23

A woman with her monthly flow was avoided and feared lest a tap of a finger or the brush of her garment caused someone to be unclean and ostracized for a day. Six more suns would have to set before Adah could leave the temporary isolation of her storeroom. Wiping the dust from her work table, she chased the shadows of another sinking sun with every sweep of her cloth. She didn’t have time to sit idle. And by now, gossip would have flooded the city. Her altercation at the gate and her absence from the wall would make an intoxicating whisper. But better her seclusion than another scandal from touching someone and making them unclean for a night.

She sighed as she reclined on a stool and closed her eyes to pray. Lord, give me relief from my distress. Be merciful to me and hear my prayer. Remember my father as he oversees the city. Heal Telem’s wound that he may work again on Jerusalem’s wall. Walk beside Othniel in a foreign land. I want to be brave and do your work, but all it has brought me is sorrow and scorn. Why do you not protect your people?

She forgot to breathe and tightness consumed her chest.

“Adah?” Judith knocked on the threshold and entered carrying a basket. The aroma of warm bread wafted into the room.

“You are late.” Adah rose. Her stomach stirred at the welcome scent of food. How could she have snapped at her sister who brought her meal? She softened her demeanor and plucked a grape from its stem. “Has Telem been an injured bear?”

“Perhaps with the servants, but not with me.” A plum-colored blush crossed her sister’s cheeks. “He is thankful for my attention.”

“There are no signs of festering? His skin is not red?”

“He complains I am seasoning a stew with all your oils.” Judith placed Adah’s meal on the table. “But otherwise he is kind and grateful. No cross words has he spoken. His skin looks no worse than before, save the stitching.”

Adah scanned the basket for a small pouch “I am glad. Perhaps his angry words are only meant for me.”

“Because you do not listen to him.” Judith crossed her arms and leaned against the table.

“Well, we will have several days apart to practice our patience.” Adah pressed her lips together, and frowned. “You did not find my beads at the gate?”

Judith shook her head. “Not a one. I even moved some of the watering jars.”

“The chrysolite might tempt a thief, but who would want to steal small round bits of wood?” Adah broke off a piece of bread and sighed. “Mother gave me that necklace when I made my first fragrance.”

“I am sorry I did not find a few beads, sister.” Judith snapped her fingers. “I must be tired, for I forgot your drink.” She hesitated in the threshold. “I am sorry, too, for blaming you for Telem’s injuries. I did not know about the wagons until that priest accused you of helping the enemy.”

“You were in shock after the attack.” Adah slumped against the corner of her work table. “And to think you had to hear that priest’s lies.”

“How could I not? He shrieked like a newborn.” Judith rubbed her eyes with her fists and wailed like a babe.

“I would embrace you if the law allowed.” Adah grinned at her elder sister. Judith may have entered the world only a few minutes before Adah, but on this day, her apology and acceptance meant more than a sack brimming with rubies.

Stifling a chuckle, Judith said, “I am not deaf to the talk on the street, but before I forget, let me see to your drink. The slander will all be forgotten when this wall is finished.” Judith hurried out the door, insisting she would return with a cool cup of water.

Adah’s stomach grumbled for more food. Tearing off a bigger morsel of bread, she stuffed her mouth full. Footsteps caused her to cover her mouth and force a swallow. “That was fast.” She turned to find her father standing in the doorway.

Stunned, she stepped away from her food and stood, shoulders back, spine straight. A strange tingle rippled across her skin and had her wishing there was a means of escape from this crowded space. Her father hadn’t entered her storeroom in…she couldn’t remember the last time.

“Father, I was expecting Judith.”

“So she said.” Her father set a cup next to the bread basket. “I thought you would be curious about what Nehemiah had to say to the leaders of our city today. After all, you did bring a charge against us.”

Adah shuffled her feet and almost tripped over her sitting stool. She braced herself against the table. “I had no choice. I had to speak for my friend and my neighbor.” A rhythmic pulse battered her temples and threatened to flood her eyes as she remembered her parting with Othniel. But she would not sob like a forlorn girl. She stood in the truth of her actions. Her cheek ached as if it remembered the sting of her father’s slap. “And I would do it again.”

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.