Before Winter: Chapter 31

Thirty-One: Aftermath

“Ker-choo.”

Timothy’s eyes opened, and he sat up, sneezing again. He felt terrible. His eyes itched, his muscles ached, and his head felt like it was swollen to double its usual size. Blinking, he looked around, though the motion made his head throb.

He was back in his own cabin. Someone had brought in a lantern and hung it from the ceiling, from which position it shed light around the room. The first thing he noticed was his tunic, draped over the back of a chair. Then his eyes were caught by a square package, sitting on the little table where he was used to sit and write.

Wondering, he rose stiffly to his feet and bent over it. He folded back the linen wrappings, and found himself staring at the books and parchments he had lost weeks ago, in Troas. Paul’s familiar handwriting, the scrolls, it was all there. Puzzled, his eyes roved around the tiny space of the cabin, as if seeking an answer to the mystery somewhere in the room.

He was still standing there, with the parchments in front of him, when a knock sounded on the door.

“Come in.”

In response to his call, the ship’s mate stepped into the room.

“Is the storm over?” As he asked, he realized that it must be. Their motion was no longer that of a ship riding at anchor, whipped in every direction by a gale, but the steady, purposeful movement that meant they were running before a fair, brisk wind.

“Yes, sir. It blew itself out early this morning. A good thing for us, too. Much more strain on our anchor-cable and we would have been on the rocks.”

“How is…” Timothy hesitated, “how is the sailor who fell into the sea?”

The mate frowned. “Don’t know. He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Timothy was startled. “What do you mean?”

“Looks like he stole one of our boats, while the storm was still raging, and tried to row to shore.” The mate shrugged. “Out of his head, probably. It was a crazy thing to do. Captain sent me to make sure you were still here, at least.”

“Well, I’m here.” Timothy hardly knew what he was saying, as he thought over this new intelligence. Why would Alexander flee the ship? Had he been the one to bring the parchments back? Then that was what he had seen under Alexander’s arm, back in Troas. Did this mean he had repented?

The mate was speaking again, hoping he would feel better soon, taking leave of him. Timothy heard him in a daze, watched the door shut behind him, and sat down heavily on his chair, leaning back against his tunic. It was still damp from the soaking it had received just a few hours ago.

For the first time, he prayed for Alexander in earnest, with no anger or reservation in his heart. In that moment before he decided to attempt to rescue the coppersmith, he had seen his own inner sin, just as terrible as Alexander’s outward sin, and had truly repented of it. Lord, let him be alive. Take away his anger, as you have taken away mine. Show him Your truth, and give him Your peace. Let him too see that You can always forgive.

He prayed for several minutes, feeling an incredible closeness of fellowship with the Lord. At last he rose, tears still wet on his cheeks, and pulled on his tunic. Folding the linen back over the parchment, he tucked the package into a safe corner. Turning to go on deck, his hand was on the door when he remembered one last thing.

Dropping to his knees, he groped under the bed with one hand until his fingers closed on his pen. He pulled it out, and set it on the table, ready for his return. Then he walked out the room.