Isaiah's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  I glanced back and saw Dinah, Leah, and Yaira grinning and whispering. My stomach rolled. Ima was about to have that conversation with me. I would spend tonight in the king’s chamber—with my husband. I had a vague idea of what would happen. I’d seen sheep mating in the pastures, lambs born in the spring, and I knew the curse of Eve’s pain at childbirth from witnessing Hallel’s two births. Ima had explained my red moon when the way of women came upon me, but the one-flesh act of marriage was still a mystery.

  Ima led me to her chamber, sat on her bed, and patted the place beside her. I sat, head bowed, fidgeting with my hands. She stilled them with her gentle touch. “I have no speech prepared, my girl. I’m here to answer your questions and nothing more.”

  My head shot up, surprised, terrified. “I don’t know what questions to ask.”

  Her cheeks pinked as did mine. “Then I suspect you and Hezekiah will learn together.”

  The reminder that Hezi might be as nervous as I made me feel better. “What if Hezi doesn’t know any more than I do? We might be at a serious disadvantage at a rather important event.” She laughed so hard, she cried, and my cheeks flamed. “Ima! I’m serious!”

  She wiped her eyes, letting her laughter wind down like a child’s spinning top. “Oh, Zibah, you worry too much. The king will likely have some idea of how this night will progress. Men seem to talk about it among themselves more than women, in general if not the specifics.” She gathered my hands into hers. “You and Hezekiah share an advantage that most couples don’t. You know each other’s hearts. Your bodies will respond.”

  The rest of the day was spent watching everyone else rush around me. Abba returned to say I need not take any of my belongings to the palace before the wedding, so I sat idly while Dinah, Leah, Yaira, and Ima primped and pampered me to perfection.

  Then came the waiting. I sat in our kitchen—alone and veiled—while the rest of my family waited in the courtyard for Hezi and his companions to arrive for the traditional ceremony of Jacob. Since the days of our patriarch’s deceived marriage, when Jacob married the veiled Leah instead of his beloved Rachel, a groom had the right and privilege to peek under his bride’s opaque veil before the wedding ceremony began.

  The sound of tambourines and lyres piqued my senses, and then I heard men singing. My heart raced with an unsteady beat as the music drew nearer. Through the street, into the courtyard, and then one lone voice sang in the room where I waited.

  His singing stopped, and I tried to stop trembling. Familiar hands grasped the edges of my veil. Slowly—oh, so slowly—he lifted the tightly woven white cloth. Hurry! I must see your face! The lifting revealed his purple robe trimmed in gold braids. A golden belt studded with every kind and color of precious gems guarded his waist. No sword or dagger today.

  Finally, I saw Hezi’s smile, brighter than all the jewels in the world, and the face I’d loved for as long as I could remember. “You are mine today,” he said. “You are mine every day for the rest of our lives.”

  He leaned in to kiss me, and I heard a harsh clearing of a man’s throat. Hezi stopped, chuckled, and lifted my veil farther to reveal Samuel standing behind him. “It appears my bodyguard is determined to protect you.” He released the veil with one hand to brush my cheek. “We’ll save that kiss for later.”

  He dropped the veil and took my hand, leading me out of the house. I stumbled through the courtyard, and then he hoisted me onto my royal mule. I could see nothing through my veil, only my hands gripping the reins as someone led my pure white mount to the Gihon spring.

  The procession through the city seemed endless, the noise of the crowd a steady roar as we passed from the Upper City to Lower and then out the gate to the valley below. I only heard the coronation and imagined my Hezi with Judah’s crown on his head.

  It was Azariah, the newly appointed high priest, who announced the official beginning of Hezi’s sole reign. “I present to you, people of Judah and guests of Jerusalem, your new king, the son of David—King Hezekiah!”

  The noise was overwhelming. I hated the thick veil that hid me from Judah and Judah from me. The celebration continued longer than our march from the palace, and even with my veil, I could tell dusk was fading to darkness. Would our wedding be postponed?

  Even as the thought entered my mind, the crowd settled, and I heard Azariah’s voice again. “Let the house of Isaiah bring forward the bride.”

  My little mule lurched forward, and my breath caught. Abba placed his hand on my knees to steady me while my mule plodded down a steep incline. I held onto the reins with a grip of iron.

  We reached level ground, and Abba helped me slide off. I stood unsteadily after so long on my mount. Abba supported me with his strong arm around my waist. Someone took the mule away, and Ima appeared on my left, lacing her fingers with mine.

  The high priest spoke only a few words, and the ceremony began: the reading of our betrothal contract and the seven blessings. Then I circled my husband seven times—led by my parents. I would remember each moment, treasure every one more than the jewels dangling from my headpiece.

  “I present to you, people of Judah and guests of Jerusalem,” Azariah’s voice intruded, “the wife of our king, Queen Hephzibah!”

  My heart leapt into my throat as my parents’ hands fell away, and Hezi’s gentle touch led me to my mount again. The rejoicing was deafening but I dared not cover my ears.

  Hezi leaned close, pressing his lips against my veil. “Almost done, my love.” He lifted me onto the mule as though I weighed nothing at all. I’m not sure when the celebration stopped for I heard nothing but the noise of my own insecurities. Would I please him tonight or disappoint? Would he love me less or more in the morning? My cheeks burned like fire, and now I thanked Yahweh for my veil.

  The procession stopped, and I stiffened. My mule danced nervously on the smooth stones of the palace court. Strong hands gripped my waist and I startled.

  “Shh, my love.” Hezi lifted me off and held me close, pressing his lips against my ear. “Only a little longer, and then it’s just you and me.” Was that supposed to calm me?

  He sheltered me under his arm and began walking. Pressed against the contours of his side, I followed left and right, climbed stairs, and halted abruptly.

  Someone reached for my hands. A soft, gentle grasp that I recognized right away. “Welcome home, little Ishma.” The queen’s voice.

  Hezi’s muscles tensed. “Her name is Hephzibah, Ima. We’ve talked about this.”

  “I knew her first as Ishma.” Her lilting voice sounded like a song. “It’s what came to mind. I meant no harm.”

  “No, Ima. There will be no deceit in my palace. No games or hidden agendas.” He moved me behind him, breaking Abijah’s grip. “You will address my queen as Hephzibah or Zibah, or you will not speak to her at all.”

  I pressed my forehead against his back. Please, Hezi. Don’t make her my enemy. The harem is her world.

  “As you wish, my king.” I heard her retreating footsteps and Hezi’s deep sigh.

  He gathered me to his side again, and we moved through the courtyards. I could see only my feet and their progress. The marble floors of the Middle and Great Courts, across the lion-tiled mosaic, and then toward the black-and-white-inlaid entryway to his chamber. “Good evening, my king.” Two voices greeted him. We crossed the threshold, doors slammed, and Hezi released me—gasping as if he, too, had been holding his breath.

  I stood like a statue, waiting, trembling. The room was dark except for the glow of a few lamps. I saw only the shadow of my bridegroom moving around the room. What was he doing? He sat down near an elevated table and reached into a basket of some kind. I could see only the outline of it through the ridiculous veil. Why wasn’t he taking off the veil?

  “Hezi?”

  “Mm-hmm?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Come and see.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to take off my veil?” My voice quaked and revealed my fear. I
shouldn’t talk.

  “Do you want me to?”

  My heart nearly stopped. If I said yes, he’d think I was bold. If I said no, he’d think me a prude. With a huff, I tugged off my veil and saw Hezi seated by a loosely woven basket with two birds in it. Birds. I hurried over, leaving my veil on the floor, and found a gold-chested, brown-winged pair of petite birds in the cage. “What are they?” I knelt beside him, laid my hand against the cage, and made the cooing sound to see if they would come near.

  “They’re called ‘stonechats,’ and they pair up for winters in Israel.” He opened a small door in the cage and caught the more brightly colored of the two. “One of my guards told me about stonechats while we were recovering our villages from the Philistines. He said stonechats pair for the winter because they’re more effective at fighting off other birds than single stonechats that try to fight alone.”

  Hezi knew that doves had been my comfort when Yaira lived in the caves and during the time he’d been away. He likely suspected I’d need a distraction tonight as well. “How long have you planned this?”

  “I’ve planned this night a thousand times, Zibah.” He restored the stonechat to its mate and slid off the couch to join me on the floor. “You consume my thoughts, my dreams, my heart. Your abba has often told us that my reign will fulfill many prophecies.” I grinned. He had no idea how often I’d heard it during our years of separation. “No one man could accomplish everything your abba predicts in his prophecies, but I think Yahweh paired us together to restore Judah—as we have restored each other.”

  I nodded, finding it impossible to speak. How could I love him more now than this morning?

  He brushed my lips with a kiss that tasted of cinnamon and honey. My body responded as our passion deepened. I felt no fear, only the overwhelming desire to be his in every way. The pain was fleeting. The sheet was stained. And our hearts were full. Let my beloved come into his garden and taste its choice fruits. Again. And again.

  31

  Hezekiah was twenty-five years old when he became king, and…he did what was right in the eyes of the LORD, just as his father David had done.

  —2 Chronicles 29:1–2

  Our wedding week had passed too quickly. My newly assigned personal guard was kind but stubborn from our first meeting. “But, my queen, I was ordered to escort you to your harem chamber immediately.”

  I wasn’t trying to be difficult. Really. “I have a few personal belongings that need to be moved from my abba’s home to the harem. Why not go to Abba’s house first?”

  The man dragged his huge hand down his face before answering. I’m sure he was counting to ten. That’s what Ima taught me to do when I was frustrated by something—or someone. I would have rather had Samuel guard me, but he would remain with Hezi now since he was captain of the king’s guard. I had been assigned Amram, a new guard, who was every bit as big as Samuel and equally hairy. Did all royal guards look like they wore bear rugs?

  “Listen, Amram, we’ll go quickly and return before midday.”

  He affixed a smile and bowed. “I am here to serve, my queen.”

  I hoped he would come to that conclusion with less persuading in the future.

  On the way to Abba’s house, I tried to walk beside him, but Amram insisted on walking behind me. “I must provide rear guard,” he explained.

  We exited the palace, and before descending the stairs to the street, I looked toward abba’s home. Yaira waited at our courtyard gate. “Yaira!” I shouted and waved, then hurried down the stairs.

  Amram lumbered behind me all the way, shouting to clear a wide path through the crowded street. Yaira’s eyes were as round as a camel’s hoof when she saw us coming. I reached for our courtyard gate, but Amram stayed my hand. “I need to go before you, my queen, to be certain it’s safe.”

  “It’s my family’s house.”

  My annoyance evident, the guard lowered his hand and inspected the ground at his feet. “Yes, my queen. Forgive me.”

  I felt like I’d wounded a faithful ox. “Thank you, Amram, but really, I’m safe here. You can wait at the gate while Yaira and I visit and collect my things.”

  He bowed and established his outpost at the acacia bush.

  I opened the squeaky gate, alerting the entire house of my arrival. Yaira attacked me with a hug.

  “Zibah!” Ima set aside her sewing and nudged Yaira aside. “You must share her with the rest of us!” Dinah and Leah weren’t far behind.

  Yaira caught my eye with her silent question. Are you well, Queen Hephzibah? I assured her, with a wink and a grin, I was more than well.

  The twins smothered me with questions about the wedding week. My cheeks warmed. I looked over my shoulder and found the guard beyond hearing, but how could I describe the light that now shone in corners of my heart I hadn’t even realized were dark?

  “Our week was wonderful. The king is still my Hezi.”

  “Aww,” they cooed, eyes dreamy.

  “Enough nonsense.” Ima waved them away. “He has loved you well. I can see it in your countenance. I’m proud of him.” She patted my arm, and we walked toward the house.

  Our visit was lovely. We enjoyed mint tea. I fed my doves, drinking in their peaceful cooing. But before the sun rose to midday, my chest ached with missing Hezi. How long before he called for me? Tonight? Tomorrow? I needed to return to the palace to be ready for his summons.

  “We should start packing my belongings,” I said, gathering our dishes.

  “I’ve got all your things packed with mine,” Yaira said.

  Dinah and Leah began stacking the cups and clearing the table. “Leave all this.” Leah swatted my hand. “Go gather your things. You’re a guest now.”

  A guest. My chest tightened as I followed Ima and Yaira down the hallway and entered the stark chamber. Dinah and Leah weren’t far behind and stood in the doorway, eyes glistening. Yaira’s and my sleeping mats were rolled up in the corner, the floor swept clean. I turned to hug Dinah. “We’ll visit as often as we can.” She nodded and reached for Yaira while I grabbed Leah and held her tight. When the hugs ended, I wiped my face with my head covering. “Why can’t my husband move into our house?” They all laughed and grabbed a basket, then carried them to the gate.

  Ima offered to accompany us for our first day in the harem. Relief washed over me like a cool rain. Ima, Yaira, and I each carried one small basket, and we piled the rest into Amram’s arms, stopping only when he could no longer see the street in front of him. We began our short trek to the palace—Ima, Yaira, and I making a quick purchase from a fruit vendor on the way—while poor Amram balanced our baskets like a juggler in the king’s court. I’m not sure what he would have done had an attack been made on his queen. Perhaps toss the baskets at them?

  We entered the palace complex and crossed the Great Court. Yaira’s eyes rounded as we advanced into the Middle Court, and I realized she’d never visited this part of the palace before. Her eyes devoured the grand columns, the tapestries, the vines overflowing their huge hanging pots. She looked like an owl, her head turning this way and that to take it all in.

  I looked longingly at the king’s private hall but veered toward the harem stairway instead. We arrived on the second floor. Abijah—now called Gevirah, the queen mother—ruled the wives, the royal children, and their guards. Not officially with any law written on parchment, but in everyday life with the rules taught by hurt and heartache. Her chamber loomed ahead.

  Suddenly nervous, I stopped abruptly, and my guard nearly tumbled over me. “What is it, my queen?”

  My mouth was as dry as the eastern desert. “Which chamber is mine?”

  Kindness softened his features. “You will occupy the chamber next to the Gevirah’s.” He gestured to the left. “This way, my queen.”

  “But that’s Rizpah’s chamber.”

  He shifted the baskets to meet my gaze. “Yes, my queen.”

  Ima spoke, keeping her voice low. “You are the queen now, Zibah. First la
dy of Judah. Your chamber must reflect that honor and status. It must equal the Gevirah’s in size and location. Rizpah is no longer second wife to the king.”

  My guard lowered his eyes, waiting.

  I’d visited Rizpah in her chamber—once. When I’d attempted friendship with Selah, Ahaz’s youngest wife, she’d introduced me to Rizpah. Selah had shoved past the guards, entering the older woman’s chamber uninvited. I was mortified. Rizpah stared at me without comment while Selah chatted like a canary. I studied the chamber’s floor-to-ceiling purple tapestry, avoiding Rizpah’s burning gaze. It was my grandest failure at royal friendship. Perhaps if I returned to Rizpah the only home she’d known in this palace, she would someday speak a civil word to me.

  “I’m not taking Rizpah’s chamber from her, Amram.”

  “But you must. It—”

  “Amram!” We both seemed startled by my shout. I inhaled and blew out a calming breath. “I will not displace Rizpah from the only home she’s known while in this palace. However, I’d like to thank whoever assigned this lovely chamber to me. Did Abijah assign it?”

  He kept his head bowed. “I’ve been commanded not to say.”

  Surprise quickly bloomed to anger, and I shot a glance at Ima. She lifted her brows and shook her head. “The guards are a part of the game, Zibah. When Abbi married Ahaz, she had to learn the harem rules. Now she plays the game with utmost skill.” Ima turned to my guard. “You must help my daughter learn to survive, soldier. You are on her side now.”

  “No, Ima!” Indignant, I turned to Amram and recited the words Hezi spoke to Queen Abijah on our wedding night. “King Hezekiah will have no deceit or games in this palace, nor will I. Amram, you will tell me who assigned the chamber, or you will explain yourself to the captain of the guard.”

  Amram looked away, sighed, and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “The Gevirah.”

  I was encouraged by his display of frustration. “Are you weary of the games of the harem?” I asked him.