by Mesu Andrews
“Why would the Assyrians attack us?” Shebna stroked the few hairs on his chin. “Just yesterday, King Ahaz ordered the Levites to strip all the gold and silver from Yahweh’s Temple to purchase Assyria’s protection. So Israel and Aram won’t attack us again. Why would Assyria attack us when we’ve made such a friendly arrangement?”
Isaiah felt the blood drain from his face. “King Ahaz is voluntarily paying tribute—without a demand from the Assyrians?”
Shebna’s growing confidence suddenly waned. “I don’t know what prompted the gift, Master Isaiah, only that the Levites are stripping the gold and silver as we speak.”
Isaiah’s insides churned, this morning’s prophecy replaying in his mind. Aya would conceive a son, and before he could speak, Assyria would plunder the capitals of Israel and Aram. Two years. Three, at most. Would they keep advancing south? Flow into Judah—regardless of the Temple treasure King Ahaz offered? Yahweh, show me.
“Master Isaiah!” Hezekiah stood beside him, shaking his arm. “Are you well?”
“No, I…uh…” Isaiah wiped the sweat from his brow. “We’re finished for today. Return to your homes and say nothing of our discussion. We’ll resume class tomorrow.” He returned the scroll he’d been reading to the shelf and hurried toward Ishma. “Come, little one. We’re going home.”
“Master Isaiah.” Shebna was on his feet, panicked. “I hope I didn’t offend you. Please don’t tell my abba. I’ll be quiet from now on. I can’t go back to Temple work. Abba brought me here because I couldn’t keep up with the other Levites who were stripping the gold and silver. If I fail here, he’ll take me to the servants’ quarters.” His voice squeaked on the last word, tears filling his eyes.
Isaiah laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a smart boy, Shebna, and I’m pleased to have you in my class. I won’t say a word to your abba, and I’m thankful you told me about what’s happening in the Temple.” He grabbed Ishma’s hand and hurried out the door, leaving Shebna looking relieved and the rest of the boys confused.
“Why are we going home?” Ishma’s little legs ran to keep up with his long strides.
He swung her into his arms and jogged, his heart galloping with him. “Yahweh is speaking today, Ishma, first this way, then that. When He speaks, I must listen.” How could he explain to a five-year-old that he knew in his gut this morning’s prophecy was only the beginning of a fuller revelation—a revelation that he would soon present to King Ahaz?
9
Bind up this testimony of warning
and seal up God’s instruction among my disciples.
—Isaiah 8:16
The warmest days of summer were upon us. Yaira and I had been in Master Isaiah’s household for almost five months. We kept count with pebbles, one for each New Moon festival when we heard wailing in the southern city. Master Isaiah said they mourned for another child thrown into the big statue—like Hezi’s brother had been. Each day after Yaira added a new pebble, our whole household filled baskets of food and delivered them to the Lower City. I think they called it “lower” because the stinky stuff in the streets all runs downhill.
Our family gathered in the courtyard for meals since it was cooler than the kitchen with the cook fire. Dinah and Leah woke me before dawn so I could help prepare food to break our fast. I’d learned all sorts of important jobs—grinding grain, setting the table, hanging herbs to dry—but mostly I did what Dinah and Leah told me.
“Ishma, will you fill a pitcher of water, please?” Dinah was making gruel this morning. I liked her porridge better than Leah’s or Mistress Aya’s because she added a little honey.
I grabbed a pitcher from the lowest shelf, hurried out to the courtyard, and filled it from our water barrel. It was Jashub’s job to fill the barrel. He was nice. He tried to talk to Yaira a lot, but her cheeks always got red and she walked away. Master Isaiah’s younger son, Kadmiel, might have been nice too, but he was always busy—cutting wood, practicing with his sword, fixing something that was broken. He didn’t talk to women much. Only to Master Isaiah.
“Ishma! Hurry with the water!” Dinah was always in a hurry. Maybe she burned the gruel again.
I passed Yaira in the hallway on her way to the table. She slept late now because the baby in her tummy made her tired. Her belly had grown round like a rising lump of bread dough, but when I pushed on it, it was hard, not soft.
Mistress Aya slept late now too. Yesterday, I heard the mistress retching in her chamber. I asked Leah if we should send for the physician. She giggled and said the mistress would feel better in a few months. Why would she giggle about Mistress Aya being sick so long?
Dinah took the pitcher from my hands. “You can go sit down, Ishma. The gruel is ready.”
The master and mistress were coming out of their chamber. “Good morning, Ishma.” Mistress Aya’s face was a funny color.
“Good morning, Mistress. I hope you feel better soon.”
“Thank you, little love.”
I hurried to my place beside Yaira while Mistress Aya lowered herself on the other side, at Master Isaiah’s right hand. Mistress pushed away the bowl of gruel. The boys took their places at the table, Jashub on my left and Kadmiel beside him.
When Dinah and Leah sat down across from us, Master Isaiah cleared his throat. “Aya and I have an announcement to make. She is with child—as Yahweh foretold—and will likely deliver in the month of Shevat.”
The boys reached for their porridge as if Master had just recounted the day’s weather, but Yaira, Dinah, and Leah clapped their hands. I did too.
Mistress Aya reached for the master’s hand, her smile falling off her face too quickly. It scared me a little. “We have more news,” she said. “Your abba will prophesy to the king this morning.”
Jashub and Kadmiel looked up from their gruel. “May I go with you, Abba?” This from Jashub, the smart one. When he wasn’t training for war, he had a scroll in his hand.
“No, Son. Yahweh didn’t include you in this prophecy as He did before.” Master Isaiah smiled but didn’t look like he meant it. “He did tell me your ima will bear a son, and we are to name him Maher-Shalal-Hash-Baz.”
I slapped my forehead. “I can’t even say prop-up-sea. How will I say that name?”
The whole family laughed, and my cheeks felt warm. Jashub nudged me with his shoulder. “It’s pro-phe-cy, and we’ll find a nickname for the baby like my nickname. I’m just Jashub, not Shear-Jashub, right?” He pecked a kiss on my forehead—the first time he’d ever done that—and kept talking with the others. Was this how it felt to have a brother? I scooted a little closer to him, widening the gap between Yaira and me. She looked a little sad. Or was she just tired? She’d been tired a lot lately.
We spent the rest of the meal talking about a nickname for Mistress Aya’s baby. When our gruel was gone, Master offered a prayer of thanks. “Holy One of Israel, You do not desire sacrifice or offerings but rather justice, mercy, and sharing with the poor. Multiply our provision that we might share it with others. Let it be so.”
He rose from the low table and kissed each of us atop our head. “Jashub, Kadmiel, be safe during training, and don’t forget to drop off our extra provisions at the Temple. Zechariah has agreed to disperse them to the poor who come for worship.” He moved around the table. “Yaira, help Mistress Aya, but don’t overtire yourself. Make sure you both get some rest.” She tucked her chin, shy when anyone made a fuss. He kissed my head too. “There will be no class today, so perhaps you should teach the women in this house what we’ve been learning about prop-up-sea.”
I rolled my eyes. “Jashub says it’s prop-ufff-u-sea.”
Master Isaiah chuckled and kissed my head again. “Closer.” He finished with kisses and instructions for Dinah and Leah. Then lingered with a whisper over Mistress Aya. She watched him go, her eyes filling with tears.
No matter how I said prop-ufff-u-sea, it made my tummy hurt this morning. I hoped Yahweh was real. I hoped He was watching and listening a
nd protecting Master Isaiah when he spoke to King Ahaz this morning.
I was carding wool in the courtyard when I heard the awful sound. Soldiers’ sandals, many of them, marching in perfect rhythm. The gate squeaked open. I looked up and saw Master Isaiah surrounded by royal guards, his face pinched like a raisin. I dropped my wool and ran into the house to wake Mistress Aya. She’d been sleeping all morning.
I crashed into Yaira, making her cry out. She doubled over and grabbed her tiny round tummy. “Sorry!” I kept running. “Mistress Aya, you must get up. Soldiers are leading the master home.”
She was on her feet and tying the belt of her robe as she walked out of her chamber. We hurried to the courtyard, but the soldiers were gone. Master Isaiah was bracing Yaira’s shoulders with Leah and Dinah standing alongside.
“What’s going on?” Mistress Aya still sounded sleepy. “Where are the soldiers?”
Master Isaiah released Yaira to Dinah’s care and pulled the mistress into his arms. “They’ve gone to carry out Ahaz’s execution order. When I spoke Yahweh’s prophecy of a perfect vineyard that only bore bad fruit, he ordered the immediate execution of all Yahweh’s prophets.”
I felt a cry in my throat but didn’t let it out. Mistress Aya tried to squirm from Master’s arms, but he held her tighter. “I’m safe for now because I’m royal family, but I must go warn the prophets at Tekoa before the king’s guards arrive.” He released her and hurried out the gate.
Yaira crumpled to the ground, crying out in pain. Mistress rushed to her side, placed a hand on her belly, and pressed here and there. When the mistress looked up, I could see bad news on her face. “Dinah, fetch the midwife. Leah, put a kettle of water over the fire.”
Yaira pressed her face against Mistress Aya’s chest. “I’m losing my baby, and the king will kill Micah. It’s all my fault. Yahweh is punishing me.”
Mistress wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve. “Our God does not attack young girls, Yaira. He loves you and the babe in your womb.”
“No, Mistress. I lied. I lied.”
“Shh. Don’t talk now.” Mistress looked at me. “Come, Ishma. Hold Yaira’s hand.”
I fell to my knees beside my friend. She groaned, leaning back on one arm, and gritted her teeth. Clutching her robe in the other hand, she scrunched up her face and grunted. Oh, Yahweh, no! She must have lost her words. Tears leaked from her eyes.
“It’s going to be all right, Yaira,” Mistress said. “Let’s get you into a nice, soft bed.” She helped Yaira stand, and I held my friend’s tummy so nothing fell out. We started toward our chamber, but Mistress Aya pulled Yaira toward her own private quarters. “You’ll need a soft bed and our full attention. Isaiah and I can sleep with the boys tonight.”
“Mistress, no, I don’t deserve—” Yaira stopped and doubled over again.
Doubled over. Like she did when I bumped into her earlier. Then I saw blood running down her leg. I was so afraid; my hand shook when I pointed. “Yaira, you’re bleeding.”
Yaira groaned again, her face pale.
“I bumped you. This is my fault!”
Yaira didn’t talk. Only bit her bottom lip. Mistress Aya cradled her shoulders. “Breathe, Yaira. You can’t hold your breath or you’ll faint.”
I backed away. This was my fault. I shouldn’t touch Yaira again.
My friend drew a deep breath and took her next step, holding her belly with both hands. Tears ran down her cheeks. “This is not your fault, Ishma. It’s mine.” She tried not to cry and turned her face away from us. “This is Yahweh’s judgment because I lied about being defiled in Bethlehem. I was too ashamed to admit it.”
Mistress turned her around and hugged her. “I suspected you’d been hurt, sweet girl, but if this is God’s discipline for your deceit, He will honor your penitent heart.”
Yaira pulled from her arms. “He’ll save my baby?”
Bracing Yaira’s shoulders, Mistress Aya looked sad. “Yahweh is both just and merciful. We will pray, dear. We will pray.”
“Aah!” Yaira clutched at her middle and crumpled to the floor. “This feels like punishment.” She rocked and cried, blood staining the tiles beneath her.
Mistress Aya cradled her, rocking and crying with her.
I didn’t know what to do, what to say. Then I remembered Eliakim’s explanation of discipline. I knelt beside my Yaira. “If this is Yahweh’s discipline for your lie, He will come near to show His love.”
Yaira kept rocking, but her wailing stopped. Mistress looked at me as though I’d startled her. “Ishma, that’s right.” She laid her head against Yaira’s. “Let’s get you to my chamber. Yahweh has not abandoned you. We’ll get through this together.”
She helped Yaira stand and looked over her shoulder at me. “Ishma, please go help Leah prepare strips of cloth. I’ll send Dinah to fetch you when you may enter the chamber. We’ll take good care of Yaira.”
I stood in the hallway, watching the mistress take away my Yaira, my life. I hadn’t prayed since the soldiers attacked Bethlehem. If my prayers didn’t help then, would they help now? Yahweh, show Your love to Yaira—and bring her back to me.
I awoke feeling Mistress Aya’s warm breath on my ear. I was cradled in her arms, lying on a blanket-covered mat. The moon shone bright in the window, and lamplight filled the master’s bedchamber. Everywhere I looked, something beautiful stared back. Tapestries, gold-rimmed vases, wooden chests with robes and jewelry. The queen’s bedchamber, where I’d had private lessons with Hezi, had been grander, but not much.
“Ishma?” Mistress Aya brushed my cheek.
I must have been too noisy. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
She pulled me closer, cuddling me, like my ima used to do. “It’s all right. I carried you in from your mat while you slept so you could see Yaira if you woke in the night.”
The memories rushed back. “Yaira!”
Mistress squeezed me tight when I tried to get up. “Shh, little one. Yaira is sleeping. See?” She pointed toward the elevated bed with its wool-stuffed mattress above us.
I sat up to see my friend, curled into a ball, and then relaxed into Mistress’s arms again.
“Yaira’s baby died today, Ishma. She’s very sad, but she’ll feel better in time.”
Questions churned in my belly. “Was it Yahweh’s discipline? Did He come near even though the baby is gone?”
“I think Yaira feels only sadness right now, but in time, she’ll feel Yahweh’s love again.” She released a deep sigh. “I don’t believe Yaira’s miscarriage was discipline for her deception, and it had nothing to do with you bumping into her. She lost this baby because the soldiers in Bethlehem hurt her badly.” She hugged me tighter. “The midwives said it was a miracle she carried the child this long, and she may never be able to have other children.”
The soldiers. Would the horrible men wearing swords and spears always hurt us? Here, in Mistress Aya’s arms, I felt safe, but…Panic shot through me. “Did the soldiers hurt the prophets? Where is Master Isaiah?”
“I’m here, Ishma.” The master had been lying on the other side of the mattress but now stood so I could see him. He looked older after his visit to King Ahaz.
I wriggled away from Mistress, ran around the bed, and jumped into his arms. “Please don’t go see the king again. I don’t like him.” He buried his scratchy beard in my neck, but I didn’t mind.
“I don’t think any of Yahweh’s prophets will speak to King Ahaz again, little one.”
“Why? Did he kill them?” I covered my mouth, hoping Yaira hadn’t heard.
Master Isaiah kissed my cheek. “No, Ishma. The prophets are safe. Jashub, Kadmiel, and I arrived in Tekoa to warn them before the king’s soldiers could attack.” Master looked over my shoulder to the mistress. “We’ve hidden all the prophets and every sacred scroll in a safe place, so now we must feed them and care for their needs.”
Mistress Aya patted his arm. Tears filled her eyes.
“Where did you
hide them?” I asked the master.
“Someplace where we trust Yahweh will keep them from King Ahaz’s army.”
“How will you keep them hidden?”
Mistress chuckled and rubbed my back while the master explained. “Yahweh will protect His Word and His prophets.” He lifted an eyebrow at his wife. “But we must provide for them.”
“That means we have a lot of mouths to feed, Ishma,” Mistress said. “Can you help me prepare enough bread and cheese for them?”
I nodded until my head felt like it might fall off, which made them both smile.
“I’d like to stay with Micah.” Yaira’s voice startled us all.
Master Isaiah whirled to face the bed. I wriggled from his arms and rushed to Yaira’s side. “We get to live with the prophets?”
Yaira brushed my cheek but didn’t smile.
Mistress Aya sat on the bed beside us. “Yaira, you don’t need to leave our household. I’ve asked the midwife to keep quiet about your pregnancy. I think we can trust her.”
Yaira wiped her tears. “I mean no disrespect, Mistress, but we know how word travels in Jerusalem. I don’t want to shadow the house of Isaiah with the presence of a defiled woman.”
Master Isaiah knelt by the bed. “The house of Isaiah will protect you, Yaira. You need never fear—”
“I want to be with Micah.” Yaira wiped her face on the lamb’s-wool pillow, then returned her gaze to the master and mistress. “I can serve the prophets wherever they’re hiding. They’ll need someone to tend to their needs while they copy the scrolls and continue to train for Yahweh’s work.”
Master Isaiah raised both eyebrows at the mistress.
Mistress nodded. “All right,” she said. “As soon as you’ve regained your strength, Isaiah will move your things to the cave, but you’re always welcome to return to the house.”
A cave? I wasn’t sure if I was happy or sad to live in a cave. I tapped Master Isaiah’s shoulder. “Will it be dark in there? I’m scared of the dark.”
