Love in a Broken Vessel

by Mesu Andrews

  He charged back up the hill. “Here, let me help you.” Before she could protest, he circled her waist, practically lifting her off her feet.

  “Hosea, be careful! I’m unsteady with Ammi in this sling!” Her feet slipped as she said the words, and he swept her into his arms, baby and all. A little giggle escaped her—the first he’d heard in many moon cycles. She cradled Ammi in the sling with one arm, clinging to Hosea’s neck with the other.

  “I won’t let you fall, Gomer.” He nuzzled her neck. “Don’t let go, and I promise—I won’t let you fall.”

  Her smile died. The amiable moment faded, and a flash of despair appeared before she hid her face in his chest. “Who will choose the lamb for my offering?”

  His heart ached each time she refused his tender emotions. Yuval said Gomer was always more volatile after childbirth, but Hosea had sensed a stronger storm brewing during her uncleanness. Today had been better, but he would honor her current attempt at avoidance. “Since it’s after midday, the temple supply of lambs may be picked over, but we’ll talk with the high priest. Perhaps he’ll do us the honor of choosing our lamb.”

  He walked the rest of the way in silence, the feel of her in his arms enough to satisfy him for now. He would need to confront her moods if she didn’t change soon, however. Her indifference toward him was tolerable; her impatience with Jezzy and Rahmy was not.

  Gasping, Gomer pointed to something on Jerusalem’s northern tower. “Hosea, look!”

  He stopped on the main road into the city, other travelers flowing around him. Some sort of large contraption perched atop each tower on every corner of Jerusalem’s wall. “I’ve never seen anything like those, Gomer. They look like some type of war machines.”

  “You can put me down now.” She ignored Hosea’s observation, wriggled out of his arms, and started walking toward the gate.

  “Gomer, wait!” She looked startled, then annoyed, when he straightened her blue linen veil to cover her hair properly before they entered the city. The veil’s edges were fraying, and it showed a few small tears. “Perhaps we should visit the market while we’re here and buy you a new veil.”

  She averted her gaze and rejoined the bustling crowd. “Perhaps.”

  Hosea rushed to her, careful not to become separated by the sea of people entering Jerusalem’s Sheep Gate.

  Because they arrived at the rear of Yahweh’s temple, Hosea didn’t notice its shoddy appearance until they rounded its southwest corner. The great pillars, Jakin and Boaz, looked soiled, the lily and pomegranate ornamentation caked with dirt. He reached for Gomer’s hand, pulled her from the rushing crowd, and stepped toward the animal corrals. One lamb awaited purchase, and the pen was in desperate need of repair.

  “I hope that one is without blemish.” Gomer’s tone dripped with sarcasm, but anger sparked in Hosea’s heart.

  “There isn’t even a priest here to take our silver for the offering,” he said to no one in particular. Incredulous, he issued another general plea. “How can Yahweh’s people worship without a priest to make the sacrifice?”

  His anger now burning like a red-hot flame, Hosea turned in a full circle, seeing no one but travelers hurrying away from the temple. None in this city seemed concerned about their God. The wind blew through the empty temple court.

  “Where have the faithful gone?” he screamed, stopping every passerby where they stood. “How can Yahweh’s temple stand empty when the high places in Judah are swarming with worshipers?”

  “Hosea, please.” Gomer placed a quieting hand on his arm. “People are staring.”

  “Staring?” He gaped at her, breathless. Could she really have no grasp of what consumed his heart, his life? Did she think that staring was the worst persecution he had faced while they’d been separated all this time? He drew breath to begin his deriding but was stopped by a familiar voice.

  “Hosea, I’m sure this is a shock to you.” The high priest stood before him, worn, weary. “If you’ll follow me to the palace, we can talk on the way. I’ll try to explain what’s happened in Judah while you’ve been prophesying in Israel.” The sadness in the priest’s countenance tempered Hosea’s anger, and Gomer issued a silent nudge. “Please, Hosea,” the high priest begged. “Please listen.”

  Hosea’s heart thundered in his chest. Yahweh, give me wisdom. He refused to be cowed by Gomer’s embarrassment or the high priest’s shame, but if Yahweh wished him to prophesy at the palace, this could be the way He was providing entry. “All right. We’ll go to the palace, but I’ve brought my wife for her purification ceremony. Our son—the baby is thirty-three days old, and we’ve come to fulfill the Law.”

  He winced at his verbal pause. Ammi wasn’t his son, but Yahweh was giving him a love for the boy similar to his love that had grown for little Rahmy. He glanced over his shoulder at Gomer. She had fallen in step behind them, her head bowed, whispering to Ammi. She momentarily glanced at Hosea but seemed more interested in the city sights.

  Gomer could barely contain her delight. The gods must be smiling on her today. Her greatest obstacle to finding Hananiah—getting into the palace—had been overcome without a word on her part. “You’re going to meet your abba,” she whispered to Ammi.

  They hurried through Jerusalem’s streets, Gomer feigning indifference with every sidelong glance. In truth, she was studying every landmark, having realized she’d need to maneuver the city after she escaped from Hosea. She’d made her decision on their journey this morning—when she danced. Tekoa was behind her. Forever. Isaiah and Aya would love her children as their own, adding them to their growing family. She and Hananiah could begin their lives here in Jerusalem with Ammi.

  She etched into her mind every street and building, combining what she saw with reports she’d heard from traveling merchants. They said every city was alike: the outer wall followed the shape of the central street’s contour, wealthy homes perched on the highest elevations since refuse of every kind flowed downhill, and wells or natural springs lay at the center of town. She’d heard Jerusalem was unique because the Gihon spring was positioned southwest of the city, near the Water Gate.

  But Jerusalem was unique in many ways.

  Legends abounded of underground tunnels stretching to Jericho, heavenly beings hovering over the temple site, and a dozen more stories she believed less as she lived more. However, to be safe, she would purchase another Asherah with the silver she’d saved from her harlotry. Thank the gods she’d decided to bring it. She hadn’t been certain she’d leave Hosea today—until she danced, until she felt free again.

  Not far from the temple, they arrived at a wide set of marble steps. Exquisite white pillars lined an outer portico, each pillar intricately engraved with pomegranates, grapes, and palms. She’d heard of Solomon’s architecture. The seven years spent building Yahweh’s temple were surpassed in time and splendor by the thirteen-year project of his personal palace.

  Her worn leather sandals slapped the mosaic entry, but the sound was swallowed up when the doors of the crowded Cedar Hall were opened.

  Hananiah. He stood behind King Jotham, eyes scanning the room.

  She gasped, and Hosea gathered her into a protective embrace, steering her through the crowd in front of them. “Quite different than King Jeroboam’s ivory palace, isn’t it?” He had to lean down and shout to be heard. King Jotham was between rulings. She held Ammi tightly to her chest as wall-to-wall people pressed for position.

  The high priest led Hosea and Gomer forward, blocking her view of the king—and his commander—while the steward announced the next case. “Ezra, son of Benyamin, brings charges against Berechiah, his neighbor.”

  Gomer recognized the palace official Maaseiah from Uzziah’s rented house. He now stood on King Jotham’s right hand, and the chief scribe, Jeiel, scribbled furiously as a line of other scribes alternately rested and wrote according to their system of record keeping. Hananiah looked over the crowd. He must not have seen me yet, Gomer thought.

  Joth
am struck his scepter on the floor, creating a loud pop. “Your neighbor will pay restitution for the animal. The Law of Moses is clear on the matter.”

  Jotham sounded so regal. Gomer smiled, feeling a sense of pride on Uzziah’s behalf—then sadness that he’d never see his son reigning so capably.

  The crowd resumed its nondescript roar, and Gomer kept her eyes focused on the commander. Still no recognition.

  “Hosea, my friend! And Gomer! I see you have a new little one.” The king’s greeting hushed the hall instantly, and Gomer felt like a prize on display.

  Hosea cradled her elbow, and she felt his hand tremble. Was it anger or nerves that made her husband quake?

  “King Jotham, we thank you for the welcome.” He bowed, and Gomer did likewise. “We came to offer the sacrifice for Gomer’s purification, but we couldn’t bear the condition of Yahweh’s temple.”

  We? Did he say “we”? With all her heart, Gomer wished to run and hide. Anything to spare her the embarrassment of what she knew he was about to say. She glanced at Hananiah again, but his eyes seemed to burn a hole through Hosea.

  “We saw many fortifications as we approached Jerusalem today. Your abba built towers on the corners of Jerusalem’s wall, and we noticed your addition of some type of war machines.”

  Hananiah whispered something to the king. Jotham nodded, and Hananiah’s bass voice resounded in the silent courtroom. “Those ‘war machines,’ as you call them, can shoot a cluster of arrows in a single motion and hurl large stones at an army pummeling our wall. King Jotham graciously gave me leave to share these details—though make no mistake, Judah’s war strategy is no concern of an Israelite prophet.”

  Hosea glared at the king, ignoring the commander completely. “It is not war strategy that will save or destroy Judah, King Jotham. Yahweh says, ‘The people of Israel have built palaces, and they have forgotten their Maker. The people of Judah have built many fortified cities. Yahweh will send a fire on their cities and burn down their palaces.’”

  “It sounds like a threat, my lord.” Hananiah had taken two steps before Jotham’s scepter blocked his path.

  “It is no threat. It is a promise.” Jotham’s words were calm. Resigned. “I hear you, Prophet, and I believe I understand Yahweh’s message. We will spend more energy and resources to repair Yahweh’s temple and reinstate the daily offerings, and spend less time on military preparations.”

  Hosea bowed, but Gomer was suspicious. The king seemed to concede too easily. Hananiah, however, looked as if he was ready to burst.

  “One more thing,” Jotham added, “before you take your lovely wife back to Tekoa.”

  For the first time, Gomer noticed a small boy seated on the other side of the scribe, Jeiel.

  “Come here, Ahaz,” Jotham said to the little one who was watching with wide eyes. He ran across the dais and crawled into the king’s lap, a miniature crown perched amid a riot of red curls.

  Jotham kissed the boy’s head and returned his attention to Hosea. “This is my son, Ahaz. I have not taken him to Yahweh’s temple since his saba’s curse, nor will I ever darken the temple doorway—because I want my son to grow up with his abba seated on Judah’s throne, not wasting away on a farm in Tekoa.”

  Gomer couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat. Finally, a Yahweh follower who seemed to understand her fear, her doubts, about this capricious god.

  Hosea stepped forward, his anger seemingly spent. He knelt and bowed while speaking. “I believe your heart is pure, King Jotham, but I must warn you as I warned your abba. Destroy the high places and return to Yahweh’s temple to worship. King Uzziah was not cursed by some random act of bitterness by a fickle deity. Your abba has been disciplined by a loving God and is a better man for it.” He raised his head, pointing to little Ahaz. “I’d rather your son have an abba learning of Yahweh’s love in a rented house than growing up as a captive, exiled in a foreign land. Yahweh has warned you and will not tolerate Judah’s blatant disobedience.”

  Gomer covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. Had Hosea just threatened a child?

  King Jotham’s face was unreadable parchment. Emotionless. “Use caution, Prophet. You are welcome here because I have extended hospitality, against the better judgment of some of my officials.” After a deep breath, Jotham continued. “I will order the temple repairs and reinstate the daily offerings, but I will not compel those who are frightened of Yahweh’s presence to abandon the high places. Judeans must have a safe place to worship Him, and each one must choose where he or she worships.”

  Hosea pinned him with a stare. “You are making a grave error, my lord.”

  “And you are no longer welcome in my courtroom.” Jotham nodded to the guards behind them.

  Gomer’s heart raced as the guards moved to escort them out. This was her only chance to speak to Hananiah. “No!” she said, fighting the rough hands that grabbed her. Her cry startled Ammi, and he let out a wail. She fumbled in the sling to remove him, desperate to show him to his true abba. But the guards pushed and shoved them. She fought, keeping Ammi clutched to her chest yet still trying to untangle him from the sling. Even Hosea seemed to be pushing her.

  “Stop! Let me show him the child!” she screamed.

  “Gomer, you can take care of Ammi outside.” Hosea’s voice was muffled in the confusion.

  She finally broke free and lifted Ammi from his sling, presenting him like a shiny piece of silver. “See how he looks like his abba—”

  “Take that madwoman back to Tekoa.” The guards sneered, shoving Hosea into the palace entry. They’d been discarded outside like waste.

  Hosea stood, lifting stormy eyes to meet her gaze. “Ammi looks like his abba?”

  34

  • ISAIAH 49:15 •

  Can a woman forget her nursing child? . . . Although mothers may forget, I will not forget you.

  Lo-Ammi—Not My People. The baby’s name resounded in Hosea’s mind and boiled his blood. “What makes you think Ammi is Hananiah’s child? You’re a harlot, Gomer!” His voice echoed against the marble palace entry; people stopped and stared. “He could belong to any number of nameless, faceless men!”

  Her neck and face flamed crimson, but she stood as erect as the pillars around them. “Hananiah was the only man in my bed while you were away, and he loves me, Hosea.” She spat the word like an indictment. “Something you only talk about.”

  He grabbed her arm, moving them away from the gathering crowd. “If he loves you, where is he? Why isn’t he begging to be your child’s abba?” The hesitation on her features invited his scorn. “Hananiah doesn’t love you. He’s just—”

  “Go back to Tekoa,” came a gruff bass voice. “Both of you.”

  Hosea turned to face the imposing frame of Judah’s commander and four armed guards.

  “You’re causing a disturbance on palace property, and I’d hate to arrest a prophet with his wife and—her illegitimate son.”

  “He’s your son!” Gomer screamed, tears coursing down her cheeks. Hananiah raised his hand to strike her, but Hosea leapt in front of her.

  The commander grinned. “I wouldn’t hit a woman,” he said, then glanced side to side. “In broad daylight.” His guards laughed uproariously.

  Hosea trembled with rage but felt helpless to defend Gomer. She denied his love and refused to be his wife. “We’ll leave.”

  He turned to collect Gomer and be on their way but found her firm as granite, shoulders straight, jaw set. “I’m not leaving,” she said, staring at Hananiah and then at Hosea. Before he could question her, she placed Ammi in Hosea’s arms and started down the steps.

  Hananiah and Hosea stood dumbstruck. The first to gather his wits, Hosea charged after her. “What do you mean you’re not leaving? What about our children? What about Ammi?”

  She kept walking, and soon Hananiah flanked her other side. “You will leave Jerusalem, Gomer.” He motioned to his four guards, who blocked her progress and brought the whole caravan to a halt. “Neither yo
u nor your husband are welcome in Jerusalem. You will go back to Tekoa—”

  “My husband will go back to Tekoa, and he can take your son with him, but I am staying in Jerusalem. I’ll find a potter to hire me, and I’ll earn a living here in the city.” Tears gathered on her lower lashes, and she turned to Hosea. “I can’t go back. I can’t. I wasn’t created to be a wife and ima. I’m a harlot, like you said. It’s what I’m good at.”

  Hananiah grabbed her arm, lifting her off her feet. “I said you’re not staying in Jerusalem. I don’t care if you go back to Tekoa or travel to Egypt.” He cast her aside, and Hosea watched her heart shatter in the gold flecks of her eyes.

  She turned and ran down the remaining palace steps, out of the royal courtyard. “Gomer, wait!” Hosea stood rooted to the marble, Ammi whimpering in his arms.

  “He does have my nose.” Hananiah smirked. A crushing hand landed on Hosea’s shoulder. “If you leave now, you should reach Tekoa by sunset.” He strutted back into the palace, his guards shoving and laughing like bullies who’d beaten a weakling.

  Hosea looked at the babe in his arms, wondering how he could satisfy the hungry cries. Yahweh, give me strength to love when everything in me wants to hate. A resolute step, and then another. Hosea would visit the high priest. Perhaps he’d know of a wet nurse in the city. But I must return to Tekoa tonight. He couldn’t face his future alone.

  Gomer pressed through the crowded Jerusalem market, blinded by tears. Whom would Hosea find to nurse her baby? Did he know anyone in Jerusalem? Surely he’d go to the temple, and the high priest could guide him to a wet nurse. The baby’s cries echoed in her memory, torturing her as she passed countless merchants’ booths. She covered her ears against the phantom sound, drawing stares from puzzled shoppers. Maybe she was a madwoman, like the guard said. Only a madwoman would leave her baby in the street and two more children at home.