Chapter 18

The enforced inactivity of these inclement days, however irksome for the others, was especially disquieting to Peter who had been constantly in the forefront of the summer’s excursions and excitements. And how he had looked forward to this period of rest and recuperation! Now—after a few days of idleness—he had begun to fret under the weight of little Bethsaida’s apathy; and, much as he enjoyed the company of his Master, the long afternoons at the cottage in Capernaum, where he sat with empty hands, were increasingly depressing.

Sometimes during those tumultuous days of sultry Sivan and Tammuz, the responsibility of directing the great multitudes of desperate and inconsiderate people had been almost beyond his endurance. Often when darkness fell and the throng had gone home or into improvised camps in the neighbouring fields and hills, the Big Fisherman would fling himself down on the ground, with his shaggy head buried in his sun-browned arms, too utterly exhausted to eat his supper. Had it not been for Esther’s gentle solicitude and the challenge of her amazing fortitude, Peter couldn’t have borne his burden. And he had been honest enough to tell her so.

It was a most unusual friendship. A stranger, having made the acquaintance of both of them, but never having seen them together, would certainly have thought it incongruous if not impossible that this huge, blustering, untravelled, uneducated fisherman, and the sensitive girl who had been brought up in an environment of exceptional privileges, could have anything in common. By training and temperament they were leagues apart. Simon Peter had had no use for Esther, nor she for him, until their boundless devotion and tireless service to Jesus had made them kin.

They had often talked about this frankly, agreeing that their peculiar relation was no less than a miracle, Peter declaring his belief that a close friendship with the Master could provide a bond for all the people who loved him, no matter how different they might be as to race, colour, language, disposition or mode of living. If they loved him, they would love one another. Jesus had said so—and these two understood what he meant.

Their comradeship, that summer, had invited candid confidences. Esther had told Peter all about herself, and when they were alone together he had—at her request—called her Fara. One evening, as they sat for a little while on either side of the Master, Peter had inadvertently addressed her as Fara, and Jesus had smiled with pleasure, though he made no comment.

It was not, however, a selfish friendship. Often a little group formed about them. Esther was one of the family. She repaired old Bartholomew’s tattered sandal-thongs, bandaged Johnny’s thorn-torn hand, mended Andrew’s jacket; even sewed on a button for Judas, whom she intuitively distrusted and disliked. Thad was always at her heels, helping with the tents and carrying provisions as devotedly as a friendly dog. And on their hurried trip back to Galilee, when Esther lagged a little one afternoon, he wanted her to get into the high-wheeled cart, already heavily loaded with tents and tackle—and ride. She had declined the offer; but, walking alongside him, she said tenderly that if everybody were as kind to everyone else as Thad had been to her, the world would soon be a beautiful place to live in.

A flush of pleasure, mixed with embarrassment, glowed through the shy young fellow’s tan. After some deliberation he said that he thought the world was beautiful enough to suit him; and he ventured to give Esther a worshipful glance.

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