by Mesu Andrews
Hosea pondered each word, searching for Uzziah’s hidden message. Silence hung between them, and Jezzy began to squirm. Hosea bounced and shushed him, kissing his forehead, promising Yuval’s candied figs. But the boy wriggled and stiffened, a toddler needing space to roam.
“Jotham,” Uzziah said, “would you take Hosea’s son to his ima? Hananiah will escort you.”
“But Abba, I need to hear what you say to the prophet if I’m going to rule—”
“Please, Jotham. Do as I ask.”
Hosea relinquished his son to the new coregent. “He’s still a little wobbly on the uneven ground. You’ll need to hold his hand.”
Jotham’s smile was kind. “I have a son of my own about his age. His name is Ahaz—red curls and a temper to match.” He laid a hand on Hosea’s shoulder. “I’ll watch over him.” Cautiously, he approached Jezzy. “Hey, little one. Let’s go find your ima.”
Hananiah followed them, jaw flexing, fists clenched.
When they were safely out of hearing range, Uzziah spoke in low tones. “A king’s love can’t keep his son safe forever, Hosea.”
“Is King Zechariah—”
“Israel’s young king still sits on his abba’s throne, but my spies in Israel’s court say Jeroboam’s trusted advisors are plotting to kill Zechariah. His abba’s friends, Hosea—men who watched the boy grow up. Zechariah has ruled Israel for only a few Sabbaths.” Uzziah’s voice faltered. “What about my son? My advisors?” He rushed on, not waiting for an answer. “I’ve worked hard to prepare Jotham for the throne. Priests began teaching him the Law when he was a little older than your Jezreel, but now he’s afraid to enter the temple because of Yahweh’s wrath against me.” He pinned Hosea with a stare. “Will the Lord’s punishment last forever? Will my advisors betray me or my son?” This time he waited, almost daring the prophet to remain silent.
“I wish I knew the answers, my friend.”
“Why don’t you?” He spat the words—more an accusation than a question. “Plead with Yahweh. Find out His plan. Both you and Amos have prophesied that Israel will be destroyed and taken into exile. When? I need to know if Assyria will move against them now, while Israel’s power is divided. Will they come as far south as Judah?”
Hosea shook his head, his own frustration mounting. “It doesn’t work that way, Uzziah. If I could shout at the heavens, asking anything I desired, don’t you think I’d have a few answers of my own by now?”
More turmoil roiled behind the king’s eyes, but he held back. Hosea couldn’t define it, but some emotion pressed on Uzziah’s shoulders and defeated Judah’s once-great king. “If Yahweh’s prophets have no answers, how can I hope to save this nation—or my son?”
The king’s question slapped Hosea like an offended virgin. “Prophets are mere mortals, and you will never save Judah or your son. But Yahweh has all the answers and has promised to save us all.” Uzziah’s head fell forward, and Hosea knew his frustration. “We must remain faithful, my friend, and then trust Yahweh to protect those we love most.”
“If I didn’t know better, I might think you were avoiding me.” Yuval eyed Gomer while flattening the barley dough with her hands. “Would you have invited me over if Aya wasn’t locked away for her wedding week?”
“Since when do you need an invitation?” Gomer smiled and kissed the woman’s cheek, the subtle scent of coriander warming her heart. She’d missed her friend. “You’ve been traveling with Amos.” She paused, considered Yuval’s slight frown. “Why is that? You told me you never traveled with Amos. Why start now?”
Gomer pulled over a goatskin rug, plopping Jezzy into her lap. She grabbed a few playthings to keep his hands busy, and Sampson joined them, never far away when she was home. Yuval seemed to be choosing her words carefully, but then an impish grin and true sparkle lit her eyes.
“Can’t an old woman enjoy a little adventure?” A little giggle passed between them. “Amos invited me to join him, and I’ve been lonely since you’re working more at the pottery shop.” She halted her bread making and captured Gomer’s chin, examining the windows of her soul. “What keeps you so busy at the pottery shop? I’ve come over as early as sunrise, and you’re already gone. What could you be doing that early?”
Gomer pulled away from her grasp and retrieved one of Jezzy’s wooden blocks, happy for the distraction. Yuval knew her too well. What if she read the guilt on her face? “I prepare the leather-hard pots for burnishing. It’s a technique Amoz has taught me. I take a small, smooth stone and polish the pottery to a shine.”
“Mm-hmm.” Yuval seemed intent on her barley bread project again, slapping the small, round loaves on the outer surface of the clay oven.
Relieved, Gomer sighed and wound Jezzy’s black curls around her finger. She loved Yuval and was thankful for her help, but she had also invited her over to determine if news of her morning “business” had reached the camp’s gossip mills. She couldn’t come right out and ask if Yuval had heard rumors. Perhaps more talk about the pottery shop would remind her if she’d heard anything.
“Amoz let me throw my first pot on the kick wheel.”
“Oh my!” Yuval looked up from her barley bread, stricken. “I’m not sure I approve of all this throwing and kicking of pottery, dear.”
Gomer giggled, and Jezreel clapped his hands. “No, no, Yuval. ‘Throwing a pot’ means Amoz taught me to take a wet lump of clay and place it on a turning wheel, which you keep spinning by ‘kicking’ it. And then you mold that lump into a pot by shaping it with wet hands.”
“Oh! Well, I can see why my comment sounded so silly.” She winked and turned the barley loaves over to brown the other side. “So, you enjoy working the clay? Don’t you miss being home with little Jezreel?”
“Of course I miss him, but Aya takes good care of him. And yes, I really enjoy my work.” Gomer’s heart thudded. She loved this dear woman and decided she didn’t want to know if Yuval had heard any rumors or suspected the worst of her. “What about you? Do you enjoy your travels with Amos?”
“We have a lovely time, dear. Now, tell me again why you spend so much time at the pottery shop?” She reached for the cooking pot and lentils. “Jezreel is almost a year old, and he needs his ima.”
Gomer remained silent, watching her friend turn the lamb on the spit over the cooking fire. “Aya has been a godsend,” she said, swallowing hard. Her stomach rolled, nerves getting the best of her. “I’ve been home more now that she and Isaiah are married.” How could she tell Yuval she’d be gone by spring if her harlotry continued to pay well? Would she take Jezzy with her, or could she leave without him? She’d already saved a handsome sum of silver.
Yuval leaned over the table, holding Gomer’s gaze. “I would be happy to resume our cooking lessons, Daughter. As a wife and ima, you should learn to feed your family.” Her eyes were full of love, but the rebuke stung.
Gomer didn’t want to feed her family. She wanted excitement, adventure. She wanted a man to love her. Was that so terrible? So unfathomable? Her stomach lurched, and she felt as if she might be sick. Her head swam, and she tried to focus on Jezreel and Sampson.
Yuval glanced at her, concern etching her features. “Gomer, you’re pale. I’m worried about you. Are you all right?”
Before she could answer, Gomer hoisted Jezreel out of her lap and dove for the nearest bowl. After emptying her stomach, she sat up and met her friend’s beaming smile.
“You’re pregnant again, aren’t you! That’s why you invited me over—to tell me the good news!”
Stricken by the possibility, Gomer sorted the thousand thoughts racing through her mind—first and foremost, the names of men she’d lain with and the glaring absence of her husband on that list. This could not be Hosea’s child. Mother Asherah, please no!
“Have you told Hosea yet?” Yuval had picked up Jezreel and was bouncing him on her hip. “Oh, he’ll be so excited!”
“No, Yuval. I haven’t told him, and no . . .” She buried her face i
n her hands. “He won’t be excited.” How could she tell her one friend of the betrayal? Silence stretched into awkwardness, and when she looked up, she saw tears in Yuval’s eyes.
“I love you, my little Gomer, no matter what you’ve done, but you must tell me the truth. Our friendship deserves the truth.”
Gomer’s defenses broke under the weight of Yuval’s kindness. The woman didn’t deserve the awful truth. She didn’t deserve to know the countless times Gomer visited the pottery caves—with so many men, she’d stopped asking their names, stopped noticing their faces. The three pottery runners were supposed to be discreet, but their discretion disappeared when they experienced Gomer’s unique talents. At the time, she hadn’t minded their referrals, since the poorer customers paid less silver, thereby requiring more volume. But she didn’t have Merav to feed her pomegranate rinds and wild carrot seeds. In the absence of precautions, her womb had grown fertile.
Merav. Gomer looked into the face that had once reminded her so much of her old friend. Yuval didn’t deserve the awful truth; she deserved a pretty lie.
“Hosea is angry that I find such fulfillment at the pottery shop.” She paused to formulate the rest of her plan, reaching up to take Yuval’s hand. “I don’t want to tell him I’m pregnant yet. Will you help me learn to cook and become a better ima before I tell him about the new baby?”
Yuval’s eyes glistened with happy tears. “I think you’ve made a wise decision, Daughter. Your children are young for such a short while, but you can throw and kick pots for the rest of your life.” She chuckled, and Gomer smiled with her, issuing a silent prayer to the Asherah hidden under her mattress.
Mother Goddess, give me your feminine charms that I might become enticing to my husband again. For if I cannot tempt him, he will stone me as an adulteress.
25
• PROVERBS 6:26 •
A prostitute’s price is only a loaf of bread, but a married woman hunts for your life itself.
The days had grown shorter, and Jonah was growing weaker. “I’m sorry, my son, but I’m too tired to continue today.”
Hosea leaned over his bed and kissed his forehead. “Rest a while. Whatever Micah is cooking over there smells wonderful. I may eat your share, Jonah.” He glanced at the young prophet, noticing his tear-streaked cheeks, and offered a conciliatory grin. They shared a sorrowful nod—silent understanding that their teacher and friend was failing quickly.
Micah wiped two bowls with a cloth he’d slung over his shoulder. “I’ve made plenty of vegetable stew. Stay if you’d like.” He sniffed, wiping his nose with the same cloth.
Hosea chuckled. “I think I’ll go home. Yuval is cooking tonight, and at least I know what goes into her stew.”
“What?” Micah feigned offense, this time blowing his nose on the cloth and rousing a grin from Jonah.
Hosea walked out laughing, but sobered as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. Lord, give me strength to face Gomer again. His stomach clenched. For two full moons he’d eaten his evening meals while sitting across from his wife in excruciating silence. They both talked to Jezzy but seldom uttered a word to each other. He was waiting—on Gomer to change, on Yahweh to speak, on life to improve.
The sunset reached through the sycamore trees, casting long shadows on the short path between Jonah’s house and Hosea’s. He extended his walking stick, scattering the dust and slapping scrub bushes to alert any creatures of his presence. A sudden streak of black shot out from his left. The desert cobra had struck and missed, then darted into the underbrush on the opposite side of the path. Hosea was overtaken by a full-bodied shudder.
He quickened his pace and considered asking Yuval if he could borrow a cat to accompany him on excursions. Sampson had eaten twice his weight in lizards and small house snakes. Still, it was a ridiculous thought. He knew a cat couldn’t protect him from a cubit-long cobra, but Yuval’s furry little creatures might at least warn him if a viper was near.
Hosea arrived home, reached for the door latch, and noted his shaking hand. The snake had rattled him. Or was it Jonah’s weakened state? Perhaps both. He opened the door and found Yuval and Gomer laughing and . . . cooking. A sight he hadn’t witnessed since before his wife was pregnant.
“Shalom, Hosea!” Yuval’s cheery voice welcomed him, and he noticed his wife maintained a tentative smile. “Gomer has learned to make barley bread. Would you like to try some?”
He set aside his walking stick and removed his heavy robe. Jezreel chased the cat in circles, his favorite pastime now that he was walking. “Sure.” He reached for the bread offered by his wife. “Thank you.”
She brushed his fingers as he took the morsel. Fire raced up his arm. How long had it been since she’d touched him?
“Well, I should get home,” Yuval prattled on, clapping flour from her hands. “Amos was supposed to return from Beersheba today. I didn’t see him after midday, but perhaps he made it home by now.” She wiped her hands on her apron and hugged her student. “Listen, Daughter, you’ve done very well today. I have confidence that you’ll learn quickly. The lentil stew should be ready for tomorrow’s midday meal, and the roasted lamb and vegetables should satisfy your hunger tonight.”
Hosea lifted an eyebrow, marveling that Gomer would know the first thing about roasted lamb and vegetables. Aya had previously done all the cooking and serving for their family, and he assumed she’d continue after her wedding week was over.
“I’ve lost track. When will our newlyweds emerge from their wedded bliss?” he asked, throwing out the question to whichever woman felt like answering.
The ladies exchanged knowing glances, and Yuval nodded, seeming to encourage Gomer’s answer.
“I’ve asked Yuval to help me cook. Aya and Isaiah will be starting their own family, and I’ll need to take over her duties.” Gomer looked at the floor, hands gripped humbly before her.
Suspicion niggled at Hosea’s spirit. She had just spoken more civil words than he’d heard since he’d returned from Israel.
Yuval pecked a kiss on Gomer’s cheek. “I’ll be back tomorrow to help with the stew.” Then she hurried out the door, leaving the little family alone in the looming darkness.
“Could you light a few more lamps and prepare the table mat? I’ll bring over the lamb and vegetables.” Gomer moved toward the cooking fire, and Hosea obeyed, keeping a watchful eye on this stranger in his wife’s body.
She’d been gone when he awoke this morning—the same as every morning. What had changed in one day’s time to create this meek, obedient wife? He could think of only one thing—Yuval. Hosea knew the older woman held great influence over his wife’s emotions. Amos and Yuval had been away on trade journeys a lot recently, so Gomer hadn’t spent much time with her friend. Perhaps today Yuval had convinced her that being a wife and ima were her most important calling. Seems too easy. He watched her carefully as he placed two goatskins beside their leather table mat and corralled Jezreel on his lap.
“Thank you.” She placed the platter of meat and vegetables between the plates and filled a mug of watered wine at each plate. “Here, I’ll take him.” Jezreel reached for her, and she swayed in time to a silent tune, cradling the toddler in her arms.
Hosea watched her while he ate and marveled at the way she loved Jezzy. He’d been wrong about her. She did know how to love. His heart seized as her singing washed over him, filling the awkward silence between them.
When he finished his meal, he stood and tried to lift Jezreel from her arms. “Here, I’ll take him while you eat.”
But she pulled the boy away, shushing Hosea while still humming her lullaby. The child was fast asleep. After a long, meaningful gaze, she said, “I’ll go put him in our bed.”
Hosea’s heart was in his throat as he watched her walk away—the sway of her hips, the glide of her movement across the dirt-packed floor. His head swam. Was it the wine, or was he still in love with his wife? Before he could answer, she reappeared, her eyes sparkling flecks of
green, blue, and copper. She removed her veil, and auburn curls floated to her shoulders.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, suddenly as nervous as a new groom. He spooned vegetables onto her plate and felt her arms slide around his waist. Was it nerves or anticipation that made him shudder?
“I must tell you I’m sorry, Hosea,” she whispered. He stood and faced her, and she melted into his arms. “I realized after talking with Yuval that I’ve been selfish and let my desires push aside the needs of our family. Can you forgive me?” She held him as if he was her lifeline—her anchor in a storm of emotions she kept buried in her downturned face.
“Yes, my wife. I forgive you.” He kissed the top of her head and worked his way down her forehead, her cheeks, and then found her lips.
“I want to make you happy,” she said, seemingly as starved for passion as he felt. “I need you to love me, Hosea. Love me.”
Yahweh, have You answered my prayers?
Without waiting for an answer, he allowed his desires to drive him. Yearnings he thought long dead raged until late in the night. She teased him, tempted him, taunted him with the pleasures she had learned in the days of her harlotry. Mad with desire, he gave himself over to her talents. Such a sensuous, amorous wife. He’d been home for eight long Sabbaths, denied the pleasures of the marriage bed because of Gomer’s stubborn rebellion. But no more. He thanked Yahweh for the fire she kindled in his soul and then fell asleep, satiated by the throes of ecstasy.
Gomer awoke in time to empty her stomach into the bowl beside her. She wiped her mouth and tensed, feeling Hosea’s hand on her back.
“Your cooking wasn’t that bad.” His sleepy voice sounded amused.
Relieved, she covered her nakedness and leaned over him with a smile. “We’ll see. You haven’t tried my lentil stew yet.”
He reached up and grabbed her, playfully rolling her into his arms. Her heart ached at the tenderness in his eyes. He hadn’t treated her so sweetly since before Jezreel was born, since before he left for Israel. Then she remembered—she hadn’t given him the chance. His first sight of her upon his return was her sitting in their bedchamber with Asherah in her hand.
