Isaiah's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  Hezi’s shoulders lifted, his spine straight, chin held high. “If those with the light never walk the narrow path, how will the lost find their way?”

  I stared at Prince Hezekiah and wasn’t sure whether to be offended or proud that he would address Yahweh’s prophet with such assurance. Where had he learned about lights and paths and the lost?

  Master Isaiah’s features softened, and he nodded. “You make a valid point, Prince Hezekiah, but a prophet must obey the word of the Lord no matter how foolish or harsh it appears. If you, however, believe you can speak to Uriah and make him understand…”

  “You know I can’t.” Hezi picked at a loose thread on his cushion. “Abba named me crown prince, but I’ve had no coronation as co-regent. I believe I’m safe from Molek’s fires, but no one is safe from other ways Abba shows his wrath.”

  My stomach turned at the thought of Hezi living in constant fear, but at least there was hope for his future. “Now that you’re crown prince,” I said, “we know one day you’ll lead Judah back to the light. Maybe even now you can find ways to help people return to Yahweh.”

  Eliakim sat straight as a measuring rod. “Maybe we can all help. I’m getting pretty good with my sword.”

  I looked at Master Isaiah, panicked. I didn’t want Eliakim to fight. Seeing him in a soldier’s breast piece was hard enough.

  Hezi shoved Eliakim’s shoulder, regaining some of his old spark. “The sword may not be the way to lead Judah to the light, but it’s a good way to prove our worth to my abba.”

  “No!” I jumped to my feet. “You can’t fight—either of you.”

  “Shh.” Master Isaiah held out his hand, inviting me back to my cushion. “Ishma, sit down. Remember, today we listen.”

  His stern expression told me not to argue. I obeyed the master, keeping my head bowed so I didn’t have to see the boys’ faces. They were changing, and I didn’t like it. Why did things have to change?

  The master laid a gentle hand on my arm. “Every boy is trained to fight when he reaches the age of manhood. In another year Hezekiah will be thirteen and will leave our class to begin training like Eliakim, but they can still be your friends.”

  I tried to blink away my tears, but they wouldn’t stop. I kept my head down so they’d drip into my lap.

  “We’ll always be friends, Ishma.” Eliakim nudged my knee as he stood. “I need to get home. Hez, can you come over for archery practice? This is my only day off until the new moon.”

  The silence told me Hezi was undecided, but I didn’t look up. “I need to tell Ishma something. Go ahead, Eli. I’m right behind you.”

  I covered my face with my hands. Why didn’t he just go? This wasn’t at all how I wanted our first meeting to be.

  He gently pulled my hands away and tipped my chin, but I refused to look up. “Please, Ishma. Look at me.”

  Master Isaiah patted my shoulder. “I’ll wait at the door and let you two talk.”

  I didn’t want to talk, but Hezi waited…and waited. “Just go with Eliakim,” I said.

  “I need to thank you first.”

  My breath caught. Thank me? “Why?” I squeaked out the word.

  He dangled a purple ribbon in front of my eyes, forcing me to look up. I wiped my face and took it but must have shown my confusion.

  “Ima wrapped it around your letters. Didn’t you know she sent them?”

  “She said she would, but I wasn’t sure—” I gasped, realizing what my words implied. “I mean, of course she would if she said so.”

  His eyes were sad again, and he brushed my cheek. “No. Neither of my parents speaks truth, but she sent them, and I read them every day I was in Samaria.”

  “Samaria?” The word cut my heart like a dagger. “Why did your abba go to Israel—the same Israel that attacked Bethlehem and killed my parents?”

  He straightened. “It wasn’t my choice to go there, Ishma, but I’m glad we did. Abba negotiated an important treaty with King Hoshea while we were there.”

  “How long did you stay?”

  “Two months.”

  I felt like the floor shifted beneath me. “Did they hold you prisoner?”

  He laughed, seeming relieved. “No, no. King Hoshea was very hospitable.”

  “Hospitable?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “The army that killed my parents, burned Judean villages, and destroyed Jerusalem’s southern city was hospitable?”

  Master Isaiah was suddenly standing behind me. “Is everything all right?”

  Hezi stood, and I stood to meet his challenge. “Ishma is upset, Master Isaiah, that the letters she wrote consoled me while I stayed in Israel for two months. She seems equally upset that I was not imprisoned or tortured by King Hoshea while there.” He lifted his eyebrows, waiting for me to respond.

  I turned to Master Isaiah, expecting him to expound on Israel’s evils. Instead, he asked Hezi, “Was anything accomplished during your two-month visit in Israel?”

  Why did it matter? Israel was our enemy.

  Hezi nodded. “Abba secured a four percent tribute for Judah from Israel’s treasury, and I received a promise from King Hoshea to reinstitute Yahweh worship among his people.”

  Money for Judah’s treasury and a return of Israel’s tribes to Yahweh. Everything I’d learned from Master Isaiah about foreign relations told me King Ahaz and Hezi had been successful in a difficult negotiation. But I felt like they’d discarded my stolen past when they made a treaty with Israel for the future.

  Master Isaiah stared at Hezi, eyes narrowed, really studying him. Did he agree that Hezi had betrayed us, or would he side with Hezi?

  Hezi’s cheeks grew red. “Did I do something wrong, Master Isaiah?”

  Our teacher shook his head, and his features brightened. “Hezekiah, I believe you will usher in a kingdom of peace in Judah such as God’s chosen people have never seen before.” His eyes grew misty again. “I believe you are the anointed Son of David Yahweh has spoken of in my prophecies.”

  Hezi looked as confused as I felt. “Master Isaiah,” he said, “I’ve never heard you speak of an anointed Son of David.”

  “In the days since the prophets have been hidden, the Lord has spoken much, but His words have been hidden on parchment. The prophecies will one day be revealed, and I will teach them plainly, but for now”—he hesitated and placed a hand on Hezi’s shoulder—“we need not discuss the anointed Deliverer today. Hezekiah, go practice archery with Eliakim. Ishma and I will see you in class tomorrow.”

  Hezi tucked my letters back into his belt and nudged my shoulder. “See you tomorrow, friend.”

  14

  So Uriah the priest built an altar in accordance with all the plans that King Ahaz had sent from Damascus and finished it before King Ahaz returned. When the king came back from Damascus and saw the altar, he approached it and presented offerings on it.

  —2 Kings 16:11–12

  Hezekiah was glad to be home, but everything felt different. Because of his military training, Eliakim wouldn’t be in class anymore. Master Isaiah suddenly thought Yahweh had chosen Hezekiah to bring peace to the whole world. And Ishma…He had thought that, of all those in his life, she might understand how the atrocities in Damascus had affected him. But her look of horror as he recounted the banquets made it clear he couldn’t share more deeply.

  “Hezi, you’re moping.” Ima set aside her embroidery. “The next king of Judah should not mope.”

  “The next king of Judah should do as he pleases.” The words slipped out before he could restrain them. He looked at her, expecting a sharp reprimand. “Ima, I’m sorry!”

  “My second-born isn’t perfect after all,” she said with a smile and then patted the seat beside her. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

  He left his game on the floor and flopped onto the couch. “I feel different.”

  “You are different. You’re the crown prince.”

  Was that all she thought about? “But Eliakim and Ishma are different to
o.”

  “Hmm. Eliakim is training to be a soldier—as he should.” She lifted a single brow. “Was Ishma upset that her letters were delivered to you in Samaria?”

  Hezi tried not to react—tried not to accuse his ima of scheming before he gathered more facts. “I was surprised you sent her letters to me at all, Ima. You haven’t encouraged our friendship recently.”

  She began to twirl his hair around her finger. “I sent the letters because I knew they would force you to tell Ishma you were in Samaria.”

  “I would have told her anyway,” he said. “But I’m glad you sent them.”

  Ima stopped twirling his hair and laced her fingers together, knuckles white. “How did she react to the treaty you and your abba struck with King Hoshea?”

  “I’m not going to talk about Ishma with you, Ima.”

  Ima smiled, sending dread up Hezi’s spine. “What have you done now?” he asked.

  “I’ve invited Isaiah and Ishma to my chamber this morning for a private tutoring session. Rather than throwing you back into the classroom on your first day back in Jerusalem—”

  “Ima, no! I want to go—”

  She turned with fire in her eyes. “Until you are crowned co-regent, you remain under my authority.” A knock sounded on her door. “Come!” she shouted.

  The door swung open, and Hezi wished he could crawl under the couch. Would his ima forever scheme?

  Master Isaiah stood in the doorway, Ishma tucked under his protective arm. “Good morning, Queen Abijah. We’re here as you requested.”

  Ima glided to her guests, arms open in greeting. “Come, Ishma. Let’s all sit down and talk.”

  She nudged Isaiah aside and guided Hezi’s friend to the deep blue couch. “Sit here beside me. You can play with Hezi’s peg game while we three grown-ups talk.”

  Ishma kept her head bowed, but Hezi saw red creeping up her neck. “Thank you, my queen,” she said in a clipped tone. Ishma sat where Ima instructed, hands in her lap.

  Master Isaiah’s jaw muscle tightened. “Why did you invite Ishma and me to your chamber, Queen Abijah, and force me to cancel class?”

  Ima’s expression lost all pretense. “Isaiah, your wife has been my best friend for as long as I remember, and I wouldn’t hurt her for all the gold in Assyria.”

  Isaiah nodded. “I realize that, Queen Abijah. What does that have to do with canceling my class?”

  “For years, Aya and I have met regularly while the children played together. I still want to meet with my friend, but Hezi will no longer attend—nor should Ishma—because the girl cannot continue this friendship with my son now that he’s been named crown prince.”

  Hezi’s heart skipped a beat. “No, Ima, that’s not fair!”

  She lifted her hand to silence him. “You will listen before you speak, Hezi. I’ll give you a chance to reply.”

  Isaiah sat calmly beside him. “I must agree with your son, my queen, and add a question. Why not tell Aya your decision?”

  Hezi wondered the same, but when Ima’s eyes began to fill, he knew.

  “You must be the villain here, Isaiah, not me. This decision must appear to Aya as if it were yours.”

  Instead of the anger Hezi anticipated, Master Isaiah smiled. “And why would I lie to my wife for you, Abijah?”

  Ima smiled too. “Because I’m your queen. I command it.”

  “Why separate the children now?”

  “Hezi must be educated properly.” She looked down at Ishma. “I’m sure Ishma is bright, but I don’t believe she’s the best influence on Hezi anymore.”

  Isaiah stroked his manicured beard, exaggerating his pondering. “Test her yourself, Queen Abijah. Ask Ishma whatever would assuage your fears. I’m sure she’s up to the challenge.”

  Ishma’s face lost its color, and Ima looked at her like a snake eyeing a mouse. “Tell me, dear. Should Hezi attend the dedication of Rimmon’s altar at the Temple this afternoon?”

  Ishma tried to look at Isaiah, but Ima grabbed her face, gripping her cheeks to focus her. “Don’t look at him. Tell me your thoughts. The high priest, Uriah—who replaced my abba—placed the exact replica of Assyria’s god on the spot where the Bronze Sea once sat. King Ahaz himself will present the sacrifice. Maybe Hezi should help?”

  “Never.”

  Ima released her. “Tell me why.”

  Ishma rubbed her cheeks, where Ima’s nails had left marks. “What kind of high priest would agree to build a pagan altar? Maybe that’s why your abba was replaced. Maybe he said no to the requests of King Ahaz too many times.”

  Ima studied Hezi’s friend before responding. “You’re intuitive, Ishma. I’ll give you that. You’re right. Abba was too stubborn to serve as King Ahaz’s high priest.”

  Ishma looked up and said softly, “Isn’t he supposed to be Yahweh’s high priest?”

  The queen looked at Hezi. “See? Unwise. Your abba would beat her if he heard that question.”

  “I have to go to the sacrifice, Ishma.” Hezi spoke around a lump in his throat.

  The disappointment in her eyes cut him like a knife. “No, Hezi. The Law says, ‘You shall not make for yourself an image in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below.’ You can’t go.”

  Ima responded before he could. “I wish life was so simple, Ishma. Hot or cold, black or white, right or wrong.”

  “It is that simple, my queen,” Ishma continued. “ ‘Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one.’ ‘You shall have no other gods before Me. You shall not—’ ”

  Ima glanced at Hezi. “You see? She knows the Law of Moses but knows nothing of kings or the choices you must now make.”

  Hezi stood, pleading. “But she knows other things too, and the Law will still help me make good choices, Ima.” He knelt before her. “Please.” His voice broke, and he bowed his head on her knee, refusing to let Ishma see his tears.

  “I will not lie to my wife.” Isaiah’s deep voice broke through Hezi’s emotion. “And it is a mistake to remove Ishma from your son’s training. Shebna will give Hezekiah the advice you seek. Not only is he older, he also is well educated in foreign policy and trade routes. Ishma knows most of the same facts, but her passion—that you fear might weaken Hezekiah—will actually make him the best king since Solomon.”

  Hezi sniffed, wiped his face, and sat on the floor with his back toward Ima and Ishma. Waiting.

  “You must make her understand, Isaiah.” Ima’s voice was sharp as a blade.

  Master Isaiah shifted on the couch. “Prince Hezekiah?” He spoke quietly and waited until he looked at him. “In Solomon’s wisdom, he said, ‘Iron sharpens iron.’ If you want Ishma to remain as your classmate, you must logically defend your choices as crown prince against her logical rebuttal. It’s the way a good king interacts with his advisors and will train you to rule.”

  Hezi couldn’t move, didn’t speak. Why must he explain it to Ishma? To anyone? Abba didn’t explain himself. Even as the thought fluttered into his mind, he understood the need for the skill Isaiah proposed. With a calming breath, he turned to face Ishma. She looked so small sitting beside Ima.

  He reached for the peg game and her hand. “Come, sit with me on the floor.” She joined him, sitting across from him as she’d done dozens of times before, with the peg game between them. “When I move a peg, I’ll explain the reasons I’ve decided to attend the dedication ceremony of the new altar. When you move a peg, you can tell me why you disagree.”

  She nodded and offered a tentative grin, and Hezi moved the first peg. “Many people in Judah believed it was Abba’s sacrifice to Molek that saved the captives from Samaria three years ago.”

  “That’s not true!” Ishma said.

  Hezi pointed to the game. “Jump a peg.”

  She growled her frustration but moved a peg to jump another and removed one from the board. “I told you, Yaira and I saw the prophet Oded. We captives were released because Yahweh commanded it, not becaus
e your poor brother…” Her tone softened. “I’m sorry about Bocheru, Hezi. Your abba should never have—”

  “You see, Isaiah?” Ima shouted. “Ishma is incapable of holding her tongue.”

  Before Isaiah answered, Hezi continued his explanation, jumping another peg. “The high priest, Uriah, agreed that by placing a new altar in Yahweh’s Temple—even a pagan one—the nation of Judah might return to worship there and remember the God of our fathers.”

  Ishma slammed another peg from one hole to another, eyes blazing. “Yahweh’s Temple is where the Holy One of Israel dwells. He’ll remove His presence if the Temple is defiled by a pagan altar. And if His presence goes, why worship there at all?”

  Hezi’s fingers paused on the next peg. She was right. There were too many pegs left on the board, and he was running out of reasons to attend the dedication. He held her gaze. “My ima has been beaten and mistreated her whole life—to save mine. If I refuse Abba now, I fear it may not be only my life at stake.”

  Tears formed on her lashes, and she rested her hand on a peg for several heartbeats. Then she removed all the pegs except the last one Hezi had touched. “I will always tell you the truth, Prince Hezekiah, no matter how much it conflicts with your royal responsibilities. But because you will live with the consequences of your decisions, only you can make them.”

  The weight of her surrender nearly crushed him. He didn’t want to make the decisions. He wanted to blame it on Ima’s scheming or Abba’s corruption. His only hope was in wise counselors. “She stays, Ima.”

  With a defeated sigh, his ima stood, stepping toward Isaiah to tower over him. “You and your students are shaping the next king of Judah. Make sure every word is measured and every lesson prepares my son for greatness.”

  Master Isaiah stood to meet her challenge. “I teach Yahweh’s truth, and it is He who will make Hezekiah great.”

  Hezi stood quickly, hoping to prevent another clash. “Master Isaiah, can we convene class before the dedication ceremony?”

  Ima spoke before his teacher could answer. “You may hold class today on one condition. Bring Aya to the ceremony and stand with me. I need others to surround me who know—” Ima ducked her head, tears forming. Were they real, or was she scheming again? “Though I must publicly support King Ahaz, I need others around me who know my true heart.”