Her father laced his fingers. “You could have come to me with your concern. In private. I would have listened to your complaint. I have heard the protests of the hungry and the poor.”
Her heart cinched, for she knew her father to be fair and just. “I should have.” She traced a stain on her work table trying to remember if a Tonka bean or a berry had made the mark. “But I was overcome with guilt. And if I speak in truth, guilt nagged at me.”
“Guilt?” Her father stepped closer. “You have labored like a slave on the wall.”
The image of her father faded as tears filled her eyes. “It’s not about the rocks. Or my vow to build.” She swallowed and rallied the strength to bring forth a confession. “How many times did I see Beulah in the streets forlorn over her daughter’s absence? I offered prayer but nothing else. I knew the landowners were struggling. I heard their outcries on the road from the city and remained silent.” She rubbed her arm, but no comfort took root. Revealing her transgressions lifted her burden, briefly, but in truth, others still suffered. “I did nothing to help the people who needed it most until Othniel was allotted the same fate. Sold to work for a pagan to pay a tax.” Her swallow pained her throat, for her last words were the most bitter.
Her father pressed his hands together and supported his chin with his fingertips. “Oh daughter, you are not the only one who has cast a blind eye. I did not look at our people as God sees them. I thought myself above those I was called to serve. I should have acted sooner to end the hardship in the city.” He closed his eyes, but a tear escaped before his eyelids shut. “When did I lose the heart of God?”
“Never.” A yearning, deep and powerful as the Great Sea, filled Adah’s soul. She longed to embrace her father and kiss the tears away, but she was unclean. “We did not lose it. Oh father, we let worries make us forget God’s goodness. We have battled a drought and mother’s illness.” She inched closer and leaned forward, feeling the exhales of her father’s breath. “We relied too much on ourselves. I labored in the sun and toted a sword, but God doesn’t need me to build His wall. There are many men to do His work.”
“I need you, Adah.” It was only a whisper, but to Adah it was an affirmation shouted in an assembly. Her father met her gaze with eyes as bright as fine-cut amber. “I will take a sword-wielding daughter over any of the sons of Judah.”
Selah! The threads of Adah’s muscles nearly unwound, threatening to leave her crumpled on the floor of her storeroom. “Then I will wield that sword for the household of Shallum and for the Lord, so Jerusalem will have her wall.”
“You took a vow.” Her father brushed the wetness from his cheeks.
“I did. And I will honor it as you have taught me.” Pride swelled within her at her father’s wise, honest, and apologetic words. She hadn’t questioned his authority in seventeen years, and after this night, she didn’t believe she would ever need to again.
Her father sniffled. “Our governor needs workers as loyal to him as you have been. Tobiah and Sanballat have influence inside our city. Even some of our priests question Nehemiah’s leadership.” He kissed the palm of his hand and held it before her. “Rest six more days, and then you must get back to building the wall.”
Holding up her hand, Adah received the offering of his love and forgiveness without their skin ever touching. It must have been her imagination, but at that moment of reunion, the starlight streaming through her jut-rimmed window grew brighter than a silversmith’s fire.
24
Adah presented her offering to the priest at the temple and was now clean and able to fulfill her vow to rebuild Jerusalem’s wall. As she returned from the temple, she peeked down every lane that led to the wall and rejoiced at the progress of her people. Even at the first light of morning, her city was awake and at work. The shouting, grunting, and hammering of the builders echoed against the stone dwellings lining the streets. What a beautiful song of Judah.
First, she would check on Telem and see for herself how his wound was healing. Jehu and Jehuliel had come each day to visit their mason and report on the height of her father’s section. The brothers waved when they caught sight of her longing stares from the threshold of her storeroom.
Staying away had been difficult, but she did not want to stumble or foolishly touch one of her friends, rendering them useless for a day. Every laborer was needed to reach Nehemiah’s vision of a fortified city with solid gates. A vision received from the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. A vision from her God.
She burst through the door of her home. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she expected to see Telem sprawled on a mat in the living room and Judith camped at his side, but no one greeted her arrival. The room was empty of bedding and bodies. Her mother’s carved oak chair waited for its owner.
“Where is my family?” she asked a servant.
Bowing, the elderly woman said, “They went to the wall, Mistress.”
Adah raced out the door and down the street, rounding the crumbling corner in haste. Her throat burned with every breath.
She halted at the sight of her family. Her father, dressed in the plain tunic and turban of a laborer, shifted stone with Jehu. Her mother sat by the water jars dressed in an indigo gown as dark as the finest sapphire. Hand on her hip, Judith stirred the pitch pot. An invigorating scent of freshly cut pine tickled Adah’s nostrils.
Bowing her head, Adah whispered a prayer of praise to God. Her chest cinched tight as she recounted the faithfulness of her family.
“You’re late.” Telem sat near a pile of cut stone and issued orders to Jehuliel.
Adah scowled at her mason. “And you should be in bed. There is no shame in healing. A sword tried to take your life.”
“I have said the same thing.” Judith pounded the stirring stick for emphasis. “He is as stubborn as you about finishing the wall.”
Adah strode toward her sister and gave her a kiss. Queen Damaspia’s fragrance mingled with the scent of sap. Did her sister wish to impress Telem? Judith could entice him with vinegar. “We are honoring a vow.”
“Do you need my cloak?” Jehu’s smirk tempted Adah to say yes.
“It seems I have no need of it.” She scanned the progress along the wall. More men moved rock. More men made mortar. More men of Judah had heeded Nehemiah’s call since the attack. “The gap I guarded has been raised and no holes remain. I do not wish my father to receive another tongue lashing from a priest if I stray from our section.”
“I pray it was my last rebuke.” A welcome humor hung in her father’s words. Oh how her heart delighted that a man of her father’s status labored among his people. “Your mother has charge of your sword.”
Others might esteem her father’s position and status, but to Adah, her mother’s strength rivaled that of a seasoned warrior. And Adah had no doubt her mother could wield a sword better than most. Her mother heard sounds and whispers the sighted did not. After a single cricket chirp, her mother could rid the house of the pesky intruder.
“Come, and greet me daughter.” Her mother held out her arms toward Adah’s voice. “Izhar placed your blade behind the water jars. I pray we don’t have need of it this morn.”
Joining her mother in the shade, Adah put a hand on her shoulder before placing a kiss on her cheek.
Elisheba squeezed Adah’s hand. “I don’t know what you said to your father, but he has visited households all over the district. And when he is home, he does not leave my side.” Her mother glowed like a newly betrothed girl.
Adah pressed her lips together and tried to stop the swell of pride from bursting forth in a loud song or a spirited dance. She had always respected her father, but his repentance and renewed sense of duty swelled her heart. “Father and I listened to God. Adonai reminded us both of why we are shifting rocks.” She straightened the fray of her mother’s veil. “I truly believe only God could turn a pagan king’s favor toward Nehemiah. This city must be protected from those who wish to destroy it.”
“Who
is minding the donkey?” Telem shouted, scraping his blade over a rock. “If the beast wanders off, we will lose him to a tired Levite.”
Her mother’s head jerked upwards. “What is that noise?”
Did her mother hear the donkey? Standing by her side, Adah whispered, “Telem is shaving a corner one-armed. He must be feeling stronger as he’s ranting again.” She glanced over at her twin sister. “Judith is churning the pitch.”
“It’s a woman’s voice.” Her mother’s brow furrowed. She shifted her head covering from her ear and faced east. “Can’t you hear it?”
On tiptoe, Adah strained to see if a disgruntled wife chastised her husband. She didn’t see a woman, but with the wall growing taller and buildings all around, people were easily hidden. She did see Nehemiah approaching on horseback. His mount bore the vibrant scarlet of the Persian king, but no cavalry rode with the governor.
“Nehemiah is coming toward us,” she called out to her father and their workers. Caressing her mother’s arm so as not to leave her isolated in her darkened world, Adah said, “Our governor is coming on horseback with no escort.”
“Your father says he’s been inspecting the wall at all hours.” Her mother grimaced. “I still hear something. Is someone hurt?”
Adah shaded her face from the sun. “Judith, do you hear a voice?”
“Around here there is always noise.” With a nod of her head, Judith indicated where Telem sat. She stopped stirring and searched the sky. “A bird?”
Telem glanced up. “If we are talking, we are not laboring.”
As Adah took a few strides to meet the governor, he turned his horse sideways, and guided his mount toward the newly laid stones. A woman came into view. Wrapped in purple and banded with enough gold to tempt the pious, she stood with her arms outstretched toward a wisp of cloud and wailed.
Adah returned to her mother. “Forgive me, Mother, but there is a woman. She is a sight to behold wearing a purple veil and stomping the ground. I believe she is singing a lament.”
“Young or old?” Her mother was on her feet, head up, and expression stern.
“Older.” Adah said.
Her father abandoned Jehu’s side and sprinted toward his wife.
Royally clad, the mysterious woman dashed in Adah’s direction. “Repent of your traitorous ways. Repent or be slain!”
Adah’s mind flashed to the temple. She had made her offering to be clean. Why was this stranger casting insults at her? Her muscles tensed. Did one of the men in the battle at the gate die? Did this woman blame her for his death?
Nehemiah maneuvered his horse to block the woman’s advance. “Go home Noadiah. Stop harassing me. May God punish you for your lies.”
Noadiah? The prophetess? Adah had never met the favored woman of God, but this woman had to be a fraud, for her tongue couldn’t speak for God and at the same time spew curses at His people.
Dodging around the governor’s mount, Noadiah charged forward. “Stop building,” she screamed. “Or your blood will fill this city.”
Heat flushed Adah’s cheeks. Why was the prophetess of God challenging the governor? This wall benefited God’s people.
Adah kept her sandals planted firmly in the dirt. She had already faced worse insults than these.
Her father grabbed her arm and shoved her toward the crumbling corner. “Take your mother home.” His stance threatened a confrontation with the prophetess.
Nehemiah leapt from his horse and joined her father.
Stepping back, Adah reached for her mother’s hand.
“I am not leaving.” Her mother’s body went rigid. “Woe to the woman who curses my family.”
The prophetess swung her arms as though warding off a dust storm and fixed her gaze on the surrounding workers. “Nehemiah brings the king’s army to our gates. If you build this wall, you will die for treason.” Noadiah circled around the governor and his ruler. “Nehemiah wishes to be king. He is a traitor who has seduced the city officials to follow him in a revolt.”
With the pitch pot as its center, a crowd began to gather. If the people believed the prophetess’s claims, would they grow violent toward the governor? Her father?
O Lord, calm all of our hearts.
“Repent,” the prophetess shouted. “Your governor has deceived you. He desires to be king of Judah. War will come to your families.”
“This is nonsense,” Nehemiah said. “Jerusalem is my home and the home of my fathers. I would not bring ruin upon her.”
“Lies!” Noadiah hissed. “You have already brought warriors to this city. The loyal governors of Samaria and Ammon are ready for battle.”
Loyal? Hah! Sanballat and Tobiah were not loyal to the One True God.
Taunts continued from the prophetess.
Adah’s temper flared. Her father did not need a riot in the city. And why was a prophetess insulting Nehemiah? She had seen the governor’s grief over the rubble heap Jerusalem had become after many a siege. He had been called by God to restore the glory of the city. She had believed Nehemiah the night he told her of his plans, and she believed him still. God had blessed Jerusalem through Nehemiah’s courage. Someone had to disperse the crowd, lest a laborer believe the prophetess and hurl a stone at the governor.
A curious man almost tripped over her mother as he drew closer to hear the prophetess’s charges. Hot, surging contempt swept through Adah’s body.
Be strong and courageous and do God’s work.
God had not forsaken His people. He’d sent Nehemiah to rebuild the city of David. Surely, the prophetess knew of God’s plans. If she didn’t, she would hear of them now.
Whirling around, Adah bent and reached for her sword. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt, but instead of withdrawing her blade, she stilled. Images of Telem’s wounded body and the bloodshed at the gate, tempered her rage. How could she call her people to reason? What had Moses used to show his authority? A stick.
Adah did not need a staff that budded or turned into a snake, she needed something to draw attention to her defense of Nehemiah. She glanced over at the pitch pot. Judith held the stirring stick. After returning her sword to its hiding place, Adah darted toward her sister and grabbed the long pole of worn wood. “May I use this?”
Judith let go without complaint or question.
Scraping the thick pitch from the wood, Adah secured her grip on the stick. She raised her plain staff into the air and strode, fierce with purpose, toward the prophetess and Nehemiah.
Noadiah screamed and drew back, hunched like a misbehaving child waiting for discipline. Was the woman hoping for sympathy by crouching like the innocent?
Laborers retreated from their positions near the arguing.
Adah’s father’s eyes grew round as plums. Only the governor held his position, calm-faced and clasped-handed.
Striking the ground with the tip of her stick, Adah drew a line in the dirt deep enough to darken the earth. Then, she lifted her makeshift staff. “I, Adah bat Shallum made a vow to build this wall; to restore the city of our forefather David.” Her voice rose as the crowd grew silent. She brandished her stick like a sword and pointed it at Noadiah. “Rantings from this woman will not stop my work or the work of my family. Would King David tear down this wall?”
A few laborers muttered their allegiance to David.
Turning, and with her stick challenging those who stood closest, she said, “Does God want us to tear down this wall?” The strength of her words strained her voice.
“No!” Laborers erupted in a defiant chant. Some lifted rocks in the air as they shouted support of their governor.
“We will do the work,” her mother called out.
“You are not a prophetess.” Noadiah spat at Adah’s sandals.
“I am today. For I am following our governor, the man King Artaxerxes sent to rebuild our city.” She thrust her staff into the air like a battle charge. “And I will fight for the man sent by our God.”
“So will we,” the brothers said
in unison. Jehu whipped a chisel above his head as if it were a cloth.
Telem stomped his feet and marched to the pitch pot. “As will I.” He positioned himself by Judith’s side.
Calls of affirmation drowned out Noadiah’s curses.
“That’s my daughter,” her mother bellowed. “My strong and courageous daughter.” Her mother drummed a beat on the nearest water jug.
The prophetess clawed her hands and chastised those closest to her. “Destruction is coming. King Artaxerxes will punish you and your children.” She glared at Nehemiah. “Your death awaits. The king’s army will come and destroy you. Not one of your newly laid rocks will be left standing. These rocks will crush your bones.”
“Leave us.” Her father flicked his hand, dismissing the stunned prophetess. “Go back to Bethel and continue conspiring with Sanballat. The governor of Samaria may wish to see the destruction of Jerusalem, but our governor does not. From this day forth, you are not welcome in Jerusalem unless you bring an offering for this sin to the temple.”
“Curse you Shallum. And your daughter.” Noadiah squinted her pronouncement. “God will punish you for silencing His servant.”
Adah leveled her staff at the men standing near the prophetess. “God’s servants are all around you, prophetess. They carry their mallets and chisels and have dust on their skin. They are the true servants of our God.”
“And some,” Nehemiah said, stationing himself by Adah’s side, “do the work of God with a stick.”
“Woe to all who listen to your falsehoods.” Noadiah jeered and shoved anyone bold enough to block her path toward the Valley Gate.
“May God remember this slander of His servant,” Nehemiah called. “I am foremost and humbly the servant of God. He has made me your servant.”
Adah beheld the wooden staff in her hand. The smooth tool was not as lethal as a sword. It did not pierce, impale, or kill, but today the stick had the power to end a war of words with the prophetess, and the wood didn’t even have to bloom or slither. Adah trusted in the unspoken promise of protection that God had given her governor. But Noadiah was a woman of standing in Judah, and during her withdrawal she left a wake of accusations and threats. Mostly against the household of Shallum.
Jerusalem Rising Page 14