Jerusalem Rising

by Barbara M. Britton

  “Is it time to leave?” Her mother shifted her weight and leaned on Adah.

  Judith tugged at her mother’s sleeve. “There is room this way. We are not laborers.”

  Adah did not budge. A strange buzzing like a persistent horse fly spread from her ears to her thoughts. Wasn’t she a daughter of Jacob? Wasn’t Judith? Didn’t they need to show God that they were as devoted to Him as those stampeding men rushing toward the front?

  Judith persisted with her pleas to leave, but Adah did not loosen her grasp on their mother.

  “Wait, sister.” Adah’s words came out in a rush. “Shouldn’t our father and the household of Shallum be in the governor’s record? What of our children? Will they not want to see the names of their ancestors and know we were faithful to God’s call?”

  Her mother tensed. “Your father has no heir.”

  Judith’s eyes narrowed. A scowl puckered her lips. “No one without sons is going forward. What woman would agree to labor with stone?”

  A tide pool swirled inside of Adah’s belly. Try as she might to remain calm, her ire flared at her family. “Our father, a ruler of this city, sits on a stool hidden by a scribe who will not even ink his name on the parchment. Did Nehemiah not address the daughters of Jacob? Do we not have the strength to pick up a stone?”

  Her mother patted Adah’s arm. “What makes you think we can do this? We are not craftsmen and we have our own burdens. It is time to lead me home and let the men of this city discuss the labor.”

  Adah clasped her mother’s comforting hand and removed its hold on her body. “You have a daughter to take you home. I intend to restore a section of the wall. God has been deaf to my prayers but perhaps with the governor praying beside me, he will give me the wherewithal to move rock.”

  Her words were terser than she meant them to be, but they were true and their truth had been bound in her soul for over a year. She pushed through the herd of people trudging forward to heed Nehemiah’s call. When she neared the temple steps, she did not take her place in line, but maneuvered past those stoically waiting, ducking under arms and squeezing through slivers of space.

  Reaching the platform, she headed toward her father who still sat at the back of it.

  Her father stood and surveyed the crowd. “Is your mother well?”

  She nodded. “Judith is escorting her home.”

  Her father rested again on his seat. “Good.”

  Tell him. Her face flamed as her palms dampened into pools. “Father, your name, our name, should be in this record. Do we not trust God to raise Jerusalem’s wall?” Do I not need to trust Him again? Fully. She took her father’s hand and clutched it between her own. “Help me rebuild our city.”

  The aged lines on her father’s face deepened as if this moment carried the weight of years of grief. “I am too old.”

  “And I am too young.” She lowered to one knee. “Together we can stack stones. Do we not curse them when we stumble?”

  “I do.” The governor wandered from his post by the scribe with Rephaiah following on his heels. “Your daughter’s passion is admirable, Ruler. Do you share the same call to rebuild this city?”

  Glancing at the governor, her father said, “If only I had the strength of my youth.”

  “I know who can give you strength.” Nehemiah’s gaze did not leave her father’s face. “The one who started me on this journey and arranged a foreign king to give me letters to travel. I fasted and prayed and God softened the heart of a sovereign.”

  Her father rose and drew her to her feet. His forehead furrowed but his eyes gleamed, caging the excitement of a young boy. “Are you certain, Adah?”

  Heart fluttering like a homing pigeon readying for a return trip, she swallowed all her doubts. “Yes, I am certain. If God looks favorably upon us, we can do this.”

  Rephaiah balked. “The girl knows nothing of masonry. Does she understand the hardship of this task? She has no brothers. Surely, a few of my sons could build Shallum’s section. Why should her father be troubled in his advanced age?”

  Nehemiah leaned in as if to bestow a confidence on his overseers. “Did David not encourage his son Solomon to be strong and courageous in his attempt to build the temple? Certain battles require strength and courage.”

  Her father nodded. “May God give me the strength, for my daughter has shown me courage.”

  A wellspring of warmth surged through her body. Her father had heard her plea.

  “But Governor,” Rephaiah said. “My sons are strong.”

  The pounding in Adah’s ears resounded like a ceremonial drum. She fixed a stare on Rephaiah that caused priests to step back. Why did this ruler not see that she wanted to be a blessing to her father like his sons were to him? “Did the governor not invite the daughters of Jacob to join in alongside the sons of Jacob? Surely, with God’s help, I can build.”

  “Scribe. Shallum and his daughter will make repairs near the Valley Gate and around the Tower of the Ovens.” No one challenged the authority in Nehemiah’s tone.

  Hushed discord hissed like an asp as it made its way along the line of sons waiting for their names to be recorded on the official parchment.

  She assessed the height and width of the earnest builders as she descended the steps. Could she do the same work? Was pride her folly? From the Temple Mount she glimpsed her city. Rubble could not protect it. A goat could wander in as well as an army.

  Casting a hard glance at her skeptics, she said, “We are one man and one daughter, but with God’s help, we can set stone upon stone.”

  “Make that two daughters.”

  Adah turned.

  “And a wife.”

  Judith and her mother waited arm in arm at the bottom of the steps. Their gold earrings shimmered in the sun.

  Adah feared her chest would burst as she gave her best fragrant-blossom smile to her newest stone masons. Who else had builders who wore veils and jewelry? Tears of joy pressed upon her eyes, but she would not let one drop escape.

  As she attempted to wade down the stairs to her mother and sister, Gershom stalked after her. Like father, like son.

  “You had best rethink this foolishness.” Gershom’s most holy voice irritated her ears. “My father made a sensible offer. Allow my brothers to build your area. No priest or Levite will oversee a woman in this work.”

  She rounded on him and jerked her shoulders back. “Are you threatening our religious leaders?”

  “I am informing you of reason, woman.”

  “No, you want to rule alongside your father.” There. She said it. The truth. His truth. “You helped my father when my mother was ill, but my father is capable of ruling for a few more years. And the household of Shallum will heed the governor’s call.”

  “Hah. What a sight it will be to see a stubborn hen move rock.” He clapped his hands and snickered.

  If only she could snap her elbow back into Gershom’s belly, but with her mother waiting, beaming with pride, Adah controlled her anger and walked into her mother’s outstretched arms.

  Her mother tugged her close. “I would much rather have a squawking hen than a braying donkey.”

  Adah pulled back. “You listened?”

  “I heard.”

  “And then she told me.” Judith folded her arms and glared at Gershom. With hair as dark as their mother’s, and eyes almost the color of onyx, her twin’s stance was formidable.

  With hair the color of roasted grain, and cheeks burned by the sun, Adah’s scowl could not rival her sister’s.

  Adah grasped Judith’s fisted hand. “But what if no masons come to help us?”

  “Did you not hear our governor this day?” Her mother answered. “Be strong and courageous. God will not forsake us. He will provide a mason.”

  5

  The next morning, Adah studied the rows of baked-clay jars stored in a cupboard in her storeroom. The markings on the vessels may as well have been foreign gibberish for as much as her brain was able to concentrate. She ha
d no one to blame but herself for her predicament. The first culprit was her own pride. The second culprit was her own stubbornness. Why did she let them overtake her yesterday? She charged forward and committed to rebuilding the wall with God’s help. But where was God? Where was the rain? The abundance of food? The strong backs to lift boulders?

  She reached for the mint-scented oil and dabbed a drop on a piece of cloth. The aroma of the crushed leaves usually calmed her spirit. One breath. Rest. A second. She opened her eyes and stood with insides wrapped tighter than a weaver’s thread. How was she going to stack stones when she could barely lift them?

  She shuffled her jar back and forth over a flat knot in the table’s grain. “Lord, I need guidance,” she prayed.

  “If you rub that bottle any faster it may break.”

  Adah whipped around at the sound of Othniel’s voice.

  He leaned against the threshold to her workshop, arms crossed and resting comfortably across his belt.

  Had he heard her prayer? She glanced at her hand. A small tremor unsteadied her fingers.

  “I’m mixing oils.” He can see that.

  He strolled closer, his smile as content as a well-fed lamb. “May I?” He held out his hand for the vessel. No dust covered his skin this morning and the curls she spied escaping from under his turban were dark as charcoal. He hadn’t been in the fields digging in forsaken soil. Not yet anyway.

  She offered him a different jar. “I hope you find this soothing.”

  He breathed deep. “Ahh. I am in a shady grove with a sea of moss and buds aplenty.”

  “Will you take me there so I can flee humiliation?”

  “You cannot leave.” He returned the fragrant mixture to her. “All around the market people are talking about how Shallum and his daughters are going to restore a section of the wall.”

  Turning slightly toward her wares, she attempted to cap the bottle of tuberose and agar wood oils. Her fingers fumbled the carved poplar cap. Three tries later her mixture was stoppled and set with the others. “I would not doubt King Artaxerxes has heard of my madness.”

  Her belly cramped. She had volunteered to rebuild the wall so her family would be remembered not ridiculed. She faced Othniel and forced a reluctant grin.

  “Come now.” His voice calmed her soul more than the mint leaves. “Your father agreed to the work as did your family.”

  “Alas, I am convincing as well as conniving. My father cannot labor like a young man. I will be the death of him.” Her heart beat as swift as the rhythm Othniel drummed on the table. She sighed. “I will speak with Nehemiah today.”

  “Then he should refuse your appointment.” He opened his arms wide as if to embrace her.

  She stood as still as a statue.

  He stepped closer. “I am here to assist you.”

  Could God have acted this swiftly in answering her plea? Or was Othniel offering his services out of pity? She shook her head. The gossip muttered among the barterers could not have been kind. Her countenance plummeted like a fisherman’s anchor. She rolled her scented cloth until it resembled a twig. As much as she liked Othniel’s company, his family needed him to labor in their vineyards.

  “I cannot accept your offer. You have responsibilities to your father—”

  “And my father sent me to you.” He leaned toward her and held out his hands as if he were an offering from his family.

  Othniel’s skills would be useful. She blew out a breath and tucked her pride away in one of her ram-skin gathering pouches.

  “Do not worry.” He tipped her chin so she saw nothing but him and everything about him. “My father has five other sons. And you paid too much for the cedar box. I told you it would be noticed.”

  Her stomach hollowed at his confession and her bones became unsteady at his touch. Or perhaps her senses were finally reacting to the mint. “You’re here to pay a debt?”

  He dropped his fingers from her face, but the warmth of his skin spread along her jaw and over her cheeks. “I’m here as a friend to the house of Shallum.”

  “I could use several friends like you.” She cleared her throat and tried to hide the giddy smile tugging on her lips. “Lots more. About your height with broad shoulders.” She stepped away to place her jars in the cupboard, but her body yearned to stay close and feel his caress anew.

  “Hah. You kept it.” Othniel came up behind her and reached toward the top shelf of the cupboard. He removed a narrow piece of weathered wood. “Do you remember when we found this?”

  “How could I forget? I thought that twig was a live lizard intent on slithering over my foot.” Her toes curled at the vision…and from Othniel being near. She spied a few dark hairs peeking out from the opening in his tunic.

  He examined the nubs resembling tiny feet. “I knew it couldn’t be alive. A skink would run away if it felt the earth move.” He held the slim piece of wood in the air and whirled it around like the wooden lizard had suddenly sprouted wings. She stifled a laugh at the amusement their treasure gave him.

  “I’m glad you took this home. My brothers would have broken it into pieces.” Othniel placed the harmless lizard back on the top shelf and faced it toward her table. “There. Its eyes will watch over you while you create intoxicating perfumes.”

  She closed the cupboard. “And to think that dirt and creek water created those menacing eyes.”

  “When we had water.” Othniel’s voice sounded as rejected as the land.

  Adah’s mother shuffled into the workshop. “Someone is with you, daughter.”

  Othniel jumped and nearly knocked over a pitcher of olive oil. Adah caught the handle before it fell. Her mother couldn’t see Othniel’s closeness with her darkened sight. Adah lived with this knowledge, but Othniel did not.

  “Mother, Othniel is present.” She gave Othniel a quick glance and a reassuring nod.

  “I thought I heard voices.” Her mother scanned the workshop as if sighted. She looked toward where the commotion with the pitcher had occurred. “My daughter doesn’t usually talk to herself.”

  Othniel coughed and shifted further down the table. His carefree expression sobered. “I was coming by the house.”

  “There is no need. I am here and my husband has gone.” Her mother’s cheeks plumped with a hint of a grin.

  “Othniel has offered to help us build the wall. He is an answer to our prayer.” Adah shuffled toward her mother. She would not mention Othniel’s obligation to his father or her generous payment for the governor’s gift. “Your head band is crooked. Let me fold your veil. We can’t have people thinking we are already overworked.”

  “Why would I be tired when we have so many friends?” Amusement rippled through her mother’s words, especially the last one spoken.

  Adah tugged her mother’s head covering to distract her.

  “Growing trees and tilling the soil I can do,” Othniel added. “But I have never laid the foundation for a city wall.”

  “Is there not someone in the governor’s party who could give us direction?” Adah asked. Nehemiah had secured lumber, but did he bring advisors?

  Her mother’s eyes squinted as if pain ricocheted through her temples. “Men with knowledge of masonry will be guiding their own families, but I do know of someone who could assist us.”

  Assist? Adah needed one of King Artaxerxes’s experts.

  Reaching for a stool, her mother took a seat. “Telem ben Henadad will not be sought by another family. His father was a master builder and helped to rebuild the temple years ago. I was well acquainted with Telem’s wife.”

  “I have not heard of him.” Adah swept some dried leaf bits off her mixing table.

  Othniel shrugged. “I’m a quick learner.” He winked at her. “And one of the few men in Judah who can name flowers. I won’t have to name the rocks.”

  Adah stifled a laugh. Her friend was eager to find laborers. Had God listened to her prayer this morning? Had He sent not only one worker, but two strong men? Her mother’s countena
nce did not overflow with assurance.

  Her hope flickered. “Surely someone with Telem’s skill will be called upon by others.”

  “Telem does not reside in the city.” Her mother beckoned for Adah’s hand and clasped it between her warm palms. “I do not know if he still lives. I once heard he dwelt in the caves north of Jerusalem. Perhaps he will remember me and honor a request from my daughters.”

  If God was listening to her prayers, He was only lending half an ear. “Mother, we need young men. Not those of father’s age.”

  “He is not aged.” Her mother patted Adah’s hand. “I can picture his face as if he stood before me inspecting the stones of the temple. He was a mere boy then.”

  “But a cave?” Adah asked.

  “A cave has more protection than our city.” Othniel cast Adah a curious look. “If we find this man, will he come to help us?”

  Rotating her face toward Othniel’s voice, her mother said, “I cannot say for certain. But God has placed Telem on my heart, and I think we should ask him to join our efforts.”

  Adah withdrew from her mother and began bundling thin strips of cedar to grind for future scents. Oil stains marred the planked wood where she worked. Ovals the color of plums and dates displayed the errors of her past attempts to make perfume. Was it a mistake to waste time searching for a man that may not even be alive? But if Telem did inhabit the caves outside Jerusalem, she could use his skills and spare her family from becoming the laughingstock of the city.

  A chill shivered over her flesh as she pictured the darkness of the catacombs. She glanced at Othniel who gave her a slight nod. A surge of renewed purpose flowed through her veins.

  Lifting her mother’s hand, Adah kissed it. “If it is as you say, and your Telem lives, Othniel and I will find him.”

  6

  Adah halted on a mound overlooking the city. Fields and groves terraced outside of Jerusalem resembled a shroud of burlap with an uneven weave. Shriveled trees and vines rippled across the staggered fields. Lush hillsides were only a memory. For some. She couldn’t even recall a bountiful harvest. Today she did not need to search out a lone bloom or young bud, she needed to find a man with the skills to help her family repair their section of the wall.