Micaiah tapped her shoulder. “We should rest the animal.” He pointed toward an oak tree off in the distance.
The shade beckoned, but a delay was her enemy. Although, if the mule pulled up lame they would never catch Othniel.
“Let’s go a little farther before we rest.” She prodded the mule onward and surveyed the road ahead.
Tugging on her garment, Micaiah said, “But the shade is here.”
Her muscles wound tight like yarn on a spindle. He’s young and weary. She blew out a breath. “Hold on and we’ll trot over.”
As they drew closer to the oak’s drape of limbs and the shadowed ground beneath, a form camouflaged by the sprawling roots came into view.
“It’s my brother.” Micaiah wiggled like an unearthed worm. “Hurry!”
She kicked the mule and dipped under a low-lying branch, all the while her heart sped faster and faster. Could it be? Spying the form, her spirit soared. She knew that slumped head with its dark, unruly curls. If only she was lying beside him, feeling the tickle of his breath and the brush of his body.
Dismounting in an instant, she grabbed the basket from Micaiah and left him sitting high on top of the mule.
“Othniel.” His name caught in her breaths. She knelt beside his bared calves, her knees skidding on the packed soil. “Wake up.”
His eyes fluttered open.
She patted the side of his face. The bliss of finding her friend waned when she observed the haggard circles camped under his eyes. “You are weak. I have worked you too hard.”
“You, no.” He sat forward as if called to attention. “Telem, maybe.” He tucked a wayward ringlet under her head covering.
Even though his touch was but a wisp of a caress, it awakened all of her senses.
“I would say I am dreaming, but I remember scouting this tree for a short nap.” His eyes held that hint of tease that she loved. “What are you doing so far from the city? You should not be here.” He glanced about as if soldiers lay in wait.
“Of course I should.” How could he think of her safety when he was the one sent from his home? She unfolded the cloth surrounding the bread. “I promised you something to eat. You rushed off without even saying farewell.” She swallowed hard and tried to hide the hurt cinching her throat. Shaking her head, she said, “Now I am traipsing the desert to be true to my word.”
He beheld her as if he truly thought she was a vision. “I know you too well.” He stroked the weave of her basket, but the palm of his hand caressed her knee. “You would not be satisfied with my leaving.”
Handing him a piece of bread, she said, “Then come back to me. I will do more. I should have done more. My father can persuade Rephaiah to lower your taxes.”
“My father will not accept food from Shallum’s table, nor a plea for leniency.” He bit off a piece of bread. “What would happen the next time the taxes were due? Is my family to receive pity from another ruler?”
Micaiah approached slowly, as though he expected a reprimand from his brother.
Othniel reached out and waved him forward. “I should gift you silver, my brother, for protecting Adah. Come out of the sun and eat with us.”
“You are not angry?” Micaiah focused his attention on an uncovered sweet cake.
“Of course not.” Othniel finished the last of his bread. “Now I can thank you for doing my chores. By next year, you will be as tall as me.”
“No.” Micaiah shook his head. His dusty cheeks curved into a grin. “By the next moon.”
A bold laugh burst forth from Othniel’s chest. If only she could join in, but the thought of his absence was like a stone wedged against her heart. Her friend rose and hugged his younger brother, sending the boy off to the mule to fetch the larger waterskin.
“When will you return?” Her words were but a wisp. She shifted her weight onto her hip. Comfort would not stop the panic seizing her lungs.
Hands on hips, Othniel watched his brother untie the skin. “Six years. Micaiah may be betrothed by the time I return.”
Six! The tide behind her eyes threatened to come to shore and stay. She was glad he did not turn around to bear witness to her grief. Why couldn’t Othniel’s family have bartered for one or two years of servitude?
“Where will you serve?” Jerusalem was the only answer that would settle her stomach.
“I go to Hebron and in a few days, to Kadesh-Barnea.”
“Say it isn’t so.” She sprang to her feet. “One more step and you will be in Egypt.” How could his father even consider such an arrangement? “The people to the south do not serve our God.”
Othniel’s stare became as unyielding as baked clay. “I only pray to the One True God.” Adah beheld Othniel and his faith radiated from his stare. “I will mumble my prayers in my heart if need be. My family’s honor is at stake. We must hold onto the land that has been passed down through generations. I do not intend to abandon my God.”
Where was God? Why did He abandon Othniel? And why did God withhold the rain? Couldn’t He see how His people suffered?
The clatter of wooden cups and the trudge of Micaiah’s sandals interrupted her troubled thoughts. Kneeling to pour drinks, the boy eyed the basket of food.
“Have a raisin cake.” Othniel offered his brother the largest treat. “I only need a half. My path is away from the city. You may have to fight our enemies.”
Even under the shade of the grand oak, heat swept through Adah’s being. “What can I do?”
With a slight shake of his head, Othniel licked his lips and sipped the water his brother had brought.
She shifted closer and stood by his side. Othniel was present for the moment, and she would bathe in this cool shade with him now. “Tell me. I will petition even Nehemiah. Surely the governor could lower the burden on your family.”
“And what of all the others struggling under the weight of the king’s taxes? Can all the hardship be removed? My brothers must provide for their wives and Micaiah is too young to send away. I must serve so our land is secure.” He swallowed the last of his drink and brushed his fingertips over her sleeve. “It is too late. You must carry on and build the wall. Honor your father’s name as I honor my father’s wishes. Be that brave and courageous woman who saved my vineyard.”
His caress of her chin was but a brush of a breeze, but it thundered to her toes. Grasping his hand, she held it between them as if they were bound together. What would she do without Othniel’s encouragement? Her chest pulled tighter than the leather atop a drum. “But you will be back.” Her throat ached with every word spoken. “You cannot stay in a foreign land with foreign women.”
“Tomorrow is not for certain, but I will always remember traipsing through the countryside with you.” He lifted her necklace and fingered the beads. “You are my shining chrysolite gem, and I am your sandalwood.”
“Don’t say such a thing. You mean more to me than a thousand gems.” She squeezed his clasped hand. “God will protect you, and you shall return to Jerusalem. To me.”
“My future is not my own, I—”
“Are there more raisin cakes?” Micaiah asked, his eyes wide with anticipation.
She shook her head and gave a quivering smile. “I have some in Jerusalem.”
Othniel slipped away and wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Take care of Adah and get her home safely.” He scrubbed a hand over the boy’s head wrap.
Adah turned away from the young boy’s frantic embrace of his brother. Biting her tongue, she tried to keep the threads of her composure tightly knotted.
On the road, a caravan approached. The camels trudged in the direction Othniel headed. Her friend would travel safer with families around.
She picked up the cloth with the uneaten bread inside. Oh how she wished she could place a feast in his basket. Instead, she removed a pouch of cinnamon from her belt and added it. Not only would it flavor his bread, but just maybe it would remind him of her.
“You must take this food.�
�� She concentrated on her friend’s need for nourishment and not on Micaiah’s ruddy face. Her hands shook as she fumbled the flap of Othniel’s satchel. “I made this for you.”
Looking up as he helped her place the bread in his leather pack, their gazes met and lingered. How could she have been so short of sight? All the time they had spent together crossing streams and groves in search of new blooms and new scents, her greatest find was standing right in front of her.
“You are my fragrant flower,” he whispered.
“I will wait for you.” Her reasoning rushed forth in a desperate plea. “I will talk with my father…”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “And your father will not allow it. Not with all the uncertainty. What can I offer a ruler’s daughter?”
“Everything.” A tear branded her cheek. “We must believe God will act.”
“You must believe. Finish the wall, so one day if I return I can tell anyone who will listen how we stacked those stones.” With a quick glance toward the caravan, he kissed her forehead. “Shalom.”
Before she could reply, he sprinted southward, joining the procession of wagons, animals, and travelers.
Adah gripped her empty basket and squeezed her eyes shut, branding the caress of his lips into her memory. Never once did Othniel turn around. And never once did she try and stop him.
18
Shouts of masons and the thud of hammers greeted Adah as she neared Jerusalem. No relief crept into her soul at seeing the growth of the wall and the frame of the gates. Her posture grew rigid every time she thought of Othniel running to join strangers on his journey to serve a foreign master. Why build Jerusalem and make her a fortress, only to sell her people to slave in the lands of their enemies? She had kept Nehemiah’s secret about the assembly, but today she would not stay silent about the injustice around her.
“Forgive me, Lord,” she prayed. “For I passed by Beulah’s grief as if it were a bother. Now the same suffering has come upon my heart, and I cannot ignore the pain. Embolden me to speak for the downtrodden.”
After entering the city, she dismounted and withdrew her sword from the saddle bag before sending Micaiah on his way with the mule. If Othniel’s father would not accept choice meats from the daughter of Shallum, perhaps he would accept fodder for the mount she had ridden. She would send a supply of hay for the mule later and wrap some raisin cakes for Micaiah.
Marching toward the council chambers, she passed the temple, and dodged a few stragglers returning from afternoon prayer. An overhang held up by four thin columns cast shade on the steps to the meeting place. A mosaic of indigo and amber tiles outlined the main entrance. As she reached for the door, it flung open. Nehemiah nearly trampled her. She jumped backward as the governor and Ezra halted. The aroma of sage and myrtle incense wafted from the room the priest and Nehemiah had just left.
“Daughter of Shallum.” Nehemiah’s eyes widened at her presence. “You are not working on the wall today?”
“Governor. Teacher.” She bowed and nodded toward Ezra. “If you will hear me, I have a case to plead.” Wiping her hands together, she willed the worn strip of bandage to soak up her sweat.
“May it never be said that I did not listen to one who gave me comfort in a time of grief.” The governor turned to Ezra. “I do not want to keep you from your duties.”
“By all means, allow the woman to speak. She still carries that sword.” Ezra encouraged her with a thin-lipped grin.
She clasped her hands to keep them from shaking and cleared her throat. Oh how she prayed the governor would be as willing to hear her rebuke as he had been to receive her comfort. “You once told me you followed God’s leading and petitioned the king to leave the palace and rebuild the wall where your fathers lie buried.”
“I did.” Nehemiah’s gruff response nearly turned her feet to stone.
“Aren’t we building a wall to protect our city and our people? Yet these rocks cannot protect us against famine. These boulders cannot stop our sons and daughters from being sent away to serve in pagan households. Families who cannot pay their taxes are forfeiting their children for a few coins.” Her attention fell to Ezra. “Doesn’t our law forbid this slavery?”
The priest arched his back. Had she insulted his knowledge?
“Who has sanctioned the servitude of our people? Certainly, not I.” He cast a glance at the governor. “I have been diligent in upholding God’s commands.”
Adah tensed. She did not intend to insult Ezra, but she knew of what she spoke. She looked to Nehemiah, confident in their friendship.
Nehemiah gazed out over the sun-drenched steps. “I have not been here long. But my desire is to fill these streets, not empty them.” He crossed his arms and tapped a rhythm with his fingers. “Let us ask the rulers about such a matter. They are the ones that settle the debts of our people.”
Shuffling sandals caught her attention. If she had been a bird, she would have flown high into the sky, for at that moment, her father, followed by Rephaiah and his hateful son Gershom, sauntered toward the governor. They hiked the steps and stopped, closing off any way of escape. Ezra widened their intimate circle.
Caught in a vice between powerful men, she stiffened. Be brave and courageous.
“Shallum. Rephaiah.” The governor’s call upon the rulers held no hint of pleasantries. “Is hardship causing our people to stray from the Law? Have we not tended to the poor? Your daughter has brought a serious charge against the officials of this city.”
Her father’s face wrinkled. He glared at her with a fierceness she had only seen when the doctors testified her mother would never regain her sight. “Daughter, what is this gossip? What falsehoods have the laborers been spreading?”
The condemnation in her father’s voice chilled her blood. When did she ever stand idle and whisper half-truths? “Father.” She reminded him of their kinship. “Othniel is on his way to Kadesh-Barnea so his family can pay taxes on their fields. He is bound for six years to an idol worshipper.”
“How can this be?” Ezra said, stroking his beard and perusing the officials. “Was this suffering brought before an elder or a priest?”
Gershom laughed like a braying donkey while his father remained stiff and still. “She is lovesick.” Gershom swished his hand as if a sudden swarm of gnats attacked his position. “Her man leaves her and she petitions us to bring him back. Dismiss her accusation. Work is not a hardship for a boy. Why are we to blame if his family did not manage their obligations?”
Flames licked every nerve in Adah’s body. “Where is your compassion for those who labor on cursed soil? Can a landowner summon the rain? You jingle coins in your pouches earned from their sweat while people go hungry and mourn for sacrificed children.”
“Sacrificed?” Rephaiah gripped the drape of his cloak. “Do not compare our ways with those of godless heathens.”
“We may not throw babies into the fire to please foreign gods, but we are selling our sons and daughters into servitude so a few can prosper. Can we all not bear the tax burden on this city and share food from our tables?” Her throat stung from the force of her truth-filled words.
“Shallum, silence your daughter,” Rephaiah shouted. He nearly knocked his own turban from his head. “I have heard enough of these lies. Am I unjust in my duties?”
Her father gripped her arm with an unknown ferocity. Beads of perspiration shone on his face. “This is not the place for insults. Leave us.”
She ripped free from her father’s grasp and beheld Nehemiah. He stood in the shade of the overhang as grand and tall as the columns. “Governor, please. Today I saw a God-fearing man leave this city. How many more will follow with a drought cursing our lands?”
“You have been deceived. There is no crime in working to pay a tax.” Her father tugged her closer to the steps and away from the meeting room door. “I have confidence Rephaiah considered this matter and reached a fair understanding with the landowners.”
Like he faithfully han
dled the news of Nehemiah’s arrival? She knew a message had come regarding the governor’s plans, but Rephaiah had hidden the information from her father. Firsthand she had seen how his son mocked the landowner’s pleas for assistance. Their deceptions would not reign victorious this day.
She resisted the pull of her father and locked her gaze on Nehemiah. “People are living in poverty. They’re unable to feed their children. I know this to be true.” Rounding on her father, she said, “What about our own neighbor, Beulah? Have you not seen the tears she spills over her daughter’s absence.”
Her father scowled, beholding her as if she were demon-possessed and frothing at the mouth.
“Our own neighbor grieves a daughter sent away so her unborn baby can be fed.” She gaped at her father’s indifference. “Tell me you are not blind to Beulah’s misery.”
Whap. Pain ricocheted across her cheek. Shocked, she cupped her jaw and swallowed blood-tainted spit. She bore this insult with a furious humility, for who knew what abuse awaited Othniel or Beulah’s daughter.
Her father shook, his garment trembling from the collar to its hem. “We are well aware of the hardship this drought has caused. It is not your place to question our rule.”
Someone must. For all the ones who can’t speak. She let her hand fall to her side. God, where are You?
“Woe to you, woman, for suggesting you know better than a man.” Rephaiah stomped his foot and clapped a hand on her father’s shoulder. “It is about time you disciplined such a reckless girl.”
With a throbbing face, she turned toward Nehemiah and Ezra, and nodded, showing her respect. “I have spoken the truth about our people’s struggles. I’m sorry I wasn’t emboldened sooner. God has entrusted you with the oversight of our people.” She eyed her father. “You men, do as you see fit. May God grant you wisdom. Shalom.”
She navigated the steps with her head held high and a hand on her sword. A few people waiting nearby muttered as she passed. Ramming through the streets like a bull on a charge, she arrived at her family’s designated station along the wall. Pine-scented pitch burned her nostrils.
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