Isaiah's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  Hezi watched them go but watched his wife more closely. Was she terribly disappointed?

  Zibah wiped a tear. “If we start flapping at each other—”

  “I forbid any flapping.” He rushed to hold her.

  She chuckled and put her arms around his neck. “How was your day—before your visit with Abijah?”

  The weight of increasing Temple worship, the royal treasury, and their military defenses pressed him down. “My day was heavy.”

  Keeping her eyes focused on the valley below, Zibah asked simply, “Do you want to share the load?”

  Good question. How much should he share with his wife? A woman. Tradition said she should live in a harem, removed from the political pressures and decisions of her husband. “Do you want to bear the weight?”

  Zibah thought for a long moment. No quick answer. “I want to try. If it proves too much, I’d rather step back than start flapping and have to fly away.”

  He led her back inside, and they resumed their places on the couch. “We must find a way to increase Temple worship since we’ve destroyed all high places and committed to obey the Law wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, the next scheduled festival is the Festival of Weeks, two months away.”

  Zibah listened intently, chin in hand, but made no comment.

  “If more people come to Jerusalem to worship, it will naturally fatten our treasury without raising taxes. More people means more trade, and more trade means more foreign merchants who will spend money on Judean soil.”

  She grinned. “I sat beside you in class when you learned that. Go on.”

  “Right.” What a relief not to have to defend his position the way he must with his advisors. “The final burden is spring.”

  “King Hezekiah, I didn’t realize you were responsible for the change of seasons too.” If she kept interrupting, he would have to kiss her, and they’d never decide anything.

  “Spring is the season for war.” She sobered immediately, but he continued. “Because Assyria is now focused on internal bickering, we’re left to defend ourselves against greedy neighbors who may seek to move boundary stones and steal our harvest.”

  “I thought our army had recovered to an adequate force since…”

  Hezi cradled her shaking hands. “It has, my love. We are safe. A king must think years ahead to preempt future attacks.” He realized this was not a weight she could bear. “So, my chief advisor, what is your counsel on increasing Temple worship and revenue for the treasury?”

  Zibah laid her hand against his cheek, acknowledging his distraction, and then thought for a moment. “If only we had restored the Temple in time for Passover. It would have been the perfect feast to welcome Judah back into Yahweh’s arms.”

  Hezi’s heart quickened, his spirit lightening. “That’s it, Zibah. There’s still time to celebrate late Passover in the second month.”

  “Judah hasn’t celebrated a Passover since before your great-saba Uzziah was struck with leprosy. Do any of the priests even know how?”

  “They’ll learn!”

  “Do we even qualify for the second-month celebration?” She began recounting the Law, “If any are unclean because of a dead body—”

  “Which many of us were because of Abba’s death and mourning.”

  “Or are away on a journey, they are still to celebrate the Lord’s Passover, but they are to do it on the fourteenth day of the second month at twilight.”

  “You see? Our whole nation has been on a journey, Zibah. Away from the Lord. Now we’ve returned and are ready to celebrate the most sacred of all celebrations.”

  “But, Hezi, it’s already the third day of Ziv. How can we spread the news to the whole nation that they must choose a lamb by the tenth, care for it as they travel to Jerusalem, and then slaughter it at twilight? The idea may be good but the details are impossible.”

  “Is it more impossible than freeing a nation of slaves from Egypt?”

  “Hezi.” She groused, giving him that “don’t be a dreamer” look.

  “Zibah, I don’t think the second-month celebration requires the care of lambs from the tenth to the fourteenth day, so the people’s travel to Jerusalem will be quicker. We’ll sell the Passover lambs from nearby flocks, which will increase trade. And—” Hezi stopped suddenly.

  “And what? Don’t stop explaining now.” Zibah’s eyes lit up. “I’m finally starting to imagine this could work.”

  She wouldn’t like what he was about to say. “I have a plan to avert political tensions and decrease hostile incursions on our northern villages.”

  Zibah grew still. “Why mention military invasions? We were talking about Passover.”

  Hezi held her gaze. “Come into my arms, Zibah.” He opened them wide.

  “Hezi, you’re scaring me.”

  “I’m going to show you there’s no reason to fear. Now, come into my arms.” She obeyed, turning to recline against his chest. He wrapped her tight and laid his lips against her hair. “We’re going to invite our remaining brothers in Israel to our Passover.”

  “No!” She broke away from him. “No, Hezi.”

  Calmly, quietly, he opened his arms again. “Come into my arms, Zibah.”

  She stared at him, defiant. The trembling began in her shoulders, then spread to her chin. Her eyes filled with accusation, and he nearly relented. She turned and lay against him again. Silent. Terrified.

  Hezi squeezed his eyes shut, certain of his decision. Wishing he wasn’t. He wrapped his arms around her, his legs too. “I will keep you safe. Do you hear me? You will be safe. You and Yaira.” He let his words penetrate her fear and felt her heart breaking beneath his arms. “Israel has been repopulated with people from many foreign nations. Those from Jacob’s tribes need to remember their one true God, Zibah. I feel Yahweh pulling me in this direction. He will keep us safe and reward our faithfulness.”

  She released a sigh and seemed to gather some composure. “I thought you were inviting them to decrease the likelihood of invasions on Judah’s northern cities.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Perhaps if we extend peace in the name of our Father Jacob, they won’t raid our northern villages, the land of their brethren.”

  “Perhaps.” Zibah curled into a ball, and Hezi carried her like a child to their bed.

  They lay on their sides, facing each other, fingers touching. “What are you thinking?” he asked again.

  A sad smile curved her lips. “I don’t want to be like the stonechats, flapping and then forced to fly away.”

  “I would never—”

  She pressed her finger against his lips, silencing his quick promise. “A king should consider carefully before he says never.”

  35

  The man said, “This is now bone of my bones

  and flesh of my flesh…”

  That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh.

  —Genesis 2:23–24

  After my warning to consider his words carefully, Hezi scooted off our bed and immediately called a special council meeting to start the Passover plans rolling. So much for careful deliberation. While I remained in our chamber, pacing the floor, my husband sat on his throne and invited Israel to Judah’s Passover. This time they wouldn’t bring their swords and spears—so Hezi promised—but would come with money in their pockets and a desire to worship Yahweh.

  When Hezi returned to our chamber after the meeting, I was quiet but not unpleasant. We enjoyed amiable conversation over our evening meal. I donned my winter cloak to stroll with him in the olive groves. We inspected the budding leaves and played tag in the orchards. There was no more talk of war. No mention of Israel’s invasion of my peace and our Passover plan. When the stars shone bright, we lay in each other’s arms until I heard the steady, deep breaths of my husband’s slumber. I watched the stations of the moon progress, wondering if any of his council members voiced the same concerns I held.

  In the morning, I asked Yaira
to bring my meal to the balcony so we could speak privately while Hezi finished his ministrations. I told her of the invitation extended to the people who had marched us to Samaria as captives when we were children. Her reaction was considerably calmer than mine.

  “When he returned from the council meeting, did he mention how the advisors reacted to the plan?” Calm and inquisitive, Yaira’s voice betrayed no emotion.

  “No.” I glanced over my shoulder and lowered my voice. “When Hezi leaves for court, we’ll visit Ima and see if Abba said anything after last night’s meeting.”

  Yaira joined me to break our fast. I watched her for fidgeting hands or a tapping foot, but she showed no sign of nervousness. I listened to spring birdsong and let the morning sun wash my face. I wished Hezi would hurry and leave.

  Finally, he stepped onto the balcony and bent over for our good-bye kiss. Hovering, he searched my eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  I held his cheeks and loved him for his concern. “I’m getting all right.” He kissed my forehead and left. I suppose it was the kiss I deserved after such an answer.

  Yaira and I washed, quick as birds in a puddle. We emerged, lotioned and dressed, before Amram had strapped on his sword. “My queen? I didn’t realize you were going into the city today.”

  “We’re going to visit Ima.” Yaira and I left the palace, arm in arm, my heart pounding. Why did I feel as though I was betraying my husband?

  We entered through the squeaky gate, leaving Amram to wait outside, and Abba looked up from a scroll he was reading. Surprised, I ran into his arms. “Abba, what are you doing home? Why aren’t you in court with Hezi today? I thought I could rely on the royal council to temper my husband.” I was only partially teasing.

  “Your husband canceled this morning’s court session, didn’t he tell you?” He reached around me to hug Yaira, while I considered the question.

  Why wouldn’t Hezi have told me he didn’t have court today? “Has Maher left for training yet?” I asked, avoiding his question.

  “Yes, and the women are in the house.”

  Heat began to rise from my neck to my cheeks. “I wonder if I might speak with you and Ima alone?”

  Yaira squeezed my hand and started toward the house. “I’ll send the mistress out.”

  Abba braced my shoulders. “What is it, my girl?”

  Why does a little sympathy unleash emotion? I hugged him to hide what my face would surely reveal. “I love you, Abba.”

  “And you are my delight, Hephzibah, my long-awaited daughter.” He held me tight.

  I basked in the security of his arms until Ima arrived in the courtyard. “What’s wrong?” Panicked, she rushed over.

  “I’m fine, Ima.” I donned a smile and released Abba, waving away her concern. “I need wisdom from you both.”

  Ima gathered stools for all of us and placed them in a circle. “What’s troubling you, dear?”

  I looked at their worried faces and suddenly felt silly. “There are two things that Hezi and I seem to be incapable of talking about: Abijah and Israel. He becomes defensive about one, and I’m terrified about the other.”

  Ima exchanged a glance with Abba, a mingling of emotions on their faces. “Why don’t you tell her about our family, my love,” Abba said. “I can never share the stories without weeping.” Ima began the recounting. Parents, brothers, and sisters tragically killed or taken by illness. Those who remained in her family had rejected Ima and turned from Yahweh. Abba’s story was bittersweet—an abba who had worshiped idols was brought to faith in Yahweh by Ima’s persistent care. Gone now many years, Abba had sweet memories of their final years together.

  I watched and listened as these two people told of the difficulties they bore while forging their own family. The love they shared. The God they served. It bound them together in ways Hezi and I had yet to experience.

  Ima turned her attention to me. “Abijah is deeply wounded from years of pain and disappointment. She may require years of love and loyalty to trust again. Only Yahweh can know for certain.”

  Years. How many years had Ima loved Abijah even when she was so difficult? I thought back to the many times I watched the two friends together. Ima was never unkind, but she never allowed Abijah’s unkindness to go unchecked.

  Abba broke into my thoughts. “And as for Israel—I told Hezekiah at last night’s meeting what I think about his plan to invite Israel to our Passover.” He raised his eyebrow in that Master Isaiah frown of disapproval.

  “So, you agree with me.” My heart felt a bit lighter. “Though Israel is no longer the nation it was when they attacked Judah, they are still a threat. It’s unwise to allow—”

  “No, no, no, Daughter.” He waved away my argument as if my head were full of wool. “It’s about consecration and Hezekiah’s position as anointed King. He broke the Law at the first Temple sacrifice when he allowed Levites instead of priests to present offerings. Will he now invite Israelites to the Passover table who know nothing about what our God requires? They must wash their clothes, abstain from sexual relations, eat their meals standing with their cloaks tucked in their belts as the Israelites did in Egypt. The Law must be kept, Zibah. Hezekiah can’t continue to do as he pleases and expect Yahweh to bless disobedience.”

  My defenses rose, but I didn’t want to argue—with Abba or Hezi. At least Abba agreed that the Israelites shouldn’t come, even if his reasoning was flawed. Hezi’s decision to involve the Levites at the Temple consecration was the right one. Attendance at the Temple’s daily worship since then had soared, and more Judeans were making their first visit to the Temple from outlying villages because they’d heard of that day’s worship. Yahweh continued to bless. Why couldn’t Abba see that?

  Ima pressed her hand against Abba’s knee and nodded in my direction. Before I was married, I might have missed the signal. Now I recognized it.

  Abba cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Zibah. What were you saying about Israel at Passover?”

  I exchanged a knowing look with Ima. It was the glance of a friend, not just a daughter. “I think you summed it up well, Abba.”

  We sat in a moment of awkward silence, and I realized this was no longer my home. No longer the peaceful nest I craved. I would always be loved and welcomed here, but Hezi was now my home, my nest. I glanced at my dovecote, empty from the winter’s migration. Would my birds come back later this spring? The thought pricked my heart, but I knew somehow that I would be only a visitor, not a caretaker, if they did. Perhaps a queen must learn from eagles, not doves.

  “Thank you,” I said, standing. “I should get back to the palace and find out what my husband is doing this morning.”

  I called for Yaira, we said our good-byes, and Amram opened the courtyard gate, then provided rear guard on our short walk back to the palace. My thoughts tumbled over the conversation with Ima and Abba as we passed familiar homes, and I waved at now-friendly neighbors. The topics of family and Israel still troubled me, though perhaps a relationship with Abijah wasn’t impossible.

  But there was little in Abba’s comments about Israel that I could embrace. Perhaps Israel would always be a strained subject for Hezi and me. I realized, however, that if Hezi endured Abba’s uncensored criticism—and possibly criticism from others—while in court, I must be gentle with my words. He still needed my counsel—even he acknowledged that—but I must remember that our chamber is a place of respite for my husband. Not an extension of the courtroom.

  As we approached the king’s chamber, I noticed Samuel slip inside without his normal greeting to me. Within a few moments, he returned to the hallway with a beaming smile. “Good morning, my queen.”

  A furry bear looks odd when it smiles that brightly. “What are you hiding, Samuel?”

  “Nothing, my queen.”

  His lips twitched, and I knew he was lying. “Is Hezi in there?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  My heart began to beat wildly. Why would Samuel avoid my question? I tr
ied to step past him, but he blocked me. I felt like I was at Abijah’s door again. “Is this my chamber, Samuel? Or have I somehow forgotten where the king sleeps?”

  “If you’ll wait a few moments, my queen, I’ll be happy to open the door.”

  Wait? Why would a few moments…? Sickening dread stole the blood from my face. Hezi was hiding something—or someone—in our chamber and sneaking them out Yaira’s chamber through the servant’s entrance. I turned to my friend. “Yaira, go now and see who emerges from your room at the servant’s entrance. Hurry!”

  She ran even as my words died in my throat.

  Samuel’s eyes slid shut. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  I held my chin high, swallowing back tears, refusing to let my anger turn to despair. Hezi couldn’t have another woman in our chamber. He wouldn’t. He’d been faithful too long. I would know if his promises had been false. I would know if his words tasted of honey but swallowed like vinegar. I would know. Surely, I would know.

  Moments later, I heard sandals clicking on the tiles of an adjoining hallway, and Yaira rounded the corner—with Eliakim.

  Confused. Angry. Elated. I wasn’t sure whether to hug him or slug him. “Eliakim, what were you doing in our chamber, and why couldn’t I come in?”

  He walked as if strolling through a garden, smiling, hands tucked behind his back. His expression was that of a child caught raiding the candied figs.

  “What are you hiding behind your back?”

  The chamber door suddenly opened, and Hezi poked his head out the door. Seeing Eliakim, he groaned. “Eli, you got caught? You’d make a terrible spy.”

  Feeling slightly better at the playfulness in my husband’s voice, I shoved my fists at my hips. “What were you two doing in there?”

  Eliakim lifted both brows at Hezi, asking silent permission. Hezi nodded. “Show her.”

  In Eliakim’s hands were a toolbox and a scroll. Hardly items worthy of kingdom secrets.