“Only one hour left ‘til sundown, and now you show up?” Caleb spat into the dust and shook his head.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the sun baking his neck like fire. The vineyard rows stretched behind him, every vine picked clean. His hands were stained purple. His legs ached from bending, lifting, dragging.
The new arrivals barely looked winded. A boy, a man with a crooked back, and two others who hadn’t lifted a single crate all day. Caleb watched them walk toward the foreman, who nodded and pointed to the remaining patch of grapes.
“Don’t break your backs,” Caleb muttered.
He turned back to his work, shoulders tight. Twelve hours. From first light. He hadn’t even stopped for bread.
When the bell rang for payment, they lined up near the table under the olive tree. The landowner sat beneath it, sleeves rolled, eyes scanning each face like he knew every story written behind the sweat.
The last men—the latecomers—were called first. Caleb watched, arms crossed. The boy stepped up, palms out.
A coin dropped into his hand. A denarius.
Caleb’s jaw tensed. No, that couldn’t be right. That was a full day's pay. For an hour?
Another coin fell into the crooked man's hand. Then another, then another. Each man—same coin. Same pay.
The line moved.
Jacob beside him whispered, “Maybe he’s giving everyone a bonus.”
Caleb’s turn came. He stepped forward, hands open.
One coin. Just one.
He blinked. “Master,” he said slowly, voice steady but rising, “we bore the heat. We were here from the beginning. And they—” he nodded toward the boy still flipping his coin—“they worked for an hour.”
The landowner looked up, calm as the sea. “Friend, I did you no wrong. Didn’t you agree to this wage?”
Caleb swallowed.
“I choose to give to the last what I gave to you. Or is your eye evil because I am good?”
The landowner moved on, calling the next name.
Caleb stepped aside, fingers closing around the coin like it might vanish. His mouth was dry. The world seemed to quiet as the others collected their pay behind him. Laughter. Confusion. Silence.
He looked up. The boy was sitting beneath the tree, spinning the coin between his fingers, humming.
Caleb turned, coin heavy in his hand, and walked away.
Behind him, the sun dipped past the ridge.
“Only one hour left ‘til sundown, and now you show up?” Caleb spat into the dust and shook his head.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the sun baking his neck like fire. The vineyard rows stretched behind him, every vine picked clean. His hands were stained purple. His legs ached from bending, lifting, dragging.
The new arrivals barely looked winded. A boy, a man with a crooked back, and two others who hadn’t lifted a single crate all day. Caleb watched them walk toward the foreman, who nodded and pointed to the remaining patch of grapes.
“Don’t break your backs,” Caleb muttered.
He turned back to his work, shoulders tight. Twelve hours. From first light. He hadn’t even stopped for bread.
When the bell rang for payment, they lined up near the table under the olive tree. The landowner sat beneath it, sleeves rolled, eyes scanning each face like he knew every story written behind the sweat.
The last men—the latecomers—were called first. Caleb watched, arms crossed. The boy stepped up, palms out.
A coin dropped into his hand. A denarius.
Caleb’s jaw tensed. No, that couldn’t be right. That was a full day's pay. For an hour?
Another coin fell into the crooked man's hand. Then another, then another. Each man—same coin. Same pay.
The line moved.
Jacob beside him whispered, “Maybe he’s giving everyone a bonus.”
Caleb’s turn came. He stepped forward, hands open.
One coin. Just one.
He blinked. “Master,” he said slowly, voice steady but rising, “we bore the heat. We were here from the beginning. And they—” he nodded toward the boy still flipping his coin—“they worked for an hour.”
The landowner looked up, calm as the sea. “Friend, I did you no wrong. Didn’t you agree to this wage?”
Caleb swallowed.
“I choose to give to the last what I gave to you. Or is your eye evil because I am good?”
The landowner moved on, calling the next name.
Caleb stepped aside, fingers closing around the coin like it might vanish. His mouth was dry. The world seemed to quiet as the others collected their pay behind him. Laughter. Confusion. Silence.
He looked up. The boy was sitting beneath the tree, spinning the coin between his fingers, humming.
Caleb turned, coin heavy in his hand, and walked away.
Behind him, the sun dipped past the ridge.
