbage and barley soup from the table laden with food. She tested the heat of it and lifted the spoon to her father’s lips. He ate half the bowl in small, painstaking bites until he shook his head. Cato gave a nod that it was all right and Iris let him rest while she turned to her own food.
Neither Marius nor Cato spoke. Abachum and Audifax had yet to return from the docks. No one seemed particularly given to conversation—even Beatrix, who ate in silence. Iris followed suit but found she could hardly get more than a few bites into her stomach, which felt all in knots. How long would one wedding take? When would Valentine return? What would Titus do? She didn’t think he would call out the guard on them, not after what Marius and his sons had done to rescue Pater. Yet the fury and hurt on his face did not imply reasonability.
Cato stood and walked to the balcony doors, opening one and peering into the night. He shut it and returned to his seat. “Do you think we ought to get everyone to the docks now and let Val meet us there?”
Marius shrugged and looked at Beatrix and Iris as if to gauge their thoughts. He must have sensed hesitation because he said only, “He’ll be back soon.”
They finished the meal, read a Scripture, and prayed. Still Valentine had not come.
Abachum returned with the news that everything was ready at the warehouse. Cato and Abachum moved Quintus and his couch into the culina, where they would all be ready as soon as Valentine returned.
