On This Foundation (30 page)

J
ERUSALEM

C
hana's house was so close to the city wall that if she went up the outside stairs to the flat rooftop, she could watch the laborers setting building stones into place. Abba told her that half of the laborers now stood guard with spears and shields as the other half worked—and even those men wore swords. Chana longed to rejoin them and couldn't. So every afternoon after finishing in the kitchen, she climbed up to the rooftop where she could at least view the ongoing work. She squinted in the sunlight to watch the men check the plumb line and level lines and was annoyed to see that they weren't nearly as careful or accurate as she had been.

Fear had settled over the city. Chana felt the tension everywhere she went like a frayed rope about to snap. This morning at the well she'd heard the huddled women whispering their fears for their husbands and sons who stood guard during the night. When she and Yudit went to buy fish in the marketplace, the merchant had told them about their enemy's threats, relayed by an incoming caravan driver:
“Before the Jews know it or see us, we
will be right there among them and will kill them
and put an end to the work.”

Chana refused to cower at home, too frightened to go out. In fact, she would gladly continue building the wall if Abba would allow it. She watched with growing frustration as her father left home at dawn without her every morning and worked until the stars came out after sunset. “The sooner we finish the wall, the sooner we'll all be safe,” he had told her this morning. “And don't bother to ask, Chana. The answer is still no.”

She and her sisters helped the servants cook the noon meal for the workers, but Abba sent men to the house to fetch it, refusing to allow his daughters to venture outside the walls. Chana had a lot of time to think while she ground grain into flour, kneaded the dough, and baked the rounds of flatbread on the stone griddle. When she wasn't thinking about the wall, her thoughts continually returned to what Nava had told her when they'd talked at the temple. Was it really true that Malkijah and a group of men were conspiring against the governor? Chana didn't want to believe it. Malkijah worked so hard to rebuild the Dung Gate. He had volunteered to fight against the attackers himself. Surely he was loyal to the governor. Nava must have misunderstood.

But when Nava had relayed distressing news before, it had been true. Malkijah hadn't freed his bondservants. He didn't support the governor's social reforms. Chana still cringed when she recalled how she had confronted him. By the time he had explained his reasons, Chana felt foolish and petty for accusing him. Maybe there was a logical explanation for what Nava had overheard this time, too.
“What is it going to
take to get you to trust me?”
Malkijah had asked. Should she trust him now? She had no choice. She'd told him she still wanted to marry him. Yet she couldn't forget Nava's accusation:
“He isn'
t the man you think he is.”

Chana had tried to raise the subject of a conspiracy with her father last night. He had returned from his work on the wall late in the evening, sweaty and exhausted. When she was alone with him
after he'd finished his meal, she had probed for his opinion. “Abba, you're on the ruling council with some of the other nobles and officials. Are they all in agreement with Governor Nehemiah?”

“We haven't had a council meeting in a while. We're too busy working.”

“But do you think they all support him?”

“From what I can see they do. Why?”

“I was thinking about how Nehemiah came out of nowhere and took over. And I know the council governed the province before he came. I wondered if any of them resented him for replacing their authority and ordering everyone around.”

“If there's simmering resentment, I haven't heard it. Why are you asking about this, Chana?”

She had tried to seem nonchalant, knowing that if she aroused Abba's curiosity he might make her tell what she knew. “I'm just curious. I've been very surprised by what a strong, decisive leader Nehemiah is, and I just wondered if some people saw him differently.”

Abba had slumped in his seat after dinner to sip the last of his wine, but he set down his cup and stirred as if preparing to rise. “Nehemiah united our people, eased a potential class war, and rebuilt our city wall from ruins—all in less than two months' time. I don't understand how anyone could resent him for accomplishing all of that.”

“Me either, Abba—unless there are some wealthy nobles who resent being forced to take his oath and cancel the debts that the poorer people owe.”

“I suppose. In that case, even a leader as strong as Governor Nehemiah will find it difficult to fight against basic human greed.” Abba had retired to bed a few minutes later.

Now, by the time two laborers arrived to pick up the midday meal for all the workers, Chana was tired of doing battle with doubt and mistrust. She wanted to think about other things. “How is the work on the wall going?” she asked them.

“Just fine, miss.”

“Although everyone is tense,” the younger of the two men added. “We're still in great danger. There could be another attack at any moment.”

“Did my father tell you to say that? I know he's trying to scare me to keep me away.”

“No, miss. He never spoke to me about it.”

“So we really are in great danger like everyone fears?” Chana asked. “Because I've only heard of one attack so far.”

“No, just last night—” the younger man began, but the older one silenced him with a jab of his elbow.

“What are you hiding from me?” Chana asked. She moved the basket of bread she had just filled out of their reach. “Tell me or I won't send any bread with you. You'll have to scoop up your lunch with your hands.”

The men exchanged a long look, then the elbow-jabber sighed and said, “You may as well tell her what you were going to say. I'm hungry.”

“A group of our men prevented an attack last night, miss.”

“Where? What happened? Was anyone hurt?”

“The enemy came sneaking through the Mishneh with swords and spears, right outside the Valley Gate.” He seemed pleased to offer proof of the danger she would be in if she returned to work. “Our men were waiting for them, though, and fought them off.”

“So no one was killed or wounded,” she said. “Our guards did their job and kept everyone safe.”

“Well, yes. But there was another attack outside the Dung Gate and the commander was injured—”

“The commander?” Chana felt the blood drain from her face. “Malkijah ben Recab?”

“Yes. How did you know—?” He was silenced again by a hard jab to his ribs.

“How badly injured was he?”

“I have no idea. Maybe it was just a rumor. . . . We should be
going now, miss.” He pulled the basket of bread within reach and slipped his arm through the handle.

Malkijah was injured?
Memories of the night Yitzhak was attacked came flooding back, filling Chana with fear. Before the two workers were even out of her courtyard, she rushed into her room and pulled off her floury apron and the sweaty scarf that held back her hair.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?” Sarah asked when Chana came out a moment later with her clothes changed and her hair combed.

“I need to see if Malkijah is all right.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” Yudit asked.

“No. I'd rather go alone.”

She hurried up the Hill of Ophel to Malkijah's house, a knot of fear pulling tighter and tighter in her stomach.

The housekeeper who opened Malkijah's door looked surprised to see her. “Miss Chana, come in. What brings you here?”

Chana wondered if all of her whirling emotions were visible on her face. She forced herself to calm down, trying not to envision Malkijah lying pale and lifeless the way Yitzhak had, inching closer and closer to death. “I heard that Malkijah was wounded last night. Is he here? I came to find out how he is and if there's anything I can do.”

The housekeeper smiled. “It's nothing to worry about, miss. Just a small wound to his hand.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, miss. Quite sure. He's resting at the moment after being on guard duty all night, but would you like me to tell him you're here?”

“No, please don't disturb him. I'll see him another time.” Chana turned toward the door, but the enormous relief she felt had turned her knees to water. She took a few wobbling steps and nearly fell over before the housekeeper took her arm and guided her to a bench.

“You sit here for a moment, miss. I'll fetch you a drink.”

“Thank you.” She felt ridiculous for being so weak. Malkijah wasn't seriously injured. He would be fine. So why were her eyes filling with tears?

She cared about him, she realized. She wanted him to be safe. She wanted a long, happy life with him. But she also knew that it might not happen if Malkijah joined a conspiracy against their governor.

Chana needed to speak with Nava again. Maybe if she had more information about this supposed conspiracy, she could finally put her worries about Malkijah to rest—or else try to convince him that it would be a mistake to join the rebels. But the servant who brought Chana a drink and a bowl of dates wasn't Nava. “Thank you so much,” Chana said as she took the cup from her. “What's your name?”

“It's Rachel, miss.”

“There's another servant who works here named Nava. Could you please ask her to come here for a moment?”

The woman swallowed and looked away. “Nava doesn't work here anymore, miss. She was sent back to our master's estate in Beth Hakkerem.”

Her reply shocked Chana. “Do you know why?”

Rachel was about to reply when the housekeeper returned. She shook her head and quickly disappeared.

Nava had been sent away. Was it because of what she'd overheard about the conspiracy? Who else had Nava told about it? Then another thought chilled Chana when she remembered Nava's fear of Malkijah's son and the leering way he had stared at the girl. Nava had asked Chana for help, but what could she do now from so far away? Did she dare make accusations to Malkijah about his son's behavior?

“Chana, what a surprise to see you.”

She looked up, startled, as Malkijah walked in. His lack of sleep for the past few nights showed on his tired face and
red-rimmed eyes. He wore a linen bandage wrapped around his left hand. She sprang to her feet, relieved to see him, yet guilty for her lingering doubts about him. “I heard you'd been wounded. I came to see how you were.”

“It's nothing. Only a flesh wound.” He lifted his bandaged hand for a moment, then lowered it again. “I'm touched that you came, Chana. That you . . . care.”

“I . . . I do,” she said.

Malkijah smiled. “I need to return to my duties at the Dung Gate. Come, I'll walk you home if you'd like. It's on my way.”

They walked through the streets together, side by side, the way she had promised to walk with him for the rest of her life. Chana had seen nothing at all of her surroundings as she'd raced up the hill to Malkijah's house earlier, blinded by fear. Now she noticed women sweeping their courtyards, white-haired men sitting on benches and stoops with their canes. She heard the singsong voices of children playing and the incessant sound of chisels against stone. There were no men in the streets except the elderly. Every able-bodied man in the province either stood guard or worked on the wall.

“I worry about you, Malkijah,” Chana said when they reached her house. “I hate it that you could be in danger.”

He looked down at her, his eyes soft. “It's times like these when the future is uncertain that we need to live our lives to the full. Don't waste time in useless worry, dear Chana, fretting over what might never happen. Worry doesn't change a single thing. Just live.”

She watched until he was out of sight, then went to tell Sarah and Yudit the good news that Malkijah was unhurt. Afterward, with nothing else to do, she climbed the stairs to the rooftop to watch the construction on the wall. As Abba had said this morning, the sooner they finished, the sooner they would all be safe.

If only she could help.

B
ETH
H
AKKEREM
S
EPTEMBER

N
ava walked back to Beth Hakkerem with a group of servants who were returning to harvest Master Malkijah's early grapes. Her fear of his son Aaron multiplied with every step. She tried to huddle in the middle of the group as they climbed the last hill and entered the walled compound; when Aaron was nowhere in sight she nearly fainted with relief. She ran to the goat pen first and found her friend Shimon.

“I see you're back,” he said. A faint smile flickered across his weathered face. But as happy as Nava was to see him, she didn't smile in return.

“Shimon, can you please help me hide from Master Aaron? I'll do any work you ask me to do if you'll please make sure he doesn't see me or know that I'm back.”

Shimon frowned, then looked away. “It's not up to me where you work, girlie. Talk to Penina.”

The kitchen seemed miles away from the goat pen. Nava peeked from behind the fence, careful to look in all directions before sprinting across the open space to the kitchen courtyard. Once there, she tried to crouch low and hide behind one of the
chopping tables as she searched for the little cook. The other kitchen servants stopped what they were doing to stare as if Nava had lost her mind. A moment later Penina emerged from the storeroom, her face creased in an angry frown. “What in the world are you doing here?”

Nava was reluctant to admit the full truth. “I came back with the men who are going to work in the vineyard—”

“Why are you crouching beside my table like a beaten dog? Stand up.”

“I don't want Master Aaron to see that I'm back.”

Penina gave an irritated groan. “Not this again!”

“I'll do any work you ask me to do, but please help me hide from him.”

“For the next
six years
? No. I won't do it,” she said, shaking her head. “It's going to be impossible to stay hidden, and when he does see you, what then? He'll know what you've been doing and that I helped you. No. It'll be much worse for both of us if we try to deceive him.”

Nava closed her eyes, unable to stop her tears. The hopelessness of her situation overwhelmed her, and she sank to the ground. With Aaron in charge of the estate, she knew with horrible certainty what would happen. Penina stood above her, her bony arms folded. “Listen to me. I won't hide you, but I'll do what I can to protect you. I'll talk to Ruth about it, too. That's the best I can do.”

“Thank you,” Nava mumbled.

“Now stand up and go make some goat cheese. We haven't had a decent batch of it since you went to Jerusalem.”

Nava stayed out of Aaron's sight for nearly a week while he supervised the grape harvest. Then he happened to pass by the pen early one morning when Nava and Shimon were milking the goats. He had appeared out of nowhere, so suddenly that she didn't have time to duck out of sight. “Well, well, well,” he said, leaning against the fence. “Look who's back. You know,
it's a funny thing—I'm in charge of this estate, and I had no idea you had returned.”

“I came back with the vineyard workers—”

“And here you are milking goats. Why haven't you been serving my meals? I thought I decided that's where you belonged. You're much too pretty to work with that old man and his smelly goats. Come with me.”

Nava's knees had begun to tremble, and she wasn't sure she could stand. Shimon gestured for her to remain seated. “She has a way with the animals, Master Aaron,” he said, hobbling toward the fence. “That other little oaf scares them. Curdles their milk.”

“Then find someone else.”

“Your father takes great pride in his herds. He'd want the best for them. And that girlie is the best. Let her finish, Master Aaron. It's hard for me to do the milking these days.” He held up his wrinkled, twisted hands.

Aaron pushed away from the fence and stood up straight. “Don't tell me what to do, old man. If you can't do your work, then it's time to get rid of you.”

Shimon lowered his head as he shuffled across the pen to take Nava's place on the milking stool. He nodded to her, telling her she should go.

“Come on, Nava, I don't have all day,” Aaron called.

She let herself out of the pen and followed him across the yard to the house. When she didn't move quickly enough for him, Aaron grabbed her wrist and pulled her along. As they passed the kitchen area, she managed to catch Penina's eye and gave a silent plea for help. Nava was terrified of where Aaron might be taking her as he led her through the doorway into the house. She nearly collapsed with relief when Ruth, the formidable housekeeper, met them just inside the door. “Where are you going, Master Aaron? Did you forget something?”

Nava could tell that he wasn't expecting to meet Ruth. He released Nava's wrist. “No . . . I just . . .”

“And you stop right there, girl,” Ruth said, looking Nava up and down. “Don't you dare come inside my nice, clean house before you've had a bath. You smell like the goat pen.”

“That's where I found her,” Aaron said. “She's supposed to be a household servant, remember? But I found her milking goats. I want her to serve all my meals.”

Ruth shook her head. “She's no good in the dining room, Master Aaron. I gave her a chance before sending her off to Jerusalem but she was much too clumsy. Always breaking dishes, spilling perfectly good food onto the floor. You know how your father hates waste. He would have my head if he saw the damage that girl did.”

“Besides,” Penina said, coming up behind Nava, “I need her to help me in the kitchen. I'll have extra men to cook for until the grapes are harvested. And she makes the best goat cheese I ever tasted. Even your father praised it.”

Aaron had the look of a man who knew he was beaten. But only for now. He lifted his chin, his lips pressed into a mean, hard line. “I don't have time to argue with a bunch of stubborn servants. We'll finish this discussion later.”

“Thank you,” Nava whispered as Aaron strode away. “I was so afraid!”

Penina waved away Nava's thanks, still frowning. “Don't think I didn't mean it when I said I needed your help. Come on.” She marched Nava back to the kitchen. “Start making cheese. And it better be extra good so you don't make a liar out of me.”

It took a long time for Nava's hands to stop shaking. Thankfully, she didn't see Aaron for the rest of the day. She returned to the goat pen that evening to help with the milking and to thank Shimon for trying to help.

“It was kind of you to stand up for me this morning.”

Shimon gave his customary grunt. “Instead of running scared, you need to ask God for help. You know how to pray, girlie?”

Nava led the first goat to her stool and sat down, resting her
forehead against the goat's side, reluctant to admit the truth. “I stopped praying months ago, Shimon.”

He limped over, glaring down at her. “Now, why would you do a foolish thing like that?”

“Because God hasn't answered any of my other prayers. Nothing in my life has gone the way I wanted it to.”

“You think I chose to spend my life in someone else's goat pen?”

She looked up at him. “Then how can you still pray?”

“How can I not?” he said gruffly. “The Lord is our shepherd, and we are His sheep. We need Him as much as these animals need us.”

Nava sighed and bent her head to her task again. “Sometimes I wonder if God is angry with me. Why else would He put my family and me through all this hardship? He could send rain, make our crops grow—He can do anything. But He doesn't.”

“So you do believe in Him. You just don't trust Him. And you want your own way.”

She looked up again. Shimon was making her angry. “Isn't God supposed to answer our prayers?”

“Depends on what you're praying for.” He walked away to lead another goat to his milking stool, and Nava thought the conversation was over. But when he sat down beside her again he said, “These goats sometimes kick and fight and want their own way. When we take them out to graze and make them walk through the hot, dry wilderness, they don't like it. But we know it's for their own good to go up into those hills. They'll find what they need there. You can either trust the Good Shepherd, girlie, or kick and fight. Seems to me you're kicking.”

Nava was outraged. “I don't see how letting Master Aaron have his way could possibly be for my own good.”

“That's because you don't see things the way God does. He may not have answered your prayers yet, but that doesn't mean He hasn't heard you.” She watched as his gnarled hands pulled
steady streams of milk into the bucket. He slowly stood when he was finished and said, “You shouldn't pray only when you want something from God.”

“Then why else?”

“Did you only talk to your father when you wanted something from him? Or did you tell him you loved him once in a while? Did you ask him what job he wanted you to do? Or thank him for taking care of you?”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple.” He went off to fetch another goat while she was still milking her first one. “Tell me, did you ever want your own way and your father said no?” he asked when he returned.

She thought of how she and Dan had wanted to marry right away, but both of their fathers had said no. “Yes, sometimes.”

“Did your father have a good reason for saying no?” Shimon asked.

“Yes.” Neither family could afford to have them marry.

“Was his decision for your own good?”

She was reluctant to reply, seeing where Shimon was leading her. She untethered the goat when she was finished and led another one to the post. “Yes, it was for everyone's good,” she said, sitting down again. “But how can any good come from what Master Aaron wants?”

“Maybe there's a reason you can't yet see.”

“Even if he was the richest man in Judah I wouldn't want to marry him. I'm in love with Dan.”

Shimon stopped working and looked over at her, his eyes glistening. “Then if you know what real love is, you should be praying for Aaron, not for yourself. Because he doesn't understand what love is all about.”

Nava wanted to protest, but the soft look in Shimon's eyes silenced her. How could he feel sorry for someone as cruel as Master Aaron?

“That boy has everything in the world,” Shimon continued, “yet he's cold and dead inside. Does he seem happy to you?”

“No.” She thought of Dan, who had nothing, and remembered the joy on his face when he'd brought her the sack of quails that spring morning. She thought about her other unanswered prayer—to be free. Was there a reason why that one hadn't been answered yet? The ring shining in Shimon's ear reminded her that he could have had his freedom long ago. “Why did you choose to stay here, Shimon, when you could have been set free?”

For the first time he hesitated, as if reluctant to answer. When he did, his voice was surprisingly tender. “So I could pray for Master Malkijah and his sons. I pray for them every single day.”

“Why? I've seen how mean Master Aaron is to you. Why would you stay here and pray for him?”

“I have my reasons.” He closed down, like a door firmly shut and locked. When he rose to walk away, she knew their conversation was over. But then he glanced over his shoulder at her and added, “You need to pray for our masters, too.”

Nava shook her head in silent reply as she squeezed milk into the bucket. When she'd first arrived at the estate she'd been determined not to allow the weeds of bitterness to grow. But the fear she felt toward Aaron had watered them. So had her anger and resentment toward Malkijah for not setting her free. Pray for them? They had everything, and she had so little. And now they wanted to take away the little that she did have—her future with Dan.

No, Nava thought as she untethered the goat. No, she couldn't pray for them.