33

Days later, in the seventh month

“Are you coming?” Judith tapped her sandal on the floor of the storeroom. Each thap caused her mustard and scarlet robe to shake.

“Yes, yes. Soon.” Adah secured the silver cap to her perfume bottle. Zipporah had used her best bartering skills to acquire jars overlaid with silver and gold, and set with stones. “I’m almost done with this one.”

Judith sighed. “Only you would make the governor and Ezra wait.”

After wiping her hands, Adah banded her linen head covering. “All of Jerusalem will be at the assembly. With women and children milling about, no one will notice we are later than most.”

“What about Father?” Judith asked the question, but no lines of worry wrinkled her forehead. Her face had shown little expression since the news of Telem’s abandonment. “He will be anxious for our arrival.”

Adah untied her apron, set it on the table, and clasped a hand on each of Judith’s shoulders. “All Father will see when we make it to the Water Gate is how beautiful you look.” She kissed her sister’s cheek. “Do not worry. Our mason will return.” Please, Telem. For her sake. And mine.

Judith nodded and turned away. “Mother’s waiting.”

Adah followed Judith into the street. Their mother stood outside their dwelling, eyes closed, her face basking in the sun.

“Pick up those sandals. No shuffling.” Her mother held out her arms. “The trade winds will blow into the assembly before we do.”

“Not today. “Adah gazed at the sky her mother could not behold. “There is not a wisp of white to block God’s vision of His people.”

Adah guided her mother and sister east toward the Water Gate. She didn’t want to miss any of what Ezra the priest had to say, but she wanted to be ensure her mother’s safety. If Jerusalem were a bouquet of flowers, its stems would be nourished by the pools near the gate.

A few women hurried by carrying their children as a mass of people gathered inside the Water Gate. Ezra positioned himself at a podium set high on a platform. The elderly priest held court in front of cedar planks that created new doors to the city. Fresh wood, a gift of the king’s forests, prevented any visitor from entering Jerusalem. This day, only the people of God gathered to hear their priest.

Behind the gift of a new gate, terraced withering and burnt vineyards and fields. Adah shook the desolation from her mind and beheld the elder priest. In his place of prominence, no one could deny his authority or claim ignorance of his forthcoming message. Nehemiah, rulers, and officials flanked Ezra’s sides, but the Book of the Law occupied the seat of honor, lying open and perched at the priest’s waist.

Adah found some room off to the side of the platform where her mother wouldn’t be jostled. With every man, woman, and child rising to their feet, or pressing forward as Ezra began to speak, the tardiness of the household of Shallum went without notice.

Ezra scanned the crowd. He raised his arms toward a vibrant blue sky that looked like it rested on top of Jerusalem’s wall.

“Praise the Lord. Rejoice in His deliverance. The Lord is near.” Ezra stretched out his body as if to pull the heavens into his chest. “Rejoice in His commands.”

“Amen,” shouted a nobleman.

“Amen,” echoed the crowd.

Amen!

“God has chosen to restore the city of His servant David. He has shown His faithfulness to His people and thwarted our enemies. First with the rebuilding of His temple.” Ezra gestured toward the holy place. “And now with the wall. Let us listen to his commands so we can continue in His favor.”

Adah pressed her lips together. Her temples pulsed as Ezra continued to read the Law. Bring our people back, Lord, to You and to this city.

After Ezra’s reading of God’s commands, the Levites explained every word.

When Adah’s heart was filled with God’s promises, she dropped to her knees and worshipped the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Packed soil warmed her skin, but she would not complain about the heat or the dust, for from the sweat and labor of her people, her city had risen. The wall was a gift bestowed by her God. A reminder of His faithfulness to His people in hard times and good times. A reminder of His faithfulness to her and her vow. Selah, Adonai!

Nehemiah and Ezra began to recite the Shema.

“Hear O Israel,” Nehemiah began.

“The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.” Ezra closed his eyes like he knelt by himself in an inner chamber. “Love the Lord your God, with all your heart...”

“With all your soul.” Judith wept.

Adah’s throat throbbed and ached as she kept in song with those kneeling beside her. “And with all your might.” She squeezed her mother’s hand, for Elisheba, wife of Shallum, was the mightiest woman she knew.

“Do not be filled with sorrow for your past transgressions,” Nehemiah shouted over the huddled mass of people. “The joy of the Lord is our strength. Today we shall not mourn. Today we will delight in our God.”

Sitting up, Adah fixed her gaze on her governor. He had petitioned the king knowing that his life might be taken from him. But God had called Nehemiah to restore the wall, and God was with Nehemiah as he spoke with Artaxerxes. And God had been with her as she fought raiders and a prophetess.

Judith’s sobs cinched Adah’s heart.

“Lord, Your work is not done,” Adah mumbled. “The men we love are outside this wall.”

“Do you hear that?” her mother asked.

Adah stood. “Yes, we are to rejoice this day.”

“Listen, my daughter.” Her mother fumbled for Adah’s sleeve. “Do you hear it?”

Pushing the veil from her ear, Adah listened. Far off in the distance, a rumble groaned.

It can’t be. Not after all this time.

Her mother sniffed the air and called out, “God is sending the rain. I can smell the dampness.”

People nearby stared as if her mother were mad.

“I’m sure it will come soon.” Adah smoothed a hand down her mother’s arm.

“What are you gawking at?” Judith snapped at a grim-faced woman.

Arms whipping toward the cloudless sky, her mother shrieked, “It is almost here. God’s blessing.”

People shuffled away. Sensing a wider berth, her mother swayed, arms floating in the air and keeping rhythm with the wind.

The wind? A breeze blew by Adah cooling her flaming cheeks. She looked up, past Ezra, higher than the gate. A droplet splattered on her nose. Rain!

Adah gripped her mother’s hand. “Grab the other,” she said to Judith.

Exaggerating the motion of her mother’s sway, Adah hopped side to side. Humming a psalm, she danced.

Water fell from the sky and hit the dry ground. Drops vanished in tiny puffs of smoke.

Another lick of rain touched Adah’s cheek. “God hears our praise. He sent the rain.” She flapped her arm as if to fly to her God.

“It is not enough for a weed,” a man uttered. “We will need more than this sprinkle.”

Leah stepped forward and latched onto Adah’s free hand. Beulah followed her daughter’s lead. Their neighbor’s belly took prominence in the center of the circle of women.

Wait one more day for a birth, Lord.

The disgruntled man scowled at their folly. Adah flashed him a bared-teeth smile.

“Rejoice,” she sang. “We do not need a flood. God will hear our prayers tomorrow.”

And she would pray tomorrow, tonight, and forever, for a soaking rain and the return of Othniel and Telem.

Though at this moment, she would praise the Lord, with her mother and sister at her side. For seeing Judith delighting in God’s blessed rain was a lavender balm on Adah’s battered heart.