by Mesu Andrews
Isaiah approached the three huddled physicians. “Is there truly nothing you can do to help him?”
“We are treating him with milk-thistle tea and adding turmeric to his food. He’s shown some improvement since yesterday.” Isaiah raised his brows, and the physician acknowledged his disbelief. “King Ahaz wouldn’t have been able to carry on a conversation earlier this morning. We’re seeing good results.”
“So he could recover?”
The physician’s grave expression answered before he spoke. “Unfortunately, no, but we can perhaps give him more time.” He added from lowered brows, “If he stops drinking wine.”
Isaiah looked over his shoulder at the wasting flesh of a human life. “Has anyone sent word to King Hezekiah? He should be prepared if—”
“King Hezekiah has known of his abba’s failing health for years, but King Ahaz has forbidden his son to return to Jerusalem until after his death.”
Isaiah’s head snapped back to the physician. “Forbidden? King Ahaz doesn’t want to see him?”
“Nor will he see the queen again after last night’s…encounter.” The man’s eyes softened. “I suspect you are the only family he had left to summon.”
“What about his other sons?” At least two of the princes served on the royal counsel.
“They’ve refused his summons, offering excuses of travel and illness. Now, if you’ll excuse me”—the physician bowed—“I must return to my patient.”
Isaiah stood at the foot of the king’s bed, a terrible mixture of emotions warring within. He had watched Ahaz grow up from a boy with curly red hair into this sad mound of wasting flesh. Caregivers worked frantically to save his life from reckless living. Was it heartless to pray for his repentance and wish him dead? Yahweh, how do I pray for my cousin Ahaz?
God’s answer blew over his spirit: Let one who walks in darkness, one who has no light, trust in the name of the LORD.
Isaiah squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “Holy One of Israel, work in King Ahaz to give up control to the God who is King of all.”
27
You who live in Lachish…
You are where the sin
of Daughter Zion began,
for the transgressions of Israel
were found in you.
—Micah 1:13
Hezekiah wiped his brow with the tail of his headband. Spring had arrived in Lachish with a vengeance, and sweat dripped from the ringlets around his face as he worked. “Ready, teams one and two?” he shouted to the men on the far side of the retaining wall, dropping his hammer and bracing his feet.
Every man on both teams nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
Leaning down, Hezi grabbed his rope and looked over at team four standing across from him. “Ready to steady it after we lift?” Their foreman nodded, his team lightly grasping the rope for now.
Glancing over his shoulder, Hezi made sure the six men behind him on team three grabbed the rope and were ready to pull. “Put your backs into it men. Now—pull!”
Like teams of oxen, his group and team one on the far side tugged in unison, digging their heels into the dusty soil, hoisting the wall off the ground. The two steadying teams now held their ropes taut, lending support until the wall was perfectly erect. “Gently! Pull it back gently, now,” Hezi shouted.
Eliakim stood at the end, yellow flag extended, and closed one eye to measure plumb with his thumb. “A little to my left. A little more. Good! Hold it!” he shouted, thrusting his red flag into the air. “Carpenters, get in there and shore it up!”
All four teams held the giant wall steady while the carpenters built an ingenious bracing system. Eliakim, with his magnificent brain, had been inventing and building things since he and Hezi were children. He’d started with twigs and rocks but had proven himself in the past six years by rebuilding Judah’s fortress cities and reinforcing their walls.
Hezi’s muscles burned with the now-familiar thrill that hard labor brought. “Hurry up, women! I can’t be late for Sabbath.”
A carpenter shouted back, “I can’t hear you with that golden spoon in your mouth.” All the crews laughed.
Hezi dished it right back. “I’ll shove my golden spoon in your ear if you don’t get this wall up by sundown.” These men had become friends, colaborers, and loyal Judeans. In this city, where Judean idolatry began, the citizens had shown respect for the co-regent by keeping the Sabbath since he and Eliakim had arrived.
After a bit more heckling and insults, the wall was secured, and Eliakim waved his green flag. “Well done, men. Well done.” The hoisters dropped their ropes, shaking out tired muscles and offering congratulatory slaps on the back.
Hezi bent over and braced his hands on his knees to catch his breath when he noticed a little boy of about five or six, watching the men with awe. Like a dagger to Hezi’s chest, the dark-haired little boy reminded him so much of his brother Mattaniah when he was that age. Mattaniah now governed Judah’s fortress in Philistine territory. Word had reached Hezi that he’d reopened the temple of Dagon that Hezi had closed. Another life damaged by Abba’s wickedness. Struggling for composure, Hezi turned to go and glimpsed a lone camel rider bearing the royal flag of Judah.
It was a messenger from Jerusalem—and he knew. He’d waited for word of Abba’s death since Isaiah sent word three years ago that King Ahaz’s life was nearly over. Something in his spirit said this messenger brought the news.
“Eliakim, follow me to the palace. Now!” Both of them ran, trying to beat the messenger to the palace of Lachish.
“What are we doing, Hez?” Eliakim kept looking over his shoulder. “It’s the third palace messenger today. Why are we running from him?”
“Because we seldom get three messengers.”
Eliakim looked at him like he’d lost his mind, but somehow Hezi knew he was about to become the sole reigning king of Judah, and he needed a moment alone with Yahweh before his life changed forever. “Stall the messenger when he gets here. Give me a few minutes in my chamber before he hands me the scroll he’s carrying. Promise me, Eli.”
They reached the stairway leading to the entrance hall, and Eliakim waved him on. “I’ll meet him here. You go.”
Hezekiah took the stairs two at a time, ran through the throne room, past the curtained doorway, and into his private chamber. He stripped off his robe as if it were chains and fell to the floor on his knees. But he wasn’t low enough. He lay flat on his belly, face down on the marble, hands extended over his head.
“Yahweh. El Shaddai—God Almighty. El Roi—the God who sees. I knew this day would come, but I am not ready. Am I this Immanuel of whom the prophets speak?” The familiar fear choked off his words, and he pressed his forehead against the cold marble, willing himself to be stronger.
“Thank You for these years of rest from Jerusalem’s constant conniving and deception. In Judah’s towns and villages, You’ve shown me the transparency of true love and hate. Those who hated me offered a chance to win their trust, and because of Your mercy, O Righteous One of Israel, I found favor in their eyes and Yours. Make me Your humble servant, O God, and give me wisdom as You gave my great father Solomon to rule Your people well.”
A fleeting thought of Zibah lit a spark like flint stones. “She will be mine!” Hezi’s eyes popped open, and an overwhelming joy washed over him. The coming days would be difficult, yes, but after mourning his abba, Hezekiah would finally marry his best friend.
“If she’ll still have me.” The whisper escaped on a thread of doubt. Her messages had been sterile for the past year, information only, devoid of feeling or the usual fire that was so genuinely his delight. “I have trusted You, Yahweh, to tend her love for me as the Master Gardener would tend His prize vineyard. Please, let the harvest come.”
When Yahweh placed Judah in his hands, he would need Zibah’s strong heart and mind to fulfill those prophecies.
From the corner of his eye, he spied a bug crawling across the marble. He’d never lain prone on the flo
or before, and the world appeared very different from this vantage point. Two bugs, in fact, crawled very near his waste pot. Deciding Yahweh wouldn’t mind the brief interruption, he grabbed a soiled cloth from his nightstand, ready to smash the creepy visitors, but halted with hand poised in midattack. They were dung beetles—little insects placed on this earth for a singular purpose: to eliminate dung. Devour it. Destroy it. Dispatch it. Hezekiah chuckled. Then laughed. Then rolled on his side and dissolved into hilarity.
Eliakim opened the door. “King Hezeki—” He closed it immediately, locking the messenger outside. “Hez, what are you doing?” Concern etched his features. “The messenger brings important news.”
Hezi picked up one of the bugs and stood. “I’ve decided on a new royal seal that will embody the essence of my reign. The dung beetle, Eli.” He lifted the creepy crawler aloft, watching its legs squirm. “Because my reign will destroy the pagan dung my abba built all over Judah.”
“Your abba is dead, Hez.” Eliakim was appropriately sober.
“I know. We’ll leave for Jerusalem after Sabbath.”
Verging on alarm, Eliakim stepped closer, lowering his voice. “After Sabbath? The messenger said the advisors are waiting for you now. If we ride dromedaries, like he did, we can reach Jerusalem by the moon’s zenith.”
Hezekiah considered what his friend said. The advisors were waiting. “Call in the messenger, please.”
Eliakim nodded and opened the door. “The king will see you.”
The dusty messenger boy hurried in and immediately fell to his knees, face on the floor, hands extended. “Long live King Hezekiah. Please show me mercy as the bearer of such tragic news. Your abba was a great man, my lord.”
“Rise, boy.”
The messenger stood but kept his eyes averted.
“What’s your name?”
“Eshtemoa, my lord.”
“Eshtemoa, my abba was not a great man, but we will leave further comment to the record of kings. You have nothing to fear from your new king.” The boy’s eyes grew wide. “We will lead Judah out of idolatry, and we’re going to start tonight—right now.”
The boy looked at Eliakim as if he might save him from whatever Hezekiah was about to do. Even Eliakim looked a little nervous. “Hez—sorry—my king, what do you mean? We need to—”
“We need to celebrate Sabbath, friends, and that’s what we’ll do. Tonight.” He pointed out the window at the setting sun. “We obey Yahweh first. My advisors in Jerusalem will wait, and next Sabbath they too will celebrate—or they won’t be my advisors.”
Eliakim’s face brightened with a slow, knowing smile. “I’ll alert the cooks that we’ll have another guest for Shabbat this evening.”
If the boy’s eyes got any bigger, they might burst. Hezekiah tossed him a cushion. “Sit down, son. You look a little flushed.”
28
As a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so will your God rejoice over you.
—Isaiah 62:5
King Hezekiah entered the city this morning, leading a procession of Yahweh’s prophets with Kadmiel’s seventh regiment as their guard. The streets of Jerusalem were crowded with people, silent but waving brightly colored scarves. An unusually subdued welcome for their coming king but appropriate in light of mourning traditions for King Ahaz.
Not long after the processional, a palace messenger arrived, and my heart fluttered like a bird’s wings. He bowed to Abba. “King Hezekiah requests the presence of Master Isaiah. You are needed at the palace immediately.” Without a backward glance, Abba followed the messenger from our courtyard.
Evidently, the new king didn’t need Hephzibah.
I’d suspected it for some time. Hezi wrote only occasionally. His scrolls were always dated on a Sabbath, and the scroll arrived the next day. He still vowed his faithfulness and love, but his words were an amendment at the end of a military report—an obligation—rather than an outpouring of his heart. Perhaps he was too honorable to break our betrothal. I would talk with Abba when he returned from the palace about how to rescind it without casting a shadow on the beginning of Hezi’s reign.
I spent the morning with my doves, while the rest of my family chattered endlessly about how life would change because of our new king. I’d never seen them so happy. Yaira sat with her brother, Micah, and Dinah under the shade of our palm trees. Leah tended Jashub’s oldest daughter, while Hallel nursed their new son. Jashub wore a proud smile as did Ima and Kadmiel, who talked of Maher’s induction to the new king’s royal guard.
I sat with my doves. They were restless today. Perhaps they sensed my turmoil, or maybe they were troubled by the whole family’s presence in the courtyard. They, like me, thrived on quiet. Is that why I’ll never be queen, Yahweh? Are You sparing me from the constant havoc of palace life? I tried to prepare myself for any good reason Yahweh might have to rip my heart from my chest.
I moved closer to the dovecote, cooing, lifting my arm and offering crumbs in my outstretched hand. My favorite turtle dove left its nest and landed on my arm. I offered the crumbs from my pocket and then stroked its soft feathers for comfort—the bird’s and mine.
I heard Yaira’s lilting laughter and glanced over my shoulder. How quickly our lives had changed since Hezi’s return this morning. Micah and the other prophets had been restored under the king’s protection. Yaira had her brother back—the brother she loved more than breath. And I would now be alone in my old age. Now that I was twenty-two, suitors would not line up to offer Abba a bride price. Nor would I accept. I hadn’t met a man—noble or common—who compared to Hezi.
Oh, how embarrassing to take the name Hephzibah and seize the hope that went with it. Yahweh, were those dreams of coincidence and chance? Or perhaps meant solely for Jerusalem with no personal significance?
How could I have believed the dreams were meant for me? I would never again try to apply God’s imagery to an immediate circumstance. But such a stringent restriction didn’t seem right either. Yahweh had proven true to His words in becoming Yaira’s Bridegroom. She seemed utterly content to be single. Perhaps, in time, I could be too.
“Zibah. Zibah!” Abba stood at the courtyard gate, an impish grin on his face.
Startled from my thoughts, I felt my cheeks warm. “You’re back from the palace so soon?” How many times had he called my name?
“You’re too young to have lost your hearing.” Everyone laughed, and my throat tightened.
No teasing. Not today. “No. Of course. What is it?” My soberness stilled the others.
His tender expression almost broke me. “I’ve been asked to escort you back to the palace.”
“Why?” It was more of a squeak than a word, more plea than question. I stood, my tension so profound, my dove flew away and several others with it.
“The king needs you, Hephzibah. You are his delight.”
My legs turned to water. I reached behind me for a nearby stool, but the women of my household rushed me inside. Their excited chatter was lost in my swirl of emotion. Abba seemed convinced Hezi still wanted me, but I’d spent the whole morning convincing myself he didn’t. Which was true? Would I know by the look on Hezi’s face whether he summoned me from obligation or desire? Yahweh, give me wisdom.
Dinah and Leah pressed me onto a stool in the bedchamber Yaira and I shared. Ima disappeared into her room while my three dearest friends stripped off my old woolen robe. What would I wear to see a boy—a man—I had only glimpsed in this morning’s royal processional? I picked up the bronze mirror and poked at my cheeks. They were fuller than the last time he saw me, my hair longer. Would he notice? Would he care?
Ima appeared in the doorway with a new linen gown—with all its accessories—that stole my breath.
“Ima, no. We can’t afford—”
“We have been saving for quite some time for this moment, my dear.” Tears shimmered on her lashes, and a smile lit her face. It required all four of them to dress me. Ima slipped the robe over my head, while Ya
ira stood ready with the wide embroidered belt for my waist. Dinah and Leah concentrated on the jeweled collar and matching wristbands, while Ima tied the shawl around my shoulders—sheer as a butterfly’s wings.
Yaira brushed my hair while the others worked lotion and scented oils into my feet and work-callused hands. I set aside the mirror and closed my eyes. How could a king love these hands, these feet, this face?
Yaira leaned down and whispered, “You are going to see your Hezi. Remember. Your Hezi.” I tried to remember, but my Hezi felt like a dream of so long ago.
When I opened my eyes, Ima had disappeared again and returned with a box I recognized from her chamber. She pulled out a strand of precious stones. “Weave these into her braid, Yaira. I wore them on my wedding day.”
“Ima, I’m not getting married. Hezi simply asked me to appear at the palace.”
She patted my cheek. “We’ll see, dear.” She winked at Yaira and picked up a jar of lotion to begin more work on my callused hands.
Again, Yaira paused her braiding and furtively leaned around to capture my attention. Without words, her eyes questioned me. I poured out my doubts, my hopes, my fears—all in a look. She knew me so well. There was no need for words. I knew she’d hidden all my cares in her heart. She kissed my cheek, and in that moment, my heart felt lighter.
When all their pampering was finished, Ima held out her hand and helped me to my feet. “Let us look at you.” Her eyes grew misty again.
“He just wants to talk, Ima.” I pretended calm, but my heart raced like war chariots.
“All right, all right. Go then.” She waved me out amid giggles and squeals.
Abba waited impatiently in the kitchen, snacking on our midday leftovers. He looked up once, and again, then smiled. “You look like the queen you’ll soon be.”
I couldn’t bear the hope in his voice. “Please, Abba. I’m not a queen—and I never will be.”
He gripped my shoulders like a vise. “But you will. Yahweh has spoken, and He does not lie.”
