Isaiah's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  He patted my knee. “You must stay here with Mistress Aya and me, little one. The cave is no place for a child.”

  My face felt prickly. My hands too. “No! I’m going with Yaira.” I tried to climb up with her, but I bumped her tummy. She groaned and pushed me away. “I’m sorry,” I cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Don’t leave me, Yaira! Don’t leave—”

  “Shh, little Ishma.” Strong hands lifted me, cradled me, stroked my hair. “Yaira isn’t leaving you.” Master Isaiah was carrying me out of the chamber. “Shh. You’ll still see her. Calm down. Listen.”

  I tried to stop crying. I tried to hear his words, but I could only see my Yaira weeping, weak, curled into a ball as the door closed behind us. Master walked down the hallway, past other bedchambers, through the kitchen, and out to the courtyard. The cool night air slapped my face and stilled my crying.

  He sat me on his favorite stool and placed a second stool for himself across from me. “If you live in the prophets’ cave, Ishma, you couldn’t attend class with me. You wouldn’t see Hezi or Eliakim or Mattaniah. Mistress Aya would miss you terribly, and how could you help Dinah and Leah take care of the new baby when he comes?”

  I listened, head bowed. Finally, words came. “Why can’t Yaira stay here?”

  He lifted my chin to look at him. “You’re old enough to hear the truth. Yaira will likely never marry because of what the soldiers did to her. She has chosen to serve Yahweh by serving the prophets. It’s an honorable life for a woman like Yaira. It gives her a family and purpose.”

  “But we’re her family. I’m her purpose.”

  “And we will remain her family, but remember what Yaira told you? Yahweh saved you for a greater purpose. Perhaps this is Yaira’s greater purpose—to serve the prophets.”

  I didn’t like that purpose. “Did you say I’d still get to see her?”

  He nodded. “We’ve hidden the prophets to save their lives from King Ahaz’s wrath. We’ve hidden the scrolls to preserve Yahweh’s words for generations to come. Yahweh will protect them, but we must do our part to keep them safe. We must keep the location secret and take meals to the prophets once a day. You may accompany whoever takes the meal if we can trust you to keep the secret.”

  I looked toward the house, where Yaira lay so sad in the master’s chamber. I’d never spent a night away from her. She was my sun and moon and stars. But I remembered our journey from Jericho to Jerusalem and how, even then, she wanted to be with Micah.

  “All right,” I said, even though I didn’t like it. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

  He offered his hand, and I placed mine in his. “I’m proud of you. You’re a brave girl.” He stood. “Let’s go assure Yaira that you’re all right.”

  “May I stay outside for a few moments longer?” I asked, needing to think about what I might say before seeing my Yaira again.

  “Of course, but not too long. We must get some rest. Tomorrow must appear to be a normal day in our household so the king can’t prove we had anything to do with the missing prophets.”

  The master disappeared into the house, but I stayed outside to look at the stars and listen to the night sounds. The same sounds that had frightened me during the captive march now made me feel peaceful. Familiar birdsong lifted my eyes to the nearby palm trees, and I spied the dove’s nest I’d first seen the day I met Hezi.

  Only one bird sat in the nest. My tears started again. In all the time I’d watched the nest, both birds were there. Why now, when I must let Yaira leave me, had one dove chosen to go?

  “Ishma?” Mistress called from the doorway. “Are you all right?” Seeing my tears, she rushed to hold me. “Isaiah said you understood that Yaira must go.”

  I laid my head on her shoulder. “I do understand, Mistress, but one of my doves is gone.”

  She held me at arm’s length. “What do you mean?” I pointed at the nest in the tree, and she squinted to see in the moonlight. “Oh, little Ishma. Palm doves are night feeders. If we were to stay here all night, you would see the second dove return to the nest and the other one leave to find food.” She brushed my cheek. “They’ll both be back in their nest to sing us their songs in the morning.”

  I’m not sure why, but the news made my heart lighter. Maybe because it gave me hope that Yaira would someday come back to our nest.

  PART 2

  So the king of Assyria attacked the Aramean capital of Damascus…King Ahaz then went to Damascus to meet with King Tiglath-Pileser of Assyria. While he was there, he took special note of the altar. Then he sent a model of the altar to Uriah the priest, along with its design in full detail. Uriah followed the king’s instructions and built an altar just like it, and it was ready before the king returned from Damascus.

  2 Kings 16:9–11 (NLT)

  10

  Can a mother forget the baby at her breast

  and have no compassion on the child she has borne?

  Though she may forget,

  I will not forget you!

  —Isaiah 49:15

  “Ishma, hurry!” Mistress Aya called from the courtyard. “I’ve just fed Maher, and I want to get to the queen’s chamber before he falls asleep.”

  Dinah stuffed a loaf of date bread in the basket to accompany the other delicacies she’d included for our hospitality offering. I crossed my arms, fighting the urge to empty the basket and ask the queen to give us food—since we’d been feeding the prophets for the past two years while her husband tried to kill them.

  “Go!” Dinah nudged my shoulder. “We must pretend we have plenty, or the king will grow suspicious.”

  I grudgingly hoisted the basket and paused at the doorway leading to the courtyard, watching Mistress and little Maher feed my doves a few crusts of leftover bread. Master Isaiah had allowed me to cut out small niches in the east courtyard wall, where four pairs of turtle doves now nested. We also had five families of palm doves that returned each spring to our palm trees. They’d become my joy and my friends after Yaira left. I tended them like an overprotective ima, and when I stood very still, one of the doves would even light on my arm.

  “Ishma!” Mistress called again and then jumped when she saw me in the doorway. “Oh, there you are. Let’s walk. He’s bored with the birds.”

  Maher had been fussy all morning. “Here, let me take his hand. I’ll walk with him and tire him out for a good morning nap.”

  “Good idea.” Mistress Aya traded me basket for babe, and I skipped while the little one giggled and tried to keep up. Maher was the center of my heart, my doves filled the edges, but Yaira was the one that made my heart beat.

  I saw my best friend each morning, as Master Isaiah had promised. And every time I accompanied either the master or Jashub to deliver the prophets’ meals, Yaira seemed a little more content. I was hurt by it at first. How could she be happy without me? Then I remembered praying Yahweh would be near her. I also remembered Master Isaiah’s words—that perhaps serving the prophets was Yaira’s purpose. I was almost eight now, so I understood what Master Isaiah called the “eternal picture.”

  Still, I missed my friend.

  I glanced down at little Maher. He was getting tired, so I stopped skipping and walked a little slower. Someday he’d grow up and go to school. What purpose might Yahweh have for him? I considered asking Mistress Aya, but she already thought I was too old for my age.

  “Why does Queen Abijah want us to visit?” I asked instead, as we rounded the corner onto palace grounds.

  Mistress lowered her voice and drew me close. “Her messenger said she had a new couch to show me, but we should assume King Ahaz has put her up to it again. Remember to guard everything you say to Hezi even though he’s your friend. For his safety and ours, it’s best he not know of your involvement with the prophets.”

  I nodded but didn’t understand. Why would Hezi be in danger if he knew I took meals to the prophets? I had never told him because the master and mistress asked me not to, but Hezi would keep my secrets. I tru
sted him almost as much as I trusted Yaira.

  After passing through the Great and Middle Courts, we ascended the stairs to the royal residence chambers. The king’s six wives and their children lived on the second level; his guests were housed on the third. After climbing the single flight of stairs, we turned right and approached Queen Abijah’s door—the first and grandest chamber. Little Maher tugged on my arm, so I hoisted him onto my hip.

  One of the queen’s two chamber guards knocked on her door and then poked his head inside. “Lady Aya and the girl to see you, my queen.” We’d been visiting Queen Abijah at least once a month but he’d never used my name. I was always “the girl.”

  The double doors swung open, and the queen greeted us, Hezi at her side. He immediately reached for Maher, who went willingly into his arms. “Hi, little one. Did you come to play with me?” Maher’s eyes sparkled at the attention. Hezi nudged my shoulder. “Want to play tag in the courtyard?”

  Before I could answer, the queen spoiled the fun. “Why don’t you and Ishma stay with us today, Hezi.”

  His face registered the disappointment I felt, but he said, “We can play my new game while they talk.”

  I faced Mistress Aya, waiting for silent permission. She nodded, smiled, and took Maher from Prince Hezekiah’s arms. Maher wailed louder than the New Moon mourners. I halted midstep, ready to take the toddler with us, but Mistress Aya grinned. “He’s fine, little mama. Go play with your friend.”

  Hezi and I ran down the crimson carpet that split the queen’s large chamber. There were now three couches in the sitting area arranged in the shape of a horseshoe. The newest addition was a deep shade of blue with matching pillows trimmed in gold braid and tassels. I admired it on my way to the marble-topped table where Hezi had laid two new games.

  “Each one is a wooden triangle with fifteen holes and fourteen pegs.” He flashed his crooked smile. “You jump one peg over another into an open hole and remove the peg you’ve jumped over. Whoever ends with the least number of pegs remaining wins.”

  I nudged his shoulder and reached for one of the boards. “I’ll beat you every time.”

  “Only if I let you win.”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  I was vaguely aware of the mistress and Queen Abijah arriving at the couches. Maher still howled like a wounded jackal, and the queen was becoming more agitated by the moment. I checked Hezi’s game progress and saw that he had four pegs left. I only had three, but they were spread too far apart.

  “Ha!” Hezi raised his fist. “I did it!” He’d skipped over two more pegs and now had only two left.

  “Let’s play again.” I started resetting the pegs before he agreed, but I knew he’d consent. Whether we were playing board games, memorizing the Law, or racing across the palace court, Hezi and I competed—and I even won sometimes.

  “Can’t you quiet him?” Queen Abijah was nearly as frantic as Maher.

  “I can, but you never like my solution.” Mistress Aya grinned at her friend as she turned her back to Hezi and me.

  “Honestly, Aya. You’re married to the king’s cousin. We have nursemaids for that sort of thing.”

  The chamber grew quiet except for the sound of Maher’s contented swallows. “He’ll be asleep in a few minutes, Abbi. Then I’ll put him down in your bed.”

  Hezi kept his eyes on his game, his cheeks pink. Maybe he was distracted enough that I could beat him. I worked out my strategy before moving any pegs.

  The queen cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “You know King Ahaz has ordered me to ask, Aya. Do you know where Isaiah has hidden the prophets?”

  “What makes you think Isaiah helped with the prophets’ disappearance?” Mistress Aya was clever. She didn’t exactly lie. Just replied with a veiled question.

  “If you don’t want to tell me, don’t tell me. But don’t treat me like a fool. I know Isaiah has hidden them and has undoubtedly involved you in the conspiracy.” The queen’s voice quavered. “I’m not sure I could save you if King Ahaz discovered you were complicit.”

  “Which is the very reason I would never involve you, Abbi.” The mistress hesitated. “I’ve always trusted you, my friend, but how can I ask you to keep a secret that your husband would do anything—hurt anyone, say anything, go anywhere—to discover?”

  Hezi reached for my hand. I hadn’t realized it was trembling. He sat down and patted the marble floor beside him. I obeyed without thinking, and he moved my hand with the pegs until only one peg remained on the board.

  “We always win when we work together.” His smile made my heart a little lighter, but I now realized why I could never tell him about the prophets. Mistress Aya was right. It was for Hezi’s safety as well as ours.

  I’d never even met King Ahaz—only seen him across the courtyard a time or two—but I hated him. Hated him more than the soldiers who hurt Yaira. Even more than the soldiers who killed Ima and Abba. Because King Ahaz kept hurting the people I loved.

  Yahweh, if You hear me, why don’t you hurt King Ahaz instead of good people like Yaira and my parents? He didn’t answer right away, but maybe He would in time, like He did for Yaira.

  11

  Then King Ahaz went to Damascus to meet Tiglath-Pileser king of Assyria.

  —2 Kings 16:10

  Dawn’s lavender hues tinged the eastern sky. Isaiah waited in the dark corner of their wine cellar, praying. Jashub and Ishma were late returning from the prophets’ cave.

  For two years Ishma had accompanied either Jashub or Isaiah through the dark hole in the floor, into the passageways under Jerusalem’s western city, to the secluded caves in the wilderness hills. They’d provided food, clothing, and parchment for Yahweh’s prophets and always arrived home before dawn, even though they made the lengthy trek without torches. The complete darkness kept them hidden from the king’s relentless troops, and a left hand on the tunnel wall guided them to the prophets’ cave. Isaiah’s family had learned to trust Yahweh for both sight and safety.

  The faint sound of sandals scraping the rock below stole Isaiah’s breath. It grew louder, and he strained to see beyond the darkness. Finally, two shadows emerged from the gloom.

  Isaiah extended his arm and pulled Ishma up first. “What took so long?” His tone was harsher than intended. Fear had that effect on an abba.

  Ishma wilted into the opposite corner as he reached for Jashub, who slapped away the proffered hand and hoisted himself through the opening. “I needed to speak with a prophet.” He stood to full height, meeting Isaiah’s gaze, shoulders stiff, chin raised. Everything was a fight with his eldest these days.

  Ishma tugged on his robe. “I’m sorry, Master.” She alternated concerned glances between the two men. “I talked longer with Yaira today while Jashub talked to Micah.”

  “Go, help Dinah.” Jashub nudged the girl, but it was his tone that bruised her.

  Before she walked away, Isaiah caught her hand. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I was worried about you. That’s all.” She nodded and cast a withering glance at Jashub before trudging to the kitchen and closing the door behind her.

  Isaiah exhaled his frustration and tried to remember how he’d felt at sixteen. “Ishma is tender, Jashub. Please speak gently to her.” The boy’s shoulders sagged, hard features softening. The dim light of two oil lamps cast a hint of gold in his brown curls. Isaiah’s chest constricted. My little boy is becoming a man. I must loosen my grip. “I understand if you needed to talk about Yahweh with a prophet other than your abba.”

  “I needed to talk with Micah about a betrothal.” Jashub’s voice was quiet, tentative. “I want to marry Yaira, but he said I must get your permission first.”

  To say Isaiah felt surprise was like comparing Mount Hermon to an anthill. Yaira was fourteen, of marriageable age, but Jashub was sixteen, too young to support a family. Women could marry at Yaira’s age, but men often waited into their midtwenties, until they completed military service or established themselves in a trade.

/>   “I’ve already resigned from military training, Abba, and the chief scribe has agreed to make me his apprentice.”

  Isaiah no longer saw gold curls; he no longer saw the child he knew. He saw a deceptive teenager. “Why haven’t you talked with me about this?”

  “Because I knew you wouldn’t approve.” Jashub held his gaze. “I love Yaira, and I want to take care of her for the rest of our lives.”

  His mind reeling, Isaiah tried to decide which question would be least hurtful. Had Yaira pressed Jashub for marriage? Had Jashub considered the stain on Yaira’s reputation and on Jashub’s should he marry her? Yaira had no parents, and Micah certainly couldn’t pay a dowry. Dragging in a deep breath, Isaiah decided on a much safer question. “Does Yaira feel the same about you?”

  Jashub’s gaze fell to his sandals. “She refused marriage, but I know she loves me.”

  “Did she say why she wouldn’t marry you?”

  “Yes.”

  Isaiah waited, but Jashub remained silent. “Did she tell you she may never bear a child of her own?”

  “Yes, but the midwives don’t know for certain she can’t bear children.” His eyes sparked with passion. “She thinks because we’re born of the line of David, she’s beneath us. None of that matters, Abba. I love her, and I know she loves me.”

  Isaiah filled the silence with prayer. Yahweh, I have spoken with kings of many nations and have never been this frightened. Please, give me Your words for my son. “Children are a gift from the Lord, Jashub, but not essential to a union. The love between husband and wife was God’s first gift in the garden. If Yaira is to be your wife, she must come to you with her whole heart. I will not bless the marriage until she is equally convinced of the match.”

  “You know how stubborn she can be. She may never believe I can truly love her.” Isaiah’s son was suddenly the pouty-lipped boy he remembered.

  “If you hope to be her husband, Jashub, you will learn to respect her feelings. Give Yahweh time to work in both your hearts.”