by Mesu Andrews
“What are you thinking?” He was searching her expression, his brow furrowed.
“I haven’t told Amoz about my decision to be a wife and ima first and foremost. I should tell him I can’t help at the workshop as often.” She pulled away and felt Hosea’s disappointment like a wet robe on her shoulders. She donned her tunic, robe, and sandals and moved toward the door as she spoke. “Would you mind if I went to the shop this morning—one last time to let everyone know of my decision?”
“I could go for you,” he said, his voice pleading. “I could explain to Amoz.”
“No, it’s best if I tell him. I have a couple of pots that need burnishing before they’re ready for market. Tell Yuval I’ll be back to serve the lentil stew at midday.” She wrapped her veil around her head and shoulders. She hurried out the door, clicking it shut behind her, and then rushed to the stables. She retched again beside the donkey’s stall and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. Hiding her morning sickness from Hosea would be difficult, but she must find a way until at least two Sabbaths passed. By then she could convince him the child was his.
The sun rose over the eastern hills. She’d scheduled a new client this morning at the first cave and didn’t want to be late. She kept a watchful eye on the path before her, cursing herself for leaving her walking stick behind. Her thoughts raced with her feet. Perhaps she could maintain her business until the pregnancy became obvious. No one would pay for a pregnant harlot. She’d have to delay her escape until after this second child was born. But one of the pottery shop women had just announced she was with child. Perhaps she could be a wet nurse for the new baby. Gomer would bind her breasts right after delivery and return to harlotry, adding to her already significant savings. The pregnancy would delay her escape; it need not cancel it.
She saw the three cave runners ahead, entering through the southern gates. Each one issued a leering smile, and she hurried past them to her first cave, not far from where the men had retrieved the wagonload of dried pots.
“You’re late,” said an angry voice from the deep recesses of the cavern. “I shouldn’t have to pay when you’re late.”
The stench of stale sweat and the foulness of the man’s breath caused Gomer to run for the path and retch once more. Men are pigs. She was in no mood to beg for a meager piece of silver.
“Get back in here.” A meaty hand grabbed her waist and lifted her from the earth. He carried her a few steps and then dropped her, untying his belt. Her mind reeled. She saw Israel’s captain, Eitan, raining blows on her face and body. Others before him had tried to abuse her, but she’d always carried a dagger. She’d become careless, forgotten this part of harlotry—the brutality, the entitlement men felt when paying for pleasure.
She scrambled to her feet, trying to flee, but he caught her cheekbone with the back of his hand. “We’re not finished here.” She struggled, but he was too strong. She dared not cry out. Who would help her? Tears streamed down her face as she silently pounded the ground with her fists, cursing her life. By the gods, she would find better men to build a respectable business. She was a harlot, not a whore.
When he finished with her, he tossed her a piece of silver. “Next time, don’t be late.” And then he was gone.
Anger and shame curled her into a ball, and she wept. Why was she born a woman? Why couldn’t she choose her own destiny, love whom she wished, live how she determined best?
She crawled to one of the drying racks and pushed herself to her feet. Her left cheek was already puffy, and she tasted blood when running her tongue along every tooth. No teeth gone. Thank you, Asherah. She must become more vigilant in her worship and in her precautions.
She tried to resist panic and decided to go to the pottery shop to clean up before going home. Her other customers would be disappointed when she didn’t show up, but it couldn’t be helped.
The pottery shop was just a short, rugged hike from the cave. She entered through the back, trying to shield her face from the women at their stations. Still, three old gossips stopped their work and dropped their jaws. The shop grew quiet as a tomb. She stood at the bottom of the loft stairs, waiting for Amoz to notice her.
“Gomer, what happened?” He rushed down the stairs, his hands poised beside her as if she were as fragile as his finest vase.
“I fell while walking here.” It was an absurd lie, but she couldn’t think of anything more plausible. “Could you get a bowl of water and a cloth and meet me behind the shop, under the sycamore?” She walked out the door, not waiting for his answer.
Moments later, Amoz was sitting beside her. The morning chill made their meeting uncomfortable, but it was appropriate for what she was about to do. He lifted the wet cloth to her face, dabbing her bruised cheek, but Gomer stilled his hand. “I’m pregnant, Amoz.”
He froze, his hand suspended in her grasp. “I’m sure Hosea is pleased.”
She started to tremble and took the cloth from his hand and splashed water onto her face. The shock of it prepared her for whatever reaction Amoz would give. She patted her face dry, lifted her chin, and hardened her heart. “The baby can’t be Hosea’s.”
His gaze turned to stone. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because all I need are a few Sabbaths to convince Hosea the baby is his. I can hide it until then.”
“And how will you hide that?” He pointed to her bruised cheek.
“I’ll tell him what I’ve told you. I fell.”
“Your husband is not stupid, Gomer.” Crimson crept up his neck, and he spoke between clenched teeth. “Hosea is my friend. What makes you think I’ll lie to him when I know you’ve committed adultery?”
The words pierced her like a dagger. “Hosea is your friend? I thought I was your friend, Amoz. I’ve kept your secret and protected you. I lied for you.”
“I never asked you to lie for me! I’ve asked you to remain silent.”
“Ha! Your whole life is a lie, Amoz! Your son is training to be a Yahweh prophet, but you worship Asherah!”
“Keep your voice down!” He grabbed her head and clamped his hand over her mouth, glancing right and left. She clawed his hand away, and his fury died. He sighed, raking his hands through his hair like Isaiah did so often. “You are my friend, Gomer, but I don’t want to—”
“You will lie because you love your son, and you don’t want him to hate you more than he already does.” She was finished being polite.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
A slow, wicked smile reopened the cut on her lip. But it reminded her of her goal—survival. “If you wish your idolatry to remain hidden, you will help me convince Hosea this child is his.”
26
• HOSEA 7:1–2 •
Whenever I want to heal Israel, all I can see is Ephraim’s sin and Samaria’s wickedness. . . . They don’t realize that I remember all the evil things they’ve done.
Hosea wanted to believe Gomer. The day she’d gone to the pottery shop to inform Amoz of her wifely decision, she’d returned bruised with some ridiculous story about falling. How was he supposed to protect his wife if she wouldn’t tell him who hurt her? He’d asked Amoz about it, and his friend had claimed ignorance, said Gomer had given him the same story. He seemed as frustrated with her as Hosea was.
He watched her now, kneading bread for their evening meal, her expression looking pained. Angry. Beads of sweat formed above her top lip.
“May I help you with anything?” he offered, watching her painted smile appear.
She tilted her head, cast an adoring glance at Jezzy. “You’re helping by playing with our son.”
For almost a full moon cycle, she had cooked, cleaned, and remained at home, venturing out of their courtyard only to visit Yuval. It wasn’t like her. When he asked if she was happy at home, she lavished praise on some new recipe Yuval had shown her. She’d returned to his bed, her passion seemingly tempered by the long days of household chores. Dutiful yet distant.
He glanced at Jezzy just in time to se
e him crawl over to Sampson and put the cat’s tail in his mouth. “No, Jezreel. Nasty tail. No, no.”
A sudden breeze raced past him. It was Gomer, grabbing her robe on her way outside. “I must get some eggs,” she mumbled, slamming the door behind her.
Hosea couldn’t stand the pretense any longer. Something was going on with his wife, and he must know—tonight. Lifting Jezreel into his arms, he followed his wife outside . . . and heard her vomiting by the stable. “Are you all right?” He walked toward her, and she turned, looking surprised.
He’d seen his wife’s face that pale once before. She’s pregnant! The realization brought instant joy. Then, just as quickly, pain. It can’t be mine—can it?
“I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.” Again the painted smile, the right side quivering slightly. “We’re going to have another baby.”
Jezzy leaned toward his ima, silently pleading for her to hold him, but Hosea hugged him tightly to his chest. He studied their son’s features—Gomer’s nose, his own dark eyes—and then stared at his wife’s stomach. It can’t be mine.
“Say something, Hosea. Aren’t you pleased?”
“What have you done?”
“I threw up our midday meal,” she said, chuckling, maintaining the pretense. “I think it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” Finally, her smile died in the silence. “I thought you’d be pleased. Another child means another reason for me to stay at home, cook your meals, wash your clothes, feed your children.” The defiance returned. This was Gomer. He’d been living with an imposter for so long, he’d almost forgotten the stony heart beneath the lovely form.
“I’m going to take our son to Yuval or Aya. He shouldn’t hear what his parents are about to say to one another.” Hosea trembled, fighting to control his rage. Leaving the courtyard, he prayed one of the two women he trusted would be at home.
In too few steps, he found himself at Yuval’s door, wondering what he could say. Hello, Yuval. Could you tend to Jezreel while my wife and I discuss the child of adultery in her womb? Then another thought sliced him. What if she already knew?
“Oh, Hosea!” Yuval opened her door, startled at his presence. “I was just coming to see Gomer.” Her usual sunny smile faded when she noticed his countenance. “What’s wrong? Is it Gomer? The baby?”
She knew. His world shifted at the realization. How could she have concealed such a sin? “How long have you known?”
A gentle winter rain began to fall, and she stepped back into the house. “Why don’t you bring Jezzy inside, and we’ll talk.”
“Can you keep Jezreel while Gomer and I talk privately?” he asked, stepping over the threshold.
“Of course, but—”
“I need to know how long you’ve known she’s pregnant.”
Jezzy reached for Yuval, and she received the bundle into her arms. “Come to Savta Yuval, baby boy.”
Hosea covered his face, unable to hold back the tears. This woman’s heart was genuine. How could he be angry with her for keeping Gomer’s confidence? Still, it was unthinkable that she’d known about the adultery and said nothing.
“How long have you known, Yuval!”
His shout frightened Jezzy, and Yuval comforted him as she talked. “That night when you came home and we were making barley loaves—it was the first time Gomer had shown signs of sickness, so we sort of figured it out together.”
Each word of her explanation was like another hole in a sinking ship. Hosea was drowning in despair. Breathless, speechless, he stared at the kindhearted woman before him and realized—she thought the baby was his.
“I thought you’d be pleased,” she said finally, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
His mind reeled. He had no idea what she could do because he had no inkling what he was going to do. Yahweh, give me wisdom. Who could be the baby’s abba? Did Gomer love someone else, or had she resumed her harlotry? As far as Hosea knew, Gomer spent most of her time with three people—Yuval, Aya, and Amoz. Amoz.
“Yuval, when Gomer isn’t with you, where does she spend her time?”
Frowning, she seemed puzzled by the question. “She’s either taking care of Jezzy or at the pottery shop . . .” Yuval suddenly looked as if she’d caught a wave of Hosea’s despair. “Hosea, what are you say—”
He stepped forward and kissed her forehead. “Thank you for loving my son.” He saw her fresh tears and hugged her tight. “Though you are not my ima or Gomer’s by blood, Jezreel is blessed to call you Savta. He’ll need a woman of honor to guide him through life.” He turned to leave, but she stopped him with a question.
“Do you remember the exact words of Yahweh’s first prophecy through you?”
Incredulous, he felt irritation bordering on anger. “Of course. How could you ask that?” But she lifted an eyebrow, silently pressing for his answer. Grudgingly, he spoke the oft-repeated words. “Yahweh said, ‘Marry a prostitute.’ I know Gomer is a prostitute, Yuval. I shouldn’t be surprised by her unfaithfulness. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“No, Hosea.” Tears now streamed down her cheeks. “What else did Yahweh say?”
In the span of a heartbeat, Hosea heard the call repeated in his spirit: Marry a prostitute, and take to yourself children of unfaithfulness. “Did you hear the voice?” he asked Yuval.
“No, my son, but sometimes a woman hears things men do not. I remember hearing you explain Yahweh’s prophecy and thinking it impossible for anyone to obey.” She swayed with Jezreel, cradling his head to her heart. “Women aren’t supposed to comment on Yahweh’s Law or His commands—that’s up to His prophets and priests—but sometimes a woman sees and hears things that men don’t because our mouths are closed.” A tender smile now softened her prodding. “Now speak Yahweh’s words aloud—exactly as you heard them.”
A battle raged inside him. He didn’t want to speak them because they’d become even more real if Yuval heard them from his lips. He hesitated until his pounding heart was unbearable. “Yahweh said, ‘Marry a prostitute, and take to yourself children of unfaithfulness.’” He sighed, realizing God’s command to do the unthinkable. “I am to raise this child as my own. Aren’t I, Yuval?”
Hosea left Jezzy dozing in Yuval’s arms, his heart heavy, his emotions raw at the thought of his wife in another man’s arms. He stood in the light drizzle of winter rains, staring into his empty courtyard. Gomer had gone inside.
What should I do now, Yahweh?
He could march into the house and confront his wife, demanding to know every detail. Would she tell him? She’d deceived him since she’d become his wife. Even if she confided every detail, he knew at this point it would be meant to wound him.
No. He would not look to the one who broke his heart to heal it—not when she was still broken.
Jonah. Perhaps he’d heard from Yahweh on Hosea’s behalf. The Lord often used his old teacher as a personal mouthpiece.
Hosea knocked on the door, swiping his wet hair out of his face. The rain had soaked him.
“Master Hosea?” Micah answered but slipped outside, closing the door behind him. “Master Jonah is sleeping. He’s been especially weak today. Is there something I can help you with?”
Hosea’s heart plummeted. “No, Micah. Just take good care of our teacher. Keep him well.” He clapped the boy’s shoulders and tried to appear the strong, resourceful teacher Micah thought him to be. The young man went inside and closed the door, and Hosea stood alone again, longing for Jonah’s wisdom.
Yahweh, please! What do I do now? Amos is traveling. Jonah is ill. It’s me. Only me. I don’t know what to do, what to say, how to proceed.
Silence. Rain pattered on the rocky path. Distant thunder rolled. Silence again. The camp was quiet. The workday finished. People wandered home.
Hosea walked—and remembered.
The day he and Gomer had heard Amos’s prophesy in the Bethel temple. She’d fallen from the rafters, and he’d been so afraid of losing
her. He’d begged Abba Beeri to take her with them to Amos’s farm, but Diblaim had refused Beeri’s offer of an early betrothal agreement. Hosea understood now—it was because Diblaim planned to use Gomer’s beauty for his future political gain. Why, Yahweh? Why allow such horrible things in Gomer’s life? The gentle rain was His answer.
Hosea waved at a passing shepherd who was herding his sheep toward the folds. One of the camp women walked by wearing a new veil—blue, like Gomer’s. His heart squeezed in his chest as he remembered the day he’d first seen Gomer in Samaria—in her harlot garb and gold jewelry at Jeroboam’s temple, her eyes so full of lust and hate. Later that night, her broken body lying motionless in the brothel, he’d wanted to hold her and never let her go. He thought bringing her here to the prophets’ camp would heal her wounds.
His stomach rolled. All he could see now was the unfaithful wife waiting in his home. Yahweh, I see only her betrayal. The little girl at Bethel, the woman I fell in love with—they’ve been swallowed up by all the pain this wife of mine has inflicted.
The rain changed to great sheets, and the wind blew it in waves. Hosea lifted the collar of his robe to shield his face from the stinging drops. He pressed the woolen cloth against his ears and felt the voice speak to his spirit: Whenever I want to heal Israel, all I can see is Ephraim’s sin and Samaria’s wickedness. They don’t realize that I remember all the evil things they’ve done. Now their sins surround them. Their sins are in My presence.
The rain and wind ceased, and Hosea knelt in the mud, anointed by the holy moment. “You know my heart, Yahweh,” he whispered in wonder. Head bowed, he worshiped the only One who could have truly ministered to his despair. A wry smile creased his lips as a thought formed. “I’m thankful Jonah was sleeping, Lord.”
Strengthened, empowered for the task before him, he stood and realized the pottery workshop was a few camels’ lengths ahead. Perhaps he could catch Amoz before he went home.