by Lynn Austin
“We want a child so badly,” he said at last. “We’ve been praying for one, trusting God for one . . . and I had to condemn two people to death for murdering their own son.”
31
Eliakim winced and shifted in the saddle, trying to find a comfortable position. After riding horseback for three days, there wasn’t one. “Are we still behind schedule?” he asked Jonadab.
The general smiled slightly. “Why? Do you want to walk awhile?”
Eliakim nodded sheepishly. They dismounted, and Eliakim groaned with relief. “I’m sorry, General, but I’m a city boy. Horses are a new experience for me.”
Jonadab laughed. “That’s okay. I think Shebna wants to kill us both with his crazy schedule. He didn’t even give us time to enjoy the scenery.”
The road followed the banks of the winding Sorek River, with the beautiful rolling green hills of the Shephelah surrounding them on every side. It felt good to walk again.
Eliakim drew a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of the Sorek vineyards. “This certainly is beautiful country,” he sighed.
“I led the military campaign when we won this territory back from the Philistines—one of the wisest decisions King Hezekiah ever made. It’s as fertile as Eden. My wife’s from around here. I miss her already. But you wouldn’t know about that. When are you going to get married and find out what you’re missing?”
Eliakim hadn’t thought about Jerusha for several days, and his depression had begun to lift for the first time in months. But Jonadab’s gentle teasing reminded him, and Eliakim felt the familiar twisting pain in his gut. Many men.
“Sorry—guess it’s none of my business,” Jonadab mumbled.
Eliakim sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “No, it’s all right. I, uh . . . might be getting married when I get back home.”
“You don’t sound too thrilled. Is she ugly?”
Eliakim thought of beautiful Jerusha and smiled weakly. “I don’t really know. My father has several prospects for me. I’m not sure which one we’ll choose.”
Jonadab studied him as they walked. “But you’re in love with someone else—is that it? And your father is against it—or maybe hers?”
“Something like that.”
“Tell you what: I’ll give you a little sword practice, and when you get home you can ride your horse up to her house and carry her away.” Jonadab slapped Eliakim on the back good-naturedly. “What do you say?”
“When I get home I’m never getting on a horse again.”
Jonadab laughed, but when he looked at Eliakim’s grim face his smile changed to a frown. “Is it really that hopeless—with your girlfriend, I mean?”
Eliakim looked down at the road. “Yeah, it’s hopeless.”
“That’s too bad. I’m sorry.”
They walked along in silence for a few minutes, with the heavy plodding of the horses and the sweet chirping of birds sounding in their ears.
“Listen, Eliakim, if it’s any consolation, I never met my wife until the day we got married. My father chose her for me. But I love her with all my heart now. We’ve had five children together and three grandchildren so far. Maybe you should give one of your father’s brides a chance.”
“Thanks. Maybe I will.” But as they walked along, Eliakim wondered if he could learn to love anyone the way he had loved Jerusha.
They approached the outskirts of Lachish shortly before sunset, riding once again, but several hours behind schedule.
“I’m dreading this visit,” Jonadab said.
“Why is that?”
“The governor of Lachish is the king’s brother, Prince Gedaliah. Ever meet him?” Eliakim shook his head. “I tutored him for his military training, just like I tutored the king. But Gedaliah is very different from King Hezekiah, as you’ll soon see, and . . . well, maybe I should let you decide for yourself.”
“You’d better tell me now, since we’ll be working closely with him.”
Jonadab scratched his beard. “I never liked Gedaliah. Never trusted him. It’s hard to explain why exactly. King Hezekiah has a certain . . . royalty about him. He gives an order, and you feel like obeying it. His brother gives orders, too, but they rub me the wrong way. Like petting a dog from the tail to the head—you know what I mean?”
“I think so.”
“I’ve always known the king to be fair, even when the decisions were tough. But Gedaliah? He’s always in it for himself. Selfish little runt, like his father. I’d be willing to bet that he’s lined his own pockets pretty nicely since he was appointed governor of Lachish.”
“Does the king know what his brother is doing?”
Jonadab shrugged. “That’s hard to say. Anyway, it was your friend Shebna who recommended him for the position of governor.”
“My friend?”
Jonadab chuckled. “Someday you’ll have to fill me in on why you two hate each other so much.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Come on, you and Shebna can’t be in the same room together without going straight for each other’s throats.”
Eliakim sighed. “I don’t really know how it started with Shebna. I never liked him and he never liked me. He’s sure getting his revenge on this trip, though.” Eliakim shifted uneasily in the saddle. “But don’t ever tell him that.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“I don’t know; maybe it’s Shebna’s beliefs—or lack of beliefs, I should say. I have no use for people who don’t believe in God. You can blame my father for instilling me with that prejudice.”
“Then you won’t like Gedaliah, either.”
“He’s an unbeliever?”
“Worse. He’ll worship anything to further his own selfish ambitions.”
“You’re right. That’s much worse.”
By the time they rode through the triple gates of Lachish, Eliakim was convinced he would have to eat dinner standing up. They were welcomed by Governor Gedaliah and conducted on a tour of the city’s impressive fortifications.
“Lachish seems well prepared for an Assyrian siege,” Eliakim said when they’d finished the tour and returned to the sumptuous governor’s palace.
“I’ve made sure of that,” Gedaliah said. “It’s an important city, safeguarding the entire valley. The Assyrians could never conquer it.”
“It would be a dangerous mistake to underestimate them,” Jonadab warned.
“They’ll never defeat Lachish,” Gedaliah repeated. “But enough business. Time to relax. How long do you plan on visiting? I’d like to make your stay comfortable.”
“We’re scheduled for two days,” Jonadab said.
“Stay as long as you like. I’ve assigned some slave girls to make sure all your needs are met. Let me know if you want anything at all.”
“There is one thing,” Eliakim said. “I understand this area manufactures pottery. I’m trying to locate a friend, a potter by the name of Saul of Dabbasheth. He’s a refugee from Israel.”
Gedaliah turned to one of his aides and snapped his fingers. “You! Take care of it.”
Outside the palace windows, Eliakim heard the blast of a shofar, identical to the call for the evening sacrifice at the Temple in Jerusalem. Gedaliah smiled. “Ah, it’s time for the evening sacrifice—would you like to accompany me?”
Eliakim stared. “How can you conduct a sacrifice here? The king has centralized all worship in Jerusalem.”
“Some of our customs date back many centuries to a time when Lachish was under Egyptian influence. My brother is naive to think he can change centuries of worship with a single edict.”
“That might explain why the local people worship other gods,” Eliakim said. “But why do you?”
“I’m their governor. It’s a token gesture to their customs.”
“Has it occurred to you that you represent King Hezekiah? Perhaps you should make a token gesture to his wishes. He would never want you to condone idolatry by participating in it.”
The
prince’s icy gaze told Eliakim that he had made an enemy. Jonadab’s opinion of Gedaliah had been confirmed. “Since you obviously don’t care to join me in worship,” Gedaliah said, “you’ll have to excuse me. The servants will show you to your rooms.”
When the prince was gone, Eliakim turned to Jonadab and asked, “Are you sure he’s the king’s brother?”
Jerusha sat at the dinner table beside Maacah and listened as Hilkiah recited the blessing over their food. But she wouldn’t bow her head for the nightly ritual, nor would she pray. She didn’t believe in God.
Hilkiah finished reciting, and they were about to begin eating when they heard the front door open. A moment later Eliakim strode into the room.
“Son!” Hilkiah cried. He leaped up to embrace him, kissing Eliakim on both cheeks. “Welcome home! Look at you! Oh, how I’ve missed you!”
“Me too, Abba.” Eliakim returned the embrace warmly. He nodded politely in Jerusha’s direction but didn’t look at her.
Eliakim appeared older, more mature, to Jerusha, and she saw a network of fine wrinkles around his tired eyes. But traveling had obviously agreed with him. His slim body had filled out, and with his skin deeply tanned from the sun, he looked even more handsome than before.
“You look tired, son. Did you just get in?”
“No, I arrived a little while ago. I stopped to check on the tunnels first.”
“Well, here—sit down, sit down. We’ve just said the blessing, and we’re about to eat.”
“I’m really not hungry.” Eliakim seemed ill at ease, but his father bustled him over to the table and made him sit in his usual place across the table from Jerusha.
“Sit down and talk to us. Tell us where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing. We haven’t seen you in months! Oh, you look marvelous, son! Marvelous! And everyone I meet tells me what an important man my son is now.”
Eliakim remained strangely subdued. He looked down at the table or up at his father, but Jerusha noticed that he avoided looking at her, as if unable to stand the sight of her.
“So where have you been all this time?” Hilkiah asked.
“I’ve been everywhere, Abba, from Beth Horon to Elath.”
“All the way to Elath? Tell me. What’s it like?”
“Beautiful. But very hot. Almost unbearable.”
Jerusha put her hand to her throat and felt the outline of the Elath stone necklace that Eliakim had given her, beneath the fabric of her dress.
“I understand it’s a major seaport now,” Hilkiah said, “with ships coming and going from all over.”
“It is. We watched some of them unloading, but we could only stay a few days.”
Hilkiah passed him a basket of bread. “Here, eat something. You’re not eating.”
“I haven’t washed, Abba.”
“Well, where are those servants? Somebody bring him some water!”
Jerusha hadn’t seen Hilkiah so flushed and excited in months, and she realized how lonely he must have been without his son. The two of them had shared a close relationship before she got in the way. The servants brought a basin and pitcher of water, and as Jerusha watched Eliakim perform the ritual, pouring water over his work-hardened hands, she remembered the night those strong hands had reached out to take hers.
“How many days did it take you to travel back from Elath?” Hilkiah asked.
“We made so many stops I lost track, Abba. We came back through Arad and Beersheba, then up through the Negev.”
There was no enthusiasm in his voice, and Jerusha saw that in spite of his exciting travels, his depression hadn’t lifted. Even Hilkiah seemed unable to draw him into the warm, animated conversation they had once shared.
“What about Uncle Saul?” Maacah asked. “Did you have any luck finding him?”
“No. I inquired everywhere I went, but there are so many displaced persons, it was hopeless.”
“Well, he’s a potter,” Hilkiah said. “Did you try looking for him in the main pottery districts?”
“Yes, but I don’t see how he could possibly work as a potter anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Jerusha asked. Eliakim didn’t answer, and she suddenly remembered the brutal slash of the soldier’s sword and her uncle’s bloody, amputated hand.
“They cut his hand off!” she cried out. An awkward silence filled the room.
Finally Hilkiah cleared his throat. “I was hoping you’d be able to locate him and urge him to come live with us. He doesn’t even know he has two nieces here.”
“I tried, Abba.”
For the remainder of the meal the conversation felt strained, and Jerusha knew she was the cause. Eliakim avoided coming home because of her, and she felt guilty for interfering in the life of this once-happy family. If only they could find Uncle Saul. If only she and Maacah had someplace else to go. She stole a final, fleeting look at Eliakim as he excused himself from the table, but as far as she could tell, Eliakim had never once looked at her.
When the meal finally ended, Eliakim fled to his room. He had longed to go home so many times during his travels, but now that he was here he felt like an outsider. It was so hard to see Jerusha again, so difficult to be in the same room with her. He had hoped that his feelings for her would fade with time, but when he saw her at the table, his longing seemed greater than ever. Eliakim had two days off before continuing his travels, but he knew he couldn’t spend them at home.
He folded his clothes carelessly and stuffed them into a leather satchel with his scrolls, then paused to consider what else he needed to pack. When someone knocked on his door, he suddenly felt sick inside.
“Who is it?”
“May I come in?” Hilkiah asked. “Or do I need an appointment to see you?”
Eliakim opened the door, relieved to see that his father was alone. “Of course not, Abba. Come in.”
“If we’d known you were coming home tonight we would have had a welcoming party for you, and—” His smile faded. “What are you doing?”
“Packing a few things.”
“You’re not planning to leave again?”
“Yes, I—”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“But you just got home! You’ve been gone for months, and now you’re leaving us again? Where do you have to go this time?”
“Back to Timnah and then—”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know; until I’m finished,” he said irritably.
“And then you’ll probably work all day and half the night at the tunnel again?”
Eliakim wadded up his prayer shawl and stuffed it into the bag. “Probably.”
“Son, you need to slow down. I know why you’re driving yourself, but—”
“I’m not driving myself, Abba. This is my job.”
“It’s your job to work day and night for six months and never come home?”
“Yes! The king has building projects all over the country, and it’s my job to oversee them. We’re fortifying dozens of cities. Lachish is a major fortress now, and we’ve started an underground water system there, too. I also have to stop at Timnah for a few days and check on their new fortifications and—”
“I’m tired just listening to you. And I’m worried about you.”
“Well, don’t be. I appreciate your concern, but I enjoy my work. It’s very fulfilling.” It was only partially true. Although he enjoyed the challenges of his job, Eliakim felt an emptiness inside that his work could never fill.
“And working so hard helps you avoid coming home to face Jerusha, doesn’t it,” Hilkiah said quietly.
Eliakim sighed and sank down on his bed. “That’s probably part of it.” He played with a loose thread on the coverlet. “I guess I still haven’t gotten over her yet.”
Hilkiah’s face reflected his love and concern. Eliakim missed being with his father, laughing with him, sharing his work with him, going to the Temple together. By avoiding Jerusha he had cut himself of
f from his father, as well.
“Maybe I’ll take some time off when I get back,” he said. “We haven’t talked in a long time, and I have so much to tell you about the tunnel.”
“How is it coming along?”
“Great. You should stop down and see it.” As always, Eliakim grew excited when he talked about his tunnel. It would be an engineering masterpiece when it was finished. “I’d say we’re about three-quarters finished, so we’ll have our water system in less than a year, just as I promised the king. When I get back in a few weeks, I’m going to start a signaling system so we can listen for sounds from the other side. It’s going to work, Abba. I’m going to prove Shebna wrong. The two tunnels are going to meet.”
“Then what will happen to the old aqueduct?”
“Once our water is flowing underground to the new Pool of Siloam, we’ll get rid of the old aqueduct and bury the Gihon Spring underground. You’ll never know it was there. Everything will be so well hidden that the Assyrians will never find it.”
“Does King Hezekiah think our nation might be invaded next?”
“No one knows. But we’re working to fortify more than forty cities throughout Judah, so we’ll be ready for them.”
“God of Abraham, I just pray it’ll never come to that.”
“Me too, Abba.” He gazed affectionately at his father for a moment, then pushed the loose ends of his prayer shawl into the bag. “And now I’m sorry, Abba, but I have to go.”
“All right, son. I understand.” He pointed to Eliakim’s over-stuffed bag and smiled. “But I suggest you let the servants fold those things up properly for you, or you’re going to arrive looking even more rumpled than you usually do.”
The inside of the windowless storehouse felt cool and damp, offering Hezekiah blessed relief from the hot sun. By the dim light of a torch, he followed Eliakim to a tall pile of earthenware jars, stacked on their sides like cordwood. Each handle was inscribed with Hezekiah’s seal, “Belonging to the king,” and the name of the distribution city.