12

Adah shuffled through the streets of Jerusalem, hiding the raider’s sword in her outer garment and ignoring the glances of passersby. With her veil still wrapped around her face, and a scorched hem and tattered cloak, she resembled a desert traveler. A haze of smoke hovered above the city’s rooftops. A testament to the hatred of Sanballat and Tobiah.

Forcing an all-is-well smile onto her face, she entered her home. Her mother sat in the living area, alone, with a mortar balanced in her lap and a basket of wheat kernels nearby. A sash the color of muted rose petals hung across the crisp folds of her robe. Fortunately for Adah, her mother could not behold the soot-stained rags from the grove.

“Shalom, mother.” Adah bent and kissed her mother’s forehead. “Where’s Judith?”

Elisheba set the pestle in the mortar. “Your sister is taking a meal to your father. But you my child were not near a simple cooking fire, for the scent of smoke has filled this room.”

Adah tensed. Should she confess about the peril? No rebuke could rival Othniel’s. “Zipporah’s fields were set ablaze by a band of Samaritans. I went to beat at the flames.”

“With Othniel?” Her mother’s question rang out as a statement.

Why did her mother always assume she was with Othniel? “After Othniel. He fled from the wall so fast I could not keep up with him.”

Her mother gestured for Adah to sit near her chair. “Did God grant us favor? I have been offering prayers for our fighting men.” Hope and hesitation rang in her mother’s words.

“Some favor.” Adah unwrapped the veil from her head and rested at her mother’s side. She balanced on a pillow embroidered with scarlet, indigo, and purple threads. Her mother’s elaborate handiwork was but a memory now. “The governors did not attack Nehemiah and our men at the gate, but their scouts started fires in the fields. Half of Othniel’s main grove is gone. We saved most of the vineyard. Some plants are damaged. I pray they will recover.”

“I’m sure Zipporah and Othniel are grateful for your labors.”

Othniel’s rebuke echoed in Adah’s mind. “I believe so.”

“I know so.” Her mother stroked Adah’s veil and stretched out a few tight curls freed by the burnt linen. “You have a compassionate spirit.”

“Do I?” Tears pulsed behind Adah’s eyes. She would not let them out and trouble her mother. “Since your illness, I have been trying to learn how to spice the myrrh for the temple. I’ve had to travel farther in search of useful scents. Now, with a wall to build, I am scarcely home to attend to your needs.”

“Foolishness.” Cupping Adah’s chin, her mother lifted her daughter’s face so their eyes almost met. Adah adjusted her gaze. “You have taken over my duties without a complaint and worked in the heat to honor your father’s name. Because of you, his name will be recorded for future generations. And if I had to guess, you were too close to the flames sparing the lands around the city.”

I’ve learned mercy from you. Adah gripped the carved oak armrest of her mother’s chair. Elisheba, wife of Shallum, was more just and upright than any queen in Susa. “I couldn’t stand idle and let the fields burn.”

Her mother caressed Adah’s cheek and then fumbled for her waiting pestle. “I know you want to be there for everyone, but it is impossible. Your heart beats for too many people. And some circumstances are beyond our control. We must wait on God to act.”

“Where is God?” Adah poked at a frayed indigo thread on the pillow and smoothed a finger over the pattern. “Why does He withhold the rain from our crops? Couldn’t He have stopped Sanballat’s schemes?”

“He sent us Nehemiah.” Dropping a few more kernels into the mortar, her mother felt for the height of her flour. “Our God will never turn His face from us. We must be patient.”

“But while we wait, others struggle to eat. We are not in debt. We have provisions for our table. Taxes do not burden us.” Adah wrapped her arms around her knees and inhaled the aroma of a campfire. “Why call Nehemiah into service and allow Sanballat and Tobiah to threaten the city? Am I wrong to seek an answer from God for all this turmoil?”

“You may ask, humbly. You may not demand.” Muscles tensed on her mother’s arm as she ground the wheat. “Answers do not always come. Not in our time.”

Adah’s chest ached with every breath. Was it from the fires, or watching a simple task become a chore for the blind? “I never received an answer about your sight.”

“Oh, Daughter.” Elisheba placed her stone instruments on the floor and held out her hands for Adah to take hold. “How long did I pray for a child? When I thought my time had passed, God blessed me with two babies. Our people wandered in the desert for forty years. Did they not ask when it would end? Build the wall one stone upon another. God will finish it in His time. His way.”

“My tasks would be easier if I were a man.” Adah sighed. She doubted Othniel would have berated her if she were six feet tall and muscled like a laborer. He shouldn’t have raised his voice at all. Did he expect her to do nothing after all the years of friendship they had shared? He knew her too well to watch her sit idle.

Her mother squeezed Adah’s hands and held tight. “My tasks would not be easier if I had birthed an heir. If I had a son, he would be with his father, and not at home. You and Judith bring me joy each and every day. You make me proud, and I know your father feels the same. Who else can boast of a daughter raising the city wall?”

“Could we pray that one other family has a daughter join their labors?” Adah laughed and kissed her mother’s hands before releasing them. “Perhaps then we would not be the only family discussed over meals.” Slowly she stood and tested her tired legs. “Judith and I may have to work longer days on the wall. I don’t know if Othniel will return to help us. His lands are in need of attention.”

“Oh.” Her mother’s short answer was drawn out and filled with understanding “Then it is a good thing the Lord saw fit to remind me of Telem. We have his service. You do not need to rely so much on Othniel”

“I know. I am glad Telem saw fit to help us.” Adah expected admonishment from her gruff mason. Not from her friend. “It is still not the same.”

“Then your sister and I will do more. Whatever we can.” Her mother sat straighter and leaned forward as if waiting for instructions. “Even though I cannot see, I am here for you. God has not taken my strength. I am able to do His bidding. I can blend more mortar.”

“You can do whatever you want. I am confident in that.” Adah laughed with a renewed spirit. Her mother’s brown eyes sparkled as if sitting in darkness was not a hardship, but a blessing. A knot of emotion tightened against Adah’s ribs. I will not let my family down.

Pressing a kiss to her mother’s temple, she said, “God has provided what we have needed so far. He will not abandon His people.” She strolled to where her newly won sword lay basking in the window’s light. “Although, if we are building this wall forty years from now, I may question God anew.”