“She’s dying,” the man said as he came out of the dark room.

Seth’s mother clapped a hand over her mouth.

“You’d better send for her father,” the man added.

Seth stared. This man was part of Talitha’s game, right? Sure, he was the doctor, but he had to be playing along. Talitha only wanted sympathy. She wanted to get out of doing chores. She wanted Seth to continue to be the laughingstock of all the other kids.

Any minute, he thought, the doctor would laugh and tell them it was all a joke.

Seth waited. Nothing happened.

“Seth,” his mother said, her voice choked with fear. “You heard the man. Go get your father.”

Seth wanted to say, But wait, it’s only a joke. He ran into the room and knelt down to look closely at Talitha. Her face was white and shiny with sweat. He touched her forehead, and it felt hot —like clay baking in the sun. Each breath sounded ragged and slow, like a heavy stone dragging through the dirt.

His throat tightened as he realized it was no joke.

He heard his mother’s frantic voice behind him. “Go!” she shouted.

He turned and ran.

Seth ran blindly, not seeing anything except as obstacles. He dodged the obstacles —sometimes people, sometimes animals, sometimes a pot, sometimes a building. “Seth!” an old woman called. “Slow down! You’ll hurt someone!”

I have already hurt someone, he thought. I’ve hurt my sister.

He ran on, taking the shortcut to the synagogue. But people clogged the streets, slowing him down. Why are they here? he thought. What’s going on? He pushed through the people, ignoring their shouts.

I hurt someone. If she dies, it’s my fault. He thought of the three times he’d poured her broth into the dirt. Did the broth have some sort of healing medicine? Had he kept her from the medicine she needed?

He stopped. Was it the lizard stew? He felt sick. He started moving ahead. He ducked low and tried to move through the gathering crowd. The people seemed to draw closer and closer together. I wished her dead. I wished my own sister dead.

Guilt strangled him as he began to shove his fist into people’s sides. Their surprise gave him the inches he needed to move ahead. Finally he burst through the last clutch of people and out the other side.

He ran up the last hill to the synagogue. “Father!” he called. “Father, come quick!”

His father appeared at the door of the synagogue. “What is it now, Seth? Are you in trouble again?”

Seth shook his head. “Talitha’s dying,” he said, his voice squeaking.

His father looked down at the ground. “I must find him,” his father said.

“Who?” Seth asked.

“Jesus. I must find Jesus.” His father’s face was etched with worry and a desperation Seth had never seen.

He’s not making sense, Seth thought, shaking his head. “Father, we must get home right away! Didn’t you hear me? Talitha is dying!”

“First we find Jesus. He can help us.” His father’s face twisted in grief. Tears formed in his eyes and then began to roll down his cheeks. Seth had never seen his father cry. Never.

And it’s all my fault, Seth thought, feeling sick to his stomach.

He stared at his father’s back as the man moved briskly down the hill. “Father!” Seth shouted, running after him. “Father, you must go home! What can a rabbi teach you now?”

When he reached his father, he held on to the man’s sleeve. “Come on, Father. You must come this way.”

His father shook him off.

Talitha is almost dead, Seth wanted to shout. But the words wouldn’t come out. I saw her. I know what dead looks like.

He remembered the bird. He remembered the lizard. Dead things. Limp, with something missing. Talitha was almost there. Why hadn’t he realized it before? Why had he thought she was playing?

His father strode toward the crowd Seth had moved through earlier. He, too, tried to break through. But many had gathered to follow Rabbi Jesus and hear what he had to say.

“Teacher!” someone called out. “Do we tithe a tenth of everything, including the broth we make, or only of our first fruits and animals?”

Seth didn’t hear whether the rabbi answered. He clung to his father’s tunic, the handful of fabric absorbing the sweat of panic that had formed on his palms. He tucked his head down and let his father guide him.

“Rabbi!” he heard his father call.

There was no answer. So many calls of “Rabbi!” and “Teacher!” filled the air. Jesus wouldn’t hear one cry above the others. And what about Jesus’ disciples? They were known to be rough men. Would they let them get anywhere near the rabbi?

“Rabbi!” his father called again.

Seth felt crushed by the people, all pushing to see Jesus. The earthy smell of warmth and bodies and garlic and olive oil was suffocating.

“Rabbi,” his father said, falling at the feet of Jesus.

Seth, still standing, stared at his father. He had never seen his father so humbled before anyone. His father was an important man. He would never bow before anyone but . . .

Seth’s eyes grew wider. Anyone but God.

His father cried out, his words tumbling fast. “My little daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so that she will be healed and live.”

Seth looked up into the rabbi’s face. From what people had said about Rabbi Jesus, Seth had expected him to be extra tall, handsome, and powerful-looking. Yet this man looked like any other man from Galilee. Except for his eyes. There was something in his eyes. Seth wished he could say what it was. There was a strength, a kindness, a peace.

Without hesitation, Jesus agreed to come with them.

Seth hung back. He didn’t want Jesus to see him. What if this rabbi can tell what I’ve done? he thought.

Seth couldn’t hear any more of his father’s words to the rabbi, nor the rabbi’s words in return. People pressed in around them, calling to Jesus, wanting his attention.

Who is my father that this rabbi would pay attention to him, while he doesn’t seem to hear the voices of others? Seth wondered.

Suddenly Jesus stopped. “Who touched My clothes?” he asked.

Seth looked around him. He could barely move with the crush of people. What did Jesus mean? Weren’t lots of people touching his clothes?

One of the men who must have been a follower of Jesus said, “You see the people crowding around you.”

Rabbi Jesus acted as though he hadn’t heard. He kept looking around him to see who had touched him. Then everyone else in the crowd took up looking.

Seth wanted to shout at the rabbi, My sister is dying! And you wonder who touched you? He wanted to whisper to his father that this rabbi was going to be of no help at all if he was going to stop every time someone bumped him. Father! he wanted to shout. We need to go, now!

A woman nearby fell at Jesus’ feet. “I touched you,” she said quietly. “I wanted to be healed.”

The unclean woman, Mariah? Seth shook his head, disgusted. She should know better. Because she was unclean, she’d lived outside Capernaum since the day Talitha was born. Seth’s mother often took food to leave outside her home. Doctors traveling through were asked to examine her and see if they could help. But no one could.

Seth frowned. Since she had touched the rabbi’s clothes, would he have to be unclean too? Seth put his head in his hands. The rabbi was never going to get to Talitha.

Seth lifted his head just in time to see Jesus look straight into the woman’s eyes. “Daughter, your faith has healed you.”

Seth raised his eyebrows. She was healed? Just like that? Without medicine? Without a doctor?

“Go in peace and be freed from your suffering,” Jesus said to her.

Hope jumped in Seth’s chest. Jesus had healed Mariah? Everyone had talked about Mariah for as long as he could remember. The way she stood up straight and walked through the crowd, Seth knew she had to be healed. Maybe Jesus could heal Talitha!

“Coming through!” Seth heard someone say. “Coming through. We must get to Jairus. We must get to the synagogue ruler.”

The crowd parted until Seth’s neighbors stood before his father. “Jairus,” they said, “we bring you bad news. Your daughter, Talitha, is dead.”