“Really?” The fact that Hanani was barely able to hide his amusement made Nehemiah angrier still.
“Our enemies are already mocking us. I’m just thankful they didn’t see those three women when they made their state visit. Shallum’s section is right beside the Valley Gate. It’s outrageous!”
When Hanani took a step back, Nehemiah knew he had to cool his temper. He grabbed the water dipper and plunged it into the jar. Gulped down a mouthful of water. Filled the dipper a second time and poured the water over his head. That woman had made him angrier than he’d been in a long time. “You obviously have no idea what it’s like to lose someone you love,” she had accused. But Nehemiah knew exactly how she felt. Even though the men who’d killed his father had been brought to justice, Nehemiah’s rage was still there, the same as hers. Yet it had never occurred to him that it might displease God to worship at the temple while hoarding that rage. And as much as he hated to admit it, he understood what motivated her to work on the wall. Hadn’t he done the same thing, using his anger as fuel to rise to the position of cupbearer and ensure the king’s safety? “I’m pouring all of my rage into building this wall,” she’d told him. Wasn’t he doing the same thing? Letting anger drive him to rebuild Jerusalem’s wall?
Nehemiah pushed a few drawings around on his worktable, remembering her confession that she was angry with God. Nehemiah was angry, too, if he was honest with himself. God hadn’t protected his parents, and so he’d taken over for Him, trying to protect everyone he loved. Then another thought occurred to him. What if Sanballat and Tobiah were right and God hadn’t ordered him to rebuild the walls? What if he had petitioned the king and obtained the decree by the sheer force of his own stubborn will? He quickly pushed that thought aside, just like the scrolls. Of course he had heard from God. The Almighty One’s hand was upon him.
“You know what infuriated me the most?” Nehemiah asked his brother. “She refused to stop working and go home. Even when I commanded her to. It was as if she was taunting me.”
Hanani covered his mouth to hide his smile, pretending to smooth his beard. “She must be quite a demon-woman if she made you lose your temper. You stayed so calm and serene when Sanballat, Tobiah, and Geshem taunted you.”
“I’d sooner stand up to Sanballat any day. He’s more rational than she is.”
“What does this woman who dares to defy the governor of Judah look like?”
He didn’t want to tell Hanani that she was annoyingly attractive, the kind of woman men wanted to shelter and protect. He had noticed how pretty she and her sisters were the night he’d eaten dinner at their home, but he’d forced himself to ignore them, aware that it was wrong to gaze at women that way. He hadn’t wanted to stare today either, but he couldn’t help noticing the way her clothing had clung to the curves of her body in the heat.
“And that’s another thing, Hanani. These women are surely a distraction to the men who are trying to work.”
“I see.” Hanani was still trying to hide his smile. “I guess that answers my question.”
“Since you think this is so funny, I’m going to leave it up to you to take care of this problem.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because I have a wall to build. I can’t waste any more time on this problem. Find Shallum and tell him to send his daughters home. They can’t work on the wall ever again.”
Chapter
25
JERUSALEM
All of her father’s pleas and demands couldn’t change Chana’s mind. Tired as she was from her day’s labors, she continued to argue with Abba as they sat eating their evening meal, determined to return to the wall tomorrow. “We’re doing real work, Abba, you know we are. And we’re good at what we do. The other laborers are used to having us work alongside them. They’ve accepted us and are grateful for our help. You can’t tell us to stop now, just because Nehemiah has a problem with it.”
“He’s the governor, Chana. Our leader. We need to respect the leaders God has given us.”
“Even when they’re wrong? Where does it say in the Torah that women can’t build a wall? Nowhere! This is just his own ridiculous bias. Why won’t you explain to him that he’s wrong?”
“Chana, I think we all need time for our tempers to cool. Tomorrow is preparation day for the Sabbath, and I think it would be better if you girls stayed home and cooked our meal. Work on the wall will stop early tomorrow to give the men time to return home to their families. And you’ll need to prepare extra portions to feed any of our workers who live too far away to go home.”
“And after the Sabbath ends? What then?” Chana asked.
“We’ll talk about it when the time comes and not before.”
She agreed to stay home and help prepare the Sabbath meal with her sisters and the new servants they’d hired. “But I’m going back after the Sabbath,” she told Yudit and Sarah the next morning as she shoveled ash from the hearth to begin cooking. The fine dust turned her hands gray. “I’m not giving up my work on the wall!”
“I love working, too,” Yudit said as she ground grain into flour with her hand mill. “But I don’t want to make Abba angry. I don’t like fighting with him.”
“I don’t either,” Sarah said. She had already been to the King’s Pool and back, carrying the heavy jar of water uphill so they could cook. “We can still help out by feeding Abba’s workers. That’s a huge contribution, isn’t it?”
“Of course. But the new servants can easily do that. You loved building the wall as much as I did, didn’t you? We shouldn’t have to quit.” Chana broke a handful of twigs into pieces and laid them on the warm coals, then blew on them to start the fire. “Nehemiah is a bully, throwing his weight around and coercing Abba to give in. The governor shouldn’t have that much power. We’re not breaking any laws by working. I’m not quitting until he shows me a law that says I have to.”
Later that morning, Chana had just finished baking all the bread they would need for the Sabbath when a messenger arrived from Malkijah’s house. “My lord asks that you please join him for Sabbath dinner this evening in his Jerusalem home,” he told Chana.
“All four of us?” she asked. Their meal preparations were well underway, and she wondered what they would do with all the fish they had purchased in the marketplace.
“Master Malkijah very kindly asks that you come alone this time, miss.”
Chana didn’t know what to say. Sarah nudged her with her elbow. “Tell him of course you’ll come, silly.”
“Abba must have told Malkijah that you’ve agreed to a betrothal,” Yudit added.
“Did I agree?” Chana asked. She was still so angry about being ordered around by the governor that she barely remembered.
“Yes, when you were trying to convince Abba to let us work on the wall,” Yudit said. “How could you have forgotten?”
The messenger waited for her reply. Chana drew a steadying breath. “Please tell Malkijah that I will be happy to dine with him tonight.”
“Very well. I will return before sundown to escort you to his house, miss.”
The day’s preparations helped Chana take her mind off the wall and the governor’s unreasonable demands for a while, and she was in a good mood that evening when the servant arrived to escort her up the hill to Malkijah’s Jerusalem home. But he lived close to the governor’s residence, and Chana’s anger boiled up all over again as she walked past it. Had the governor enlisted Malkijah’s help in convincing her to give up her work? The thought infuriated her.
Just in time she remembered that she was Malkijah’s guest. She needed to set aside her anger and be gracious to her host, who stood waiting at the door to greet her. “Chana! Welcome to my home away from home. I’m so pleased that you could join me tonight.”
Most of the houses in Jerusalem had been rebuilt quickly by the returning exiles, with little thought to making them beautiful. But Malkijah’s house was an exception, tastefully and expertly built. It might be small, but it was as
luxurious as his country estate. The interior walls were paneled with cedar, not merely plastered. The stone floors had been laid in pleasing designs and covered with expensive imported rugs. Malkijah had a staff of servants to wait on him, and Chana recognized some of them from his estate in Beth Hakkerem, including the young girl named Nava.
“It’s nearly sunset,” Malkijah said, breaking into her thoughts. “Will you do me the honor, Chana, of lighting the Sabbath lights?” She did, reciting the blessing and thanking God for the command to rest on the Sabbath. When she and Malkijah sat down at his lavishly spread table, she was surprised to discover that she was his only guest. Malkijah held up the two loaves of bread and recited the blessing, then did the same for the wine. By the time he finished and they started eating the first course, Chana could no longer keep quiet.
“May I ask you a question, Malkijah?”
“Of course.” His smile was so warm and genuine, she hated herself for suspecting him of conspiring with the governor. But she had to know.
“Are you aware that my sisters and I have been helping Abba rebuild his section of the wall?”
He grinned, his ebony eyes sparkling in the lamplight. “Yes, all of Jerusalem is talking about it.”
“What are they saying?”
He took a sip of wine and set down his cup. “Opinions vary. Most people think it’s outrageous. A few admire you for being so strong and patriotic, and they compare you to Queen Esther.”
“Of which opinion are you?”
“Both. I agree that your actions are outrageous and probably very dangerous. I was so concerned for your safety when I first heard that you were scaling ladders and climbing scaffolding that I nearly went there myself to ask you to stop. Then I realized that your father would be just as concerned for your safety and would never put you or your sisters in danger. What bothers me the most is that people are gossiping about you, thinking ill of you, when they don’t know you or your motives for helping.”
“Our new governor is among them.”
“So I’ve heard. On the other hand, you have spirit, Chana, and I like that. I would be bored with a wife who never tried anything new or was too frightened to leave the house or had no opinions of her own.”
“Then you and Governor Nehemiah are certainly very different. I’m glad you don’t feel threatened by my ‘outrageous’ actions and strong opinions. And thank you for having the courage to invite me here even though the entire city is gossiping about me.”
“I didn’t invite you here tonight to talk about your work on the wall, Chana.” He looked away for a moment, as if suddenly shy, the bump on his crooked nose more noticeable in profile. “Your father told me that you have agreed to marry me.”
Her sister Yudit had been right. Abba had kept his side of the bargain allowing her to work, and now she would have to keep hers. Chana suddenly felt shy, as well. “Yes. I have agreed.”
“I’m very pleased to hear that,” he said with a broad grin. “I promise to make your happiness among my highest goals in life.”
“I hope I can make you happy, too.”
“You already did by saying yes. Now, what I hoped we could settle tonight is a date when your father and I can sign a ketubah. And that we can also decide when the wedding will be. There’s no point in a long waiting period between the two occasions, is there? I already have a home prepared for you.”
A sudden memory brought a rush of grief: Yitzhak had been killed while preparing a home for her. She looked away from Malkijah, staring down at her hands, scratched and blistered from her work. “No, there’s no point . . . But I would like to finish building the wall before we’re married.”
“If you would allow me to, I’ll send a dozen servants to take your place and build it for you. But I have a feeling you wouldn’t like that.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
He gave a crooked grin. “May I send just a few servants then, so you’ll finish sooner?”
Chana felt a rising sense of panic at the thought of losing control over her life. She couldn’t recall feeling like a fish snared in a net when she became engaged to Yitzhak. But she had been in love with him, and she didn’t love Malkijah yet. She wondered if she ever would. “I enjoy the work very much,” she said carefully. “I don’t want to stop. And thank you for the offer, but I don’t need help.”
He leaned toward her, suddenly serious. “I know, but I need your help, Chana. I discovered that I did on the night you visited my home in Beth Hakkerem, the night that young man broke in. You took time to listen to him and figure out what happened. My wife used to do the same thing. Rebecca watched over our servants and listened to them, watched out for their needs and protected them. I fear no one is doing that, especially now that I’m away from home and working in Jerusalem. And I think you would do the job wonderfully well. You have a good heart and a feisty spirit. I know you would be a valuable asset to me and to our home. And that we would work very well together.”
Was it mere flattery or did Malkijah really believe that? He looked sincere. Chana had seen how well-ordered his estate was, and she wondered if she really would find a purpose and a place in it.
“What I’ve been thinking,” he continued, “is that we could sign the betrothal now, and the wedding would take place after the wall is finished. Our governor seems convinced that we can complete the work within a matter of months, not years.”
Chana knew that a betrothal was just as binding as a marriage. She would be considered Malkijah’s wife, and he would replace Abba as the one who made decisions for her. “Would you make me stop building if we become betrothed?”
Malkijah laughed. “I wouldn’t know how to stop you, nor would I want to try.” He smiled his crooked smile and reached across the table to take her hand. “Chana, I promise I’ll never force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
She had another thought and drew a steadying breath. “Will you stand up for me now, so I can continue working? Governor Nehemiah is pressuring Abba, trying to force him to send Yudit and Sarah and me back home. But working on the wall has lifted that horrible load of grief I’ve carried for the past year. I can’t explain how free and how . . . how happy it has made me to work alongside my father and accomplish something as solid and enduring as that wall. Am I making any sense?”
“You want me to use my influence to convince Governor Nehemiah that he’s wrong.”
“Yes. Would you? You said that being married meant working together. And if we’re betrothed, then you get to decide what I can and can’t do, not the governor.”
“If it would make you happy, Chana, then yes. I’ll do what I can to convince him.”
Her misgivings vanished as she twined her fingers in his. “Then I want to make you happy, too, Malkijah. We can become engaged as soon as you and Abba can arrange it.”
Their betrothal took place before a small gathering of family members, friends, and colleagues of Abba and Malkijah. Thankfully, the governor had not been invited but the high priest, Eliashib, had come. Malkijah insisted on holding the celebration in his Jerusalem house so his servants could prepare all the food. Chana wasn’t sure how he had done it, but Malkijah had kept his promise and used his influence to make certain that she and her sisters could continue working on the wall.
She felt restless as she listened to one of the city elders read the ketubah that Abba and Malkijah had agreed upon. The two men had haggled good-naturedly over the dowry and the bride-price, making Chana feel like a melon in the marketplace. The completed contract would be as binding as marriage vows. Only a divorce or a death could end it. When Chana and Yitzhak had celebrated their betrothal, she had been so overjoyed and excited she hadn’t been able to hold back her tears. The jittery unease she felt about the ritual this time had no logical explanation, nothing she could name as a reason why. Malkijah was a good man who lived according to the Torah. He treated his servants well. He could amply provide for her. And he’d told Chana that he wouldn?
??t try to change her or force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. He said he liked her spirit. Her life had been suspended after Yitzhak died; maybe now she would begin living again.
She watched as Malkijah and Abba signed the ketubah before all the witnesses. Then Malkijah poured his finest wine into a cup and offered it to her. Chana accepted it from his hand and drank it. They were betrothed.
Shouts of joy and wishes for their happiness filled the room. Malkijah broke into a wide grin, and Chana smiled in return. Abba seemed as pleased as Malkijah. And yet . . . and yet Chana still wondered if she was doing the right thing. Was it guilt for trying to be happy again without Yitzhak? For being unfaithful to his memory and to the vows she made to him at their betrothal?
Malkijah lifted his cup of wine as he addressed all the people. “Please, help yourselves to the food that my servants have prepared—or I should say, our servants. They are yours, as well, Chana. We are so happy that you could celebrate this wonderful event with us. Enjoy!”
Nervous tension stole Chana’s appetite. She couldn’t eat. She stood aside to watch as their guests gathered around the platters of food and filled their cups with Malkijah’s famous wine. When she felt a gentle tug on her sleeve, she turned to see Nava, the servant girl. “Congratulations, my lady,” she said shyly. “I wish you many happy years with my master.”
“Thank you, Nava. I hope . . .” But the girl scurried away as Malkijah approached.
“Can I take you away for just a moment, Chana?” he asked. “I believe our guests are all occupied at the moment.” She followed Malkijah out to a small balcony with a view of the Mount of Olives across the valley and the star-filled sky above their heads. “How are you faring with all of this?” he asked.
“Everything is beautiful, Malkijah. Your servants did a wonderful job.”
“May I share something personal with you?”