Free Empire's End by Jerry Jenkins, James S. MacDonald Page B

stories of daily life with Jesus Himself. It was likely I would try their patience, keeping them up all hours of the night, begging them to repeat everything they had seen and heard and experienced of Him.
    When the compound finally shimmered into sight through the heat waves over the sand, my thoughts turned to where I would find writing supplies. Surely someone there must have something I could use. Who marked wood for the cutting of tent poles? How did people make lists?
    As fortune would have it, as I came upon the livestock pen near the corral, I espied Taryn at the well and Corydon playing with two other children nearby. A breeze lifted her veil while she was transferring water from the bucket to her pitcher, and with her hands occupied she was unable to adjust it. She tried to turn her face from me, causing her to spill some water.
    â€œAllow me,” I said.
    â€œI can manage,” she said, clearly knowing I had seen her.
    â€œPlease,” I said and busied myself taking charge of the process.
    She stepped aside, unmistakably embarrassed. I prayed for another zephyr to reveal just one more hint of her olive complexion. Not eventhe abject sadness of her countenance could hide her loveliness. But I was touched by her humiliation and wanted to assuage that at all costs.
    â€œMay I call you Taryn?” I said, keeping my eyes on my work.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œI am in need of two things, if I may impose.”
    â€œCertainly, sir.”
    â€œI need a trough to water my horse, and—”
    â€œCorydon!” she called out, and as soon as he saw me he came running. “You and your friends drag that trough over for Master Paul.”
    â€œThat’s my friend!” he shouted as he recruited them.
    â€œPardon me,” she said. “And?”
    â€œAnd I need parchments and something to write with.”
    I handed her the pitcher, which she hefted to her shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do.” Taryn hesitated, watching her son.
    â€œHow about I bring him back with me when I finish with the horse?” I said.
    â€œThank you.”
    The children watched and giggled as I filled the trough, unhitched Theo, and led him to it. They begged to sit on him, but I told them to wait till he’d had his drink. As if he knew what lay ahead, he slowly emptied the entire vessel. I held in one hand the rope that had tethered him to the corral fence all night and used the other to swing each of the children atop him. He stood immobile except to snort and shake his head at an insect on his nose, which caused the children to squeal. I spread my feet and put both hands on the rope, but to his credit, Theo did not bolt.
    I shushed him and lifted the children down, telling them to stand behind me, then lifted the rope from around his neck and tossed it aside. His ears perked and I caressed his heavily muscled jowl as I swallowed a sob.
    The children stared at me and I urged Corydon’s friends to run along. The boy waited shyly as if puzzled.
    I had fought my whole life to overcome embarrassment about my short stature. Now it just irritated me because I wished I could face the towering Theo at his level. All I could do was awkwardly wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my head into his shoulder. Theo actually gathered me in by lowering his throat to the top of my head and nuzzling my back, exhaling through his nose.
    â€œFarewell, friend,” I whispered, hating to pull away when he nickered softly. He stamped and seemed to set himself.
    Let him go
.
    I am not stopping him, Lord
, I said silently.
    Send him
.
    Must I?
I said, immediately regretting it.
    Paul
.
    How dare I question my Lord God? Before I could talk myself out of it I retrieved the rope and snapped Theo sharply on his thigh. He whinnied sharply and moved slowly toward the tents. I kept an eye on him as he cleared the row of dwellings.
    â€œWhere’s he going?” Corydon said.
    â€œHome,” I