Chapter 20 | The Sons of Thunder #2
By the time we reached the fire, Abba had risen slowly from his seat.
“You have done more than we can repay,” he said, voice worn but clear. “You may sleep in the barn tonight. We are… most grateful.”
Andrew inclined his head. “We’ll rise early and finish what we can.”
Peter clapped Baruch on the shoulder like they’d worked together for years.
Lavi darted toward James, eyes bright. “You’re really Sons of Thunder?”
James glanced at John.
John lifted a brow. “Apparently.”
James crouched to Lavi’s height. “We were loud,” he said. “And impatient.”
“And wrong sometimes,” John added.
James gave a small, crooked smile. “We’re still learning when to sound like thunder—and when to fall like rain.”
Lavi nodded solemnly, accepting it as the most reasonable thing he had ever heard.
I stood there, as the rain tapped softly against the earth, and looked at them—mud-streaked, tired, unguarded.
They were not hiding who they had been. They were not pretending to have always understood.
I respected that.
~
By morning, the vineyard looked better, but still a mess. The terraces were streaked with mud, posts splintered, vines sagging where we had tied them in haste. The air felt rinsed, scrubbed raw, and strangely bright.
The disciples were already awake when I stepped into the courtyard.
James stood near the lower wall with Peter and Andrew, resetting a post that had listed in the wind.
John worked silently beside Baruch, tightening a brace along the third terrace.
Nathanael knelt with Lavi, showing him how to clear debris without tearing the remaining roots.
They did not act like visitors.
They did not act like heroes.
They worked like men who had decided something was theirs to care for.
James noticed me first. He straightened, wiped his forearm across his brow, and crossed the courtyard.
“We’ll stay through midmorning,” he said without preamble. “There’s more we can shore up before we go.”
“Go?” I repeated.
His expression changed slightly.
“Want me to stay do you?”
I rolled my eyes, and fought back a smile.
He smiled too, but then sobered. “We need to get back to Him.”
Something in his tone made Abba lift his head from where he sat beneath the fig tree.
“Is everything alright?” Abba asked.
Peter answered this time, less guarded. “Things are becoming… tense.”
“Tense how?” I asked.
John stepped forward, hands resting loosely at his sides. “The Pharisees are not pleased,” he said carefully. “Nor some of the teachers from Jerusalem. They’ve begun following Him openly. Watching. Questioning everything He says.”
Peter snorted. “Accusing, more like.”
James shot him a look.
“Of what?” Abba pressed.
“Blasphemy,” Andrew said quietly. “Breaking Sabbath. Forgiving sins.”
The words lingered.
Forgiving sins.
Baruch made a low sound in his throat.
“And the crowds?” I asked.
“Still coming,” James said. “More than before.”
“That won’t help,” Baruch muttered.
Nathanael rose slowly, brushing dirt from his palms. “Crowds make leaders nervous,” he said, voice even. “Especially when those leaders do not control what is being said.”
Lavi looked from one face to another, his small brow furrowed.
“Are they going to hurt Him?” he asked.
No one answered at once.
James crouched so they were eye level. “We won’t let that happen.”
It was not bravado. It was promise.
Lavi hesitated, chewing his lip. Then, quieter, “But… didn’t the prophets say that?”
We all turned toward him.
“Say what?” Peter asked gently.
“That He’d be rejected,” Lavi pressed. “Like the stone the builders wouldn’t use.”
The courtyard went still.
Even the breeze seemed to hesitate.
Abba’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but in thought. He was turning the words over, weighing them.
Nathanael regarded the boy with open interest. “You remember where that is written?”
Lavi shrugged. “I don’t know the scroll. But I remember the words.”
James did not smile this time.
John’s voice came softer than usual. “The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.”
Peter cleared his throat. “That doesn’t mean they’re right.”
“No,” Nathanael agreed quietly. “But it does mean we should not be surprised.”
James rose to his full height. “And it means we stand with Him.”
I folded my arms to contain the unease working its way under my ribs.
“At least try to be careful,” I said, looking directly at James.
He held my gaze for a moment, then glanced down at Lavi. “What do you think, brave one?” he asked. “Should I be careful… or be a Son of Thunder?” He threw his arms wide and let out a dramatic roar.
Lavi burst into laughter, snatching up a fallen stick and brandishing it like a sword. “Be a Son of Thunder!” he declared.
Peter groaned. “That’s exactly the wrong lesson.”
John muttered, “We are never going to outgrow that name.”
I sighed—loud enough that James absolutely heard it.
“Fine,” I said. “It makes no difference to me.”
Nathanael’s mouth curved slightly. “Oh, you two should just be married and be done with it.”
James shot him a look and thumped him lightly on the shoulder. “Easy. I only just convinced her to accept help. Let’s not undo miracles.”
Heat crept into my face before I could stop it, so I turned away and pretended to adjust a length of rope that did not need adjusting.
They worked another hour or so—quiet now, focused. Reinforcing what they could. Lifting posts. Resetting lines. Saying little.
When at last they gathered their cloaks, Abba rose with visible effort.
“We are grateful to you,” he said, voice steady though his hands trembled faintly. “You are always welcome here.”
James inclined his head. “Shalom.”
He looked at me last.
Not long, only long enough to say something without speaking.
Then they were gone, walking down the slope toward the lower road, their figures growing smaller against the morning light.
And the vineyard felt emptier than it had the day before.