Love In A Broken Vessel (21 page)

• 2 C
HRONICLES
26:21 •

King Uzziah had a skin disease until the day he died. . . . He lived in a separate house and was barred from Yahweh’s temple. His son Jotham was in charge of the royal palace and governed the country.

A
ya was beauty defined on her wedding day, and Isaiah couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from her. Wedding preparations had taken entirely too long, according to the young groom, but the reward for his wait stood before him in fine white linen and a delicate golden-edged veil. Surrounded by what seemed the entire prophets’ camp, the bride and groom stood under their wedding canopy ten cubits from King Uzziah’s rented house. Hosea, friend of the bridegroom, read their betrothal agreement:

On this, the eighth day of Chislev, in the city of Tekoa, Isaiah, son of Amoz, enters into this agreement with Aya, daughter of Enoch. Let Isaiah, with the help of heaven, honor, support, and maintain her . . .

Hosea spoke to the audience, but his heart was set on one person alone. Gomer. She stood beside Amoz, her placement
an honor, designating her as family. Today was a day for celebration—but she stood like granite. Emotionless. Heartless.

Amoz reached into his robe and passed her a small, cloth-wrapped bundle hidden beneath his giant paw. Perhaps he’d made her a cup or a bowl. Maybe a toy for Jezzy. She shifted Jezzy to one hip and buried the treasure in her robe pocket.

Hosea read the final words on the scroll: “Let this treaty seal Isaiah’s vow to marry Aya in no less than one year, when he will claim her as his wife according to the Law of Moses and Israel.” Hosea glanced up with a sheepish grin. “I’m thankful the agreement didn’t specify
exactly
a year, or I would have had to traipse around Israel without my best friend.” Good-natured chuckles rippled through the audience, giving the high priest a few moments to instruct the bride and groom on the next portion of the ceremony.

Hosea rejoined Gomer, Jezzy, and Amoz. He cradled his wife’s elbow, leaned close. “May I see the gift Amoz gave you?”

Her head snapped toward him. Was it fear or anger in those hazel eyes? “Can’t you wait until your best friend’s wedding is finished? It’s just a new cup for Jezzy.” Her whispered words spewed venom, and she returned her attention to the celebration before he could respond.

If it was a clay cup, why was she trembling? Why so disturbed? Suspicion coiled around his heart like a viper, but then he glimpsed Amoz. Isaiah’s abba was a good man. Quiet and rather broken, but what could he give Gomer that would be offensive? Hosea squeezed the tight muscles at the back of his neck and sighed.
Enjoy the celebration.

“Thank you for joining our family to celebrate Isaiah and Aya’s special day.” King Uzziah’s voice rose, and Hosea watched Amoz tense. When the high priest concluded the service, it was customary for the groom’s abba to direct the guests. Evidently not so today. “We have prepared a wedding feast fit for a king!” Uzziah’s weak voice rose, and the audience cheered.

Hananiah, who stood beside him, raised his sword in the
air, motioning for silence. “I have an announcement to add to this day’s celebrating.”

Prince Jotham emerged from the rented house, and every sound stilled. “From this day forward,” Uzziah said, “my son Jotham reigns as coregent in Jerusalem!” He tried to shout the ending declaration, working to regain the crowd’s vigor. But a slow, forced applause that began with Commander Hananiah was the crowd’s only offering. Jotham looked as if he might run back into the house. Isaiah and Aya kept their heads bowed under the wedding canopy.

Amoz cursed under his breath, and Gomer turned to Hosea. “Go talk to Uzziah.”

The wedding guests began ambling toward the feasting tables, an uncomfortable pall settling over them. Jezzy leaned toward his father, arms extended, and Hosea’s heart melted. His son had grown quite fond of him in the full moon since he’d returned home. He reached for the boy and nuzzled that soft, sweaty place where his neck and shoulder met.

Gomer followed Amoz without looking back.

Hosea felt like a fish swimming upstream, walking toward the king when all others walked away. Hananiah and Jotham remained. Hosea stood beneath the wedding canopy since the audience tapestry had been replaced for the day. “Shalom, my lord,” he said to the king, and then nodded silent recognition to the others.

“Isaiah married a beautiful bride.” Uzziah seemed eager to keep the conversation light.

Hosea saw no need to. “I’m puzzled at the timing of your announcement, my king.”

Uzziah hesitated, and Hosea sensed some inner turmoil. “Will you come closer so we might talk privately, my friend?”

“You know the Law. I cannot.”

“Do you love your son, Hosea?” Uzziah’s expression was unreadable, and a deep sense of foreboding shadowed Hosea’s spirit.

“Of course. As you love Jotham.”

“As King Jeroboam undoubtedly loved Zechariah, his son.” His eyes nearly pierced Hosea’s soul.

Hosea pondered each word, searching for Uzziah’s hidden message. Silence hung between them, and Jezzy began to squirm. Hosea bounced and shushed him, kissing his forehead, promising Yuval’s candied figs. But the boy wriggled and stiffened, a toddler needing space to roam.

“Jotham,” Uzziah said, “would you take Hosea’s son to his ima? Hananiah will escort you.”

“But Abba, I need to hear what you say to the prophet if I’m going to rule—”

“Please, Jotham. Do as I ask.”

Hosea relinquished his son to the new coregent. “He’s still a little wobbly on the uneven ground. You’ll need to hold his hand.”

Jotham’s smile was kind. “I have a son of my own about his age. His name is Ahaz—red curls and a temper to match.” He laid a hand on Hosea’s shoulder. “I’ll watch over him.” Cautiously, he approached Jezzy. “Hey, little one. Let’s go find your ima.”

Hananiah followed them, jaw flexing, fists clenched.

When they were safely out of hearing range, Uzziah spoke in low tones. “A king’s love can’t keep his son safe forever, Hosea.”

“Is King Zechariah—”

“Israel’s young king still sits on his abba’s throne, but my spies in Israel’s court say Jeroboam’s trusted advisors are plotting to kill Zechariah. His abba’s friends, Hosea—men who watched the boy grow up. Zechariah has ruled Israel for only a few Sabbaths.” Uzziah’s voice faltered. “What about
my
son?
My
advisors?” He rushed on, not waiting for an answer. “I’ve worked hard to prepare Jotham for the throne. Priests began teaching him the Law when he was a little older than your Jezreel, but now he’s afraid to enter the temple because of Yahweh’s wrath against
me
.” He pinned Hosea with a stare. “Will the Lord’s punishment last forever? Will
my advisors betray me or my son?” This time he waited, almost daring the prophet to remain silent.

“I wish I knew the answers, my friend.”

“Why don’t you?” He spat the words—more an accusation than a question. “Plead with Yahweh. Find out His plan. Both you and Amos have prophesied that Israel will be destroyed and taken into exile. When? I need to know if Assyria will move against them now, while Israel’s power is divided. Will they come as far south as Judah?”

Hosea shook his head, his own frustration mounting. “It doesn’t work that way, Uzziah. If I could shout at the heavens, asking anything I desired, don’t you think I’d have a few answers of my own by now?”

More turmoil roiled behind the king’s eyes, but he held back. Hosea couldn’t define it, but some emotion pressed on Uzziah’s shoulders and defeated Judah’s once-great king. “If Yahweh’s prophets have no answers, how can I hope to save this nation—or my son?”

The king’s question slapped Hosea like an offended virgin. “Prophets are mere mortals, and you will never save Judah or your son. But Yahweh has all the answers and has promised to save us all.” Uzziah’s head fell forward, and Hosea knew his frustration. “We must remain faithful, my friend, and then trust Yahweh to protect those we love most.”

“If I didn’t know better, I might think you were avoiding me.” Yuval eyed Gomer while flattening the barley dough with her hands. “Would you have invited me over if Aya wasn’t locked away for her wedding week?”

“Since when do you need an invitation?” Gomer smiled and kissed the woman’s cheek, the subtle scent of coriander warming her heart. She’d missed her friend. “You’ve been traveling with Amos.” She paused, considered Yuval’s slight frown. “Why is that? You told me you never traveled with Amos. Why start now?”

Gomer pulled over a goatskin rug, plopping Jezzy into her lap. She grabbed a few playthings to keep his hands busy, and Sampson joined them, never far away when she was home. Yuval seemed to be choosing her words carefully, but then an impish grin and true sparkle lit her eyes.

“Can’t an old woman enjoy a little adventure?” A little giggle passed between them. “Amos invited me to join him, and I’ve been lonely since you’re working more at the pottery shop.” She halted her bread making and captured Gomer’s chin, examining the windows of her soul. “What keeps you so busy at the pottery shop? I’ve come over as early as sunrise, and you’re already gone. What could you be doing that early?”

Gomer pulled away from her grasp and retrieved one of Jezzy’s wooden blocks, happy for the distraction. Yuval knew her too well. What if she read the guilt on her face? “I prepare the leather-hard pots for burnishing. It’s a technique Amoz has taught me. I take a small, smooth stone and polish the pottery to a shine.”

“Mm-hmm.” Yuval seemed intent on her barley bread project again, slapping the small, round loaves on the outer surface of the clay oven.

Relieved, Gomer sighed and wound Jezzy’s black curls around her finger. She loved Yuval and was thankful for her help, but she had also invited her over to determine if news of her morning “business” had reached the camp’s gossip mills. She couldn’t come right out and ask if Yuval had heard rumors. Perhaps more talk about the pottery shop would remind her if she’d heard anything.

“Amoz let me throw my first pot on the kick wheel.”

“Oh my!” Yuval looked up from her barley bread, stricken. “I’m not sure I approve of all this throwing and kicking of pottery, dear.”

Gomer giggled, and Jezreel clapped his hands. “No, no, Yuval. ‘Throwing a pot’ means Amoz taught me to take a wet lump of clay and place it on a turning wheel, which you
keep spinning by ‘kicking’ it. And then you mold that lump into a pot by shaping it with wet hands.”

“Oh! Well, I can see why my comment sounded so silly.” She winked and turned the barley loaves over to brown the other side. “So, you enjoy working the clay? Don’t you miss being home with little Jezreel?”

“Of course I miss him, but Aya takes good care of him. And yes, I
really
enjoy my work.” Gomer’s heart thudded. She loved this dear woman and decided she didn’t want to know if Yuval had heard any rumors or suspected the worst of her. “What about you? Do you enjoy your travels with Amos?”

“We have a lovely time, dear. Now, tell me again why you spend so much time at the pottery shop?” She reached for the cooking pot and lentils. “Jezreel is almost a year old, and he needs his ima.”

Gomer remained silent, watching her friend turn the lamb on the spit over the cooking fire. “Aya has been a godsend,” she said, swallowing hard. Her stomach rolled, nerves getting the best of her. “I’ve been home more now that she and Isaiah are married.” How could she tell Yuval she’d be gone by spring if her harlotry continued to pay well? Would she take Jezzy with her, or could she leave without him? She’d already saved a handsome sum of silver.

Yuval leaned over the table, holding Gomer’s gaze. “I would be happy to resume our cooking lessons, Daughter. As a wife and ima, you should learn to feed your family.” Her eyes were full of love, but the rebuke stung.

Gomer didn’t want to feed her family. She wanted excitement, adventure. She wanted a man to love her. Was that so terrible? So unfathomable? Her stomach lurched, and she felt as if she might be sick. Her head swam, and she tried to focus on Jezreel and Sampson.

Yuval glanced at her, concern etching her features. “Gomer, you’re pale. I’m worried about you. Are you all right?”

Before she could answer, Gomer hoisted Jezreel out of her
lap and dove for the nearest bowl. After emptying her stomach, she sat up and met her friend’s beaming smile.

“You’re pregnant again, aren’t you! That’s why you invited me over—to tell me the good news!”

Stricken by the possibility, Gomer sorted the thousand thoughts racing through her mind—first and foremost, the names of men she’d lain with and the glaring absence of her husband on that list. This could not be Hosea’s child.
Mother Asherah, please no!

“Have you told Hosea yet?” Yuval had picked up Jezreel and was bouncing him on her hip. “Oh, he’ll be so excited!”

“No, Yuval. I haven’t told him, and no . . .” She buried her face in her hands. “He won’t be excited.” How could she tell her one friend of the betrayal? Silence stretched into awkwardness, and when she looked up, she saw tears in Yuval’s eyes.

“I love you, my little Gomer, no matter what you’ve done, but you must tell me the truth. Our friendship deserves the truth.”