The Bronze Bow - Elizabeth George Speare [43]
There was a faint stir in the corner. Daniel did nor turn his head. He went on talking.
"At night, before we went to sleep, you made us repeat a psalm after you. I have forgotten them now, but there's one I think I could remember, the one you liked best."
He fumbled for the words, and they came, slowly, from the depths of his memory.
" 'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want; He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.' "
There was a hesitant footstep beside him. Not knowing what to do, not daring to look up, with the cold prickle of fear along his skin, Daniel held out his hand. He felt Leah's fingers touch his own. He forced himself to go on.
" 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.' "
Leah sank down beside him. Side by side, without speaking, the brother and sister sat and listened to the breathing of the old woman. Leah's hand in his own was like the hand of a small child reaching out to him in trust and helplessness. It was a sign that even now the devils did not have complete dominion. Fear retreated into the shadowy corners.
There were only the small sounds, the hiss of the wick in the saucer of oil, the wheezing and sighing of the sleeping goat, the ceaseless rustling in the thatch overhead where countless small creatures nested in the molding straw. Once the thin thread of a snake swung down, twisted back on itself, and disappeared. A rat came out of the shadows, sat on its haunches, and glared at them. Leah looked at them both without surprise or alarm. Sometime in the night he was aware that one sound in the room had ceased. His grandmother was no longer breathing.
11
NEXT MORNING a meager funeral procession straggled through the village toward the burial ground outside the gates. There were no flutes, no hired mourners, only a scattering of neighbor women wailing halfheartedly, and the trundling cart that carried the body of the old woman. Leading the procession was the lone mourner, a broad-shouldered young man with a fierce, forbidding scowl.
After the burial was over, Daniel, turning homeward, saw a hurrying figure coming from the village, and presently, with a burst of gratitude, he recognized his friend the blacksmith.
"I am sorry, my friend," Simon said, wringing his hand. "I tried to get here in time for the burial. I'll go back to your house with you, if you don't mind."
Simon was the only guest at the funeral feast, which the neighbors spread outside the house. They ate in silence, and when the women had cleared away the dishes and left them alone, Simon turned to Daniel.
"What now?" he asked.
"Is there more to be done?" Daniel asked wearily.
"I meant tomorrow. What are you going to do?"
Daniel looked away. Since he had received Simon's message he had managed not to ask himself that question.
"I had another reason for coming today," Simon went on. "I told you in Capernaum that I intended to follow Jesus. But it weighs on my conscience that the smithy is closed. The money does not matter. I've learned to do without that. But it worries me that the tools lie idle while the men have no one to mend their plows. It has been on my mind for some time that you might help me. If you could take over the shop while I'm gone—keep the place from going to seed,