by Lynn Austin
“You’ve done a fine job, Aaron. But some of the servants seemed angry with you. I wanted to give them time to cool down. Besides, I thought you and Josef might like to see the progress we’ve made on the wall. The gate I’m responsible for should be finished in the next day or so.”
It upset Chana as she listened to them talk that Aaron didn’t acknowledge his actions or ask about Shimon. And it worried her that Malkijah was such a poor judge of his son’s character and seemingly blind to his faults. As a father, it was his job to discipline him and teach him right from wrong, molding his character. Malkijah admitted that he’d indulged his sons after their mother died—but Chana had lost her mother at a young age, too. She thought of all the ways Abba had gently yet firmly shaped her and her sisters. How he’d guided Chana out of her grief and self-pity after Yitzhak died. Abba never would have tolerated lying, and Aaron’s violence would have appalled him.
A wave of unease washed over her as she considered her upcoming marriage to Malkijah and his family’s many problems. Shimon was right; she couldn’t change Malkijah or his sons. Only God could change their hearts. But she could try to be an influence in their home, offering advice and praying that Malkijah would see the truth about his sons for himself. He wasn’t facing the evidence of what Aaron had tried to do to Nava last night or that his actions would probably cause the death of a trusted servant—a servant who was Malkijah’s own father.
If this was the work that the Almighty One wanted Chana to do now that the wall was finished, she felt inadequate for the task. Making a difference in this family’s life, bringing them into alignment with the plumb line of God’s truth and justice, would be immensely challenging. Should she share Shimon’s secret with Malkijah? If so, when? And how? The truth about Malkijah’s birth still astounded her. His father wasn’t a wealthy nobleman named Recab, ruler of the District of Beth Hakkerem, but a humble, God-fearing shepherd named Shimon.
Chapter
50
BETH HAKKEREM
Nava watched from the doorway of the shepherd’s hut until Aaron was out of sight before returning to her place at Shimon’s bedside. She soaked up more water on the twisted rag and gave it to him to drink, then took his icy hand in hers again. It worried her that his face had turned the pale, bluish-white color of milk. “What were you watching over there?” Shimon asked her.
“I was just making sure that Aaron really did go to Jerusalem with the others.” Nava offered him more water, but he shook his head. “What did Master Malkijah say to you before he left?” she asked him. Shimon had sent her away so they could speak in private. It was just as well. She was still much too angry to face her master. Anything she said to him might only make matters worse.
“Malkijah told me how sorry he was that this happened. . . . And that he hoped to see me well again when he returned.”
Nava turned her face away so Shimon wouldn’t see her tears. He was gravely ill and getting worse, not better, with each hour that passed. Along with his broken hip, something else must have broken inside when Aaron had punched him repeatedly. Shimon’s belly was tender and painful, swelling like a pregnant woman’s. “Did our master promise to get justice for you?” she asked. “Doesn’t the Torah say that wrongdoers must pay for injuring other people?”
“He’ll search for the truth and do what’s right. Malkijah is a good man.”
“You mean Matthias?” she asked quietly.
Shimon sucked in his breath at her words, then moaned at the pain it caused. When he could speak again he said, “You were listening to a private conversation. Hasn’t eavesdropping caused enough trouble for you, girlie?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to listen, but the other servants helped me with the goats so I could finish sooner. I hurried back to you, and—” She halted, lowering her head in shame for what she had done. “You aren’t mad at me, are you, Shimon? I’m really sorry.”
“No . . . I don’t suppose it matters much.”
But Nava knew that it did matter. Shimon was Malkijah’s father—and Malkijah didn’t even care enough about him to make Aaron pay for what he had done. She was going to say as much, but Penina arrived with some of Chana’s brew to help ease Shimon’s pain. He couldn’t sit up to drink it so Nava soaked a cloth in the concoction and had him suck on it.
“Shimon,” she said after Penina left, “why didn’t you tell me the truth about our master? Why did you confide in Chana, of all people?”
“I wanted to tell you. But I was afraid you’d use the truth as a weapon to hurt my son. If I thought you could forgive Malkijah for keeping you his bondservant, I would have told you.”
“Forgive him? That’s impossible. Do you forgive him for treating you this way?”
“Of course I do. And I forgive Aaron for what he did, too.”
“How can you? It isn’t fair!”
“No, it isn’t. But is it fair that the Almighty One has to forgive us again and again? He expects us to be like Him and forgive each other.”
Nava stared down at Shimon’s hand, still held between her own. She could never forgive either one of her masters, especially if Shimon died.
“Now that you know the truth about my son,” Shimon said after a moment, “what are you going to do with it?”
She didn’t reply right away as she made up her mind. “Nothing,” she finally said. “I don’t want him to know you’re his father. He doesn’t deserve a father as wonderful as you.” She choked back her tears and added, “Besides, he wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
Shimon smiled and gestured for more medicine. After Nava had given it to him, she saw him summoning his strength. She leaned closer. “Listen, Nava. I know I don’t have much time, and I need you to really hear what I have to say. . . . If you hold on to bitterness and anger toward our masters, you’ll end up in the same mess as Aaron. He pretends to respect his father, but there is rebellion and anger in his heart. Don’t be like him. You agreed to be a bondservant to help your family. Can you do it with a grateful attitude, without bitterness? Remember, our master isn’t obligated by law to set you free.”
“But I want to marry Dan. I love him, and six years is a long time to wait.”
“I know, girlie, I know. But maybe the Almighty One has you here to teach you to trust Him, to get closer to Him. . . . Tell me, when you knew Aaron was watching you, did you pray and ask God to protect you? Or weren’t you on speaking terms with God?”
“You’re saying that what happened was my fault for not praying?”
“Not at all. I’m saying that God used even this evil deed for His purposes. He wants you to trust Him again. And he wants Malkijah to wake up to what his sons—”
“But he didn’t wake up! He doesn’t believe us.”
“We haven’t seen the end of the story yet. But I hope you’ll see that God was at work, watching out for you, even though you were angry with Him. I couldn’t sleep last night, so as I was laying here praying I heard Him urging me to get up and find you.”
Nava covered her mouth to hold back a cry. She had blocked out all memories of last night because they were too horrifying to relive, but she suddenly remembered that after Aaron had grabbed her she had prayed, Lord save me! And Shimon had come out of nowhere. She remembered telling God she was sorry for turning away from Him, sorry for refusing to pray all these months, and she had promised to serve Master Malkijah willingly and without bitterness for the next six years if only God would hear her prayer and save her. And He had.
“Sometimes the Almighty One answers our prayers by using other people,” Shimon said. “Your family prayed for rain during the drought because they didn’t want to starve. God answered their prayer—not by sending rain, but by sending Malkijah, who obeyed the Torah and loaned your family money for food. God does answer prayer. You can trust Him for your future with Dan. But you need to pray for Malkijah and for Aaron, like I told you to do.”
Nava closed her eyes. “I made such a mess of things.”
/> “It isn’t your fault that Aaron was attracted to you and tried to assault you, any more than it was your fault that it didn’t rain for two years. God is at work. We can’t understand how He chooses to answer our prayers, but He will answer them, one way or another.”
“And if I pray and ask Him to make you better, will He answer that prayer?”
“Probably not the way you’re hoping. But He can still bring good out of whatever happens to me. Don’t ask God what He’s doing. That’s the wrong thing to ask. Ask Him what you should be doing.”
Nava realized that if she hadn’t turned bitter toward her master, she never would have left her bed to eavesdrop on him. And Aaron wouldn’t have caught her alone. And Shimon wouldn’t be lying here bruised and broken. She couldn’t undo all those mistakes and make Shimon well again. Life and death weren’t under her control. But she could choose to let go of her anger and bitterness. She could choose to trust God the way Shimon did. And she could choose to serve her master cheerfully and faithfully.
“I’m going to pray anyway and ask God to heal you,” she told Shimon.
“Go ahead, girlie. You do that. God always answers our prayers. But just remember that sometimes His answer is no.”
Chapter
51
JERUSALEM
Nehemiah paused outside the gate to Shallum’s house and turned to the entourage of men who still insisted on following him everywhere he went. “You need to wait out here,” he told them. “Shallum has been very ill. He deserves his privacy.” His bodyguards started to follow him as Chana opened the gate, but Nehemiah made them stay outside, too. He suspected that she might have more news about the conspiracy. “I won’t be long,” he told them.
He found Shallum sitting up in bed. He still looked haggard after wrestling with the Death Stalker, and one side of his face seemed paralyzed, making his words sound slurred. But Shallum was alert and clearly on the mend. “I heard you were recovering, Shallum. I’m glad,” Nehemiah said.
He sat down and spoke with him for a few minutes before Chana returned to the room. “I have a message for you from Malkijah,” she said. Nehemiah stood, guessing she would take him someplace private. But she shook her head. “Abba knows all about the conspiracy, Governor. I told him what’s been going on.”
“And I’ll help you and Malkijah any way that I can once I’m on my feet again,” Shallum said. “I still wield a lot of influence in the council chamber. Go ahead, Chana. Tell the governor what you know.”
She spoke in a soft, urgent voice as if afraid someone might be listening. “Their plan is to get as many nobles as they can on their side, then call for a council meeting. They’re going to try to force you to give up control so they can govern the way they did before you came.”
The plan made Nehemiah angry, not afraid. “And if I don’t concede?”
“They’ll threaten to expose you to King Artaxerxes as a traitor and intimidate you into cooperating.” She wasn’t meeting his gaze. Nehemiah suspected there was more.
“They’re plotting to assassinate me, aren’t they,” he said.
“I’m afraid so.”
Shallum shook his head, his voice quivering with outrage. “I’ve worked alongside these men nearly all my life, and I’m shocked by their actions. Shocked! You can bet Tobiah is behind this.”
“How many council members have joined the conspiracy so far?” Nehemiah asked.
“Malkijah doesn’t know. Everyone is working independently behind the scenes, trying to recruit sympathizers. Malkijah is supposed to recruit Abba. They’re approaching these men one at a time the way they approached Malkijah, trying to win them over.”
“Thank you,” Nehemiah said. With anger coursing through him, he didn’t trust himself to say more. He pretended to be calm as he rejoined the other men, as if he had no idea there were traitors among them. “Good news. Shallum should make a full recovery,” he said.
“That is good news,” the men agreed.
But Malkijah’s information had fueled Nehemiah’s growing sense of urgency. “The closer we are to finishing,” he told his brothers over dinner that evening, “the harder my enemies will work to eliminate me.”
“Maybe you should hire more bodyguards,” Ephraim told him.
“I refuse to give in to fear.”
His brothers both began pleading with him at the same time, trying to convince him that sensible caution and faith-filled courage weren’t contradictory. One of Nehemiah’s servants interrupted them.
“There is a priest at the door who would like to speak with you, Governor.”
Nehemiah rose to go and both of his brothers rose with him. He wanted to command them to stay at the table with their wives and finish their dinner, but he already knew they wouldn’t listen to him. The young priest who waited just inside his door was a stranger. “I come only as a messenger, Governor Nehemiah. One of the chief priests, Shemaiah ben Delaiah, would like to speak with you. He has received a word for you from God.”
“A word from God?” It sounded ominous. Yet maybe this was the answer he’d been praying for. Nehemiah had asked the Almighty One to make it clear whether or not he was being called to serve as Judah’s king, as the people were begging him to do. Ever since the prophetess had first planted the idea in his mind, it had continued to grow and fill his thoughts, especially as the wall neared completion and his current leadership role came to an end. “Why didn’t Shemaiah come to speak to me himself?” he asked.
“He is shut in at his home.”
“Shut in? What do you mean?”
“He is a devout man of God and has given up worldly interests to remain in his house and devote himself to spiritual pursuits. He is one of the Holy One’s prophets,” the priest added with a touch of awe in his voice.
A few minutes later, after successfully talking his brothers out of joining him, Nehemiah left with the young priest and two guards to walk to Shemaiah’s house. It was only a short distance up the Hill of Ophel from his governor’s residence in an area where many of the temple priests had their homes, adjacent to the wall they had helped build. Nehemiah’s curiosity grew with each step he took, wondering what the chief priest would say. But at the same time he remained alert, half-expecting to be ambushed. If he were honest, he had to admit that he coveted the role of Judah’s next king. It would be a fitting reward for accomplishing his God-given task of rebuilding the wall. He found himself hoping that it would turn out to be Shemaiah’s message to him from the Holy One.
He knocked on the door of the priest’s modest home. “Governor Nehemiah. You came,” Shemaiah said after opening it. Then he surprised Nehemiah by stepping outside and closing the door behind him instead of inviting him inside. “Quickly now—we must leave here. You are in great danger.” He walked further up the hill, his steps brisk as he headed toward the main stairway to the temple mount. Nehemiah and his two guards had to hurry to keep up.
“Where are we going?” Nehemiah asked.
“We can’t meet in my home. It’s much too dangerous.” Shemaiah appeared very dignified and prosperous—wearing a robe of fine linen, his graying hair and beard neatly trimmed—for a man who was shut away and devoted to spiritual pursuits. He wasn’t at all the wild-eyed, fanatical prophet Nehemiah had expected to meet. But why was he leading him through the dark streets? And where were they going? His actions seemed very odd.
They reached the temple stairway, and Nehemiah had to watch his step as they climbed by the light of a pale crescent moon. His guards also had difficulty seeing their way, but Shemaiah flew up the steps as if torches lit his way. He crossed the temple’s outer courtyard, where the worshipers gathered each morning and evening, and Nehemiah guessed that Shemaiah would take him to one of the many side chambers beyond the public courtyards. The priests and Levites had robing rooms back there, storerooms for the tithes, and kitchens to prepare the meal offerings. But Shemaiah led them straight through the gate from the outer court, across the court of men, and
up to the entrance to the inner court, where the priests ministered at the altar of sacrifice. The coals on the huge altar glowed red in the darkness and Nehemiah smelled the aroma of roasting meat. He halted.
“Wait. Where are we going?” He had the unsettling feeling that if he went any farther he would be trespassing on sacred ground.
“Tell your men to wait out here,” Shemaiah said. “You and I need to meet in the house of God, inside the temple. We need to close the temple doors because men are coming to kill you. By night they are coming to kill you.”
Nehemiah’s heart raced out of control. “You want me to seek refuge in the temple courtyard, at the altar of asylum?”
“No. Even that’s too dangerous. You need to seek refuge inside the sanctuary. It’s the only safe place for you until the city gates are finished.”
“Inside the holy sanctuary?” Nehemiah wondered if he was dreaming, if this was a nightmare.
“Yes! You must! Your assassins are already in this city, and you don’t know who they are.”
Nehemiah was well aware of the conspiracy of nobles from Malkijah’s reports. He was about to tell Shemaiah that he did know who some of his enemies were, but he hesitated, wondering if he could trust the priest. “My guards will protect me.”
“They won’t be able to stop your assassins. Come.” Shemaiah stepped into the priests’ courtyard, beckoning him to follow.
Fear pounded through Nehemiah and quickened his breath. He fought the urge to duck low, to find a place to hide, to save himself. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to follow Shemaiah. Only the anointed priests could enter God’s holy sanctuary.
“Hurry!” the priest urged.
Nehemiah shook his head. “Should a man like me run away? Should one like me go into the temple to save his life? I won’t go! I’m not a coward who runs away or hides when there’s danger.”
“But I have a word from God for you. This is what you must do. You’re His chosen leader. Your life must be spared at all costs.”
