An Anne Perry Christmas_ Two Holiday Novels - Anne Perry [49]
The train was no more than twenty minutes after the hour. The snow was beginning to drift in places, but the wind had driven it on the lee side at Shap, and the line was not badly affected.
Henry stood on the platform and watched the carriage doors open and searched for Benjamin's tall figure among the dozen or so people who got off. He was the last to come, carrying two largish cases and smiling broadly.
Henry felt his chest tighten as he forced himself to walk toward Judah's brother.
“Henry Rathbone!” Benjamin said with unaffected delight. He put the cases down carefully on the snowy platform and held out his hand.
Henry took it, wrung it, then reached for one of the cases to help.
“It's good to see you!” Benjamin said enthusiastically. “Are you staying for Christmas?” He picked up the other case. “What filthy weather! But by heaven, it's beautiful, isn't it? I'd forgotten how incredibly clean it is, after the desert. And water everywhere.” He strode forward and Henry had to make an effort to keep up with him. “I used to hate the rain,” Benjamin went on. “Now I appreciate that water is life. You get to value it in Palestine. I can't begin to tell you how exciting it is to walk where Christ walked.”
A blast of icy wind struck them as they turned the corner into the street, and took a few minutes to exchange greetings with Wiggins, load the luggage, and make their way out of the town and onto the road west again.
Benjamin resumed his tale. “You wouldn't believe the places I've been to, Henry. I've stood by the shores of Galilee, probably the very hill on which Christ preached the Sermon on the Mount. Can you imagine that? I've been to Capernaum, Caesarea, Bethlehem, Tarsus, Damascus, but above all, I've walked the streets of Jerusalem and out toward Golgotha. I've stood in the Garden of Gethsemane!” His voice rang with the wonder of it. Even muffled against the wind and snow his sunburned face glowed.
“You are very fortunate,” Henry replied, meaning it, in spite of how irrelevant it seemed now. “Not only to see it, but to be so aware of its meaning.”
“I've brought something very special as a Christmas present for Joshua,” Benjamin went on. “I'm not sure if he'll like it, yet, but he will in time. I've got it in the brown case, that's why I've been so careful with it. Antonia will keep it for him, if necessary. But he must be nine by now. I think he'll understand.”
“What is it?”
Benjamin smiled broadly. He was a handsome man, strong-boned, and he had excellent teeth. “A piece of manuscript—an original of half a dozen verses from the New Testament, just a page, but can you imagine how the man who wrote it must have felt?” His voice rang with enthusiasm. “It's in a carved, wooden box. Beautiful work. And it smells marvelous. They told me it was the odor of frankincense.”
“I am sure he will like it,” Henry responded. “If not just yet, then in a year or two.”
“Wait until Judah sees it,” Benjamin said eagerly.
Henry could leave it no longer. Not to speak now would amount to a lie. He turned sideways, the wind making his eyes water.
“Benjamin,” he began. “I came to meet you personally, not only because I am pleased to see you, but because I have some very hard news which I wanted to spare Antonia from having to tell you herself…”
The light and the joy drained out of Benjamin's face. Suddenly his blue eyes were bleak and the biting cold of the snow and the wild, color-bleached landscape seemed hostile, the chill of it getting into the bones.
Henry did not wait. “Judah died in an accident eight days ago. He went out at night and slipped on the ice of the stepping-stones crossing the stream.”
Benjamin stared at him. “Died! He couldn't have— it's only a couple of feet deep at the most, if that!” he protested.
“He must have hit his head on the stones.” Henry did not go into any more detail. The explanation made no difference to the truth of it.
“What was he doing there at night?” Benjamin demanded. “There's nothing there!”
“No one knows,” Henry replied. “He just said