by Mesu Andrews
“I’m sure if Arielah is half as enchanting as her abba is wise,” the king intervened, “I am marrying quite a prize.”
Jehoshaphat’s gaze lingered on the steward, and Solomon cleared his throat, gathering the attention of all in the room. “I must have Jehoshaphat’s oath on one matter before I can agree to sign the treaty.” Silence fell and tension built. Solomon almost regretted his mischievous goad.
“Jehoshaphat, tell me truly—are you sure your daughter has only one nose and ten toes?”
All four men dissolved into laughter. Even Ahishar’s rigid frown cracked into a smile as the morning meal fueled a new day for Israel.
15
• DEUTERONOMY 21:18–19, 21 •
If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who does not obey . . . his father and mother shall take hold of him and bring him to the elders at the gate. . . . Then all the men of his town shall stone him to death. . . . All Israel will hear of it and be afraid.
Arielah crouched to clear another clump of mud from the hoe, the dirt now mingling with blood on her hands. Her brothers had ordered her to dig trenches around the base of the grapevines. Everyone knew it was too early to tend the vines, but no one dared interfere. It was family business. A situation for Abba and Ima to address with the elders.
Arielah’s heart was torn between mercy and justice. Ima insisted she would reveal Kemmuel’s cruelty when Abba returned. Arielah still hoped for her brothers’ repentant hearts, but pain and fear were chipping away at her faith. Tears burned her cheeks, the salty drops stinging deep, sun-kissed blisters. She set aside the hoe and inspected the palms of her hands, now cracked and bleeding from the toil during Abba’s absence. Before he left for the Passover journey, he had instructed his sons, “Continue your work with the hired hands. Prepare for the barley harvest, and tend the flocks while I’m away.”
They had done none of that. Instead, they ordered the servants to oversee the harvest and the flocks and allowed Arielah only two days in the shepherds’ hills. The other mornings, they prodded her to the vineyard and pillaged Abba’s wine stores. They then headed to the south side of town to mingle their wine with female delicacies.
“When we come back, you’d better be working, little sister.” Kemmuel’s threat kept Arielah’s back bent all day.
Arielah looked down at her swollen hands, opening and closing them. They stung as if she’d grasped a hornets’ nest. But she knew the pain in her ima’s heart surpassed it when the well gossipers buzzed about Jehosheba’s sons.
Stretching her arms to the sky, she arched her back for a moment’s relief and then glanced quickly right and left. Listened. No signs of her drunken brothers. The sky was cloudless. The growing intensity of the spring sun would soon ripen the fruit of the vine, but for now it just blistered her face and arms. She pushed back the dark tendrils of hair from her forehead and looked south. Abba, please come soon. Their cruelty lessens when you’re here to shield me.
She felt a light breeze touch her face, and she smiled with blistered lips. Ah, the wind has come to greet me. After looking once more to ensure Kemmuel and Igal were nowhere near, she dropped her hoe. Letting her arms float out and then down, she swayed slowly at first, dancing to an imaginary beat. The air began to stir. The wind had come to dance. The hem of her tunic flowed side to side, and some of her pain subsided.
A shepherd’s song Abba had taught her came to mind, a song of David the shepherd king. “Praise be to the Lord, for he has heard my cry for mercy.” She extended her arms high above her head, then plunged them toward the ground. Again and again she repeated the motion, dancing to the silent music, singing to the whispering wind. “The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy, and I will give thanks to Him in song.” The wind cooled her sunburned cheeks and tickled the loose tendrils of hair against her face. She was a child again, dancing for her abba, like when they used to sing the words together.
The muscles in her legs and arms cried out, but she didn’t care. She took a quick sip from her water skin and grabbed the shepherd’s flute lying beneath it. Inhaling deeply, she blew a gentle breath—life and joy emanated from the little wooden instrument. Her fingers moved slowly over the small holes, then quicker with more breath, more sound, more joy. Suddenly the trilling of the flute floated on the wind as she danced and swayed between the vines. Nothing else mattered. She played for Jehovah, and her heart lifted toward heaven. Time slipped away . . . until her worship was shattered by some inconsequential noise—a bleating sheep, a hired hand’s cough. And the world intruded again.
She looked down at her flute. Blood stained it.
She reached for her water skin to rinse off the blood but was distracted by a commotion in the city. Abba’s vineyard was positioned on the southwestern slope of Mount Moreh, just north of Shunem. She heard the watchmen on the city’s walls shout, but she couldn’t make out the words. Looking toward the southern horizon, she saw three camels descending from the crest of Gilboa, leading a caravan that displayed the king’s standard. She rushed to the vineyard gate and peeked out to be sure her brothers were nowhere in sight. Leaving her hoe behind, she ran to the city as fast as her sore legs would carry her, just in time to hear . . .
“A caravan approaches,” the watchman on Shunem’s southern parapet cried. “It flies the king’s flag, and—wait, yes, it’s Jehoshaphat!”
Arielah’s heart thrilled. She ran inside the city gate and found her ima in their courtyard, making final preparations for the evening meal. “He’s home, Ima! He’s finally home!” she squealed as she had when she was younger.
“Yes, my lamb,” Jehosheba said, eyes glistening with tears. “Perhaps now your brothers’ cruelty will end.”
Arielah gave her a quick peck on the cheek and ran past her to one of the water jars. “Ima, we must cover my blisters so that Abba doesn’t see them right away. I don’t want to ruin his homecoming.” She splashed her face, allowing it to soothe the raw blisters from the sun’s harsh rays.
Ima handed her a clean cloth. “Arielah.”
Dabbing her face gently, Arielah chattered on. “He’s accompanied by the king’s men, Ima. That must mean he has good news.”
Jehosheba stilled her hands, and when Arielah looked up, she saw tears on her ima’s cheeks. “You cannot hide those blisters, my lamb. Your abba must know the extent of his sons’ cruelty and disobedience.”
Heart pounding, Arielah drew Ima into a fierce embrace. “Abba knows the hardness of his sons’ hearts. The only way my brothers can truly harm me is if I allow bitterness to take root in me. Blisters will heal. Hatred will not.” Releasing Jehosheba, she kissed Ima’s cheek and used her damp cloth to wipe her tears. “Come now, let’s at least cover my hands.”
Working silently, they tore the cloth into long strips, wrapping each of Arielah’s hands to cover some of her pain. “What courage fills your heart, my little lion of God,” Ima said finally, gently tying the final knot in place.
“Our judge returns,” another watchman cried to the gathering of city officials. “He comes with a small contingent, the king’s own Mighty Men providing rear guard!”
Arielah and Ima Jehosheba exchanged an excited giggle and joined other Shulammites rushing out the city gates to await their beloved Jehoshaphat. The waiting crowd stirred with excitement as the procession marched across the valley floor. A young boy returned from the shepherds’ fields, leading the shepherds he’d alerted to their judge’s return.
Arielah searched every herder’s face, but her brothers weren’t among them. Were they sprawled under an olive tree, drunk in a far pasture? Her heart broke anew at the pain Abba would feel at their betrayal. Every Shulammite seemed anxious to hear Jehoshaphat’s news—everyone except his own sons.
Just as she’d given up hope, she noticed two lone figures stumbling down from the tallest gray ridge of Mount Moreh. Her brothers’ stuttered steps and weaving way confirmed her suspicions. Looking at her
bandaged hands, she realized the shame her brothers cast on Abba was much crueler than blisters.
“I can’t wait for you to meet my family,” Jehoshaphat shouted at Benaiah over his camel’s spitting protest. “And Reu can attest to the hospitality of Shunem. He was well fed and well cared for while staying with us for the grieving period after King David’s passing.”
The brief prompt sent Reu into a prolonged reminiscence of his days in Shunem and gave Jehoshaphat a few moments to contemplate his imminent homecoming. When he’d left Shunem before Passover, he was alone, carrying a single lamb for sacrifice. Now he returned as the governor of Solomon’s tenth district, riding between his new royal assistant and Israel’s army commander. I hope the Shulammites hospitality extends to the king’s new administration.
King Solomon had insisted on sending Benaiah and his Mighty Men as escorts in order to keep his new governor safe from bandits as he traveled through the wilderness. But the king’s wisdom reached further than wilderness bandits. Surely he wondered—as did Jehoshaphat—how the Shulammites would feel about Jehoshaphat’s profitable bride price and his significant position of power in the new administration. Undoubtedly, some would accuse Jehoshaphat of betraying the northern tribes for personal gain, and the king’s Mighty Men might be Jehoshaphat’s only salvation.
“No wonder you were in such a hurry to come home,” Benaiah said, interrupting the governor’s thoughts. “And look at those fruit trees! I’ve never seen so many in one place!” He pointed to the hillside of groves where orange, lemon, pomegranate, fig, and olive trees boasted their springtime blooms and aromas. Jehoshaphat’s chest swelled as he drank in the scent and felt the pride of home.
After descending Mt. Gilboa, the three men led their caravan across the Jezreel plain, clearing a path through riotous bursts of wildflowers.
“It looks like we’ve drawn a crowd!” Reu shouted, nodding toward the Shulammites gathered outside the southern gate. As their camels plodded infuriatingly slow, Jehoshaphat scanned the familiar faces of home, searching to quench the sudden thirst for his family.
“Welcome, Jehoshaphat!” one old woman cried, reaching up for his hand as his camel passed by.
“Greetings, Ruth,” he replied. “Where is Jehosheba?” But the press of the crowd moved them toward the city gate before he could hear her response.
“Welcome to the king’s captain,” another man said, sidling up to Benaiah’s mount. “I saw you when I attended King David’s burial procession with Jehoshaphat. What brings you to our simple town?”
Benaiah exchanged a quick glance with Shunem’s judge, his tone polite but not overly friendly. “I come at the bidding of the king.”
Jehoshaphat’s respect for Solomon’s commander had grown during their three-day journey from Jerusalem. The instant rapport he’d sensed in the king’s chamber had deepened to solid friendship.
The procession entered the city, the crowd swelling around each beast and rider. “What news? What news?” a few others chanted, reaching up to touch Jehoshaphat’s extended hands.
He glanced back at Reu and watched with pride as the Shulammites welcomed the young courier like a lost son. “I had hoped you’d come back to sample more of my honeyed dates,” the old widow Sarah said. Reu had listened for hours as she told of her husband’s service in David’s army.
The caravan stopped just outside the city gate. Jehoshaphat, Benaiah, and Reu clucked their tongues, and the camels knelt. Sliding from their mounts, the three men descended into the waiting throng.
Amid the confusion, Benaiah grasped Jehoshaphat’s arm and guided him through the crowd. “I will accompany you, my lord.” The commander nodded at the excited townspeople, bending low to speak. “I’ve seen this kind of emotion turn quickly from rejoicing to riot.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Jehoshaphat shouted above the noise. “Let’s make our way to the well at the city’s center.” Carried along by the sea of bodies, Jehoshaphat almost forgot about his faithful young companion. “Wait! Reu!”
Jehoshaphat looked back to see the young man already instructing the caravan servants to refresh the tired animals. A more competent aide I could never have hoped for. Reu simply waved his hand when he saw the judge look his direction.
The droning of the crowd had become a nondescript roar, every voice asking the same question, each step toward the familiar well a fulfillment of the promise he’d secured in Jerusalem.
The crowd quieted as he stepped up on the well curb. Panning the sea of faces, he saw his sons, and he could barely breathe.
Kemmuel and Igal had tried to melt into the mob. But one look at their swaying stances, the way they tried to lean on those around them, and Jehoshaphat knew they had been drinking again. Will I lose my daughter to duty and my sons to rebellion, Lord? His heart broke at the thought. He had prepared himself for the prospect of Shunem’s suspicion of his new title. He’d prepared himself for Arielah’s fate as Israel’s treaty bride. But he’d believed—he’d hoped—Kemmuel and Igal would change someday. Finally, he spotted his wife and daughter at the back of the crowd, standing almost as far as his family’s courtyard gate.
“Arielah, come to me,” he shouted with a smile. He hadn’t planned to announce the treaty bride agreement publicly before talking with Arielah, but something in his spirit told him he must speak to her in this setting.
She hesitated.
Odd, he thought. She seems almost frightened to come to me. A sudden foreboding settled over him as he watched Jehosheba gently nudge her forward.
Arielah looked back at her ima and then turned to meet Jehoshaphat’s gaze. Once begun, her course never wavered. She was obedient. The crowd parted as she approached.
“Look at her face, how blistered and red,” Edna the matchmaker whispered.
“What is wrong with her hands, Ima? Why are they wrapped?” a little girl asked as Arielah passed by. The girl’s ima clapped a hand over her mouth, but the little voice asked the righteous question that rumbled through the crowd.
At the sight of her, Jehoshaphat felt himself sway. Oh, Lord Jehovah, no!
The crowd’s angry eyes cast daggers at Kemmuel and Igal. Kemmuel stared back in defiance. Igal looked away, too ashamed or afraid to face the truth.
Benaiah was stoic, his confusion evident. He reached out to steady Jehoshaphat. “What’s happening, my friend?”
Jehoshaphat couldn’t stem the tears rushing down his cheeks, and a low moan escaped.
Arielah knelt at his feet and bowed her head. “How may I serve you, Abba?”
He stepped down from the well curb and gently grasped her hands. She winced. He helped her stand and began unwrapping the bandages. Deep wounds on her palms and fingers testified against his sons. He lifted her chin with his finger to inspect the blisters on her face. The two stood for a moment in silence, Jehoshaphat lost in his daughter’s beautiful eyes.
It was the first time Kemmuel and Igal had been so bold in their cruelty. They had mocked his discipline, disobeyed repeatedly. They had cursed both him and Jehosheba with word and deed, and all the mercy offered to them had been cast aside like filthy rags. The law was clear on the matter.
“God’s will be done,” Jehoshaphat whispered. He released Arielah’s hands and turned toward Benaiah.
“Abba?” his daughter cried.
He could hear the confusion, the hurt, in Arielah’s voice. The vision of her unveiled hands dangling at her sides would forever be etched on his memory. I cannot do what I must if I stop to explain it to you, my lamb. Jehoshaphat ignored the plea he knew she would make.
He stepped away from the well and approached Benaiah, who snapped to attention as though he were readying for battle. Motioning the big man to lean close, he whispered, “The men who inflicted these wounds on my daughter must be dealt with. I need you to ensure they do not leave the city.”
Benaiah’s features became hard as stone. He was a frightening fellow, head and shoulders taller than any man in Shunem. With his
jaw set, he stepped away from the well and parted the crowd on his way to gather his guards. They stood waiting at the city gate.
The crowd had become so deathly quiet that a feather falling on dust would have resounded like a clatter. Jehoshaphat returned to Arielah and kissed her cheek. “It’s all right, my lamb. Jehovah will make all things right.”
Then, resuming his perch on the rim of the well, he said, “I recite for you, my brother Shulammites, the law of Moses: ‘If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who does not obey his parents and will not listen to them when they discipline him, his abba and ima shall take hold of him and bring him to the elders at the gate of his town.’”
Nervous chatter rippled through the crowd like a boiling pot ready to overflow. Arielah looked wildly back at her ima, who was still standing at their courtyard gate.
Jehoshaphat’s heart pounded and his stomach balled into knots, but he must finish this. He swallowed the rising emotion and continued, undaunted. “‘They shall say to the elders, “This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a prodigal and a drunkard.” Then all the men of his town shall stone him to death. You must purge the evil from among you. All Israel will hear of it and be afraid.’”
Jehoshaphat gazed into the familiar faces of his friends and neighbors, those who would carry out judgment on his sons. Panic began a steady journey up from his stomach, and then it seized his throat. Breathe! I must breathe! he coached himself, bowing his head. Lord Jehovah, give me strength to obey You and lead Your people in righteousness. A few deep, heaving breaths escaped before he could regain a measure of control. When he finally felt the strength to lift his head, he searched the crowd of faces, gazed on his sons, and tore his robe.
“Kemmuel and Igal, you will be judged at the city gate.”
