On This Foundation

by Lynn Austin

  She listened for sounds of fighting and didn’t hear any. The cries continued. Had there been an accident? Was one of Abba’s workmen injured? Lord, help him, please! Help him! She pictured a block of stone shifting, crushing someone’s leg or arm beneath its weight. But the longer she listened, the more convinced she became that the voice she heard crying out in agony was her father’s.

  Chana ran down the stairs, through her courtyard, and out of her house without stopping. She raced down the Street of the Bakers to the Valley Gate, pushing past anyone who got in her way. The cries went on and on in the distance as she hurried through the gate along with a growing crowd of men. They had unsheathed their swords as if fearing, as she had, that they were under attack. The screaming would die away for only a few seconds at a time before continuing.

  “Abba!” she shouted as she raced toward the knot of gathered men. Convinced more than ever that it was her father’s voice, she elbowed her way through the bystanders and saw her father lying on the ground, writhing in pain. She didn’t see any blood or wounds, no huge blocks of stone pinning his limbs, but two workers held his shoulders, another one his legs, trying to hold him still. Was something wrong with his heart?

  “Abba! Abba, what happened?” She knelt beside him, her lungs heaving. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  He looked up at her, but only heart-wrenching moans poured from his mouth. Tears filled his eyes as he tossed restlessly.

  “What’s wrong with him?” she asked the man holding his shoulders.

  “He lifted a stone from that pile over there and uncovered a nest of scorpions. They were Death Stalkers.”

  This was much, much worse than she’d feared. She saw an angry red welt on Abba’s hand, and all of his fingers and part of his forearm had swollen to twice their size. “No! No . . . !” she said as tears filled her eyes. The pain from the scorpion’s venomous sting was said to be excruciating and, hearing Abba’s pitiful cries, Chana believed it. She also knew why the scorpion was called the Death Stalker. She wanted to do something to help him, to save his life, but didn’t know what. Work on the wall had stopped as the men gathered around, staring uselessly.

  “Somebody fetch a litter,” she yelled. “We need to carry him home. . . . And find someone who knows what to do for him, how to save him!” It seemed to take forever for the men to bring a blanket to use for a litter. Abba screamed again as the workers lifted him onto it. Chana went alongside, holding Abba’s other hand as the men carried him home. He was biting his lip to keep from crying out, his beloved face knotted in agony. “Go slowly!” she begged as they carried him through the Valley Gate and up the street. “Don’t jostle him too much!”

  They finally reached the house, and Chana ran ahead to open the gate. She directed them to her father’s bed, shouting for Sarah and Yudit. Her sisters came running, but there was nothing any of them could do except hover over him, listening to his terrible moans and silently pleading with God to save him. It seemed like hours passed before a white-haired woman named Miryam arrived to help. She was a healer who had dealt with the Death Stalker scorpion before. She gave Chana and her sisters a list of ingredients she would need to make a poultice and the names of certain leaves that could be ground up and given to him to drink to ease his pain. They divided up the list and Chana ran to the marketplace, grateful for the chance to finally do something. Word of the accident had spread, and people kept stopping her to ask how Shallum was and how they could help. Chana answered abruptly, telling them she had no time to talk.

  By the time Chana returned with the last of the ingredients, Miryam had begun brewing the poultice. Yudit piled pillows behind Abba’s shoulders and spooned the elixir into his mouth to help ease his pain. Sarah fanned him with palm leaves to cool him in the heat. The poison had traveled all the way up Abba’s arm, bloating his face. When Miryam laid the finished poultice in place, draping it all the way up Abba’s arm, he cried out. Chana had to leave the room, the memory of watching Yitzhak die magnifying her fear.

  An hour later, whether it was the poultice or the elixir or the Death Stalker claiming its prey, Abba finally closed his eyes and fell asleep. Chana drew Miryam aside where her sisters couldn’t overhear. “Is it a good thing that he’s finally resting or are we losing him?” she asked. “His breathing sounds so labored.”

  “The drink we gave him put him to sleep. But it’s the Death Stalker’s venom that’s closing his airways.”

  “What else can I do? I need to do something.”

  “We’ve made him as comfortable as we can. Now we can only wait and pray.”

  “Is he going to die?” Sarah asked, coming over to where they whispered. “We can’t let him die.”

  “Your father is a strong man. He stands a good chance of pulling through. The Death Stalker’s sting does its worst on the very young and the very old.”

  “It could have been any of us,” Yudit said, joining the huddle. “We all handled those stones every day.” No one replied, knowing she spoke the truth.

  As time passed, Chana grew restless again, driven by the urge to do something besides sit and wring her hands. When she heard a knock outside at their gate, she jumped to her feet and hurried out to answer it. To her surprise, Governor Nehemiah stood there, along with the man with the signal trumpet who followed the governor like a shadow everywhere he went, ready to sound the alarm. Nehemiah’s exhaustion shocked Chana, his gestures and speech slowed as if he moved underwater. His clothes looked as though he had worked and slept in them for several days. They smelled like it, too.

  “I heard what happened to your father,” Nehemiah said. “How is he?”

  “Abba’s pain seems to have eased a bit. Now we can only wait and see.”

  “I’m so sorry this happened. We’ve all been braced for another enemy attack this past week, and I don’t think any of us expected something like this. Tell Shallum I was asking about him, and let me know if there is anything I can do besides pray.”

  “I will. Thank you for your kindness, Governor.”

  After he was gone Chana could no longer fight the urge to do something. The activity on the wall alongside her house seemed unusually quiet, and she remembered how the construction had halted, the men standing around as if afraid to return to work. Would they have sense enough to continue without Abba there to direct them? Or were they all too afraid to lift another stone? A few hours still remained before the evening sacrifice and there would be an hour or two of daylight after that in which work could be done. The more Chana thought about the construction coming to a halt, the more convinced she became that she needed to take her father’s place. The men needed a supervisor and no one knew the work better than she did. She motioned for her sisters to come out where they could talk and told them her plan.

  “Chana, no! You can’t! It’s too dangerous!” Sarah said.

  “I can’t just sit here and watch Abba suffer. I can’t bear it. I need to do something, so I’m going to take over for him. Send for me if there’s any change.”

  When Chana arrived outside the wall, the men still milled around halfheartedly, just as she’d feared, even though at least three hours had passed since the accident. They quickly gathered around her to ask about her father. “He’s resting. Time will tell.” With anger fueling her courage, she faced the waiting men, all of them older, stronger, and more experienced than she was. “Listen, I’ll be taking over for my father until he recovers. You may not like taking orders from a woman—believe me, I don’t enjoy giving them. But Abba trusts me, and I know what has to be done here. My father made a commitment to rebuild the wall from the Valley Gate to the Tower of the Ovens, and as his firstborn heir, it’s my job to help him keep that commitment.”

  The men seemed too subdued by her surprising announcement and their lingering horror from the accident to reply. Chana took advantage of their shock and surprise to start issuing orders. “Show me where you left off and what remains to be done. I see that stone block up there is
still attached to the crane, but it isn’t in the right place. And we can’t let this mortar dry out and go to waste. Let’s get busy.”

  The wall looked wonderfully familiar from this side even if the armed guards standing rigidly on duty were an uneasy reminder that an attack could come at any moment. Chana strode down the length of her section all the way to the Tower of the Ovens to talk to Hasshub ben Pahath, who was in charge of rebuilding that tower.

  He stopped what he was doing when he saw her and hurried over. “How is Shallum? He was in such horrible pain.”

  “We’re doing everything we can for him at home. But the work on his section mustn’t stop. I just came to tell you that I’ll be taking over for him until he’s well.” She turned away before he could sputter his protests. Hasshub had made it clear from the start that he disapproved of Shallum’s daughters working beside him. He would think even less of her working alone.

  Shortly before the evening sacrifice, Chana saw Governor Nehemiah making his usual rounds, inspecting the wall and his security forces. She could have hidden from him but decided not to. He would hear about what she was doing soon enough. She saw his surprise and concern when he spotted her. “Chana, what are you doing out here? You need to get back inside the walls at once!”

  “I can’t do that, Governor. I’m supervising the work for my father until he’s well.”

  His concern quickly transformed into anger. “Oh no, you’re not! It’s much too dangerous, for a whole host of reasons. I came here to assign a new foreman—”

  “You don’t need to do that. I know the work better than anyone. My father gave his word that he would rebuild this section, and I’m going to help him keep it.”

  “I will not allow you to put yourself in danger.” He reached for her shoulder as if to steer her back toward the gate, but she eluded his grasp.

  “Why not? Because I’m a woman?”

  “Yes, of course because you’re a woman! If that scorpion had bitten you, you’d be dead! You can’t carry a sword, you’re barely half the size of these men, and we have unseen enemies out there who could attack any minute!”

  “It may surprise you to know that women can be every bit as courageous as men.”

  “I’m not questioning your courage, I’m questioning your common sense!” Nehemiah glanced around as if aware they were attracting attention. He lowered his voice, speaking through his clenched jaw. “If you don’t leave voluntarily, I’ll order my men to carry you home.”

  “Don’t waste their time—or mine. I’ll simply come right back. I admire you a great deal, Governor. Now kindly return the favor and respect my right to help my father the best way I know how.”

  “You are the most frustrating . . . stubborn . . . exasperating woman I have ever met!” His shout drew attention, and he looked away from her for a moment, staring up at the temple mount as if trying to cool his temper. “Listen, I need to attend the sacrifice now and pray for your father. But this conversation isn’t over.”

  Chana stayed until dusk, the work distracting her from her worry for short periods of time. As the first stars appeared, she returned home to see how Abba was doing. Yudit’s distraught face told her he wasn’t any better. “He’s getting worse, Chana. He can hardly breathe.”

  She went into his bedroom and sat down beside him, listening to his labored breaths. It made her chest ache to hear him. “Please don’t die, Abba,” she whispered. “Dear Lord, please don’t let him die.”

  The thread that tethered Chana to the Almighty One seemed gossamer thin. But she closed her eyes and prayed, determined to hang on to it tightly and not let go.

  Chapter

  40

  JERUSALEM

  Nehemiah was relieved to see his youngest brother waiting for him in the temple courtyard for the evening sacrifice. “Did you hear what happened to Shallum a few hours ago?” he asked Hanani without a word of greeting. “What do you know about the scorpion’s sting? Is it fatal?”

  “It can be. And so can exhaustion. Look at you! Why don’t you go home and rest? For weeks you’ve been staying up all night, running all over the city by day, walking around the wall countless times—you can’t keep this up, you know.”

  “I manage to catch a few hours of sleep here and there. How are you and Ephraim holding up? And how is our workers’ morale?”

  “Everyone was shaken by what happened to Shallum today. It could have been any of us. We’ve all been digging through the rubble, handling stones, reaching into all the places where scorpions like to hide.”

  “We need to pray for him. And for the work. And for help against our enemies. If we don’t take time to pray, we may as well not bother to do anything else.”

  They took their places in the men’s courtyard and Nehemiah closed his eyes, letting the music soothe him as the Levites sang the liturgy. “Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him.” He remembered how he used to rise early in the morning to pray when he lived in Susa, confessing his sins to the Almighty One, relying on Him for strength and discernment. And he also remembered how God had answered his prayers and brought him this far, helping him accomplish the work he had set out to do.

  “He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.” Ever since facing opposition, Nehemiah had wrestled with the question of whether it was a warning from God that he was headed in the wrong direction, or whether the enemy’s attacks were designed to keep him from his God-given task. When he prayed here at the temple, closing his eyes to everything else and silencing the turmoil inside, Nehemiah knew he was following God. He needed to persevere and not give up.

  “Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.” He silently thanked the Almighty One for successful victories over their attackers. And as the priest entered the sanctuary to light the incense, Nehemiah prayed for strength to complete his work, for continued protection from his enemies, and for God’s healing hand to be upon Shallum. “One thing God has spoken, two things have I heard: that you, O God, are strong, and that you, O Lord, are loving.”

  Nehemiah was still thinking about Shallum when the sacrifice ended, and he remembered Shallum’s obstinate daughter. “She went back to work on the wall,” he told Hanani as they walked back across the courtyard.

  “Who did? What are you talking about now?”

  “That muleheaded woman, Shallum’s daughter. Remember how we tried to get her to stop working on the wall once before? Well, she was finally forced to stop when the threat of attacks made it too dangerous. But she’s back again. She says she’s taking her father’s place as supervisor. Of all the ridiculous things to do! You need to stop her, Hanani.”

  “Me? I didn’t get anywhere with her last time. And then her fiancé, Malkijah, came to her defense, too.”

  “I forgot that she was betrothed to Malkijah. . . . I heard that he didn’t take the oath, Hanani. I don’t know what to make of that.”

  Hanani shook his head in bewilderment. “You’re rambling. For everyone’s sake, get some rest.”

  Nehemiah saw his other brother heading toward the stairs and signaled to him to stop and wait. He was relieved to see that Ephraim, like Hanani, wore an armored breastplate and carried a sword. “You look like you’ve wrestled with a pack of lions and lost,” Ephraim told him. “You’re going to wear yourself out.”

  “I told him the same thing,” Hanani said. “He doesn’t listen.”

  “You may be right,” Nehemiah said, “but before I do wear out, I’m going to finish this wall.”

  “Do you even bother to eat?”

  “When necessary.”

  Ahead of them, a small crowd had gathered near the top of the stairs to hear a woman shouting in an age-wizened voice. “Now what?” Nehemiah murmured, remembering how the last protest had halted construction. He was tall enough to look over the people’s heads and see a wrinkled, gray-haired woman who stood with upraised hands, gazing toward heaven in ecstasy.<
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  “The Holy One of Israel is with His people,” she said, “and His hand is on His servant Nehemiah. There is a king in Judah! Therefore rejoice and be glad in His chosen king who has brought us victory over our enemies, and rebuilt the ruins of Jerusalem. Rejoice and be glad, O people, for there is a king in Judah who feeds you as in days of old and who looks upon the needs of the poor. . . .”

  Nehemiah turned and hurried down the stairs without waiting to hear more. He didn’t know why, but her words made him uncomfortable. So did being in crowds, where the people often reached out to touch him and thank him. “What did you make of that?” he asked his brothers when they were out of earshot. “Who is she?”

  “Her name is Noadiah, and this is the third or fourth time I’ve heard her,” Hanani said. “She’s been showing up all over the city, saying pretty much the same thing. This is the first time I heard her speak at the temple, though.”

  “I’ve heard her before, too,” Ephraim said. “Her ‘prophecies’ rub me the wrong way.”

  “Why?” Hanani asked. “She’s only trying to encourage the people.”

  “Nehemiah isn’t our king. She shouldn’t even imply such a thing. . . . I’ll see you tomorrow.” He continued down the street instead of turning toward their residence.

  “Ephraim, wait.” Nehemiah jogged to keep up with him. Hanani did, too. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m on night duty at the Dung Gate.”

  “Would it do any good at all for me to ask you not to go?” Nehemiah said. “We have plenty of other volunteers now.”