Chapter 40 | Called to Remain
The knock came in the middle of the afternoon.
Not timid. Not respectful.
Three sharp raps, like someone announcing themselves to a stubborn door.
I did not move.
Eliana, who had stayed with me, reached for it, pulling it open with a glance back toward me.
A familiar voice followed immediately.
“Well now—this place looks like a vineyard run by ghosts.”
Malka.
Of course it would be her.
She stepped inside, hands on her hips, taking in the room with a quick, assessing sweep, measuring every corner.
Her eyes found me at once.
“Well,” she said. “You look dreadful.”
Eliana made a soft sound. “Malka—”
“What?” Malka waved her off. “If she wanted gentle words, she should not have sent for me.”
“I didn’t send for you,” I muttered.
“No,” Malka said easily. “Your friends did. Which means things must be worse than I thought.”
She crossed the room without waiting to be invited and sat down beside me—heavily, decisively—as though she had every right to be there.
For a moment, she said nothing. She only looked past me. Out through the doorway, where the vineyard stretched beyond the threshold in long, quiet rows.
Finally she sighed.
“James would be furious about this, you know.”
My head snapped toward her.
“How dare you—”
“Oh, I dare,” she said easily. “I knew him longer than you did.”
Her voice softened slightly.
“That man loved life like every day was a festival day. And he loved you even more. He would hate seeing you sit here like winter has swallowed the sun.”
My throat tightened.
“You think I want this?” I whispered.
“No,” she said.
“Then stop acting like I do.”
Silence stretched between us. Malka studied me the way a farmer studies a stubborn mule.
Then she said quietly, “Tell me what you’re really angry about.”
“I’m not angry,” I said.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” I insisted, any frustrations I had been holding back starting to take shape, turning slowly toward her.
Malka raised a brow. “Then say it plainly.”
“I—” The words caught. Twisted. Burned.
I swallowed hard.
“I trusted Him.”
Malka didn’t move.
Didn’t soften.
“Say the rest,” she said.
“I trusted Him to keep them safe.”
There it was. Ugly. Bare. Unraveling.
“And He didn’t.”
The words came faster now, before I could stop them.
“He let James die… and sent an angel for Peter.” My breath hitched, uneven, breaking. “I know He could have saved James. I know He could have—and He didn’t.”
My chest tightened, the weight of it pressing in.
“Now my husband—my love—is gone.” My voice cracked. “The one who led me to Him… who led so many… is gone.”
The words fell out like stones.
“What good is that now?” I whispered, though it felt more like a cry.
Silence pressed in around us, thick and waiting.
My breath came sharp, uneven.
“Why?” My voice broke completely now, rising despite me. “Why, Lord? He loved You. He brought others to You. He gave everything—”
My voice collapsed into sobbing.
“Everything,” I choked. “Even his life.”
Malka’s voice came quietly then, steady in the storm.
“He was proud to give it,” she said. “I know you don’t want to hear that—but he was.”
I shook my head faintly, breath shaky. I knew that.
But, it did not help.
Malka leaned back on her hands and looked toward the open doorway, toward the stretch of sky beyond it, letting the silence settle instead of rushing to fill it.
Then her gaze returned to me.
Finally she said,
“You think the Lord loved Peter more?”
“No,” I said quickly.
“Then what?”
I stared at the dust between my feet.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” she said gently. “This isn’t only grief. You’ve been holding something long before he died.”
I closed my eyes.
“He believed so easily,” I whispered. “James knew from the beginning. I fought it. I doubted. I argued.” I took in a guttering breath.
“And Jesus… He stood in front of me. And I—I still doubted Him. I measured Him, tested Him, even denied Him to His face.”
My voice broke.
“I wasted so much time.”
Malka shifted beside me, brushing a bit of dust from her skirt.
“You’re thinking too much again,” she chided gently.
I let out a weak breath. “I always am.”
“Mm.” She didn’t argue.
Silence fell again for a moment, filled only by the soft rustle of the vines.
“You’re not perfect Talia. Neither am I,” Malka said. “I think there was only ever one perfect person to walk this earth—and you and I had the most amazing opportunity to meet Him. But every day I try. I sell figs and prayers. I try to reach into souls with every interaction.”
“…Did you ever want more?” I asked suddenly.
Malka glanced at me. “More what?”
“A husband. Children.”
She snorted. “Who, me?”
Despite everything, a faint smile pulled at my mouth.
“I’ve been too busy keeping all of you alive,” she said, waving a hand toward the vineyard, the house, everything beyond it. “The ministry, the people—you’re all my family.”
She shot me a sideways look.
“Drive me mad like family too.”
A quiet breath of laughter slipped out of me, fragile but real.
Then it faded.
“I thought…” I hesitated, staring down at my hands. “I thought if I did everything right…”
I swallowed.
“If I held things together. If I worked hard enough. If I trusted Him enough…”
My voice faltered.
“…He would give me what I was asking for.”
Malka leaned back on her hands, eyes lifting toward the sky.
“Sometimes He does,” she said.
I waited.
“…and sometimes,” she added, quieter now, “the answer is no.”
“Then what was I holding onto?” I whispered.
“Your will. Your idea of how things should be. What you think is right for you.”
I nodded through tears.
“But, you see… His will is right dear. Even if we don’t understand it. It’s always right.”
“It doesn’t feel right.” I said stubbornly.
Malka let out a soft laugh.
Not mocking.
Almost fond.
“Oh my dear,” she said.
“You really think the Lord was surprised by any of this? It’s His timing.”
I blinked at her.
She leaned closer.
“Look at your life, Talia. Your ima taught you faith. Your uncle taught you the Law. The vineyard taught you endurance. James taught you courage. And the Messiah—blessed be His name—taught you mercy.”
She looked at me as though she wanted to make sure I was listening. “Do you think all that was an accident?”
I had no answer.
Malka’s voice softened.
“You say you were late to believe,” she said softly.
She shook her head.
“No, you were being formed.”
Malka’s gaze held mine.
“Do you think the Lord needs perfect people to build His kingdom?”
I said nothing.
“Or do you think He uses the ones who know what it is to struggle… to doubt… to come to Him slowly and stay anyway?”
I sniffed, my throat dry and aching from the day’s tears.
“James burned bright from the beginning,” she said. “That was his calling.”
Her voice softened.
“Yours is different.”
The pull of tears climbed into my chest, a slow burn behind my skull—but nothing followed. I collapsed inward, crying without tears, hollowed by all I had already given.
Malka slipped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed once.
“Listen to me,” she said softly.
“The kingdom will not only be carried by apostles.”
“It will be carried by people like you.”
“People who know what it is to fail… to doubt… to come to Him slowly… to be told no—and still remain.”
Her hand tightened slightly on my shoulder.
“You think your story disqualifies you,” she said. “That because you fought it, because you came late, because you did not believe as quickly as others, because you've been angry… that you are less useful to the Lord.”
My breath caught.
“But it is the very reason you are needed.”
I stilled.
“James was meant to lead, to stand, to go first—even if it cost him everything.”
Her voice softened.
“But not everyone is called to go first.”
“Some are called to remain.”
“To anchor the ones who come after,” she said. “To sit with the grieving. To speak to those who feel too far gone to be chosen.”
Her gaze held mine.
“You understand that now in a way you never could have before.”
Something in my stomach pulled tight.
“Do you think that is wasted?”
Then, more gently:
“The Lord is not finished with you.”
She nodded toward the vineyard.
“And your story did not end with his.”