Love’s Sacred Song

by Mesu Andrews

  And then he remembered Abishag.

  “I witnessed a pure and abiding love in the palace,” he said, watching their puzzled expressions. “I was confused, like you are, because it came from an unlikely couple. You see, Abishag loved my abba, and he loved her with a tenderness I’d never seen before.” Reaching over to brush Arielah’s cheek, he said to Jehoshaphat, “I want to love your daughter like that. Deeply. Completely.” He dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “Jehovah has given me wisdom to rule His nation, but it seems He requires me to learn of love the hard way.”

  The hint of a smile appeared on Prince Jehoshaphat’s face. “Lessons of love are the hardest to learn,” he said, resting his hand on Solomon’s shoulder. The brief reprieve was swallowed by duty. “My son, I believe it’s best to honor our original treaty agreement and wait three more full moons before marrying Arielah in Jerusalem. The wilderness districts might interpret any deviation from your vow as cause for further distrust.”

  The king squeezed his eyes shut. Wait. It seemed he must always wait! “All right, Jehoshaphat. I will bow to your wisdom on this decision.”

  The man nodded and turned to his daughter. “Arielah, I’d like to speak with the king alone. Would you please wait outside?”

  Quietly slipping from the room, Arielah closed the bedchamber door behind her. Though her heart still ached from Solomon’s betrayal, she had new reason to hope. He had seen—and recognized—a pure example of love in Abishag and King David. This also meant that Abishag had not been abused by the old king but had received his truest affection. Inspired by the thought, she stepped into the main room and heard an ugly sound.

  The shrill, dark cackles of twin Judean maidens.

  “So, little shepherdess,” Shiphrah said, “the guards at the gate told us our king found pleasure in the arms of a veiled woman.” Her eyes traveled to the closed bedroom door. “But I see you too have finally given in to his charms.”

  Sherah’s laughter sent a chill up Arielah’s spine. “It’s all right, little goatherd. A few royal wives should wash him clean.”

  Igal and Reu stood, but it was Ima Jehosheba who rushed forward, her whole body trembling. “Get out of my house!” she cried, shooing them with a dirty rag. “You harlots of Jerusalem are not welcome in my home!”

  Arielah was as shocked as Shiphrah and Sherah. Never before had her ima spoken with such venom or zeal. Building on Jehosheba’s anger, she added, “Before you leave this house, Daughters of Jerusalem, I will remind you of the words I spoke the last time we met. I vow by the gazelles and does of Shunem’s meadow that I will come to Solomon as a pure and holy bride, and our love will only be awakened and blessed after we are married in Jerusalem.”

  When Igal stalked toward them, the women cowered. But they regained their bluster when he reached for the door. “You will leave this house now,” he said.

  Smiling wickedly, they turned to go, each one caressing Igal’s face on her way out. He spit on the ground behind them and turned to Arielah. “They are dangerous, little sister. You must be on your guard in Jerusalem. I have seen this kind of darkness before.”

  24

  • SONG OF SOLOMON 3:6–7, 11 •

  [Beloved] Who is this coming up from the desert? . . . Look! It is Solomon’s carriage, escorted by sixty warriors. . . . Come out, you daughters of Zion, and look at King Solomon wearing the crown, the crown with which his mother crowned him on the day of his wedding.

  Arielah wiped the perspiration from her forehead. Already the morning sun beat down as she filled her water jar at the city well. Will I still be in Abba’s house for the harvest of the vines? Five new moons had passed since King Solomon’s night visit. When he and Abba talked privately, Solomon had confessed his betrayal with Marah and vowed to cultivate integrity in the days ahead, starting with the treaty bride agreement. He had promised to return in the month of Iyar before the wheat harvest was complete. The wheat had been cut, bound, and ground—almost two full moons ago. Solomon was late, and the northern districts were outraged.

  “Perhaps today is the day your bridegroom comes.” Dear old Ruth patted Arielah’s cheek, interrupting her brooding. “Keep your eyes on the southern horizon.”

  “Thank you, Ruth. I’ll keep watching.” The dry season descended like a thick, dusty blanket. No festivals, no rain—and thus far, no Solomon.

  “He’s not a noble king like his abba, that one,” Edna the matchmaker said, wagging her stubby finger. She sloshed some precious water into the dust. “If he hasn’t come by now, humph.” She batted the air with her hand as though waving away all Arielah’s dreams in an instant.

  “Edna!” Ruth’s cloudy eyes flashed. The matchmaker snapped to attention. “If King Solomon told this beautiful girl he would come, he’ll come!”

  Edna lifted all of her chins and walked away.

  “Now, Arielah,” Ruth’s gentle voice soothed like balm, “don’t let that grouchy friend of mine ruin your day.” She patted Arielah’s hand and sent her to the vineyards with a smile and a full jar of water.

  Today all hired hands in Jehoshaphat’s household were needed to tend the vines. Arielah joined the other women digging trenches and depositing water from the well, while the men built and raised trellises, exposing the leaves and grapes to the life-giving rays of the sun. Remembering when Kemmuel had ordered her to lonely days of labor, Arielah rejoiced with this community of workers in their stone-walled vineyard on the town’s southwest side.

  Needing a break from digging, Arielah lifted the hoe above her head, twisting left and right to stretch her back and arms. Her stomach growled, though the sun was barely past midday. She hadn’t eaten much during their meal, choosing instead to doze in the shade under a rocky outcropping. Each day passed so painfully slow: working, praying, watching, waiting. A little nap seemed to speed the time along. Fixing her eyes on the southern horizon, she thought to her bridegroom, Will you betray your nation—and me—again?

  As if answering her silent question, the watchman in the vineyard tower cried, “I see a great cloud of dust rising in the south!”

  Arielah’s heart leapt to her throat, and she dropped the handle of her hoe on a woman’s foot. After offering a quick apology, she raced to the vineyard gate. “Is it him?” she asked Abba. Ima joined them, and all three stood in silence, watching the cloud grow to a great column of dust just beyond the crest of Gilboa.

  “It’s him! It’s him!” Arielah twirled around. “What else but a royal procession would raise such a column of dust in the desert?” She grabbed her ima’s hands and danced in circles. “He is perfumed with myrrh and incense made from all the spices of the merchants. I can smell his sweet aroma from here. It is my king!” Joyous tears ran down her cheeks as she released Ima’s hands and hugged Abba fiercely. “He’s coming for me!”

  The workers in the vineyard joined the celebration, and soon all of Shunem waited outside Jehoshaphat’s vineyard to witness Solomon’s arrival. The majestic escort spilled over Gilboa’s rim and raced across the valley, shaking the ground violently.

  Arielah’s delight gave way to awe. “Look, Abba!” she whispered in almost reverent wonder. “I see a wedding carriage, but look at the army he brought this time.” She counted silently, quickly. “Sixty of Israel’s fiercest warriors, arrayed as if going into battle.” Now awe fell to dismay. “They’ve poisoned him again, haven’t they? Ahishar has terrified him, and he fears his northern brothers.” She read the disappointment on Abba’s face. The last days of his goodwill tour had soothed significant hostility between Israel and her king, but the two-moon’s postponement of his treaty marriage had reversed much of the progress.

  “Has the king come to wed or to war?” Arielah heard one old woman whisper to her husband. The scene was indeed an odd mingling of battle and repose.

  Jehoshaphat turned Arielah’s chin with one finger. “Look at me and remember my words. Jehovah’s love for Solomon—shown through you—is mightier than all those warriors and will
conquer the deception that binds him.”

  Abba and daughter joined hearts and hands, watching the procession draw near. Arielah set aside her fears and let her heart soar at the immense power and grandeur of the parade before her.

  Not far behind the military stampede jostled the glistening bridal carriage, bumping along on uneven terrain. The golden wheels of the carriage shone like the betrothal coach, but this one was even more splendid. Gold, silver, and precious stones ornamented every curve and corner, and the canopy flowed with fine linen curtains. Even its horses were draped with blue, scarlet, and purple cloth, and a door of latticed ivory graced the side of the carriage.

  Her gentle giant Benaiah occupied the lead chariot with another man at his side. “Abba, look! Solomon is with Benaiah in the lead chariot! They’re almost here!”

  The king stood regally, wearing the royal attire of a bridegroom. His chariot stallions pounded Shunem’s dusty soil, their muscles glistening with perspiration, white foam beneath the leather harnesses that guided them.

  “Isn’t he beautiful?” she said breathlessly.

  Abba rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I’ll assume you’re talking about the king’s stallion.” Ima squeezed her hand and shared an excited squeal.

  Two horsemen with trumpets sounded the king’s arrival, and Ahishar skidded his horse to a halt, throwing dust and gravel on Arielah and her parents. “The king of Israel has come to claim his bride!” the steward crowed.

  Jehoshaphat wiped the dust from his robe and whispered, “Welcome back to Shunem, you bellowing she-goat.”

  Arielah giggled, and the king’s steward issued an imperious glance.

  The powerful army slowed behind the lead chariot, reining their horses to a stop at Benaiah’s hand signal. Ahishar made a grand gesture toward the fierce-looking soldiers. “The king’s Mighty Men will address any objection to the treaty bride agreement.”

  Arielah’s heart pounded to the rhythm of the horses’ heavy breaths. No other sounds. No objections. Who would dare?

  Noting the silence with a smug expression, the steward unfurled a scarlet rug, connecting the king’s chariot to the spot where Arielah and her parents stood. Ahishar stepped onto the carpet and walked toward Arielah, bowed, and arched one eyebrow. “Daughter of Jehoshaphat.” He made no attempt to hide his perusal. It was the first time he’d seen Arielah, and his sneer readily revealed his opinion. “Your bridegroom, King Solomon, approaches.”

  Benaiah dismounted the chariot and bowed to prompt Solomon’s descent. The king didn’t move. Though his head was held high, his eyes darted back and forth from his Mighty Men to the Shulammites.

  Ahishar has utterly paralyzed him with fear, Arielah thought. She took a step forward and heard the crowd gasp. Bold? Yes. But she was compelled to push the bounds of decorum to show Solomon he need not fear the Shulammites. Walking a few more steps toward the chariot, she bowed and said, “Greetings, my king. You are welcome here.”

  Solomon’s eyes found her, and then Benaiah leaned in close, whispering something. And the king smiled and nodded. Arielah felt heat rise to her cheeks—yet another moment she hoped no one could read her thoughts. Solomon’s handsome features glistened in the summer heat, his stature as sleek and strong as the stallions that drew his chariot. His most attractive quality, however, was the adoration in his eyes. She hadn’t imagined it in the meadow. No longer did he lurk behind walls at midnight. Today he had come boldly to receive her as his bride.

  Solomon addressed Jehoshaphat, but his gaze remained on Arielah. “Greetings, Prince Jehoshaphat!” he shouted over her head as he walked toward her. He reached for her hands, raised them to his lips—

  “Oh no!” She jerked her hands away.

  Solomon jolted and looked to Benaiah for protection. “What?” he said breathlessly, his Mighty Men reaching for their swords.

  She covered her cheeks with her dirty hands, looking down at her sweaty tunic and bare feet. “I’ve been working in the vineyard!” She was horrified.

  Solomon dissolved into laughter and signaled his protectors to stand down. Settling his adoring gaze on her again, he moved her hands and traced lines down her cheeks. “Yes, and you have these adorable streaks running down your cheeks.” He paused. “Tears of joy, I hope?”

  Arielah gasped and covered her cheeks again. “Oh my!”

  Solomon stood amazed at the simple beauty of his treaty bride. He hadn’t overlooked her mussed appearance; he cherished it. Who else in all of Israel greets me in such a fashion? He chuckled at the thought.

  She began frantically trying to wipe away the smudges with her head covering. He reached for her hands, but she pulled away. He reached for them again, but she pulled away a second time. His third attempt was gentle yet persistent, and he raised an eyebrow that said, I will have my way. This time she offered them willingly, and he gathered her hands to his chest like a precious gift.

  But her palms felt—blistered!

  Turning her hands over, he saw the sores and calluses. Rage bubbled up instantly. “Has someone—”

  She pressed a finger to his lips.

  “No, Arielah! If someone has—” He would not abide more abuse to this woman.

  “Shhh, my love,” she said, a mixture of peace and joy in her eyes. “It is the season of vinedressing. Everyone in Shunem works the vines. It is our livelihood—the way of your northern brothers.”

  He glanced at the crowd and noted each face tanned by the sun, shining with sweat. He had arrived in the midst of their tending season and on a workday. What would a king know of such things? He had much to learn of his northern districts in order to become a respected and beloved king. But who better to teach him? He lifted Arielah’s hands and gently kissed her palms. When their eyes met again, the dove-gray windows to her soul revealed a little mischief.

  Turning over his hands, she kissed his palms in return. “Your bride has made herself ready for your coming,” she declared with an impish grin.

  The gathered crowd gasped, Shulammites and Judeans alike. Kissing his palms was daring, but declaring her shoddy appearance as preparation for a king—that was . . . well, utterly Arielah.

  A wide smile stretched across his face. Yes, he loved her. Whatever love was. “And I have made my house ready for my new bride,” he said with a playful bow. Indeed, her bridal chamber was perfumed and polished, its entry through his chambers, beyond his private garden. He leaned close to whisper. “You will love our garden.”

  Just then, Ahishar’s voice shattered their world. “Come all to see King Solomon’s wedding carriage.”

  Solomon rolled his eyes and whispered, “My high steward is always on a schedule.”

  Arielah’s laughter rang sweeter than a harpist’s tune.

  “King Solomon made for himself this carriage,” the steward continued. “He made it of wood from Lebanon.” Ahishar blathered on, and the crowd offered the appropriate oohs and aahs.

  “Arielah,” Solomon said quietly, “I had my carpenter bring the carriage cedar from Lebanon so your journey to Jerusalem would smell like your northern hills.” Her face lit with pleasure, and his heart skipped a beat. She turned to hear the rest of Ahishar’s description, but Solomon couldn’t take his eyes off the beautiful, dusty treasure standing beside him.

  “Its posts Solomon made of silver, its base of gold. Its seat was upholstered with purple, its interior lovingly inlaid by the Daughters of Jerusalem.”

  At the proclamation of their part in the carriage preparation, Shiphrah and Sherah flung open its door, and Arielah looked as if she’d been robbed of breath.

  “Are you all right, beloved?” Solomon had wondered if she might be upset that the Daughters of Jerusalem rode in the carriage. But where else would they ride? In a chariot?

  The color quickly returned to her cheeks; in fact, she looked quite flushed all of a sudden. She stepped forward and bowed as if she were Shunem’s official representative. “Welcome, Daughters of Zion.” Solomon caught a glimpse of a p
recocious grin on her face. “Come, admire with me my bridegroom, King Solomon, with the crown of Israel on his head.” When she rose from her bow, she continued the greeting, though Shiphrah and Sherah looked as though they’d been greeted sufficiently. “Traveling merchants brought word that Queen Bathsheba would present her son with a wedding crown—a diadem that was once King David’s. They said the queen mother is pleased to have a woman of field and flocks grace the palace halls, that she eagerly awaits his new bride’s arrival.” Pointing to the jeweled halo atop her groom’s head, she asked, “Could this be the crown we’ve heard described?”

  Shiphrah sneered and Sherah stomped, proving Arielah’s goad was finely fashioned. Solomon laughed, and the Shulammites celebrated their maiden’s verbal victory. The twins stepped toward the couple, but Arielah redirected Solomon. “Perhaps we should greet my parents.” The Daughters’ hurried footsteps shuffled behind them.

  Arielah let out a frustrated growl, and Solomon chuckled. Life in the palace would be more interesting than ever.

  “Shiphrah and Sherah are harmless, beloved, and they really did help their abba Bethuel upholster our wedding carriage.” The fire in Arielah’s eyes told him he’d misspoken. Tapping the tip of her nose, he winked, and her expression softened. He’d spend the rest of his life trying to understand this shepherdess. So far, he’d been as successful as a pigeon reading a scroll.

  Jehoshaphat tiptoed into his bedchamber, soundlessly closing the door behind him. As abba of the bride, he’d been honored to host the grand celebration of Solomon’s arrival, but rejoicing with strangers was second choice to spending time with his wife and daughter.

  “Good evening, my love,” came the familiar quiet voice on the night air.