Epilogue

ANTHIA HELD HER BREATH. She knew that she was supposed to be breathing, but she couldn’t help it. Her impulse with every contraction was to stop breathing and wait out the pain.

“Breathe.” Eutaxia’s voice was half command, half encouragement. “You need to breathe.”

Anthia nodded in acknowledgement, though she was also annoyed. She found these kinds of comments frustrating even though she knew they were given in her best interest. I’m doing the best I can! she thought. Then the contraction passed, and she looked again at the midwife, who smiled encouragingly.

Phoebe walked in from the door, carrying fresh water from the fountain. “Here we are,” she said cheerfully. Anthia glared at her, resenting Phoebe’s cheerful tone. While grateful for the midwife and her friends, she missed her mother. And Claudia, if she was honest with herself. But Claudia could not dare to visit, as her appearance would raise too much suspicion. Philetus was next door with Lampo, after all.

Several members of the Way had made initial overtures to Philetus’s fishing guild, and there were possibilities, but nothing had been contracted yet. Even so, Anthia felt hopeful. She hadn’t yet committed to Jesus but had been able to participate in a few gatherings when Philetus’s absence made it possible. Her stomach knotted whenever she thought about his reaction if she was discovered, but she felt compelled to go.

Another contraction moved in, and she steeled herself for its duration. She wanted to get up and sit on the birthing chair so she could push, but the midwife kept telling her that it was not yet time.

“Breathe.” There was Eutaxia, giving directions again. The midwife sat at her feet on a low stool, occasionally examining her for progress. Then a cool cloth was placed on her forehead, and Anthia covered Eutaxia’s hand with her own.

“Thank you,” she managed between sharp breaths. She didn’t understand how some women could breathe deeply and normally during labor. It isn’t natural!

The contraction waned, and she relaxed into the pillows on the bedmat. Her mind involuntarily flickered to the first time she had visited the gathering of the Way, when the women had prayed for her baby. They had named Jesus as the one who could keep Anthia safe during pregnancy and childbirth, and then they had prayed to Jesus and asked him for his protection. Jesus. Not Artemis. She filled in the implied contrast in her head. Is that true? Could it be? Dorema’s face suddenly filled her mind, and her grief hit her like a punch. She let out an involuntary groan as she remembered her friend’s labor. Her last breath. I can almost hear it.

Phoebe’s hand patted her shoulder as another contraction began. Too tired to resist, she allowed the gesture, concentrating instead on her attempt to breathe and her jumbled thoughts. Should I do it? Transfer my loyalty to Jesus and the Way? What about Philetus—his honor and his anger—if he discovers me? What might this cost me?