by Mesu Andrews
An ominous grin added to his spite. “Go home to your wife, Prophet. I’ve heard she’s a lonely woman, in need of a man’s touch.”
The words hit their mark, and Hosea sprang to his feet, trembling with rage.
Micah restrained him, whispering, “Come with me now, Master Hosea. You can return when the commander goes back to Jerusalem. Talk with King Uzziah alone.” Micah tugged him toward camp. “Surely Judah’s commander doesn’t live in Tekoa. You’ll have your chance to make a formal complaint when he leaves.”
Gomer stood before the long, polished bronze mirror in her bedchamber, admiring the elegant linen robe and veil. How had she ever lived without Hananiah? In less than a year, he’d brought her back to life, making her feel loved, desired, hopeful again. Though her pregnant form looked more like a camel than a gazelle, Hananiah still came to her every night, his passion unchecked. If anything, her maternal qualities seemed to endear her more to the rugged soldier who held her heart. She twirled in a delighted circle, watching the lightweight blue linen flutter around her. The exquisite color and cloth did much to mask her sins.
A wicked grin creased her lips. But who could prove her sins? Hosea’s fleeting visit and instant passion had given the perfect alibi for her swollen belly. Whenever Tekoa’s gossips began counting moon cycles, she mentioned her husband’s well-timed visit and silenced Yahweh’s priests and prophets as well.
Yuval hadn’t been so easy to fool.
Her friend and self-proclaimed ima had challenged Gomer’s rosy cheeks and rounding middle. “You’re happy about more than making pottery,” she’d grumbled one evening while helping Gomer prepare their meal.
She tried to keep the conversation light, saying, “I’m very good at making pottery.”
But Yuval’s instincts were impeccable, and she recognized Gomer’s jest as a flippant confession. The disappointment in her eyes hurt more than a thousand gossips’ tales. “I love you, Daughter,” she said. “I’m good at that.”
Their visits had become less frequent since then. Yuval traveled a lot with Amos, even brought Gomer a gift from the markets now and then.
Gomer smoothed the soft cloth over her middle and spoke to her reflection. “Too bad she forgot the pomegranate and carrot seeds.” She giggled, patting her tummy. “I will love you, little one, because you are Hananiah’s.” She was certain of it. Perhaps after the baby was born, Hananiah would talk with Uzziah about taking her from Hosea. It was a dream, of course, but Judah’s commander was a man who took what he wanted. She’d witnessed that firsthand.
Though he was kind to her and showered her with gifts from Jerusalem’s market—spices, perfume, linen, and even a gold anklet with bells—he was still a soldier. She placed his newest gift, a gold band, around her arm above the elbow. It hid the bruises well. He hadn’t meant to handle her roughly. She had been slow to retrieve his leather armor last night. He’d said he was sorry.
She twirled again, listening to the sound of the bells on her ankle. Oh, how she loved the sound of bells. Finally. Someone loved her. Hananiah had never actually said the words, but a woman could tell these things.
Was she in love with him?
She thought of Isaiah and Aya, remembering the tenderness of their words and touch. Their love radiated like the warmth of the sun, and Gomer thanked the gods that her children were warmed by it. They spent each day in Aya’s care while Gomer worked at the shop, and when evening came, even Gomer allowed herself a glimpse of this loving family by sharing the evening meal. Tonight Isaiah and Aya had asked to keep the children overnight—to give Gomer an evening of rest.
Hananiah would enjoy a night without the children.
She turned from the mirror and began tidying the bedchamber. Jezzy’s wooden blocks seemed to multiply daily, and Rahmy had acquired three new wool-stuffed balls. Aya spoiled the little princess.
“Gomer?” A deep voice resonated from the front room, sending a pang of fear through her. Darkness hadn’t fallen. Hananiah never visited before dark. He’d said they needed to be discreet. The gossips had rumored him as a customer, but he’d denied it, justifying his visits by claiming he delivered official messages from Hosea.
“Gomer?” The voice drew nearer. It wasn’t Hananiah.
Her heart was in her throat, choking away any sound.
Hosea appeared in the doorway.
“Wha . . . I . . . whe . . .” Hosea breathed half words, his heart at first rejoicing, then horrified. His eyes traveled the length of the woman in his bedchamber. She was dressed in fine linen. He smelled her perfume, saw her kohl-rimmed eyes. And he knew.
“How could you?” Rage coursed through him. He clenched his fists and moved toward her, backing her up as he advanced. “You would have died in Samaria, but I rescued you from Tamir’s brothel. I brought you here, gave you a home.” His throat tightened, but he choked out the words. “I loved you, Gomer.”
“Love?” she spat in his face. “You once questioned me about love, making me feel as if I was the one who didn’t know its meaning. Well, it’s you who needs the lesson, Hosea. You thought because you bought me a veil to wear in public, I was yours to command. But I am not yours. I will never be yours. I—” She grasped her swollen belly and doubled over, reaching for the mattress to steady her.
He stood in the instant silence, still panting with fury. What should he do? They had much to discuss, but she was in no condition at the moment.
“Hosea, go get Yuval.” Before he could respond, she crumpled to the floor and muffled a groan into the mattress. Not knowing what to do, he hovered over her and grasped her shoulders for support. When she was able to lift her face out of the mattress, she shrugged off his hands. “Go! Leave me alone, and get Yuval.”
She wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. He knelt in front of her and spoke calmly. “I just knocked on their door. One of the shepherds told me Amos and Yuval are away on a trade journey.”
He watched a sudden transition—panic turned to resignation. “Leave, Hosea. I’ll do this alone.”
“Do you want me to get Aya?”
She rested her forehead on the mattress and shook her head, her unspoken message clear. She’d felt abandoned all her life. Tonight would be no different.
“You’re not alone, my wife.”
She laughed then, meeting his gaze, the hatred in her eyes staggering. “Your words mean nothing. I’ve been alone all my li—” Her words were cut off by a gasp, and again she buried her face in the mattress, stifling a cry.
A sudden gush of fluid wet the packed dirt beneath her, and Hosea wished with his whole being that Yuval hadn’t gone with Amos on this trip. “What should I do? What can I do to help?”
She offered no answers, seemingly distracted by sheer survival. Cursing the gods and every man she’d ever known, Gomer panted through the contractions in relentless succession. “I don’t know what’s happening. The other two births weren’t like this.” Fear laced her tone, and her eyes darted from Hosea to the bed and then to her stomach. “If I die, tell Jezreel and Rahmy I love them. Please don’t tell them what I was. Tell them I was a good ima. Please, Hosea.” Her pleading was interrupted by the cool breeze of Yahweh’s presence. It blew through their bedchamber and lifted Gomer’s copper curls from her shoulder. Fear was replaced by terror. “What was that?”
“That was the Lord.” Hosea chuckled, caressing her cheek. “He’s come to anoint the moment.”
“He’s come to kill my baby,” she said, looking resigned and suddenly humbled. “I suppose I deserve it, but my baby is innocent, Hosea. Can’t you reason with Him? Beg Him for the child’s life? Please . . .” Another contraction tore at her, causing her to cry out.
Hosea held her, letting her lean into him. “Yahweh isn’t here to kill anyone.” He whispered constant reassurance as she fought the pain, uncertain what she heard or if she heard anything he said. Hosea sat beside the bed, locking his shoulder against hers, his back feeling as if it would break. “Gomer,
this can’t be the best position for you to endure labor. Doesn’t Yuval have some sort of contraption for women to use while birthing?”
A hint of a smile creased her lips. “It’s called a birthing stool, and I have no idea who used it last or where it is. But if you’d help me squat with my back against the wall, I’d be in the same position as the birthing stool.”
Relief washed over him. Finally, a task to accomplish! Hosea lifted her into his arms—even heavy with child, she weighed little more than two sacks of grain.
But before he could position her against the wall, she cried, “Wait!” Another contraction gripped her. She buried her head in his neck, and the scent of cloves overwhelmed him. His heart twisted in his chest. Yahweh, how can I love her still? After all she’s done to hurt me, how can I still—
The gentle voice of Yahweh’s Spirit echoed inside Hosea: You will name him Lo-Ammi—Not My People—for the Israelites are no longer My people and I am no longer their Ehyeh—no longer their I Am. But a day is coming when the people of Israel and Judah will be reunited and become so numerous, they’ll not be able to be counted. I will sow My people, and they’ll grow in the land of their living God. Great will be the day of Jezreel, and in the place where it was said Lo-Ruhamah—Not Loved—I will call them Ruhamah, and where they were called Lo-Ammi—Not My People—I will call them Ammi.
“Hosea, did you hear me?”
He realized Gomer had spoken to him but didn’t know what she’d said.
“You can put me down—oh, not yet, not yet . . .” Another contraction seized her, and she held her breath against the pain. When it lasted longer than her breath could sustain, she gasped for more air. Finally released from the pain, she lost all color. “I’m dizzy, Hosea. Don’t put me down. I think I’m going to faint.”
“Well, you’ve got to breathe, Gomer!” His frustrated observation came out with more venom than he intended.
“And what makes you the expert on childbirth?” she shot back. “In your vast experience, have all the women you’ve helped breathed their way to healthy—aaahhhh!”
“Breathe!” he shouted at her, startling her into obedience. “That’s it. Breathe, Gomer.” Yahweh’s cool breeze blew on them again, and this time she inhaled deeply of His refreshing. The contraction ebbed, and she melted into Hosea’s arms, exhausted. He kissed her forehead and whispered, “Are you ready to sit by the wall?”
She nodded, and he placed her feet on the floor, back against the wall. Hosea assessed the awkward position and dared amend the solution, lifting her slightly and perching behind her. He settled her between his legs, laying her back against his chest.
“Rest your arms on my thighs,” he said. “It will keep you elevated without requiring as much strength from your legs.” He leaned around to kiss her cheek. “All right. I’m here. Yahweh is here. You will have a healthy baby boy tonight.”
She lolled her head against his shoulder. “A boy?”
“Mm-hmm.” He brushed the copper curls from her sweaty forehead.
The cool breeze flowed with the next contraction, helping her breathe through the pain. On and on it went through the night.
You are so beautiful, my Gomer, so strong and full of life. “Beautiful, you’re beautiful . . . you’re doing a beautiful job. Keep breathing.”
After one especially long contraction, her head lolled against his chest. Had she fainted? Fear nipped at the edges of his heart. He strummed the fingers on her limp hand as he’d done when they were children. At first he thought she hadn’t noticed, but then he heard a quiet sniff and saw tears mixed with sweat running down her cheeks.
Her face scrunched, and he thought another contraction would overtake her.
No. A sob instead. “Thank you for not hating me, Hosea.” The tender moment passed when she groaned, “Ohhhhh, I’ve got to push!”
In less time than a hike from Jerusalem to Tekoa, Hosea witnessed the most beautiful sight on earth: Gomer giving birth in Yahweh’s presence.
With her final push, the baby slipped onto the goatskin and Hosea hugged the woman he’d loved all his life. “He’s beautiful, Gomer.”
“How can you stand to look at him? Or me.” Her voice was weak, but the emptiness was more than fatigue.
He left his place behind her, hurrying to find a blanket to wrap Lo-Ammi. For the moment, he must ignore his wife’s comment and rub the child with salt—he knew at least that much about newborns.
As he lifted the babe into a blanket, he was startled to see Gomer have another contraction. “Are you having twins?” He was near panic. Yahweh had only told him of one child!
She shook her head, the contraction making it impossible to explain. He watched the miracle of afterbirth being delivered, amazed by Gomer’s unruffled knowledge of these womanly things. She gave him direction on how to rub the boy with salt—he’d done it wrong—how to dispose of the afterbirth, what herbs to pack into her womb. Never had he imagined such a world existed, this culture of women. He was astounded, astonished, awed.
When finally their tasks were complete and Gomer was settled with the babe at her breast, he sat on the mattress beside her. “Do you remember Yahweh’s presence during the birth?” She didn’t respond. Didn’t flinch. “You asked how I could look at you, how I could look at your baby. Yahweh has commanded that we name your son Lo-Ammi—Not My People.” He watched pain and rebellion replace her indifference. “But it was the second part of His message that gives me hope that we’ll be a family again, Gomer. All of us.”
Her head shot up, eyes full of fire. “You name my son ‘Not My People’ and then expect to claim us as your family? I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s how you’ve always treated me. You promise friendship, marriage, family—and then you leave, Hosea. You always leave.” She turned her face away, closing her eyes—and evidently her heart.
If he were sitting in her place, wouldn’t he think the same thing? Yahweh, how can I tell her of Your promises when they seem so far away, so impossible? I can trust You because I’ve seen You prove faithful, but Gomer has been hurt and abandoned again and again—sometimes because of my obedience to You. He sat beside her in silence, unsure if he should tell her the rest of Yahweh’s message. What if sharing the truth pushed her farther from the true God?
In the stillness, Yahweh again spoke to Hosea’s spirit: When Israel was a child, I loved him, and I called my son out of Egypt. The more I called them, the farther they went away. They sacrificed to other gods—the Baals—and they burned incense to idols. I was the one who took them by the hand and taught them to walk. But they didn’t realize that I led them with cords of human kindness, with ropes of love. I removed the yokes from their necks. I bent down and fed them.
Hosea realized that in this too, Gomer was like Israel. Yahweh had been leading her, revealing Himself, since she was a child, but she refused to see Him. She’d interpreted His restraints of kindness as a yoke of rules.
“Gomer,” he said haltingly, “I know it seems to you as though I’ve done nothing but abandon you, and you may believe Yahweh is some vindictive judge.”
“Leave me alone, Hosea,” she said, turning toward the wall and swaddling the baby beside her.
“I may leave you alone for a day, a Sabbath, even many cycles of the moon, but you are my wife forever. And you are Yahweh’s child for eternity. He will never leave you alone, Gomer. He is with you even when I am not.” His declaration was met with silence, and he wondered if she’d fallen asleep after her all-night delivery.
Determined to be obedient, he whispered Yahweh’s words to the baby beside his ima. “Your name is Lo-Ammi—Not My People—but a day is coming when the people of Israel and Judah will be reunited and become numerous. The living God will sow His people—Jezreel—and great will be that day when Jezzy unites this family. And though your sister was named Lo-Ruhamah—Not Loved—we will call her Ruhamah, and though you are named Lo-Ammi, little one, we will call you Ammi.”
Gomer pretended to be asleep
, held her breath until she felt Hosea kiss her forehead and leave their bedchamber. Quiet sobs racked her exhausted body at the words he’d spoken over her new son. How could he show her such kindness? How could he seem to love children of unfaithfulness—Rahmy, who was certainly born of another man’s seed, and now Ammi, who by the chiseled, rugged features of his little face, was clearly Hananiah’s child?
One thought terrified her more than any other. Yahweh is real. She couldn’t deny it any longer. She’d felt the cool breeze of His presence on a stifling summer night—inside her house. Yes, Hosea’s god was real, and He seemed intent on making her life miserable. Perhaps when she was strong again, she could escape to Asherah’s grove and ask a priestess for wisdom. How does one evade a god?
Turning her face into the lamb’s-wool pillow, she released her confused sobs. Sleep. She needed sleep. She must think with a clear mind to find a way of escape from Hosea and his god.
32
• ECCLESIASTES 12:6 •
Remember your Creator before the silver cord is snapped, the golden bowl is broken, the pitcher is smashed near the spring.
Hosea peeked around the corner of their bedchamber doorway, watching his wife’s shoulders shake while she sobbed into her lamb’s-wool headrest. Surely he had married the most stubborn woman alive, just as Yahweh had chosen Israel—the most stiff-necked people on earth. He longed to curl up beside her and comfort her, but she’d made her feelings clear. She didn’t trust him to keep his promises, and no amount of words would change her mind. Only time could heal their wounds.
Exhaustion threatened to consume him, but he needed to see Jonah and check on Jezzy and Rahmy. He grabbed his walking stick, stepped into dawn’s first glow, and passed the well-fed animals in his stable. Thank you for Isaiah, Yahweh, who tends my stables and oversees the camp. Uzziah had sent word that Amos’s farm and the prophets’ camp were thriving under Isaiah’s watchful eye. Though the young man hadn’t yet heard Yahweh’s personal call, he’d filled the void of leadership when Amos was called away and Jonah fell ill.
