2

Adah lay on her back, staring at the ceiling and listening to her sister’s soft snores. If only she could find peace in slumber. Gershom’s deceit inflamed the layers of her mind like a festering thorn. How dare he keep the governor’s letters from her father? And how dare he insult her family? The birth of a daughter was not a curse. Or was it? Her father had no heir, no son to assume his position. Had she let her father down? No. She would not let her thoughts linger in shame. Whatever tasks brought the governor to Jerusalem, she would find them out and help her father get them done.

Sounds. A shuffling noise caught her attention. She listened. Someone scuffled through a front room of the house. Since her father’s snore sing-songed across the hall and kept rhythm with Judith’s, the late night walker had to be her mother.

Thump. Several soft thuds followed. The plums.

Adah banded a linen cloth over her hair in an attempt to tame her wayward curls and hurried to the front of the house. Her mother, dressed for a day in the courtyard, stood near a stack of cups, her hand feeling the table for something solid.

“Mother,” Adah whispered. She touched her mother’s sleeve. “Morning will not come for several hours. You must rest.”

“Oh.” Her mother blinked rapidly as her mouth curved downward in an unhappy smile. “I saw so much light I thought it must be morning.”

“Your eyes are deceiving you. Can’t you sleep?” Adah knew this was a useless question.

With wide eyes and drumming fingers, her mother looked ready to prepare a feast.

“I will sit in here so as not to disturb your father.”

And do what? Blindness eliminated a host of duties. With Gershom’s words stuck in her head and now her mother’s restlessness keeping her awake, sleep eluded Adah. She might as well breathe in the tepid breeze blowing through the city. Who knows? A new fragrance might bloom in the night. “Why don’t we take a stroll?”

Her mother shook her head. “The city can be dangerous.”

“Father is known by anyone who may venture out. Besides, no one will chance a crime with the governor in the city.” She stroked her mother’s arm. “If we take a walk you may grow tired and be able to nap before morning prayer. I certainly cannot sleep after all the festivities.” And insults.

Her mother gazed into Adah’s eyes as if her sight had been restored. “We will not go far.”

Adah rounded up the scattered plums and then slipped on a cloak and sandals. She lit a lamp and led her mother to the street. They headed west toward the Valley Gate. With the city wall in ruins, they could saunter as far as they desired.

“What would I do without my daughters?” Her mother’s praise held a hint of pity.

Adah squeezed her mother’s arm. “You would do just as well with sons.”

“They would be snoring alongside your father.”

“Like Judith?”

Her mother laughed.

Adah giggled and beheld the stars overhead. Were they brighter in the middle of night? Or did the battered wall and burned gates not compete for their splendor?

A shepherd with lambs as steady on their feet as a sleepy child herded his livestock down a narrow lane. They passed an elderly man carving by moonlight. Near the gate, a few empty barterers’ booths faced the road.

Her mother stopped and breathed deep. “Cloves. And pepper. We must be near the merchant’s tables.”

“We can turn back.” Adah laced her fingers in her mother’s and gently nudged her arm.

“A little farther. I’d forgotten how the night smells.” Her mother’s face tipped toward the sky. “We’re near a gate. I can smell the charred post.”

What remained of the burned-out Valley Gate loomed before them.

No unusual scents piqued Adah’s curiosity. “I wish I had inherited your nose.”

“You did. The perfume you gave the governor was beautiful.” Her mother sighed. “I could smell it on my arm all through the banquet.”

“That was chance. And too many tries.” Adah shifted a rock from her mother’s path. “Maybe one day I will earn your reputation with oils.”

Ridges deepened on her mother’s brow. Had reminiscing caused her mother pain? Adah’s storeroom had once been a thriving business for her mother.

“Do you hear something?” Her mother asked.

Adah scanned the empty marketplace. “I do not see anyone. A mule is tied to a post. Did he snort?”

Her mother held up a hand and moved her head slowly side to side. “Someone is sobbing.” Pointing toward the charred ruins of the gate, her mother whispered, “Over there.”

Muffled and staggered crying, came from beyond the city wall.

A cool stream flowed through Adah’s veins. What if this person wailed in anger? How could she protect a blind woman?

“We should leave.” Adah tugged at her mother’s sleeve. “By the time we get home you will be ready to sleep.”

“And what of our brother or sister in need? They may be injured. Rubble abounds near the wall.” Her mother stepped closer to the noise. “Your father is responsible for the well-being of our people.”

“I am aware of his oversight.” And she would uphold his honor. Even in the dark. “Stones may have tripped someone. I will see if they are hurt.” Her heartbeat drummed a warning at the possibilities of what she might encounter. Oh, Lord, keep us safe. “You will stay here. The road is uneven and strewn with pebbles. I cannot lead you and see to another.” Or fend off an attack.

“Bless you. I will remain and listen. Perhaps we were restless this night for a reason?”

Yes, because of Gershom’s insults and his father’s deceit.

She borrowed a crate from a nearby booth and sat her mother on the wooden seat. “Do not wander off until I return. I shouldn’t be long.”

Her mother nodded. “You have a courageous heart, daughter.”

And it had grown in size to fill Adah’s chest and throat.

Holding the oil lamp before her, she strolled toward the mournful sounds. If this were a trap, the deceiver would receive a warmed-oil bath. She passed through the remnants of the gate, by a length of crumbling wall, and inched closer to a figure crouched on the ground. Muttered words grew louder. Was this person in prayer or pain? She kept a safe distance in case the stranger lunged.

She licked her lips and concentrated on her single word greeting. “Shalom.”

The figure flinched. The weeping halted. No sudden movements came, only a careful rise and a slow turn in her direction.

Her trembling hand held the lamp aloft and sent light gray shadows dancing across a man’s face.

“Daughter of Shallum?”

It couldn’t be.

“Governor?”

What was the governor of Judah doing weeping outside the city in the middle of the night? Did he find some fault with the officials, or with her father and his duties? And if he had fallen, where were the soldiers that had accompanied him on his trip?

Sweat pooled above her lip as she balanced the lamp. Should she go and find Nehemiah’s guard? But where would she look? Her mother waited for her return.

Nehemiah brushed off his robes and swiped at the skin beneath his eyes. No salutation came. Chirping crickets continued their unending song.

“Are you hurt?” She blurted as she scanned his garment for the stain of blood.

He shook his head, but his chest shuddered.

She opened and closed a fist, not knowing what to do or say next. Her wandering alone at night, needed an explanation. A man could scout the streets of Jerusalem in the dark…but not an unescorted girl. And not the daughter of a ruler.

She swallowed, but the lump in her throat remained. A small cough cleared her windpipe. “I did not mean to disturb you, Governor. My mother could not sleep, so I brought her outside for some night air. She heard someone in distress, so I came to see if I could help.”

He glanced off into the distance. “Your mother is here?”

“I left her beyond the gate.” Would he think her irresponsible? “This section of the city lies within my father’s district.” She looked around as if a crowd of city dwellers encircled their meeting place. “Most people are known to us.”

Nehemiah stepped closer. The flame from the lamp illuminated his finely stitched collar. She lowered the light so as not to irritate his eyes and to show him the respect he deserved.

“You are a brave woman.” His praise was filled with the familiar authority she heard at their introduction hours before. “Your compassion knows no end, for you did not turn back at this hour.”

If that were only true. Her mother had sent her to seek the mourner. Left to her own decisions, she would have fled. “My mother deserves your praise. She heard you.” Heat rushed to Adah’s cheeks. “Sometimes I believe God blesses my mother’s hearing since her sight is no more.”

Nehemiah scrutinized her face as if the sun was in full glory. “Is her blindness a burden to you?”

“No.” Adah flinched at her half-truth and stood a bit straighter.

The governor’s stare did not waiver.

“Well, maybe. Some days.” Had she ever admitted this truth before? Not desiring to sound hard hearted, she said, “I love my mother. I would never complain about the extra work.”

The governor nodded. He averted his gaze and pointed toward some crags in the distance. “My father and his father are buried near here.”

She knew the caves of which he spoke, for many tombs were carved out of the same rock.

He continued, “When my brother brought word that Jerusalem wallowed in disrepair, I could not stay away any longer.” Nehemiah pressed a fist to his chest as if he were seeing the destruction of his city for the first time. “God has called me to rebuild the birthplace of my fathers. To resurrect the city of His beloved, David.” He turned to her with a gleam in his eye. “That, daughter of Shallum, is my burden.”

“So that is why you came?” She shifted her lamp. “Not to collect taxes but to set up an office here and bring in workers to rebuild the wall?”

He nodded. “You found me inspecting the wall tonight. The City of David will be a stronghold again.” The shadows dancing on his face could not soften his stare, which bore into her gaze like a hammered tent peg. “This wall will rise and these gates will be secured. God has made it clear to me what we must do.”

She trusted God. Or at least she had before her mother’s eyesight darkened. A year ago she had prayed for a miracle from God for her mother. No healing came. And where was the rain? She had prayed for showers for the fields. Othniel had prayed. Her father had prayed. The soil remained parched. People went hungry. But if Nehemiah had truly heard God’s voice, perhaps Adonai was showing His favor to His people once again.

“When will the stone masons arrive?” She didn’t know much about resurrecting a wall, but the king had renowned craftsmen.

“King Artaxerxes gave me letters for safe passage and a leave from the palace. I have access to the forests in the south. But as for workers, those already living here will secure this city.”

Her shoulders sagged. “We have no army. The drought has left families without food and coin—”

“Adah.” His address held a tone of chastisement. “Do you believe in God’s provision? In answered prayer?”

“Uh, yes.” Her answer was not resounding, yet it was true. Once. She rolled back her shoulders and stood soldier straight. Gershom’s insult of her family would not stand. “Whatever you need from the household of Shallum, we will provide it for you.”

“It blesses my soul to hear that.” His tone sounded pleased with her offer, but his crossed arms and cocked head resembled her father when he was none-too-pleased with her actions. “Shall we greet your mother? Then I must rejoin my men.” He started toward the gate, indicating for her to lead the way.

Once inside the city, she made her way to her mother’s wooden seat and clasped a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Mother, I am not alone.”

“Blessings, Elisheba.”

“Governor?” Her mother pulled against Adah’s outstretched arm to rise. “I did not expect you to be awake. I sent Adah to check on some noises.”

“And she found me. This night snatched sleep from all of us, but now I believe I can rest.” He captured her mother’s hands in his own. “Laila Tov.”

“Goodnight, Governor,” her mother echoed.

“And Adah.” Nehemiah turned all his regal attention toward her. “What we discussed under the gate shall be a confidence between us. I do not believe our meeting this night was by chance. When I hold an assembly, I expect you to be there.”

“Of course.” She would stitch her lips together to keep this vow and uphold her family’s honor.

Nehemiah nodded and veered eastward.

Her mother fumbled for a hold on Adah’s cloak. “Strange to meet the governor at this hour?”

If you only knew. “The festivities of the banquet kept us all up. Now, I believe, I too can sleep.”

“Get your rest daughter. For it seems the governor has plans for you.”

“You listened?”

“I heard.” Her mother patted Adah’s arm. “Only his parting instruction.”

“I do not see where I can be of much help to him.”

“Then you do not have enough faith, for it is not every night the governor of Judah bestows a confidence. You are blessed, my daughter. And you have blessed me more than a son.”

Adah stroked her mother’s hand. “I will be faithful to God and the governor.”

She led her mother home with small steps and a smooth stride. Not one sniffle escaped from the wellspring of emotion tingling behind her eyes and crushing the ribs in her chest. She was not a son, but she meant her vow to Nehemiah. Whatever God asked of her, she would do. Whatever Nehemiah needed, she would make sure the household of Shallum saw to his needs. She could keep a secret, but build a wall? Men would be required for the labor, not women. Gershom’s taunts tormented her thoughts. Her father had no sons, no heirs, and no builders.

A rebel tear slid down her cheek. Praise be, her mother could not see her weakness. She fisted the hand not guiding her mother and gazed into the heavens above. A few stars twinkled high above the valley.

Make me able to restore your city, Lord, just like Rephaiah’s eight sons.