On This Foundation (11 page)

Nava couldn't hear what he said, but judging by the way he gestured in her direction, she guessed it had something to do with her. Penina stared unhappily at her feet, nodding in agreement. Nava's skin prickled with a thousand needles. She busied herself with cleaning up, her hands clumsy as she washed the buckets and bowls and put everything away. She must have done something wrong. When she allowed herself to look up again, Aaron was gone. She was so relieved she had to sit down on a stool until her legs regained their strength.

At last she drew a calming breath and carried the finished ball of cheese to Penina, who was stirring a pot on the hearth. “This goat cheese is ready, Penina. Shall I season it with herbs today or leave it plain?” The little woman turned and studied her for so long that Nava was afraid she would have to sit down again.

“W-what is it? Did I do something wrong? Is Master Aaron angry because I spilled the milk this morning?”

“No, little one. You didn't do anything wrong. Your only fault is that you're much too pretty.” Nava's heart hammered painfully as she waited for Penina to finish. “It seems you've captured our young master's attention, and he wants you taken
out of the goat pen and the kitchen.” Nava covered her mouth to hold back a cry. “You're going to work in the house from now on, serving our masters their meals.”

“I-I can't do it . . . I don't know how. I would drop something or spill food on someone and—”

“Listen. It's a step up for you. Serving is a much better job than working in the smelly goat pen.”

The courtyard blurred as tears filled Nava's eyes. “But I love working with my goats. I don't want to—”

“It doesn't matter what you want,” Penina said harshly. She yanked the cheese from Nava's hand and turned her back on her, walking away. Nava followed, pleading with her.

“But our master asked me on the first day what I was good at doing, and I told him I was a goat keeper. Please, can't you speak with him and tell him I don't know anything about serving meals?”

“That's not how it works. You don't speak a word to our master unless he speaks to you.”

“But I—”

Penina whirled to face her again. “When he gives you a job to do, you do it—whether you like it or not.”

“But the way Master Aaron watches me . . . I'm so scared! There are dark corners and back hallways inside the house—and fewer people to see what's happening. What if he comes after me and . . . and . . .” She swallowed, unable to say the words out loud. “Would everyone look the other way like they always do and be too afraid to defend me? You said Master Malkijah would never believe my story. He would believe his son's lies.”

The little woman stared at her for so long that Nava couldn't tell if she was going to pull her into her arms or yell at her some more. She did neither. “I know what you're afraid of,” she finally said. “And I won't lie to you and tell you not to worry.” Nava covered her mouth again as a sob escaped. “But you're
a bondservant. You must do whatever your master says. And you must obey his sons, too.”

“Penina . . . please . . .”

“Take off your apron and go. The housekeeper's name is Ruth. She'll see that you're bathed and cleaned up, and she'll teach you what you need to know.” Nava didn't move, rooted to the spot by fear, powerless to change what was happening. “At least you won't smell like the goats anymore. And you'll finally have a pair of shoes that aren't falling apart.” Nava still couldn't move. “Don't just stand there, girl, go on!”

“I-I need to tell Shimon—”

“I'll tell him. Get going.”

But Nava saw Penina wipe her eyes as she turned away.

J
ERUSALEM

T
he summer afternoon was too hot to do anything, even nap. Chana's clothing clung uncomfortably to her skin as she sat in the shade in her courtyard, trying to stitch the hem of her cloak. She could barely grip the needle in her slippery fingers, and pushing it through the coarse cloth quickly became frustrating. At last she gave up and flung the project aside. Nothing seemed to move in the motionless air. Even the birds and insects were silent. So when the hurried slap of sandals against the cobblestone street broke the stillness, she sat up to listen. The sound halted outside her house, and a moment later her father burst through the courtyard gate, leaving it to swing wide open behind him. Sweat dampened his brow and ran down his flushed, overheated face. Chana sprang to her feet.

“Abba, what's wrong?”

He grinned. “Nothing, my angel. Yudit! Sarah! Come, come! I have a very important job for you to do!” Chana's sisters tumbled outside, awakened from their nap, but Abba was speaking so rapidly that Chana couldn't make sense of what he was saying. Something about preparing food for a splendid banquet. Had the heat gotten to him? She grabbed his arm to halt his
wild gesturing. “Slow down, Abba, and tell us again: Who's coming to dinner?”

“The governor of Judah!”

“Governor Sanballat? Surely not!”

“No, no. Our own governor.”

“I thought Governor Ezra retired,” Sarah said. She and Yudit had hurried outside without putting on their sandals and Yudit had to dance from foot to foot on the hot paving stones.

“No, no, no. Not Ezra. We have a
new
governor, Nehemiah ben Hacaliah.”

Yudit squinted at their father in the bright sunlight, her flowing mane of hair still tousled from her nap. “Since when?”

“He arrived two nights ago, all the way from Susa. Rebbe Ezra introduced him to our council members this morning and presented us with his official commission as governor. It was sealed by King Artaxerxes himself. We must prepare a banquet immediately to welcome him to our home.”

“I think the sun has addled your brain, Abba,” Chana said. She led him to the bench in the shade where she had been sitting. “You can't possibly expect us to cook a meal for such an important man.”

“Especially in this heat,” Sarah added.

“Besides, what makes you think he would even come to our humble home?” Yudit said. She had brought Abba a cup of water and stood fanning his face to cool him while he swallowed a gulp.

“Because it's already settled, my angels. He has agreed to dine with us tonight.” All three of them began protesting at once.

“Tonight!”

“On such short notice?”

“What will we fix?”

“We'll never be ready in time!”

“Rephaiah will be coming, as well,” Abba added after another sip of water. “And also the three men who have volunteered
to serve as the new governor's aides, since he doesn't seem to have brought an entourage with him. I told them all to come after sundown.”

Chana stifled a groan at the mention of Yitzhak's father, Rephaiah. This was getting worse and worse. She always found it difficult to be near him and be reminded of the beloved man they had both lost. Chana quickly tallied nine people to cook for, five guests plus her family. “Well, don't expect much of a banquet, Abba, since you're only giving us four hours to prepare it.”

“I have every confidence in the three of you,” he beamed. “You are your mother's daughters—may she rest in peace. Now I must get back.” He downed the rest of his water and stood.

“Don't run up the hill in this heat,” Yudit warned, but he merely waved his hand and hurried away as quickly as he had come. There was no way around it. They were left with the challenge of producing a meal on this sweltering day in only a few hours.

“Come on, we'd better see what we've got in the storeroom,” Chana said, leading the way.

“Mama would have scolded Abba for an entire month if he'd done this while she was alive,” Yudit said, grumbling as she lifted lids from storage baskets and clay jars to see what was inside.

“But she still would have cooked a feast,” Sarah said, “so we'd better get started. For Abba's sake.”

“At least there's a nice supply of wine from Malkijah,” Chana said, pulling out what remained of his gift. There was no time to slaughter a lamb or goat, let alone roast it, so they did the best they could, preparing a variety of savory dishes and salads and sweets. Chana set the table for nine people and had only moments to wash her face and change her clothes before Abba and their guests arrived.

Her first impression of their new governor was that he was a very good-looking man but arrogant. He met her gaze for only a
moment as Abba introduced each of his daughters to him, then lifted his chin and looked away without responding, his attention distracted by one of his aides. The four other men talked amongst themselves as they crowded inside the courtyard, but she noticed the governor scanning the walls and doorways and gates as if restless to escape. In fact, he studied the space so carefully that Chana expected to hear a dismissive summary of its inadequacies. She fought the urge to remind him that he wasn't in Susa anymore. He could hardly expect to dine in splendor. Even after they sat down at the table to eat, and Abba said the blessing over the wine, the governor remained attentive to every sound that came from beyond the circle of lamplight, as if expecting someone to jump out of hiding. What was he so afraid of?

But his worst fault in Chana's opinion was that he talked business with the other men the entire evening, peppering Abba and Rephaiah with endless questions. He made no effort at all to include her and her sisters in the conversation the way Malkijah had. She was not only bored by the man but furious at his lack of grace in complimenting his hostesses for the meal. Or even thanking them! The governor lacked charm and courtesy and could have been eating sawdust for all the attention he gave to the food.

Chana was staring at the sky above the courtyard later, watching the full moon rise, waiting for the boring evening to end, when the governor began asking what security measures were in place to ensure the safety of Jerusalem's citizens. Chana's chest tightened. She was afraid of what would come next. “Tragically, no measures have been taken,” Rephaiah said. “My son Yitzhak was killed by a gang of intruders when they invaded his home in the night. He and Shallum's daughter, Chana, were about to be wed.” He gestured to her, seated beside Abba.

“Yes, my brother told me about that,” Nehemiah said. He barely glanced at Chana before returning his attention to Rephaiah. “I'm so sorry for the loss of your son. My condolences.”

Chana waited for a word of sympathy for her loss, but it never came. She barely suppressed a huff of disgust as the men continued talking as if she wasn't even there.

“Guards are ineffective. The city is too spread out,” Abba said.

“And there have been other robberies and assaults since the murder, but we've been unable to catch the culprits.”

“Or prevent them from striking again.”

Chana could no longer remain quiet. “Tell me, Governor Nehemiah. What do you plan to do about the violence?”

He glanced at her, as if surprised she was still there and that she knew how to speak. His forehead creased in a frown. “Your question is premature. I arrived only three days ago.” He turned to Chana's father again. “I understand that the residence Governor Ezra used is unoccupied.”

“Yes. It has been ever since he and his family moved out. Of course you'll want to live there.”

“Would you like us to hire a staff of servants for you?” one of the aides asked.

“Yes, if you would.”

Servants! Official residences! How could Nehemiah talk about such trivial things in nearly the same breath as Yitzhak's murder? Chana knew she was being rude, but she rose from the table without a word and went inside the house. She had to feel her way around her room without a lamp, but she located her bed and sank down on it, kicking off her sandals. The heat in the stuffy darkness made it difficult to breathe, and sweat glued her clothing to her body in a matter of minutes. But anything was preferable to sitting with Judah's arrogant new governor a moment longer. She listened to the distant mumble of conversation, hoping her sisters wouldn't follow her to ask what was wrong. But their manners were better than hers, and they remained at the table, enduring the boring conversation and their guest's staid gloominess.

She had begun to doze, exhausted after cooking the huge meal, when she awoke to Abba's boisterous voice. He was bidding his guests good night at last. Chana stayed where she was. Why bother being polite when the new governor had acted so rudely?

“Are you all right, Chana?” Yudit asked when she and Sarah finally came to bed.

“What happened to you?”

“Abba was afraid you were sick.” Yudit carried an oil lamp to the niche beside Chana's bed, then sat down beside her.

“Tell Abba I'm fine,” she said, yawning. “I decided I'd had enough of our new governor for one night.”

“Did it make you sad when they talked about Yitzhak?” Sarah asked.

“No, it made me furious!” Chana sat up. “He never offered a single word of condolence to me, only to Yitzhak's father. When I asked him a question, he wouldn't even condescend to answer it, as if it was beneath him to talk to someone as unimportant as me. As if I was stupid for asking.”

“That's still no excuse to get up and leave,” Sarah said. “Just because our guest was rude, it doesn't mean you should be rude in return.”

“I left because it was clear that my presence wasn't necessary, nor would my absence be noticed.”

“You didn't even come back to say good night. And he's the governor.”

“I don't care if he's the emperor! He barely acknowledged our presence, he didn't speak a word to us or even bother to remember our names, and he never offered a word of thanks or praise for the meal we worked so hard to prepare.”

“He certainly was different from Malkijah ben Recab, wasn't he?” Yudit asked. She stood and pulled her robe off over her head. “Remember how charming he was when he came for dinner?”

Chana remembered. The contrast between the two men couldn't be greater. And Malkijah's sympathy and his understanding of her grief had touched her. “Well, at least we won't see Governor Nehemiah again after tonight,” she said. “Once he moves into his own residence with his staff of servants, I'm sure he won't lower himself to dine in our humble house again. Or repay our invitation.”

“Did you notice the way he kept looking all around while we ate?” Yudit asked. “As if someone might be crouching in the shadows, waiting to attack him? He never stopped. Does he even close his eyes at night?”

“I noticed,” Chana said. “He struck me as a man who has so many enemies he can never relax. And as arrogant as he was, it's little wonder he has enemies.”

“Even when he did manage a faint smile,” Yudit said, “his eyes looked sad. And wary.”

“You two should stop gossiping about him,” Sarah said. She stood with her hands on her hips the way Mama used to do when she scolded them. “Not only is gossip wrong, but you should show a little respect for our new governor.”

“It isn't gossip if it's true,” Chana said.

Yudit giggled. “Abba is going to be mad when he finds out you weren't really sick, Chana—that you were just being rude.”

She sighed. Abba rarely got angry, and he always forgave quickly. But knowing that he would be disappointed in her made Chana regret leaving the table. “Let's blow out the lamp and go to sleep. It's been a long day. All that work getting ready and not a smidgen of thanks or acknowledgment.”

They lay in the dark for a long moment before Sarah said, “You have to admit that he was handsome, though.”

“A handsome exterior without warmth or grace is like a gold ring in a pig's snout.”

“Chana! You're terrible!” Sarah said.

“Oh, go to sleep.”