Free Everybody's Daughter by Michael John Sullivan Page B

you’re too heavy.
    He placed her gingerly onto her bedding. Carefully he draped another two bedrolls across her frame while talking to her. He picked up another jug and hurried to the well and filled it. He’d forgotten how heavy the clay containers were. Awkwardly, he balanced it on his right foot and leg and hobbled back to the bedroom.
    He found three cloths in a bowl near the oven and wet them with cool water, placing one beneath her neck and two on her forehead. Michael took her pulse several times and used the back of his hands to gauge Leah’s temperature.
    Still burning.
    He repeated this ritual for the good part of an hour before his legs signaled that he needed to sit. So he did, on a small stool in front of her. He monitored her breathing, allowing his mind to sink in silence. Normally, Michael relished a room filled with peace and quiet. Today, the silence sang a song of sadness. Every so often he stopped to listen to the noises outside as children played and adults scolded them to behave.
    If I had only taken some Tylenol with me. Wait. People here have survived without any medical assistance or drugs. Why can’t she? Maybe this is the reason why I’m here? Maybe that’s why the tunnel opened? I’m supposed to be here. I can’t leave until she’s better, even if it means I can’t take her back.
    Confident that he had made the right decision to return, he continued to watch her chest rise and fall in rhythmic fashion. He stretched his neck and stared up at the ceiling and noticed a small crib to the left, empty except for a tiny robe hanging over the side.
    She’s had such a tough time dealing with her daughter’s death . He recalled the day when she’d told him about the tragedy. I can’t imagine losing Elizabeth. He placed his hands over his eyes and rubbed. “Elizabeth,” he said. “I’ve got to get back.”
    And I’ll take you back with me, Leah.
    His heart was overwhelmed with love watching her lay motionless, filled with gratitude that she once provided shelter and food, protecting them against pursuing Roman soldiers. He leaned down, pulled the cloths off, and refreshed them with cooler water.
    He carefully laid the damp cloths on her face, tucked the blankets under her neck, and brushed the hair away from her eyes with the back of his hands.
    He never left the room except to feed the two lambs who were braying, giving the appreciative animals a healthy amount of feed and a pat on the top of their heads in an everything-will-be-all right gesture.
    The day gave up its last light as a sliver of sun glided through the overcast sunset near the aqueduct. Michael filled one more jug of water for the evening as he prepared for a sleepless night. He sat and slanted his body slightly against the wall, facing Leah.
    It has to be near two a.m. His body was limp, gradually sliding to one side and then straightening up with a jerk as he slumbered into a shallow sleep. His left hand propped his head up as thoughts about his daughter suppressed any happy dreams.

Chapter Eight
    Angst was on the menu as Elizabeth and Leah prepared their evening meal in silence. Leah stayed near the window, using her eyes like lasers to survey the courtyard. She’d rushed downstairs to fetch an item from the kitchen but hurried back without interruption.
    It was a scant and quick meal compared to the ones Elizabeth had enjoyed during her last visit. She couldn’t help but noticed that all of Leah’s actions showed a sense of urgency.
    While peeking out the window between hasty bites, she warned Elizabeth, “If I tell you to go to the roof, do so without any delay.”
    “I will. But can you tell me why you’re so nervous? You’re scaring me.”
    Leah pinned her body against the window to ensure no one could see Elizabeth. “I am in grave danger,” she said. “If you stay, you will be in danger as well.”
    Elizabeth dropped a piece of bread and fingered her cup of water. “What kind of danger?”
    Leah lowered