Love In A Broken Vessel (27 page)

He patted her hand, assuring her of his respect. “Well, I’m afraid for you, my friend. I want my children to grow up knowing their savta.” He turned his gaze to his friend and mentor. “Take your wife home, my friend. Report to King Uzziah the Assyrian troop activity south of Hazor. Micah and I will return to Tekoa after we’ve delivered the scroll in Samaria.”

Amos hesitated and then leaned over to kiss his wife again. “I think your plan is a wise one, but I have one request.”

“Anything, my friend.” Hosea extended his hand and locked forearms, sealing the oath.

“Pray for our friend Jonah. When I return to Tekoa and tell him that the Ninevites to whom he preached Yahweh’s repentance have resurged to world power, he may struggle with regret—as would any man.”

Hosea squeezed his eyes shut.
Jonah.
He was the teacher of
wisdom to Yahweh’s prophets, but Amos—also a patriarch among them—realized every man struggles with God when world events defy understanding. “I will pray.”

Micah laid his hand on their arms. “
We
will pray—and then we will be home to greet him ourselves.”

• H
OSEA
1:8–9; 1:11–2:1 •

After Gomer had weaned Lo Ruhamah, she became pregnant again and had a son. Yahweh said, “Name him Lo Ammi [Not My People]. You are no longer my people, and I am no longer your Ehyeh [I AM]. . . . The day of Jezreel will be a great day. So call your brothers Ammi [My People], and call your sisters Ruhamah [Loved].”

H
osea and Micah sat on the audience tapestry, staring at the shadow of a king they once knew. “We’re sorry for the delay in our return, King Uzziah, but as I hope your spies reported, Micah and I were forced to remain hidden at Shiloh after our brief encounter with Menahem in Samaria.” Hosea noted the angry stare from Commander Hananiah and wondered if Uzziah shared his obvious disdain.

“I’m just glad you’re safe, my friend.” The king’s voice was thready and weak. Kind eyes peeked out between heavy bandages. “Amos told me you and Micah volunteered to deliver the scroll. You faced great danger from the Israelites and from Menahem. I’m grateful.” He paused. Swallowed with difficulty and nodded at Micah. “Judah thanks you.”
His words and actions were deliberate, appearing to take their toll.

Hosea dreaded adding to the king’s pain with the news he had to give. “The Lord ushered us safely into Menahem’s throne room, though I’ve been threatened with death if I enter Menahem’s presence again. However, the worst of it, my friend, was that neither King Menahem nor General Eitan would commit Israel’s participation in the coalition.”

Uzziah exchanged a wary glance with his commander. “We’ve received reports that Israel has already begun sending tribute to Assyria to secure aid against Aram’s harassment. The Arameans have long been a thorn in Israel’s side—”

“But if Menahem thinks King Pul will be a protective big brother,” Hananiah interrupted, “he’s deceived himself!”

Hosea gasped at the audacity of a soldier to interrupt his king, but Uzziah spiraled into a fit of coughing before any of them could react to the breach in protocol.

Hananiah hovered over him. “Call the physician,” he shouted at one of his guards, then turned a blazing gaze on Hosea. “The king grows weary. You’ve told us nothing we don’t already know.” He motioned again to his guards, and this time several of them ringed the tapestry around Hosea and Micah. “The king will summon you if he requires further information. You both may leave.”

“Wait . . . Don’t leave . . .” Uzziah’s coughing grew worse, and Hosea was torn. He wanted to stay and help his friend, but Hananiah was obviously in control. Hosea had sensed the commander’s contempt from the beginning, but never the sheer hatred that burned in his eyes now.

He refused to be cowed and remembered Hananiah’s true grievance against him. “Have I offended you in a new way, Commander, or are you still angry that Yahweh transcends your shield and sword—that the Lord’s promise to rescue Judah without military involvement remains?”

An ominous grin added to his spite. “Go home to your
wife, Prophet. I’ve heard she’s a lonely woman, in need of a man’s touch.”

The words hit their mark, and Hosea sprang to his feet, trembling with rage.

Micah restrained him, whispering, “Come with me now, Master Hosea. You can return when the commander goes back to Jerusalem. Talk with King Uzziah alone.” Micah tugged him toward camp. “Surely Judah’s commander doesn’t
live
in Tekoa. You’ll have your chance to make a formal complaint when he leaves.”

Gomer stood before the long, polished bronze mirror in her bedchamber, admiring the elegant linen robe and veil. How had she ever lived without Hananiah? In less than a year, he’d brought her back to life, making her feel loved, desired, hopeful again. Though her pregnant form looked more like a camel than a gazelle, Hananiah still came to her every night, his passion unchecked. If anything, her maternal qualities seemed to endear her more to the rugged soldier who held her heart. She twirled in a delighted circle, watching the lightweight blue linen flutter around her. The exquisite color and cloth did much to mask her sins.

A wicked grin creased her lips. But who could prove her sins? Hosea’s fleeting visit and instant passion had given the perfect alibi for her swollen belly. Whenever Tekoa’s gossips began counting moon cycles, she mentioned her husband’s well-timed visit and silenced Yahweh’s priests and prophets as well.

Yuval hadn’t been so easy to fool.

Her friend and self-proclaimed ima had challenged Gomer’s rosy cheeks and rounding middle. “You’re happy about more than making pottery,” she’d grumbled one evening while helping Gomer prepare their meal.

She tried to keep the conversation light, saying, “I’m very
good
at making pottery.”

But Yuval’s instincts were impeccable, and she recognized Gomer’s jest as a flippant confession. The disappointment in her eyes hurt more than a thousand gossips’ tales. “I love you, Daughter,” she said. “
I’m
good at that.”

Their visits had become less frequent since then. Yuval traveled a lot with Amos, even brought Gomer a gift from the markets now and then.

Gomer smoothed the soft cloth over her middle and spoke to her reflection. “Too bad she forgot the pomegranate and carrot seeds.” She giggled, patting her tummy. “I will love you, little one, because you are Hananiah’s.” She was certain of it. Perhaps after the baby was born, Hananiah would talk with Uzziah about taking her from Hosea. It was a dream, of course, but Judah’s commander was a man who took what he wanted. She’d witnessed that firsthand.

Though he was kind to her and showered her with gifts from Jerusalem’s market—spices, perfume, linen, and even a gold anklet with bells—he was still a soldier. She placed his newest gift, a gold band, around her arm above the elbow. It hid the bruises well. He hadn’t meant to handle her roughly. She had been slow to retrieve his leather armor last night. He’d said he was sorry.

She twirled again, listening to the sound of the bells on her ankle. Oh, how she loved the sound of bells. Finally. Someone loved her. Hananiah had never actually said the words, but a woman could tell these things.

Was she in love with him?

She thought of Isaiah and Aya, remembering the tenderness of their words and touch. Their love radiated like the warmth of the sun, and Gomer thanked the gods that her children were warmed by it. They spent each day in Aya’s care while Gomer worked at the shop, and when evening came, even Gomer allowed herself a glimpse of this loving family by sharing the evening meal. Tonight Isaiah and Aya had asked to keep the children overnight—to give Gomer an evening of rest.

Hananiah would enjoy a night without the children.

She turned from the mirror and began tidying the bedchamber. Jezzy’s wooden blocks seemed to multiply daily, and Rahmy had acquired three new wool-stuffed balls. Aya spoiled the little princess.

“Gomer?” A deep voice resonated from the front room, sending a pang of fear through her. Darkness hadn’t fallen. Hananiah never visited before dark. He’d said they needed to be discreet. The gossips had rumored him as a customer, but he’d denied it, justifying his visits by claiming he delivered official messages from Hosea.

“Gomer?” The voice drew nearer. It wasn’t Hananiah.

Her heart was in her throat, choking away any sound.

Hosea appeared in the doorway.

“Wha . . . I . . . whe . . .” Hosea breathed half words, his heart at first rejoicing, then horrified. His eyes traveled the length of the woman in his bedchamber. She was dressed in fine linen. He smelled her perfume, saw her kohl-rimmed eyes. And he knew.

“How could you?” Rage coursed through him. He clenched his fists and moved toward her, backing her up as he advanced. “You would have died in Samaria, but I rescued you from Tamir’s brothel. I brought you here, gave you a home.” His throat tightened, but he choked out the words. “I loved you, Gomer.”

“Love?” she spat in his face. “You once questioned me about love, making me feel as if I was the one who didn’t know its meaning. Well, it’s you who needs the lesson, Hosea. You thought because you bought me a veil to wear in public, I was yours to command. But I am not yours. I will never be yours. I—” She grasped her swollen belly and doubled over, reaching for the mattress to steady her.

He stood in the instant silence, still panting with fury. What should he do? They had much to discuss, but she was in no condition at the moment.

“Hosea, go get Yuval.” Before he could respond, she crumpled to the floor and muffled a groan into the mattress. Not knowing what to do, he hovered over her and grasped her shoulders for support. When she was able to lift her face out of the mattress, she shrugged off his hands. “Go! Leave me alone, and get Yuval.”

She wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. He knelt in front of her and spoke calmly. “I just knocked on their door. One of the shepherds told me Amos and Yuval are away on a trade journey.”

He watched a sudden transition—panic turned to resignation. “Leave, Hosea. I’ll do this alone.”

“Do you want me to get Aya?”

She rested her forehead on the mattress and shook her head, her unspoken message clear. She’d felt abandoned all her life. Tonight would be no different.

“You’re not alone, my wife.”

She laughed then, meeting his gaze, the hatred in her eyes staggering. “Your words mean nothing. I’ve been alone all my li—” Her words were cut off by a gasp, and again she buried her face in the mattress, stifling a cry.

A sudden gush of fluid wet the packed dirt beneath her, and Hosea wished with his whole being that Yuval hadn’t gone with Amos on this trip. “What should I do? What can I do to help?”

She offered no answers, seemingly distracted by sheer survival. Cursing the gods and every man she’d ever known, Gomer panted through the contractions in relentless succession. “I don’t know what’s happening. The other two births weren’t like this.” Fear laced her tone, and her eyes darted from Hosea to the bed and then to her stomach. “If I die, tell Jezreel and Rahmy I love them. Please don’t tell them what I was. Tell them I was a good ima. Please, Hosea.” Her pleading was interrupted by the cool breeze of Yahweh’s presence. It blew through their bedchamber and lifted Gomer’s copper curls from her shoulder. Fear was replaced by terror. “What was
that
?”

“That was the Lord.” Hosea chuckled, caressing her cheek. “He’s come to anoint the moment.”

“He’s come to kill my baby,” she said, looking resigned and suddenly humbled. “I suppose I deserve it, but my baby is innocent, Hosea. Can’t you reason with Him? Beg Him for the child’s life? Please . . .” Another contraction tore at her, causing her to cry out.

Hosea held her, letting her lean into him. “Yahweh isn’t here to kill anyone.” He whispered constant reassurance as she fought the pain, uncertain what she heard or if she heard anything he said. Hosea sat beside the bed, locking his shoulder against hers, his back feeling as if it would break. “Gomer, this can’t be the best position for you to endure labor. Doesn’t Yuval have some sort of contraption for women to use while birthing?”

A hint of a smile creased her lips. “It’s called a birthing stool, and I have no idea who used it last or where it is. But if you’d help me squat with my back against the wall, I’d be in the same position as the birthing stool.”

Relief washed over him. Finally, a task to accomplish! Hosea lifted her into his arms—even heavy with child, she weighed little more than two sacks of grain.

But before he could position her against the wall, she cried, “Wait!” Another contraction gripped her. She buried her head in his neck, and the scent of cloves overwhelmed him. His heart twisted in his chest.
Yahweh, how can I love her still? After all she’s done to hurt me, how can I still—

The gentle voice of Yahweh’s Spirit echoed inside Hosea:
You will name him Lo-Ammi—Not My People—for the Israelites are no longer My people and I am no longer their Ehyeh—no longer their I Am. But a day is coming when the people of Israel and Judah will be reunited and become so numerous, they’ll not be able to be counted. I will sow My people, and they’ll grow in the land of their living God. Great will be the day of Jezreel, and in the place where it was said Lo-Ruhamah—Not Loved—I will call them Ruhamah, and
where they were called Lo-Ammi—Not My People—I will call them Ammi.