by Mesu Andrews
“By the gods, it was true!” Ezri shouted over the din while Gomer shielded Yuval’s eyes from the carnage below.
“Let’s get the women back into the house!” Hosea shouted, herding them inside. He looked for something with which he might block the door. Chaos bred looting, and it would begin soon. For the first time he noticed the utter starkness of the home—a single low table and a few cushions were the only furniture. Ezri had nothing left to steal.
“Gomer, get some wine.” Ezri barked the order, hands trembling. They returned to their pillows, and Gomer poured each of them a small glass of wine—watered considerably. Hosea gave his wife an approving glance. Ezri needed no further impediment if they hoped to escape Samaria alive today.
“When you saw the soldiers ride in through the gate,” Hosea said, trying to calm the badly shaken merchant, “you said, ‘It was true.’ What did you mean? Any news you’ve heard might aid our escape.”
Ezri didn’t answer right away, seemingly dazed. Gomer tried prying away his wine glass, but he grasped the cup like a lifeline, offering a weak grin. “Rumors began circulating almost a year ago that General Pekah was raising a rebellion in Gilead. Menahem’s son wasn’t a warrior like his abba and had been coddled his whole life. He’d let his advisors make most of his decisions.” The merchant met Hosea’s gaze. “And now it seems General Pekah has decided to become king.”
Yuval gasped and startled everyone. “What about Micah? Oh, Hosea, is he safe outside the city?” Tears matched her panic, and Gomer scooted closer to comfort her.
“I know a little bit about soldiers,” she whispered, “and my guess is that Micah is safer outside the city than inside these walls.” She stared at the two men, lifting her brows to gain their support, while Yuval buried her head in Gomer’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Hosea? Ezri? Micah is safe, isn’t he?”
Hosea had already considered Micah and believed he was safer outside the gates—but Gomer’s compassion warmed him. “Absolutely. Micah is a bright young man and Yahweh’s prophet. The Lord will protect him—as He’ll protect us.” He held Gomer’s gaze as he said the words and felt Yahweh’s nudge. Not a voice, just a prod. It was time to press his claim with Ezri.
“Micah is my messenger, waiting for a signal to bring payment to whatever house displays this red sash from its balcony.” Hosea produced the linen. “He’ll deliver the agreed price. Yuval and I will leave Samaria with Gomer immediately.”
The women gasped, but the merchant laughed in utter disbelief. “You can’t seriously consider leaving while blood flows ankle-deep outside my door!” Ezri leveled his gaze at Hosea. “You realize I’m no longer in urgent need of funds. Pekah will spend many moon cycles cleaning up his political mess before he worries about enforcing tribute payments from his merchants. I no longer have to sell Gomer.”
“You no longer have to sell Gomer now,” Hosea amended. “There’s a difference, Ezri, and we both know it. You’re a merchant, and you’re trying to drive up the price. I understand. But I’m a prophet, and Yahweh’s offer stands firm.”
The old man expelled a deep breath. “I don’t want to let her go.”
Hosea squeezed his eyes shut. “I know how you feel.”
“So what do we do, Prophet?”
Hosea sighed, quieting himself. Yahweh, I felt your nudge to press him for an answer. Now what? A breeze stirred, and Hosea held his breath, expecting the acrid scent of battle rising from the street. Instead, he smelled the distinct aroma of cloves—and felt peace flow through him.
“A breeze in the heat of summer? Pekah must be blessed by the gods.” Ezri started to rise, undoubtedly to peer over the balcony again.
Hosea laid a steadying hand on his arm. “Sit down, Ezri. That breeze you felt has nothing to do with your false gods. It was Yahweh’s presence.”
The old man grinned, glancing first at Gomer and then at Yuval. “I don’t believe in all that magical nonsense, Prophet.”
Gomer closed her eyes, her head falling forward. She knew, and Hosea’s heart took flight. The wind blew again, the scent of cloves stronger this time.
Ezri’s face lost all color, and Hosea chuckled inwardly. “Well, that ‘magical nonsense,’ as you call Him, has displayed Himself this time with a distinct scent. Can you tell me what you smell?”
“Cloves.” Ezri swallowed hard.
“Does the scent mean anything to you?” Hosea glanced at Gomer and saw her swallow something. This time he and Yuval both chuckled.
“Yes. Gomer always has cloves in her mouth—at least since I can no longer afford to buy her perfume.”
“So you understand that Yahweh wants to talk about Gomer?”
He nodded, but Gomer kept her head bowed.
“Are you willing to hear my full interpretation of Yahweh’s wind and the cloves?”
Another nod from Ezri. His vocabulary seemed severely depleted after Yahweh had arrived.
“Yahweh’s care extends to those He brings into our lives, and it seems He’s gone to great lengths to show you His mercy through Yuval’s reappearance in your life. I believe Yahweh is offering you salvation, my friend, no matter what your past decisions have been. If you embrace Him today, He will save you from Israel’s false gods and political woes.”
Ezri’s brow was deeply furrowed. “How could embracing a new god save me from the death and treachery of Pekah’s reign?”
“I believe Yahweh would have you return with us to Tekoa.”
Gomer’s head snapped to attention, eyes flashing. Was it anger? Confusion? Desperation? Hosea couldn’t tell, and Ezri didn’t notice.
“Why would you take me with you? I have nothing but the few pieces of silver you see on that table.” He pointed a trembling finger at the disheveled stacks.
“I invite you to a new life, to worship and serve Yahweh alone. Yuval’s husband Amos owns a successful farm, and I’m sure we can find a way for you to earn your keep.” Hosea glanced at Yuval, who nodded her approval. “And you’ll have my payment for Gomer,” he added, “because though I offer you Yahweh’s salvation, I do not offer my wife. She belongs to me as surely as Israel belongs to Yahweh.” Hosea extended his hand in pledge. “Are we agreed?”
Ezri hesitated. “Does Gomer get to choose? What if she doesn’t want to become your wife again?”
Hosea had been so focused on Ezri, he’d lost sight of his wife. He glimpsed her tears and knew he’d somehow hurt her—again.
Gomer felt like a trinket in the market, every fault and flaw exposed. But no. A trinket was treasured and displayed proudly. Gomer was a harlot, a slave, a wife—merely a woman to be bought and used and cast aside.
Angry tears burned her eyes and tightened her throat. If Ezri had any courage, we could stay in Samaria—together. But even as the thought formed, she knew it wouldn’t last. Within a few full moons, Ezri would likely be begging bread or dead, and she’d be left at the mercy of a new king’s soldiers. A shiver worked through her. I can’t serve another master like Eitan.
“Gomer.” Hosea’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she found him watching her—his eyes penetrating her soul. “Yahweh told me to buy you back and to love you again.”
“No!” she shouted on a sob. “You have no right to say you love me. If you want to buy me—fine. Become my master. But don’t pretend you love me, Hosea.” Any control she had was lost in her final plea. “You owe me that. Don’t pretend to love me.”
He wiped both hands down his face, his eyes weepy and red when he looked at her again. “I’ve never pretended anything with you, Gomer. I’ve told you the truth from the beginning, and I’ll do the same now.” He paused, seeming to await her permission to continue. She nodded, and he sighed as if embarking on a long journey. “I intend to pay your master in order to buy you back—as Yahweh commanded. It is a command I obey willingly, gladly, because whether you believe it or not—I do love you. Yahweh has filled my heart with love for you.” He took another breath, staring at the ceiling, fighting
emotion. “I want you to return to Tekoa with me, but you must come home with a new heart. You must never again worship or even mention the names of other gods, not in my presence or when I’m away.”
Her heart ached. “When you’re away.” It was the wedge that had split their hearts in two.
“I am Yahweh’s prophet, Gomer. I was called away, and you were called to wait for my return, but you refused to wait. You betrayed my love as Israel betrayed Yahweh.”
“I was called to wait?” she shouted. “I’m tired of waiting for Yahweh! He betrays me every time He takes away the people I love. He took away my ima and then you. He takes it all—everything I have!” The last words came out in sobs, spoken into her hands.
She felt Ezri’s arms around her, heard his gentle voice. “Life is all about waiting, little Gomer, and those we love are unavoidably taken away—some prematurely, others by age and death.” He grasped both her shoulders firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Life is also about choices. I will not leave my home or the gods I’ve known since I was a child. You may stay with me if you like, but your hus—Hosea is right. Within a few months, I will need to sell you to pay tribute to Pekah. You’re the only treasure I own, my love. ”
Gomer stared at a stranger. Ezri had cleaned her wounds, reawakened her humanity, and vowed his love. But she was still his slave. Love meant nothing. She turned to Hosea.
And he was there, kneeling before her. His eyes deep pools of . . .
“Please, Gomer. It’s time to make your choice. Will you return to Tekoa as my wife?”
He cupped her cheek, and the warmth of his touch weakened her defenses. She couldn’t think. The anticipation on the three faces overwhelmed her.
“No,” she said, hearing a collective gasp. “I will return as your slave, Master Hosea.”
Hosea dropped his hand and his head. When he spoke, she heard a mixture of mischief and resolve. “Then we will wait for each other, you and I.” He looked up then, meeting her gaze again. “You won’t offer yourself to any other man, and I will wait to offer myself to you until Yahweh has won your allegiance.” Smiling, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
Ezri cleared his throat. “It sounds as if the fighting is moving away from my courtyard gate, uphill toward the palace. If you’re going to signal your messenger, now’s the time, Prophet.” He stood abruptly and walked to the balcony, leaving Gomer to her new master.
Her heart nearly beat out of her chest. Was it from Hosea’s kiss? Or was it because they must escape through Samaria’s battle zone?
45
• HOSEA 2:19–20 •
Israel, I will make you my wife forever. I will be honest and faithful to you. I will show you my love and compassion. I will be true to you, my wife. Then you will know Yahweh.
Gomer listened to Yuval’s slow, rhythmic breathing. The poor woman was exhausted after fleeing Ezri’s home this afternoon. Micah’s agile build and quick thinking had made their escape possible. He’d arrived with Ezri’s payment when the fighting moved into the palace, and then practically carried Yuval when her weary body could run no farther. Once outside Samaria’s gates, Micah led them to where he’d hidden the remaining wool and cloth that hadn’t sold in the market. After trading the goods for traveling provisions, they joined the swarm of people fleeing toward Judah on the trade routes. North of Shechem, they took to the hill country, avoiding Israelite and Judean scouts on heightened alert.
Gomer gazed up at the half moon, trying to recount the number of times she’d slept in the open wilderness. Yuval snorted, stirred, and turned over. Grinning, Gomer tucked a gray strand of hair behind her friend’s ear.
“Yuval?” she whispered. The woman didn’t stir. Thank the go— She cut short her thought, remembering Hosea’s instructions not to mention the gods of her youth. Did that mean she couldn’t think their names either? She’d been hoping to talk with Hosea during their journey, but he’d seemed too deep in thought to be interrupted with her questions.
She rose quietly and took a large stick from their fire. The makeshift torch would protect her from stalking beasts—though it ruined the element of surprise she’d hoped for when approaching Hosea. She emerged from the rocks and scrub that sheltered her and Yuval, finding Hosea seated by a second fire, Micah snoring on his blanket nearby.
Hosea looked up. The firelight danced in his eyes, casting shadows across his handsome face. She thought of Ezri, his feeble declarations of love. Hananiah’s deception. Eitan’s cruelty.
Hosea’s eyes consumed her, almost drowning her with desire—but not physical desire alone. More. So much more. No other man had ever looked at her that way, and a terrible thought pierced her. What if he has truly loved me all this time—and I’ve wasted it? Her knees felt like water skins, but she commanded her legs to carry her. She stopped a few paces from the fire, inclining her head toward another outcropping of rocks a few cubits east of them.
Hosea lifted both eyebrows and grinned, questioning. He looked like the ten-year-old boy she’d coaxed into trouble.
Her heart twisted. He wasn’t ten. She wasn’t that girl anymore.
His smile died, as did her playfulness, and he met her where she stood. His hand covered hers on the torch, and he leaned down to whisper, “Is Yuval all right?” His other arm enfolded her. She could barely breathe, feeling his hand sliding to the small of her back. He looked into her eyes, searching, waiting for her answer.
Still breathless, Gomer could only nod and point the torch in the direction she intended him to follow. She gave herself a mental shake. You’re being ridiculous. It’s Hosea. Talk to him. The personal coaxing faded like the moon behind a cloud when they sat on a large boulder and he scooted close for warmth.
He nestled her in the bend of his arm, and they relaxed against the perfect stone backrest. “So, what’s on your mind?” he said, peering at the stars, seemingly oblivious to her desires.
“I have a few questions about our . . . relationship.”
He nodded but didn’t speak.
“Could you explain what you meant when you said I must wait for you?” Her cheeks flushed like a virgin bride, and she rushed on, trying to sound as though he were simply another master and she his slave. “My other masters expected me to perform the customary household duties, but I also visited their beds regularly. I was just wondering . . .”
“Gomer.” He uncoiled his arm and sat up, then bowed over his knees. He hesitated.
It was excruciating.
“Well, I don’t want to force you into anything so horrible.” She pushed herself off the rock, trying to run, but he seized her hand—and then grabbed her waist. He pulled her onto his lap, holding her like a child. “You’re not running away this time.”
He leaned over her, and she leaned up to kiss him, needing the assurance of his desire.
He turned his face and laid his cheek against hers. “I don’t want you to call me ‘Master.’” She felt the dampness of his tears between their faces. “I want you to call me ‘Husband’ and worship my God with your whole heart. When you can do those things willingly, then I will enjoy you as my wife as never before.” He dried his eyes on his shoulder and spoke as if taking a vow. “I will not treat you as a harlot or a bed slave. I love you too much for that.”
“But you said I was an incurable harlot, dead to you.”
He searched the windows of her soul. “Were it not for God’s mercy, we would all be incurable. And haven’t you felt dead inside for quite some time?”
She felt her familiar stony defenses rise. “I have been walking death for as long as I can remember. It’s how I survive.” She scooted off his lap onto the rock, sitting beside him.
He leaned over and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “The living God longs to give you life, Gomer. He loves you.”
His words were like a swig of vinegar to a thirsty soul. Gomer had almost been fooled again, lulled into Hosea’s false hope. She straightened her stooped shoulders and sniffed back tear
s. “Yahweh hates me—or haven’t you listened to your own prophecies? He plans to destroy Israel because of their harlotry. I’m a harlot. Surely you see the connection.”
He grabbed her face between his hands and shook her. “Stop it!” he shouted in a whisper. “Stop saying that. You’re not a harlot—or at least you don’t have to be if you choose differently. I paid your bride-price years ago. Why do you refuse to see yourself as a bride?” He waited, staring into her eyes, but she couldn’t speak past her strangling shame. She turned away, but he pressed her still. “What makes you believe Yahweh hates you? Give me proof, and I’ll declare His love.”
Gomer, emotions still reeling at the thought of being a bride, struggled to express the reasons she’d accused Yahweh all these years. “What about my childhood? Abba sold me to Asherah’s grove, and then I was abandoned to a brothel. How could a loving god—”
“What about my childhood?” Hosea countered. “My ima died in childbirth—like yours—and Abba died two years after we arrived in Tekoa.”
“But you had Jonah and Amos and Yuval. My abba sold me. Priests betrayed me. Men used me. Women reviled me.”
“And Yahweh sent me to Samaria to love you.” His single argument stopped her cold. After a span of a few heartbeats, he added, “Then you betrayed me, Gomer, as Israel betrayed Yahweh. And I was called to publicly expose my broken heart.” A tear slid down his cheek and hid in his curly beard.
Gomer had no answer. Her fear was confirmed. Hosea loved her—and she’d wasted it. Tears erupted from some deep, dark place within her. Old, stagnant tears, held captive through years of denial and abuse. She escaped into a hazy cloud of grief, unaware of her surroundings. Moments of lucidness revealed her lying in Hosea’s arms, weeping long into the night. His embrace was . . . well, indescribable. Never had a man caressed her so little and yet touched her so deeply. This love was so strange, so different than any she’d known.
And then another realization. She’d felt this love from Aya and Yuval. Could it really be Yahweh’s love?
