The Strength of His Hand (21 page)

“‘Because you have rejected this message, relied on oppression and depended on deceit, this sin will become for you like a high wall, cracked and bulging, that collapses suddenly, in an instant. It will break in pieces like pottery, shattered so mercilessly that among its pieces not a fragment will be found for taking coals from a hearth or scooping water out of a cistern.’ ”

When Hezekiah reached the top step, Eliakim stopped him.

“Shall I call off the caravan, Your Majesty?”

Hezekiah turned around and faced the crowd again. The soldiers, servants, and townspeople watched him curiously. Everyone waited for his response. Hezekiah shook his head.

“No, Eliakim—we can’t call it off. We can’t be the only nation that doesn’t join the coalition, or they’ll turn against us. We need this treaty. Our national security depends on it.”

He had spoken too quietly for Isaiah to hear his words, but the prophet began shouting again as if he had. “ ‘In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength, but you would have none of it. You said, “No, we will flee on horses.” Therefore you will flee! You said, “We will ride off on swift horses.” Therefore your pursuers will be swift! A thousand will flee at the threat of one; at the threat of five you will all flee away, till you are left like a flagstaff on a mountaintop, like a banner on a hill.’ ” Hezekiah’s breath quickened as he fought back the angry words he wanted to hurl at Isaiah. They felt like gravel in his throat. He longed to curse the prophet for confronting him publicly like this, for criticizing his decisions without listening to the facts, for making him feel like a wicked, rebellious king like his father. He
wasn’t
like his father. He had followed God’s Law to the letter. He had been faithful to His covenant. Isaiah was wrong. But Isaiah was never wrong.

“Doesn’t Yahweh have a
good
word for me, Rabbi? After all that I’ve done for Him? After all these years?” He heard the pleading note in his own voice, and he felt like Esau begging for his father’s blessing after foolishly squandering his birthright.

Isaiah gazed at him sadly for a moment before answering. “Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you; he rises to show you compassion, for the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him!”

Hezekiah felt the tension in the gawking crowd. The soldiers, nobles, and officials waited anxiously to see who would win this confrontation. But Hezekiah knew he couldn’t back down. In spite of Isaiah’s words, he remained convinced that joining the coalition of nations was Judah’s only hope against an impossibly superior foe.

“You don’t understand, Rabbi,” he said at last. “I
am
trusting the Lord. He’s the only God I’ll ever worship. But for my nation’s sake, I have to join with my neighbors against the Assyrians. I can’t ignore what’s going on in the world around me. I’m sorry you don’t see it that way. And I’m sorry you’ve decided to confront me in public instead of man to man.”

Then, because he didn’t want to hear any more of the prophet’s words, Hezekiah signaled for the caravan to leave and disappeared into his palace.

“Someone to see you, my lady.”

Hephzibah turned and was stunned to find Jerusha standing in her doorway. She had come back! In spite of all Hephzibah’s efforts to drive her away, Jerusha had come back. Her persistence touched Hephzibah’s heart—and she didn’t want to be touched.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came back to see you.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your friend.”

“I told you I don’t need your friendship. Or your pity. Why can’t you leave me alone?” As she glared at Jerusha, Hephzibah noticed something she had missed the last time—an unmistakable bulge in the front of Jerusha’s robe. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

“Yes … yes, I am.”

“How can you come here and parade in front of me like that, knowing that I’m barren? Do you enjoy reminding me of my failure?

Go away!”

But Jerusha shook her head. “No, Hephzibah—I’m not leaving. I know you’re trying to punish yourself by pushing everyone away, but—”

“I don’t have to
push
anyone! They’ve all disowned me! My servants, my family, even my father and mother. I’ve disgraced them. They consider me dead. And I wish you would consider me dead, too.”

“Have you asked God to forgive you?”

“I don’t believe in forgiveness,” she spat. “There’s no such thing.”

“I was angry at God, too, Hephzibah. I blasphemed Him and refused to pray or to believe in Him. But when I asked for forgiveness—”

“You lived happily ever after. Good for you. But that’s not going to happen to me. Hezekiah hates me. He isn’t going to forgive me, so how can his God forgive me? I won’t even ask.”

“That’s not how it works, Hephzibah.”

“Yes, it is. Hezekiah obeys all of God’s laws, I don’t. So God listens to him, not to me. Neither one of them will ever forgive me.” Hephzibah thought she had long exhausted her tears, but when she remembered the look in Hezekiah’s eyes the night he discovered her betrayal, she covered her face and wept. She wished she could erase the memory of the anguish she had seen in his eyes, his terrible pain as he’d read the words of her vow. She longed to forget, but she couldn’t; from the moment she had first met Hezekiah she had loved his beautiful dark eyes most of all.

She heard Jerusha moving around the room, opening her curtains and shutters; then she felt the breeze move across her skin like a caress when Jerusha opened the door to the outside. Hephzibah looked up. A sparrow landed on the threshold, cocking its head as if asking a question, then flew away.

“Come out into the courtyard with me,” Jerusha said, extending her hand. “Sit in the sunshine.”

Without knowing why, Hephzibah followed Jerusha outside and sat beside her on the bench. The bright sunlight hurt her eyes, and the sound of birds and the wind in the trees seemed deafening. She stared at the door to her room, as if knowing that her freedom couldn’t last. She resented Jerusha for intruding on her solitude. But since Jerusha was already here, Hephzibah decided to use her to find out what she ached to know.

“Jerusha … do you ever see my … do you ever see King Hezekiah?”

“I saw him at the Temple this morning.”

“How is he?” she whispered.

“Hephzibah, why put yourself through this?”

“The last time I saw Hezekiah he was dying … and it was all my fault.”

Jerusha touched her shoulder. “The king has recovered completely, Hephzibah. He’ll be fine. He has lost a lot of weight, but he’s growing stronger and stronger every day.”

Hephzibah tried to control her tears, but they spilled down her face. “Do you ever go to the palace? Do you see him there?”

“I went to a banquet last week for the envoys from Egypt.”

“How did he look?”

“Hephzibah, don’t do this to yourself.”

“You don’t know! You can’t possibly imagine how it feels to realize that you’ll never see your husband again!”

“I do know how it feels,” Jerusha answered quietly. “When the king nearly died, my husband’s life was in danger, too. Prince Gedaliah was going to kill him. Eliakim sent me away so I’d be safe, and I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.”

Hephzibah looked away. “If … if you really want to be my friend, then describe him to me. Let me see Hezekiah through your eyes.”

“All right.” Jerusha drew a deep breath. “The envoys came to honor him, Hephzibah, and they brought him magnificent gifts. First the Babylonians came, then the Egyptians—”

“He’s a man of great importance … yet he loved me,” she interrupted. “I could never quite grasp it. He loved
me
… . I owned a place in his heart. I wish … I wish I had realized how precious his love was. I never would have gambled with it.” She wiped the tears that continued to fall, then looked at Jerusha again. “What did he look like that night?”

“He wore the crown of David on his head and a robe of deep purple. When he walked into the banquet room and the trumpets played their fanfare, he looked tall and stately, a man of dignity and stature. The Egyptians seemed small beside him.”

When Jerusha stopped, Hephzibah closed her eyes and continued describing him from memory: “His beard and hair shone like copper in the lamplight, and his shoulders were broad and straight. I could never take my eyes off him—I loved to watch him from across the room, especially his hands. They’re so large and strong, and he can’t seem to talk without using them. I used to tell him that if he sat on his hands he’d be speechless. Then he’d laugh. How I loved to hear him laugh! Have you ever heard his laughter, Jerusha?”

“I haven’t heard him laugh in a long time. He carries a burden of grief with him all the time, wherever he goes. He’s still mourning his loss. I know that he loved you very, very much. I used to see it in his eyes. I can’t look into his eyes anymore, because the pain is so naked and so intense. I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel guilty and punish yourself, but so you’ll know that the love you shared with him was rare and true and very deep. Hang on to that. Treasure that knowledge. And understand that he still loves you, still grieves for you—for what you both lost.”

“But it can never be fixed,” Hephzibah said.

“No, it can’t be fixed.”

“Then learn something from me, Jerusha. Don’t ever go against your husband’s wishes. Nothing is worth that risk.”

“
You’re
worth it, Hephzibah. In God’s eyes and in mine.”

Suddenly Hephzibah realized what Jerusha was saying. “Jerusha!

You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Your husband would never approve if he knew you were here with me!”

“But my husband is wrong. I came back, because I knew it was the right thing—”

“No! I thought my husband was wrong, too, and now I’d give anything to choose differently. Leave, Jerusha, and don’t come back!

Go home and take your husband in your arms, and never let go of him. Get out of here!”

“But, Hephzibah—”

“I’ll tell the gatekeeper never to let you in again. Now,
go
!” She pushed and prodded Jerusha until she finally stood up.

“I’ll go,” she said. “But I want you to know that no matter what you’ve done in the past, God will forgive you the moment you ask Him to. There’s a song that the Levites sing at the Temple. I want to tell you the words.”

“But then you have to leave.”

Jerusha nodded. Her voice trembled as she recited: “ ‘Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion… . He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever; he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.’ ” Jerusha looked at her uncertainly, as if she wanted to embrace her but was afraid. Hephzibah folded her arms across her chest to signal her unwillingness.

“You can believe those words,” Jerusha said quietly. “I know they’re true. I’ve lived them.” Then she turned and walked from the courtyard.

For Hephzibah it was a beautiful poem—nothing more. No one would redeem her life from this lonely, empty pit. And neither Hezekiah nor his God would ever forgive her for pledging to sacrifice her child to an idol. She rose from the bench and slowly walked back to her room, closing the door behind her.

The house was quiet when Jerusha arrived home, the children still napping. She hung her shawl on a hook beside the door and sank down wearily on the bench to remove her sandals.

“Where have you been?”

Jerusha jumped at the sound of Eliakim’s voice. She slowly lifted her head and looked up at him, unsure how to answer.

“Eliakim … what are you doing home?”

She tried to smile as he walked slowly toward her, but he didn’t return her smile. Sorrow filled his dark eyes, and she had to look away from him. She remembered Hephzibah’s words:
“Don’t ever go against
your husband’s wishes. Nothing is worth taking that risk,”
and she began to tremble. She bent to unfasten her sandal, trying to conceal her guilt, but her fingers fumbled with the straps. Eliakim pulled her hands away and took them in his.

“Jerusha, I came home two hours ago. The servants didn’t know where you went. I’ve been worried.”

Please, dear God!
Jerusha silently prayed.
I obeyed you—I did what
you asked me to do. Please don’t let him hate me. O God, I couldn’t live like
Hephzibah. I couldn’t live without Eliakim!

He gently squeezed her hands, and his handsome face blurred as her eyes filled with tears. Why had she defied his wishes?

“Jerusha? Why aren’t you answering me?”

“I …”

Suddenly Eliakim let her hands slip from his. “You went back to see Hephzibah, didn’t you?” he said in a whisper.

“I had to.”

“Get out of my house!” He spoke so softly she barely heard him, but his words sent a shiver of terror through her.

“Eliakim, no! Listen to me—”

“It’s too late for explanations.” He yanked her cloak off the hook and shoved it into her hands, hauling her to her feet. “I said get out!”

“Eliakim … no … no!”

“Didn’t I make it clear why you couldn’t have anything to do with Hephzibah? Don’t you understand that you’re compromising my integrity? I’m having a hard enough time hanging on to my job without this!”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve opposed King Hezekiah on every major issue for the past six months. Shebna told me that if I can’t support the king’s decisions, I’d better resign before I’m fired. I was so desperate I went to see Isaiah and begged him to back me up. Do you know what he did? He backed me up, all right. He condemned King Hezekiah in front of the entire city! I feel like a traitor!”

“Eliakim, I’m sorry. I didn’t know… .”

“That’s why I came home today. The king was so upset at being damned in public that he refused to hold court. I don’t know if I even have a job to go back to. And now this! If anyone finds out you’ve struck up a friendship with Hephzibah … I don’t know what I’ll do!