31

The closer she came to the gate, the faster she moved.

Men of Judah peered from behind the frame, from rooftops, and even secretly from far off cliffs.

Praise be to the One True God that none of their blood was shed this day. Her skin warmed, not from the sun, but from the greatness of their God. You did not forsake me.

Spying her father, she broke out into a dignified run. She welcomed the dust, the sour odor of bodies, and the smoke from cooking fires. This was her city, Jerusalem, the City of David.

“Father,” she called, her throat aching from her dash.

Her father reached out and took her hands.

“There will be no battle. The king wants more of our gift. Of my perfume.”

Rephaiah coughed, making a long guttural sound. “There goes your daughter again Shallum. She speaks but does not make any sense.”

Her father caressed her hand with his thumb and then released his hold. “And where is your son, Gershom?” He shielded his eyes and pretended to survey the crowd. A few by-standers chuckled. “I did not see a son of yours face the army of Artaxerxes.”

“And speaking of armies.” Nehemiah passed through the entrance with his arms held high. “Where are the bars for these gates? Jerusalem is not defenseless anymore.”

Cheers greeted the governor’s announcement.

Taking a few steps toward the rulers, Nehemiah said, “Rephaiah, don’t you have sons sitting idle?”

The pious ruler balked.

“After all,” Nehemiah continued, “we will need many strong backs to secure the bars. The household of Shallum will be too busy to assist. They must be in service to our king.”

“Of course.” Rephaiah assessed the armor of Artaxerxes’ messenger. “I will summon my sons at once.”

Satisfied as she was to see Rephaiah humbled, in front of laborers no less, her insides whirled as her mind listed all the duties she must perform to recreate a fragrance. But before she crumbled one bit of cassia into olive oil, she knew who she had to visit first.

“Forgive my haste in leaving.” Adah bowed. Her feet itched to carry her down the straight street and through the eastern alleys. “I do not want to keep our sovereign waiting.”

With one last head bob, she was off, scrambling past the temple, through the gathering space, and around curious city dwellers, to Othniel’s home. Oh, how she wished he was there with his words of encouragement to calm her fears. Was this an answer to her prayer? Could she make enough perfume to please the king and have enough left to sell to purchase Othniel’s freedom?

She knocked on the door as was proper. One foot tap. Two. She burst into the living room, startling a spooked Zipporah and her daughter-in-law.

“Are we at war?” the mother gasped.

“No. Praise God.” Adah clutched her breast. Her heart hammered faster than Telem’s mallet. “We are safe. Our enemies are gone.”

“Selah.” Zipporah collapsed into a chair. “I have lifted petitions to God but my sons have not returned.”

And one of your sons is not in the cliffs or amassed at the gate or along the wall. Adah shook off any grievance to focus on the task at hand.

“I need more jars like the one Othniel sold me.” His name took root in her throat. Swallowing, she continued. “It was made of gold and pearl and came in a cedar case.”

Zipporah’s brow furrowed. “I used to own several of those pieces but not anymore. I cannot afford to purchase them, and no one has the means to buy such craftsmanship.”

“King Artaxerxes has enough money. And he has asked me to make a special perfume for his queen.” Deep down she was still convincing herself these words were not lies. “I need as many of those bottles as you can find. You will have a royal escort to wherever you need to go.”

Flipping her slightly gray hair over her shoulder, Zipporah’s eyes shone with a renewed fervor. She beckoned Adah to come sit in a chair next to her at the dining table. “The king sent an envoy to receive this perfume?”

“Yes. I plan to make as much as I can so the queen can share her fragrance as a gift.”

Zipporah shook her head. “No woman desires others to be the same, look the same, or even smell the same. Make another scent for the queen to gift her confidants.”

“Two perfumes.” Adah clasped her hands. Did she have the time?

Leaning close, Zipporah said, “Your name will be known throughout Persia. Others will come to your father’s door in search of the same fragrance. You can do this. I will help you.” The blaze in her brown eyes was big enough to set the room on fire. “Othniel spoke of your skill.” Her voice caught. “He would be proud of this recognition.”

Adah folded her arms and rested against the edge of the table. Thinking about the hardship Othniel faced while she mixed oils for the king burdened her soul. She met Zipporah’s tear-filled gaze. “Is there any way he can return sooner?”

“I pray every day.”

“As do I.” Adah embraced the distraught mother before she rose to leave.

“Daughter.” Zipporah’s voice was but a wisp. “Create the best fragrances so all of Persia will delight in the fragrant rose that is Jerusalem.”

“And that rose will beget many blooms. When God sends the rain.” Adah bent and kissed her friend’s cheek. “Shalom.”

She hurried to find Judith and reclaim the original mixture of perfume. Could she recreate the scent without her sister’s gift? Her mother had taught her well, but a reminder would rally her confidence.

Judith paced outside their home. Had she heard about the king’s request? Perhaps she even had the jar of perfume with her. Bless you, Judith. Adah called out to her sister.

Halting her frenzied walk, Judith looked up, face pale, eyes swollen. “He’s gone,” she said, her voice strained.

Her sister couldn’t be referring to Othniel. He had been gone for some time. Did Judith not realize Adah had witnessed the retreat of Sanballat and his soldiers? Her poor sister was distraught. “Who’s gone?” she asked.

“Telem. He never returned from the hills.”