Isaiah's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  His certainty bludgeoned me, and I immediately bowed my head. “Forgive me, Abba. I know I should believe without question, but…” How could I say it without offending him? “If we’ve misinterpreted the personal meaning of the prophecy, I’m afraid my heart may never recover.”

  Abba reached for my trembling hand and kissed it gently. “No longer will you be called Desolate, but you will be Hephzibah, for the Lord will take great delight in you. As a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so does our God rejoice over you.” He tipped my chin to look me in the eye. “No matter what happens today in the king’s chamber, you are loved. You are married. You are a delight. There can be no misinterpretation of that.”

  Abba turned toward the door and offered his arm. I laid my hand on it, and we walked like royalty toward the palace, a thousand thoughts racing through my mind. Our home was a mere thirty camel-lengths from the palace, and for the first time, I wished we lived on the west side of the Upper City. I would have had more time to prepare what to say.

  I’d gotten only a quick look at our new king as he rode into the city on his stallion. I hadn’t noticed if Hezi’s nose still looked too big for his face. Had he grown taller? Fatter? Thinner? I suppose I’d changed drastically from the girl of sixteen to a woman of twenty-two. Would he still think me lovely at all? The more I wondered, the more nervous I became.

  “Breathe, my girl. Breathe.” Abba patted my hand. “He’s still your Hezekiah.”

  The same words Yaira spoke—which both consoled and angered me. If he was still my Hezi, why had his letters changed so drastically?

  We crossed the threshold of the Great Court and too soon entered the Middle Court. I veered left toward the stairs, but Abba pulled right. “This way, Daughter. Hezi no longer lives on the family’s second level. He awaits your presence in the king’s private chamber.”

  My feet felt rooted to the floor. “Abba, what if…” Panic set in. “Did he ask to see me, or did you force him? Because if you forced him—”

  “He is the king, Hephzibah. No one may force Hezekiah anymore.” He smiled, but I could tell his patience was waning.

  I am Hephzibah, not Ishma. Hephzibah, a daughter. Not a captive, not an orphan. I took a deep breath. And another. Then I nodded. Resting my hand on his arm again, I followed him into a hallway I’d never entered before. When we walked on tiny mosaic tiles that formed the portrait of a lion, the reality of Hezi’s lineage hit me like a hammer. The blood of King David flowed in his veins. The same King David who wrote the psalms I taught to children all those years. The same King David whose heir would forever reign on Judah’s throne. The same King David I’d studied all my life—he was my Hezi’s relative. My Hezi.

  Would he still be my Hezi?

  A giant double door loomed ahead with two royal guards. Both soldiers looked as if they’d eaten pottery shards at midday. Abba Isaiah walked between them without comment and knocked on the door.

  “Come!” A deep voice shouted from within.

  I grabbed Abba’s arm as the doors opened, and he gingerly loosened my grip. I glimpsed the marks my fingernails had made on his arm. At the same moment, a very tanned and handsome Eliakim rushed to greet us.

  “Ish—I mean Zibah!” He kissed my hand, and I bowed, which felt unbearably awkward. “King Hezekiah stepped out to speak with his brothers, but he’ll return soon.”

  He and Abba exchanged a knowing look.

  I fidgeted, feeling like an outsider, memories of the day Hezi returned from Damascus flitting across my mind. I felt awkward during that reunion too. We’d both changed so much in six months. How awkward would this reunion be after six years? Yahweh, please. Give me wisdom to reunite well with my friend, my beloved.

  Glancing at Eliakim, I wondered if my old friend would soon marry. “Surely, as counsel to the king, you’ll soon settle down, Eli—”

  I heard a low chuckle from the corner. Annoyed, I turned to see who had the gall to eavesdrop on our conversation. “Already arranging a betrothal for my chief engineer?” Hezi leaned against the doorframe, devastatingly handsome. His lazy grin and come-to-me eyes made my chest ache.

  Sheer instinct sent me to my knees. The only alternative was running into his arms like a complete fool. “Greetings, my king,” I said, head bowed. All was silent but the sound of my breathing. Please, please, Hezi. Leave now if you don’t love me.

  The click of his sandals crossed the floor, and I feared my heart would stop when he paused in front of me. He stood there, waiting, but I couldn’t look up. He was a son of David. I was an orphan. He was king. I, a servant.

  Then serve him.

  Words so clear, they could have been spoken aloud. They were spoken to my spirit by my eternal Husband, and I understood. My tears had wet both my cheeks and Hezi’s feet. Slowly, I reached for the end of my braid and removed the purple ribbon. Loosening my hair, I dried Hezi’s feet—washing them, anointing them with my love. I would serve this man without demands because I was God’s delight.

  Tender hands lifted me as jewels from my braid tumbled to the floor. Hezi held me at a distance, searching the windows of my soul. “I have loved you my whole life, and I will love you forever.” He brushed my lips with his gentle kiss. “And I will marry you today.”

  I held my breath, overwhelmed at the moment. I’d dreamed of my wedding day a thousand times yet feared it would never come. I saw the truth of his love in his eyes, but I had to know why my seeds of doubt had grown. “Why did your letters change?”

  “You didn’t know?” he asked, seeming surprised. “Someone in the palace intercepted every messenger and read our letters.”

  His words hit me like a splash of cold water. “Who read them?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think it was Abba.” He released me and stepped back, sudden concern darkening his countenance. “I thought you knew because your responses became as cool as mine. Apparently, your letters became aloof for another reason.” He swallowed hard. “Have your feelings for me changed, Zibah?”

  “Yes,” I said, framing his face with my hands. “I love you more than I did six years ago. Will you marry me?”

  He grabbed my waist and twirled me around, while I buried my face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him. Ima would have said we were acting completely un-royal, and it felt wonderful. Thank You, Yahweh, for keeping Your promise to a captive orphan who is about to become a queen.

  29

  So Zadok the priest, Nathan the prophet, Benaiah son of Jehoiada…went down and had Solomon mount King David’s mule, and they escorted him to Gihon [spring].

  —1 Kings 1:38

  Isaiah watched the reunion of Hezekiah and Hephzibah with more than a prophet’s satisfaction. These were the children of his heart. But when the scene grew uncomfortably intimate, he and Eliakim shared an uneasy glance. Hephzibah should never have loosened her hair—but the moment felt almost holy, too precious to interrupt. Isaiah swallowed his reprimand and averted his eyes.

  He and Eliakim stood by the doors to give the young couple a modicum of privacy. Isaiah heard Hezekiah say something about “…love you…forever…marry you today,” and the panicked abba nearly ran across the room. Then he heard Zibah’s cool-headed logic, exactly what he’d expect of his prize student. Tension stretched between them when Hezekiah revealed their correspondence had been intercepted by someone at the palace. The king assumed it was his abba. Isaiah wasn’t so sure, but it didn’t matter now.

  The next thing Isaiah heard sent him charging across the king’s tiled chamber. “Zibah, wait!” he shouted. “You cannot propose marriage to the king of Judah!”

  Hezekiah stopped twirling Hephzibah and set her feet on the floor. “Technically, I asked her first. And I believe we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”

  Hephzibah nodded, the look of dreams in her eyes.

  Isaiah pressed his palms against his head, forestalling an impending headache. Every decision this boy made was crucial if he was meant to successfully usher in Yah
weh’s new Jerusalem. “Hezekiah, please consider what impact a hurried wedding might have on your long-term reign. The customary mourning period for a king is thirty days. The nation must mourn King Ahaz.”

  Hezi’s anger flared. “It’s also customary to bury the king of Judah in the Tombs of the Kings, but Abba was dishonored by his wives and my brothers when they instead buried him in the family tomb in the southern city.” He walked to his chamber window and pointed to the street below. “Do you see those people down there, Isaiah? Not one is wearing sackcloth. Their robes aren’t torn. The mourning customs you’re so worried about observing are not a priority for my family or the people of Judah, who obviously held no fondness for King Ahaz. I seem to be the only one who desired to show respect by moving his body to the Tombs of the Kings. However, after further consideration, I’ve decided against it.” He dragged his hand through his hair and spoke quietly, perhaps to himself. “Moving Abba’s body would bring more dishonor than leaving it at rest.”

  Isaiah bowed, relieved the boy wasn’t going to cause a scene by moving Ahaz’s body. “You’re wise to leave your abba at rest, my king.” Hesitantly, he straightened but kept his head lowered. “There is still the issue of your coronation. If you marry Zibah before you are crowned king, she will not be considered your queen. Only a woman taken to wife while the regent is actively reigning will be deemed queen.”

  Hephzibah found her place at Hezekiah’s side again. “I don’t care about being queen. I care only about marrying Hezi.” Then, turning her attention to him, she added, “But part of our lives will always include considering what is best for Judah.”

  Hezekiah pulled her into a crushing hug, and they whispered things Isaiah and Eliakim couldn’t hear. Eliakim stood awkwardly, picking at a stray thread on his new royal robe. Isaiah nudged him toward the double-door entry to give the couple more privacy. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “Has Hezekiah chosen his other council members yet? They could help him with decisions like these.”

  “Abba will remain his treasurer. He’ll keep Jalon as director of forced labor. And he’s made Azariah the chief priest.”

  “Azariah?” Isaiah’s heart beat fast. “Azariah, from the family of Zadok?”

  Eliakim nodded. “I can see in your eyes that you’ve got a plan.”

  Isaiah kept his voice low despite his excitement. “If Hezekiah insists on a wedding today, his coronation must precede it.”

  “We can’t organize a coronation in only a few hours.”

  “We can, and we will.” He became Eliakim’s teacher again. “Tell me whose coronation in Israel’s history was planned and executed within so short a time.”

  Eliakim pulled his brows together, deep in thought. Suddenly his eyes brightened. “Solomon!”

  His shout wrested the lovebirds’ attention away from each other, and Hezekiah looked perturbed. “What about King Solomon?”

  Isaiah grabbed Eliakim’s arm and pulled him toward the couple. “My king, if you wish to marry my daughter today—”

  “I will marry her today.”

  Isaiah nodded, holding his annoyance in check. “Then we must harken back to a historical coronation so significant that Jerusalem feels you cherish the foundations of the throne you’ve inherited.”

  “You mentioned Solomon?” Hezi said. “He rode King David’s white mule to the Gihon spring in a rushed ceremony because one of David’s other sons was trying to steal the throne. In those days, they didn’t invite foreign dignitaries and noblemen from every Judean city.” Hezekiah grimaced. “How can my coronation be in any way similar?”

  “We will duplicate Solomon’s process—using a priest from Zadok’s family, a prophet, and the king’s personal guard—to lead you on a white mule to crown you king at Gihon. The gathered crowd will resound with celebration so deafening, it will echo from Gihon to En Rogel and beyond.”

  The king looked at Eliakim and back to Isaiah. “What about the wedding? When would it take place?”

  “We’ll add the wedding at the end of the coronation,” Isaiah said. “Combining the two will make it an event no one will ever forget.”

  Hezekiah still looked skeptical but didn’t refuse immediately. He wrapped his arms around his bride-to-be and searched her eyes. “Every Judean maiden dreams of her wedding day. The months of preparation. The bridegroom’s march and week-long banquet. Will you be disappointed to forgo those beloved traditions?”

  She covered his hands with her own, her gaze unwavering. “I’ve had years to prepare my heart for the man I’ve loved all my life. You will never disappoint me, Hezekiah, son of David, King of Judah.”

  Isaiah stepped closer to the pair. “We have little time to accomplish much. Hezekiah, which three men would you like to lead your white mule to the Gihon spring: the high priest, a prophet, and the captain of your bodyguard?” Isaiah waited, hoping Hezi would designate him the prophet.

  “My new high priest, Azariah, is a descendant of David’s priest Zadok,” Hezi said. “So it appears Yahweh has already gone before us. I’ve named Samuel as captain of my royal guard, and I suppose Micah would be the logical choice for prophet since you’re the bride’s abba, Isaiah.”

  Isaiah tried to mask his disappointment, but the look on Zibah’s face told him he’d failed.

  “Why don’t we postpone the wedding,” she said with forced joy. “Let’s focus on the coronation today.”

  “No!” Isaiah and Hezekiah said in unison.

  Feeling as low as a snake by the Dead Sea, Isaiah took his daughter’s hand and held it against his forehead in a sign of loyalty and service. “I was caught up in the excitement, Daughter. Please forgive me. It would be my greatest honor to lead my only daughter to her wedding canopy.” He glanced at the king and then winked at Zibah. “You were my delight before you were his.” Zibah hugged him, and Isaiah knew he’d been forgiven.

  Eliakim made a strange sound and captured Isaiah’s attention. Brows knit together, he appeared deep in thought.

  “What is it, Eli?” Hezekiah chuckled. “You only make that sound when you’re calculating a new project.”

  “The road leading to the Gihon spring is narrow, but we need to fill the valley leading to it with as many people as we can find. The angle of the valley, the height of the city wall…We’ll need something more than voices if we hope to be heard beyond En Rogel.”

  “How about musical instruments?” Isaiah asked. “Tambourines? Drums? I’ll ask Shebna to gather tambourines and drums from the storage closets in the Temple. Our students can disperse the instruments throughout the city so when both ceremonies have concluded, the shouting and noise will echo far and wide.”

  “Perfect.” Eliakim turned on his heel. “I’m going home to eat, and I’ll build the wedding canopy soon after.” He called over his shoulder before closing the door, “We’ll have a new king and queen by nightfall.”

  30

  Let my beloved come into his garden

  and taste its choice fruits.

  —Song of Songs 4:16

  Abba remained at the palace to marshal Jerusalem’s heralds and send them out with word of Hezekiah’s coronation and our wedding. I returned home, the reality of home becoming more precious with each step. Which of my belongings would I take to the palace? When would I do that? Tonight? Later?

  I pushed open the squeaky gate, alerting the courtyard full of people that I’d returned. Though I tried to maintain a sober expression, an uncontrollable smile betrayed me. Yaira, Dinah, and Leah began squealing as they nearly tackled me with hugs.

  “Tell us,” Dinah said. “How long before you marry?”

  I hesitated, suddenly nervous about our haste. “Tonight—at dusk.” The timing sounded so logical in Hezi’s chamber, but the shock on my family’s faces made me shy.

  Ima strolled up, a mischievous grin firmly in place. “I knew we were preparing for your wedding while we were dressing you earlier. Yahweh and I have our secrets.”

  Everyone laughed, breaking
the tension, and my misgivings fled. “I wish Yahweh included me on some of those secrets.” I hugged her and thanked Yahweh for such a woman in my life.

  Yaira seemed genuinely happy, but tears filled her eyes. “May I serve as your maid at the palace?”

  “My maid? Absolutely not!” The thought was appalling. “But you may come as my friend.”

  Ima gently placed her hand on my arm. “A queen doesn’t bring friends to live with her in the harem, dear. Yaira came to your abba and me this morning and offered to become your bond servant. We’ve included her as a part of your shiluhim—the gifts parents give as the bride’s inheritance.”

  Stricken, I looked first at Ima and then back at Yaira, unable to stop my tears. “No, I won’t make my friend a slave.”

  Yaira tilted her head and brushed my cheek. “I’m not a slave, beloved. A slave acts out of duty. I serve you out of love. Don’t rob me of the gift I want to give.”

  I fell into her arms. Gratitude, relief, trepidation all warring within me. “I’m so thankful you’re coming. You’ll always be my friend first.” Though happiness had gained the upper hand, I was still overwhelmed with unanswered questions. I needed time with my doves. “My doves!” I pulled away from Yaira. “What will I do without my doves?”

  Ima looked uncomfortable. “There are many adjustments when a bride leaves her abba’s household, my girl. It’s been a while since you’ve faced changes as drastic as these.” She reached for my hand and squeezed it. “You have a solid foundation now—Yahweh and your family. Stand firm and embrace your new life.”

  I worked at a smile but looked longingly at my birds. They’d been trained to flock to this courtyard. They roosted in this dovecote. I could come back and visit, but would they stay without me to care for them? “Of course, Ima. I know you’re right.”

  She squeezed my hand again, drawing my attention back to her. “We need to prepare you for the ceremony. Come.” Taking her first step toward the house, she said over her shoulder, “I’ll call you other girls to help in a few moments. I wish to speak with my daughter alone.”