4

A mass of people, city dwellers, and curious travelers, gathered outside the temple courtyard steps to hear the governor speak. Adah gripped her mother’s left arm and led her to the side of the stairs where a two-story dwelling of a temple servant shared its shade with a token few. Judith came along on their right, politely elbowing neighbors who did not take heed of who walked in their midst. Men pushed in closer to the footholds of stone where Nehemiah would make his charge to rebuild the wall.

“Where is the governor standing?” her mother asked.

“On the top step. The rulers, officials, and priests are behind him. Except for Rephaiah who is nearer to the governor.” His billowing robe and tall turban nearly blocked the view of the others.

Her mother swayed as if a musician played the lyre. “What is Nehemiah wearing?”

Adah described the indigo robe with gold embroidery and blue ribbing. Elaborate garments rarely graced the streets of Jerusalem except those worn by nobles and rulers. Most people mended their threadbare tunics so they could feed their families or pay a debt with coin instead of children.

The chief priest raised his hand and began to recite the Shema.

Joining the prayers of the crowd, Adah echoed, “Hear O’ Israel. The Lord is our God. The Lord alone. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might.”

Did she? Still love God with all her heart? She glanced at her mother’s face tilted toward the sun, her spirit taking flight. How could her mother be at peace with God when He had denied her healing? Why had the petitions for a restoration of her sight been ignored?

“My people.” The governor flung his arms wide as if to embrace the crowd.

Nehemiah’s greeting turned her attention back to the temple steps. As a child, she listened to the priests sing praises to God for the opportunity to rebuild this place of worship. Sand-colored stone, precisely placed, towered over the landscape of the city. Columns lined the temple building rising from its foundation toward the heavens. Adah prayed Nehemiah’s arrival was a balm from God to soothe the hardships of drought and conquests.

“King Artaxerxes is a gracious sovereign,” Nehemiah continued. “Our king listened to my concerns regarding Jerusalem, the birthplace of my fathers. My sorrow brought compassion from our sovereign, not wrath.” One step. Two steps. Three. The governor paced back and forth. “I have come to set a great task before you. A task blessed not only by the king, but by our God. Shall rodents nest in the rubble-strewn wall of the City of David? Shall we allow this disgrace to continue?”

“No.” A battle cry rose above the gathering from every street, alley, and crevice.

“Then rebuild this city with me.” Palms open, Nehemiah stretched his arms in the direction of the wall. “Our people rebuilt this temple. We can raise the gates and the wall of Jerusalem. We must be strong and courageous and do God’s work. He will not forsake us.”

Mutterings grew louder over the gathering until they became a stifled roar.

A man near the stairs called out, “Where are the king’s armies? His supplies? Our purses are light.”

Nehemiah stared at each section of the crowd with a thin-lipped scowl and with an intensity Adah envisioned of Moses as he held his staff over the Red Sea to part the waters.

“The king has given us lumber for the gates. The rock rests on our soil. Workers are what we need most.” The governor stomped his sandaled foot. “We do not need Arabs or Persians to reconstruct this city. The sons and daughters of Jacob can restore the wall. Are you with me? Will Jerusalem rise once more? Or will we leave her in disgrace?”

Adah wanted to join in the jubilant affirmation. Truly, she did. She knew the stories and songs of David slaying his tens of thousands, of his son Solomon imparting wisdom to the whole world, but how was the household of an elderly ruler, his blind wife, and two unmarried daughters, going to restore Jerusalem?

“Will this not lead to war?” a woman asked behind them.

Would it? If this truly was the will of God, who could stand against His people?

Her mother must have heard the question, for her eyes shut and fluttered as if she were caught in a sand storm.

Adah turned toward the gossiping women. “We must plan for the years ahead. Jerusalem needs a wall to be victorious when a challenge comes. And with the king’s blessing on Nehemiah, who would dare wage war on us?”

The naysayer nodded and hastened away.

Returning her attention to her family, Adah smoothed some wayward strands of raven-colored hair from her mother’s face. “Father will know what needs to be done to assist the governor.”

“At least we are not laborers,” Judith said. “We can cook for those who build.”

“Cook?” Adah slumped. Was that all Nehemiah needed from her? When he spoke of God’s provision that night surely he meant more than food? She had agreed to do whatever the governor asked. Was God finally bestowing a blessing on her city? And if He was, how could she stand idle while others labored? Her stomach cramped, sending an undulating pain across her midsection. Have I not more to give than warm bread or scented oil?

A priest rose from his seat in front of the courtyard wall. He clapped and stomped to the edge of the stairs drawing attention to his actions.

“The Levites will repair the Sheep Gate. We will lead our people in toil as in prayer.”

And what of Shallum’s family? Did her father not oversee half a district? Was her family not as devoted to God?

A merchant named Hassenaah danced on the lowest step. Arms raised, he swayed side to side in a glorious show of support. “My sons and I will restore the glory of the Fish Gate.”

The governor stepped forward and held up his hand to cease the cry of volunteers. He ushered a scribe forward and seated him at a long table on the landing above the stairs. While Nehemiah unfurled parchment, the scribe tested his ink and quill on cloth.

Returning to a position in front of the priests, Nehemiah spoke in a booming voice. “The courage of our people will not be forgotten. On this day, we will record the sacrifice and workmanship of all our families for future generations.”

The governor acknowledged the people with a continual bob of his head. His gaze beheld each area of the crowd until it rested on her section, her family, and finally on her. Did he remember her promise?

Hassenaah darted to be first in line for the record, but a priest scooted in front of him. Rephaiah motioned for his sons to come forward in haste.

Why should Rephaiah be remembered and not her father? His son Gershom showed no compassion for the poor. Was her father not as devoted to leading the people as any other official? Should his name be banished from the annals because he had no son?

A few women brushed past as they left the assembly. The scent of muted jasmine caught Adah’s attention.

“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.”