Chapter 14 | Order and Breath
The market noise thinned as we reached the lower road, and beyond the buildings the Sea of Galilee caught the sun, glinting like hammered bronze.
I slowed without meaning to.
Lavi followed my gaze. “Can we go closer?”
“For a moment,” I said.
The air shifted as we neared the shore—cooler, salt-edged. Nets lay stretched across stones to dry, their shadows patterned like prayer knots across the sand.
“Careful there.”
I turned.
James stood a few paces away, the lake behind him, sleeves rolled, sandals damp.
Before I could speak, Lavi darted forward. “You’re the fisherman—the one who follows the teacher!”
James crouched easily. “Depends who’s asking.”
“I know you,” Lavi insisted. “You were at our vineyard.”
James tapped two fingers lightly to the boy’s shoulder. “Remind me your name.”
“Lavi,” he said proudly. “Talia took me in after the big storm. I help in the vineyard.”
James’s grin softened, something less showy now. “Good man. Every vineyard needs strong hands.”
Lavi’s chest puffed, then his eyes lit with something else. “You’ve been with him more, right? Jesus?”
James’s face changed, the grin fading into something quieter, almost reverent. “Yes. All the time.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Want to know a secret?”
Lavi practically bounced. “Yes!”
“I’m one of His favorites.” James raised his voice just enough for me to hear, and I felt my jaw tighten. “Probably because I’m so strong and bold and handsome—” He glanced straight at me as he said the last part.
I made a sound in my throat and looked pointedly away. “Your pride is louder than the gulls,” I muttered.
Lavi burst out laughing. “But have you truly seen miracles? People healed?”
“Truly,” James said. “But it isn’t only the miracles.
It’s how He is with people. How He looks at you like He knows you and loves you.
It’s the way He listens to the broken, touches those no one else will touch.
You feel different standing near Him—lighter, stronger, like you’ve been seen for the first time. ”
Lavi’s mouth fell open. “Wow!”
James glanced at me then, one brow lifting. “So,” he said, a familiar edge of confidence slipping back in, “did you come to Capernaum to see me?”
I snorted softly. “Hardly.”
“I’m not convinced,” he said. “But very well. What brings you here then?”
“I came to pay taxes,” I said.
His mouth twisted. “Ah.” He let out a low exhale. “The worst of errands.”
I almost told him then. That when I stepped up to the booth, there had been nothing due. That someone—someone unknown—had paid what we owed. The words pressed at my tongue.
But I held them back.
James studied my face, the lake flashing silver behind him. “Do you feel lighter?” he asked, quieter now. “After emptying your pockets?”
My fingers brushed the hidden weight of the bracelet at my side. The weight was heavy like coin, but still having it made me feel the opposite.
“Yes,” I said, a small, reluctant smile slipping through. “I do.”
He nodded, seeming aware there was more, yet content, for the moment, to see me smile.
“And the vineyard?” he asked.
To that, I took a deep inhale and answered before I could stop myself.
“Honestly, it’s barely holding together.”
He tipped his head slightly. “How are you tying them?”
I frowned. “What?”
“The vines. How tight are you setting the ties?”
“I set them properly,” I said. “Why?”
“When I was at your vineyard, I noticed something.”
I stiffened. “You were inspecting my vineyard?”
“I was standing in it,” he said mildly. “It is difficult not to see what stands before you.”
Lavi looked between us, wide-eyed.
“You cut them close,” James continued. “And you bind them too tight.”
“They need discipline,” I replied. “If you let them wander, they waste strength on leaves.”
“My uncle has a vineyard,” he said. “Rows like they were drawn with a ruler. But he used to say vines breathe like men. Trap the air, and they choke—so he never kept the tops too tight. Let them spread, he’d say. Let them take the air.”
I gave a short laugh. “Your uncle does not balance our accounts.”
“You might try loosening a few rows,” he said. “Let wind move through. Let the sun reach deeper.”
“That is not how I was taught,” I said sharply. “We cut clean. We keep order. We do not experiment with what feeds us.”
“Order is good,” he said calmly. “But vines are not soldiers.”
I turned to leave.
“Try it with a few rows,” he called after me. “Only a few.”
I stopped.
“And if the fruit drops and rots?”
“Then you may tell me I’m a fool.”
The challenge hovered between us.
“Fine,” I said at last. “I will loosen them. And when the grapes fall, you will come back and re-tie them my way—as they should be.”
His mouth curved slowly. “Ah.”
“What?”
“You wish to ensure I return.”
I gave him a look that should have ended it, but didn’t.
“In that case,” he said lightly, “I had better come and see they are loosened correctly.”
He brushed his hands on his tunic and stepped aside, one hand gesturing as though he were ushering me onward. “After you.”
My brows lifted. “You want to come? Now?”
He flicked a glance at the road. “It is public. Your boy is with us. No one will faint from scandal.”
Lavi snorted.
I hesitated—then, grudgingly said, “Fine.”
~
The road climbed from the shore toward the northern slope, dust clinging to our sandals. Fishermen passed with baskets and wet nets; no one spared us more than a glance.
After a few paces James spoke again, his tone turning easy. “So—anything else troubling the vineyard?”
I almost said no.
I should have said no.
But the words pressed behind my teeth, heavy as the bracelet at my hip. “Some things have gone missing,” I admitted. “Tools. Rope. Not much, but enough to take notice. I can’t prove it, but I suspect Baruch.”
At that, Lavi froze. His eyes dropped to the dirt.
James straightened sharply, eyes narrowing.
“What is it, Lavi?” I said, concerned.
Lavi’s voice came out in a rush, words tumbling over each other. “He scares me! He…he…”
I frowned. “What?” We stopped beneath a large tree beside the road and took a brief rest in the shade.
“He killed Penelope!”
James and I looked at each other and then both spoke at the same time. “Who’s Penelope?”
“My sheep!” Lavi blurted, his voice breaking. “She was mine. He killed her for no reason!”
I blinked, trying to make sense of it. “Lavi…”
“It’s true!” he insisted. “He had hold of her, and she was crying, and then—” His hands mimed the sudden stab of a blade. “He just—he just did it! And then she was gone.”
A quiet unease stirred in me. Only a sheep. But still—
“Baruch said a wolf took her.”
Lavi shook his head hard. “No. I saw him. He scared me so much I ran.”
James’s gaze flicked from me to the boy, his mouth set in a grim line. “Why would he lie about a wolf if it was him?”
I gathered myself. “Because it’s easier to blame a beast than admit you’ve bloodied your own hands. But… why? Why would he kill her at all?”
The silence pressed. Even the water seemed to still.
Lavi’s curls bobbed as he whispered, “He’s a bad man.”
I crouched in front of him, gripping his shoulders firmly. “Lavi, why did you never tell me this?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I was scared.”
I softened my voice, though my chest felt tight as iron. “Anything like that, you tell me. Always. For the vineyard’s safety. For your safety. Do you understand? I always want to keep you safe.”
He nodded quickly, but his eyes darted toward the road back home.
James had gone very still, watching the exchange. His jaw flexed, eyes hard. “Let me talk to him,” he said, standing to his full height.
I stood as well, shaking my head. “No. I don’t want to frighten the old man to death. I’ll ask him about the sheep. As for the missing things, I only need to catch him in the act and be rid of him. He’s too sneaky—that’s the problem.”
James’s mouth tightened. “Sneaky men don’t scare me,” he said. “They look for people who are busy—head down, carrying too much already. They mistake quiet order for softness.”
My chin lifted. “I am not soft.”
His eyes met mine, sharp and knowing, and for a moment the edge of a smile threatened. “Oh, I know,” he said.
Then the smile faded. “But you are alone, Talia. And I don’t like that.”
The words should have offended me. Instead they felt… sheltering. I refused it at once. He had no right to sound like that. To look at me as though my burden belonged to him.
And yet my gaze betrayed me, slipping over the breadth of his shoulders, the sure set of him as he stood there like a post sunk deep in the earth.
James was arrogant, loud, impossible—yet no one could deny he was made for hard things.
The sort of man who could haul a net in a storm, split wood with one clean swing, set a fire that would not die in wind, and stand between danger and whoever stood behind him without a second thought.
It was not fair—how easily my mind reached for the comparison.
Abba’s hands had once been strong too. I remembered them. But time had thinned him, bent him inward, left me carrying what should have been shared. James was the opposite of that—too present, too certain, too unafraid to only… take up space.
I hated that some part of me noticed. Hated that, for the smallest moment, I wondered what it would be like not to be the one bracing every beam alone. But, instead, strong, capable arms to hold them with me.
And maybe even… to hold me…
I pushed the thought back at once. A man like James would not simply stand beside me. He would fill every space. He would decide how things should be done, laugh when I disagreed, and call it confidence when it suited him. He would expect a woman to make room—for his strength, his voice, his way.
I had worked too hard to keep my footing to let someone shift the ground beneath me.
I tightened my pride around me like a sash. “I don’t need your help,” I said stiffly.
“No,” he corrected quietly, eyes glinting. “You don’t like help.”
The words lodged deeper than I cared to admit.