Love In A Broken Vessel (38 page)

“But you won’t know it’s not safe until it’s not safe!” Yuval’s argument was more emotion than reason, but her tears held more sway than a thousand facts.

“If Yahweh revealed that Gomer is in Samaria”—Hosea reached for Yuval’s hand, cradling the weathered, wrinkled treasure—“don’t you suppose He’ll protect me on this journey?”

He watched thoughts form behind her eyes. Fear turned to questions, and her questions birthed something new. “I’m going with you!” she gasped, seemingly as surprised as the men.

“Oh, Yuval.” Hosea readied his immediate objection. “I don’t think—”

“Absolutely not! I forbid it!” Amos’s shout instigated a coughing spell. “You’ll stay . . . right there . . . on that rug,” he said, pointing to the curly goatskin beside him.

Yuval waited for Amos’s coughing to still, and Hosea watched quietly, his cheeks flushed with holy fire. He sensed Yahweh calling Yuval to accompany him, but he dared not interfere in matters of husband and wife.

As Amos’s cough abated, his brow remained furrowed, and Yuval kissed the furrow away. Rather than address her husband, however, she turned to Hosea. “Have you considered Gomer’s reaction to your arrival? From your report at Arpad, she’s determined to remain a harlot. Though Yahweh commanded you to show
your
love and buy her back, He didn’t say she’d gladly return to Tekoa with you.” Her cloudy eyes bore through his soul, and confusion settled like a rock in his stomach.

“But Yahweh promised at Arpad that He would ‘cure them of their unfaithfulness.’” Hosea wondered if he’d mistaken both Yahweh’s and Yuval’s messages. “I thought you wanted to come with me.”

“I want you to think as Gomer might think—consider Yahweh as one who doesn’t know and believe His words.” She squeezed Hosea’s hand and spoke the hard truth. “The Lord said Israel was an incurable harlot and that he’d given up on Gomer. But now He tells you to buy her back. Gomer might see these as inconsistencies and capricious ranting from a distant god, but we know Yahweh to be true and faultless in His ways.” She hesitated, searching the windows of his soul. “So what’s the answer, Hosea? How can Yahweh say He’s given up on a woman He commands you to buy back?”

His throat was too tight to speak. He had no answer. Yahweh had always been his unwavering Rock, his constant in life’s storms. When Hosea questioned the Lord, it was from a position of belief, not opposition. And why hadn’t he considered the possibility of another rejection from Gomer? Yahweh’s calling had been so clear, so adamant. Was he naive or ignorant, or both?

Suddenly yearning to know Yuval’s thoughts, he patted her hand. “What was it you once told me? Women hear more because their mouths are closed when men speak.”

“Well I don’t know if I said it, but it certainly deserves saying.” A little giggle, and then she continued. “Hosea, my son, Yahweh feels each peak of our emotion, knows every
event in a single glimpse. There is no progress in the eternal, only being. Every word that proceeds from the mouth of Elohim is truth. It is beyond human reasoning to arrange it on a timeline.”

Hosea swallowed, his mouth dry, his heart full. He glanced at Amos and saw a wry smile on his teacher’s face. “Why isn’t she teaching the prophets?”

The old man patted his wife’s hand. “She’s my personal tutor.”

Hosea’s heart melted at the love he saw between them. Comfortable. Raw. Real.

“I’m going to Samaria with you,” Yuval asserted again, shattering the peaceful moment.

“No you’re not, woman!” Amos’s amiable humor disappeared.

Yuval took her place on the rug beside her husband—the one he’d indicated in his rant. “Amos, my love, look into my eyes.” When he refused, she leaned over, placing her sweet, round face before him. “Look at me and tell me you don’t feel the Spirit nudging your heart. You know I’m supposed to go with the boy.” She stroked his brow again. “You only shout at me when you’re frightened.”

Hosea watched a single tear slide from the corner of Amos’s eye. “What if Yahweh takes you from me?”

“Yahweh will protect us, my love.” Yuval turned to Hosea, her calm seeming to permeate the room. “Gomer has always listened to me. From the moment we met, she associated me with an old friend of hers called Merav. I believe you’ll have a better chance of convincing her to return home if I’m with you.”

Hosea nodded. “Thank you, Yuval. Perhaps we should make our journey appear to be a business venture. I’ll meet you at dawn and gather the newly shorn wool and some of last year’s woven cloth. We’ll pose as an ima and son in Samaria’s market.”

She winked. “Not much of a stretch for us, is it, dear?”

Hosea bent to place a kiss on Amos’s forehead. “I’ll bring her home safely, my friend. Trust me.”

Amos grabbed Hosea’s hand and squeezed it with surprising strength. “I’m trusting someone much greater to bring you both back safely. And if Gomer returns—Yahweh will help me welcome her as well.”

• H
OSEA
3:1 •

Then Yahweh told me, “Love your wife again, even though she is loved by others and has committed adultery. Love her as I, Yahweh, love the Israelites.”

E
zri sat on a cushion by his ivory inlaid table, the last piece of fine furniture he owned. “Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three.” He lifted a defeated gaze to Gomer.

“Is it enough?” she asked, knowing the answer but needing to hear it anyway. King Menahem’s decision to pay tribute to Assyria had saved Israel from immediate invasion, but it was bleeding the country dry. When he’d died in his sleep after a ten-year reign, his son, King Pekahiah, inherited an empty palace treasury. Each year, when the Assyrians raised the price of tribute, Pekahiah passed on the burden to Israel’s wealthy merchants. Now the merchants’ coffers were as empty as the palace.

“No, it’s not enough.” He reached for his wineskin, but it was empty—the second he’d drained today, and it was barely past midday.

“Maybe if you saved the silver you spent on wine, you wouldn’t have to sell your property to meet the king’s demands.”

“Maybe if I sell
you
, I’ll have enough to pay the king and buy more wine!” He slammed his fist on the table, upsetting his neatly stacked piles of silver.

Gomer turned away so he wouldn’t see her fear. He’d never beaten her. In fact, they’d never even exchanged a cross word until a few moon cycles ago. His drinking had increased as his silver dwindled, and the gentle man she’d known had grown irritable. Gomer knew the signs. The beatings would begin soon. She probably deserved it.

“I’m sorry I shouted.” His hands glided around her waist, and he nuzzled his favorite place on her neck. “You know I love you, Gomer.”

“I know. You’re tired. Perhaps you should rest.” He was the only man—besides Hosea—to tell her he loved her. If she hadn’t decided men incapable of it, she might have believed him. Whatever his faults—and he had very few—Ezri had been kind. More like an abba than a husband, he’d showered her with gifts in the beginning. Offering him occasional pleasure had seemed fair since he made her mistress over three house servants. But the others had been sold along with most of the furniture, jewelry, and Gomer’s wardrobe. Only the two of them remained. Ezri spent most of his time apologizing and the rest of his time resting.

At least she was warm and well fed.

A knock on the door interrupted his drunken attempt at passion. He staggered as she pulled away from his grasp. Serious pounding began before Gomer reached the entrance.

“Open up in the name of King Pekahiah!”

She gasped, turning to Ezri for direction. He shrugged, too bleary-eyed from wine to be of any real help.

She opened the door but slipped through a narrow crack, closing it behind her while Ezri remained mute inside. “How may I serve you gentlemen?”

Two soldiers in full leather armor stood, spears at the ready. “We’ve been ordered to collect the merchant Ezri’s tribute or secure whatever valuables he owns.”

“My master is resting.” She brazenly examined each soldier from the top of his helmet to the tips of his sandals. “He’s elderly and quite exhausted after strenuous midday activity.” She licked her lips and leaned against the door, hoping they’d take the bait.

The soldiers exchanged wicked grins. “Perhaps we should seize you to fulfill Ezri’s obligation.”

She curled her finger, beckoning them closer, keeping her voice low. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow at this time, and I’ll be waiting. It will give me a chance to gather some valuables and make sure my master is sleeping soundly.”

A moment of decision passed between them, and the taller soldier brushed her cheek. “Tomorrow, then.”

She waited until they rounded the corner of the next house before slipping back through the door.

Ezri stood like a statue, his expression stricken. “You would steal from me and leave while I slept?”

“No!” She stomped her foot, frustration mounting. “Think about it, Ezri. I knew you could hear me, and besides—what is left for me to steal?”

His hurt turned to shame. “What are we going to do, Gomer? I’ve failed you—just like I fail everyone. I couldn’t find a physician to heal my wife. I didn’t protect my sisters years ago. Maybe this is all a curse from the gods.” He gathered her into his arms, weeping the slobbering tears of wine-saturated grief. “Perhaps if I sell you to one of my friends, I can keep you out of the slave market. At least then I could choose who . . . who . . .” Sobs shook his aging frame. “I’m sorry . . . so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!” She shoved him back, grasping his shoulders and shaking him. “Think, Ezri! Think. Is there somewhere else we can go? Do you have merchant friends in another city or country who might help us?”

His head lolled in spite of her efforts. “No, Gomer. I built my life here in Samaria with my wife. I paid a trusted steward to travel for me while I stayed home and ran the business.”

She released her grip, letting him crumple to his favorite pillow. The loyalty that had made him a wonderful husband now made him a frustrating fugitive.

Another knock on the door caused them both to gasp and stare. “What do we do now?” he whispered.

Gomer gazed into the wide, frightened eyes of the man who had redeemed her from death four years ago. She brushed his cheek and leaned down to kiss him as she walked toward the door. “
We
do nothing, my sweet Ezri. You have done enough. The soldiers were willing to settle for me a few moments ago. We’ll hope they’ll leave you in peace if I go willingly.”

A second knock.
At least they’re not shouting again for the neighbors to hear their threats.

She opened the door, beginning her answer before she glimpsed her visitors. “I’ll go if you promise not to—”

Shocked but familiar faces stared back.

She gasped. “Hosea? Yuval?”

Hosea was utterly dumbstruck by Gomer’s beauty. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, spun silk against a sea-green robe. If Yuval hadn’t nudged him, he might have stood there gawking.

She reached for Gomer’s hand. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re willing to come with us. We’re here to take you home, Daughter.”

“No, wait.” Confusion warred with panic on Gomer’s features. “I thought you were the soldiers. They came . . . I mean . . . how did you find me?”

“The same way I found you in Arpad,” Hosea said, his heart pounding. “Yahweh. We knew you were in Samaria, and then we asked at the market about a beautiful copper-haired woman. You weren’t hard to find.”

“I can’t leave. I’m a slave. I—”

Hosea placed a hand on the door to be sure she wouldn’t
slam it shut. “I know. Yahweh told me that too. Please, if you’ll let us come in, I’d like to explain.”

“Who is it, Gomer?” A distinguished older man stepped into the doorway, the smell of wine wafting with him. His face lost all color when he saw Yuval. “Merav, is that you?”

“What did you call her, Ezri?” Gomer touched his cheek as if he were a fragile amphora.

The old gentleman couldn’t tear his eyes from Yuval. “Merav, is it really you after all these years?”

Yuval’s face was the color of whitewashed stone. Hosea laid his arm around her shoulders, glancing right and left down the row of houses. “Gomer, please. May we come in?”

She nodded, opening the door wide. The man, Ezri, seemed to awaken from his stupor—or sober from his wine. “I’m sorry I have no couch to offer you,” he said, “but please make yourselves comfortable on the cushions around the table. Gomer, get our guests some wine.”

“No, I don’t want wine,” Yuval said, uncharacteristically curt. “I want to know who this Merav is and how both of you knew her.” Hosea watched her soften as the two confused residents fumbled for their own explanations.

“How could you know Merav?” Gomer asked Ezri. “You said you never visited the harlots at Tamir’s brothel.”

“Merav was
not
a harlot!” he shouted, but just as suddenly his features grew stricken. “Was she? Is that what happened to her?”

Hosea felt Yuval trembling beneath his protective wing as she watched the story unfold.
Yahweh, give me wisdom to know when to speak, to listen, to retreat, and to assert Your will.
He waited, listening as Gomer and her master sorted out the details of a mystery too incredible to be coincidental.

“Merav was the midwife at Tamir’s brothel. She helped raise me when I was taken there as a child of twelve. She was like an ima to me, but she was killed at Jeroboam’s first child sacrifice. She was trying to save the infant from death.” Tears
spilled down Gomer’s cheeks, and Hosea marveled at the tenderness in her voice. “How did you know her, Ezri? What did you mean when you asked what had happened to her?”

The old man brushed Gomer’s cheek and then smoothed a stray copper curl behind her ear. He treated her so tenderly, not like a slave at all, but as a friend. Hosea watched with wonder—and envy. He couldn’t dare think of all they’d shared, their bond evident and sincere.

The gentleman turned to Yuval, including her in his explanation. “My abba was a wealthy man and married into my ima’s wealthy family. When he fell in love with one of our house slaves, my ima tolerated the indiscretion until he began showing favor to the slave’s children. The serving maid bore him twin girls—Merav and Yuval—and they became very dear to me.”

Gomer gasped, and Hosea gripped Yuval’s shoulders as her knees gave way. He glimpsed a pillow on the floor and guided her toward it. Gomer supported her waist and sat beside her.

Yuval kept her tearful gaze on Ezri. “Go on.”

He swallowed hard. “When I was twelve years old—the age of manhood—my ima ordered that the twins be sold. I pleaded with Abba not to do it, but he wouldn’t relent. Ima’s family was influential, and such a scandal could have ruined my abba’s business.”

Hosea knelt beside Yuval, expecting her to need comfort but finding instead a tear-streaked face full of wonder. “My Yahweh knew all along,” she said. “So, Master Ezri, how old were your sisters—I mean, how old were
we
when we were sold?”

The old man winced. “You and Merav were about five years old.” Ezri’s eyes were kind, seeming to search for some recognition. “Do you remember anything about your past?”

“Very little. In fact, it’s as if my life is a blank parchment before my journey to Tekoa. I don’t remember any family at all. Isn’t that strange?” She leaned into Gomer’s embrace, her
tears flowing unchecked, quiet sobs shaking her shoulders. “I would’ve liked having a brother and sister.”

Ezri knelt before her. “Perhaps I could fill in a few details, and you might remember. Abba often brought me to the servants’ quarters to play with you girls while he visited your ima. I always brought candied figs for you and Merav—hidden in the pocket of my robe, they were always covered in lint, but you loved them anyway.”

Yuval chuckled. “Perhaps that’s why my life feels most fulfilled when I’m tending figs.” But the spark suddenly dimmed in her eyes. “I know I was sold and sent to Judah, but what happened to Merav? You seemed surprised at Gomer’s report.” She pinned Ezri with a stare. “What is the last memory you have of our sister?”

He squeezed his eyes shut before answering, the effort seemingly painful. “When Abba returned from the slave market on my twelfth birthday, I demanded to know what had become of you both. He said a kind Judean farmer purchased you and would be taking you to Tekoa. However, Merav would remain in Samaria with a reputable midwife to learn the trade. I had hoped someday to find Merav and help her, perhaps rescue her if she found herself in dire straits. But . . .”

“But what?” Gomer said. “Did you ever see Merav again?”

Ezri lowered his head as if a heavy mantle of emotion weighed him down
.
“My wife was still childless after ten years of marriage, so I sought out Merav, who had become the most esteemed midwife in Samaria. She attended even the births of the king’s officials, so I trusted her when she prescribed a tonic to make my wife’s womb fertile.”

He lifted his gaze, his jaw flexing. Hosea tried to read the man’s expression. It had changed from obvious pain and regret to . . . Was he angry?

“My wife suffered unspeakable pain for three days. Severe cramping and hemorrhaging. We nearly lost her. Merav never practiced midwifery among the nobles again—and my wife never experienced another womanly red flow.”

Hosea heard Yuval gasp. “Surely Merav didn’t harm your wife on purpose?”

“No!” Gomer shouted before Ezri could answer. “Merav would
never
have done such a thing. How can you even—”

He lifted his hand, silencing Gomer’s objections. “Merav came to me a year later, vowing that the primrose tonic she’d used must have been tainted by a competing midwife. I gave her a bag of silver and told her I never wanted to see her again. I heard later she purchased a brothel with my silver.” He looked at Gomer. “It was the brothel that later became Tamir’s.”

The silence throbbed with emotion.

“I see,” Yuval finally said, pain evident in her voice.

Hosea turned to Gomer, seeing a granite expression replace the tenderness he’d glimpsed moments ago. “Well, I don’t see,” she said flatly, aiming an accusing stare at her master. “Why didn’t you believe Merav and help her clear her name so she could continue her business among the royals? And how did she end up as Tamir’s midwife—hardly better than a servant in a brothel she once owned?”