by Mesu Andrews
Nathan and Abishag rushed to embrace him but were pushed aside by the physician. “Get me the loquat solution,” he shouted at one of the servants.
Solomon tried to shove the doctor away but found his strength sapped by the coughing. Before he could protest further, a large spoonful of foul-tasting liquid was ladled down his throat. Lord Jehovah! Let me die before my next dose of that! Nathan held him upright while his coughing subsided. The room grew blurry, quiet, and then finally blackness covered him.
When Solomon awakened, Abishag was working her spindle again. Nathan was sprawled in the high-backed ivory chair—a gift from the Cushite ambassador—his ankles crossed. He was slouched and snoring.
“How long have I been asleep?” Solomon’s voice sounded like wind through a shepherd’s pipe with the holes uncovered.
Nathan let out an awful snort, returning to consciousness, and Abishag giggled like a young maiden.
“Well, long enough that my beard has grown three inches.” His brother rubbed the neatly manicured gray growth on his chin.
Abishag issued a reproving glance to her husband. “Not long,” she said to Solomon, her eyes kind, all fear gone. She leaned up, tenderly touching the king’s arm. “We’ll tell you about Shlomit if you like.”
The familiar ache in his heart deepened, twisted, extending down his left arm. “Yes, but first . . .” He looked at Nathan. “I want to ask . . .” A racking pain replaced the ache in his chest, and he winced.
“Are you all right, brother?” Nathan’s face registered alarm, and the hovering physician took a few steps toward the bed.
Solomon glared. “Tell that vulture to go feast on someone else’s bones.” His patience was wearing thin with that potion-wielding fellow.
Nathan chuckled and warned the doctor away. “He’s just doing what you pay him to do.” Solomon rolled his eyes, but Nathan continued. “You’ve searched the world for the best physicians, the most knowledge, the grandest architecture. You’ve accomplished much, brother.”
“But there’s one more thing,” Solomon said, his eyes filling with tears. “I need you to write something for me.”
Nathan exchanged a puzzled glance with Abishag. “Solomon, you’ve written so many songs and proverbs already. What could I possibly write for you?”
“I wasn’t talking to you. I want Abishag to write it.” Solomon enjoyed the shock on both of their faces.
“What? I can’t write,” she said. “What would I write?” The pink sapphire shone again on her cheeks.
“I want you to help me write about her—about Arielah,” he amended quickly, avoiding any more outbursts from this suddenly emboldened Shulammite.
Nathan watched with a satisfied grin, his gaze intent on his wife. Look how he loves her after all these years.
“At first, all you need to do is sit with me while I dictate memories to a scribe.” Solomon squeezed his eyes shut. “But if Arielah told you things, feelings only a woman could convey, you must share them. And I want much of it to be written in shepherd’s verse—as a song, a sacred song.” Solomon chuckled, setting off a short coughing bout. “No matter how hard I try, I’m sure your shepherd’s verse will outshine mine.”
Abishag began shaking her head, her eyes full of tears, and Solomon’s heart plummeted. “I understand, Abishag. I will not compel you. I don’t deserve the honor of your help to write this sacred song.” A lonesome tear made its way down Solomon’s cheek. “But I would be grateful.”
Abishag reached up to wipe the tear from Solomon’s beard. “If Arielah’s love taught us anything, it is that mercy is rarely deserved.” Her hand lingered on his cheek while she spoke. “And what is Nathan supposed to do while you and I are hard at work?”
Another tear escaped when he realized she’d just agreed to his request. “Thank you, Abishag.” He reached up to cover her hand.
“All right. That’s enough caressing of my wife.” Nathan’s eyes glistened.
Solomon’s laughter had become more of a wheeze, but it still felt good to laugh. Mischief suddenly got the better of him. He ceased his laughter and donned his most serious expression. “Listen carefully, both of you,” he said in a grave voice. Nathan and Abishag leaned close, their faces poised for Solomon’s instruction. “If I should die before we finish Arielah’s song . . .” Abishag gently drew his hand into hers. “You two must make it the best song I’ve ever written.”
“Oh!” Abishag threw away his hand as though he had leprosy. “You’d better live long enough to write the whole song, or Nathan and I might take the credit!”
Nathan’s laughter resounded in the king’s chamber, and Solomon felt another moment’s regret. He’d shared too few quiet moments in his lifetime with these precious people. The remaining days of his life would be different—in many ways.
With his heart at rest, memories of Arielah flooded his soul, and Solomon nestled into his pillows. He hadn’t felt this shalom since . . . well, since his lion of God had left him. “We’ll begin writing the song tomorrow, Abishag. But for now, tell me about my Shlomit.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This story began in 1998, when I was intrigued by a one-page fictional summary of Song of Solomon written by Ann Spangler and Jean E. Syswerda (Women of the Bible, Zondervan). Like all good biblical fiction, the story sent me back to Scripture, and I found Song of Solomon extremely confusing! When I turned to commentaries, each scholar had not only a different approach to the interpretation of the original language, but a differing opinion on which character spoke what line of poetry. Being the determined (my husband would say stubborn) student that I am, I decided to read all eight chapters of Song of Solomon every day until I understood it. A year later, the story of Solomon and Arielah’s sacred love had taken shape, and the foundation for a retreat topic and adult Bible study was born.
As the vehicle changed from speaking topic to Bible study to novel, over twelve years of research also evolved. Each new tidbit of knowledge changed the characters, the scenery, and the timelines. The geography of Lebanon, Shunem, and Jerusalem intrigued me, as did the seasons and festivals, the ancient wedding traditions, and Solomon’s political reforms. First Kings 6:38 says Solomon completed the temple in the eleventh year of his reign after seven years of construction. This single verse gave me a four-year window for his relationship with Arielah. Since most research on Solomon discusses his later reign (the building of his palace and God’s temple), I aligned scriptural accounts with my best guess at a plausible timeline for this story.
I’m often asked, “How much of the book is fact?” My reply is always, “As much as possible!” You can find Solomon’s birth in 2 Samuel 12:24–25 and the records of his reign in 1 Kings 1–11 and 2 Chronicles 1–9. Additional information on Solomon’s early reign is included in the final days of David’s life in 1 Chronicles 22:5–16; 28–29.
God is perfect and His Word inerrant. I and my writing are neither. I have made every effort to write an accurate historical novel. Accuracy is crucial, and though it is very important to me, it is not my only goal. Most important is the message of Arielah’s love. It’s my prayer that in the ferocious, unrelenting love of a simple shepherdess, you will catch a glimpse of God’s lavish love and passionate pursuit of every heart. Jesus Christ adores you and won’t settle for less than your whole heart. May we all learn to carry Him like a seal over our hearts.
Shalom, dear reader.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Though it may sound cliché, I must first and foremost thank God for this story. When I began reading all eight chapters of Song of Solomon daily, I discovered the Lord’s ability to shape and define characters and themes. No commentary or theologian devised the unfolding plot. It was His gentle whisper, revealing His ferocious love.
To my writing partner, Meg Wilson—you are tenacious, my friend! If it hadn’t been for your repeated counsel—dare we say nagging—I would never have written my retreat topic in novel form. And then with every major plot overhaul, you plowed
through these pages again, faithfully calling me to think more deeply, to express more emotion with fewer words.
To my second partner, Velynn Brown—thanks for giving up family time and your own writing time to help me stay “real” on the page.
To Michelle Nordquist, my email edit specialist—though we’ve met in person only once, the long hours of computer connection have made us kindred spirits! My undying gratitude for your steadfast efforts on that crucial last rewrite, my friend. You’re awesome!
Huge thanks to Gayle Roper and her fiction mentoring clinic at the Mount Hermon Writers Conference in 2008, where this story found wings.
To Wendy Lawton—I would have stopped writing completely if it hadn’t been for you, my friend. At my first writers’ conference in 2001, you saw my discouragement, but you said, “I see the passion in your eyes when you talk about Solomon’s story. Don’t give up.” Four years later, you picked up this rough and dusty novice and carried me in your pocket. You protected me from all those rejections, and you didn’t let me fall. You were a godsend and are still a good friend.
To my editor, Vicki Crumpton—WOW! Where do I begin? You gambled big on this rookie author who didn’t even know what “POV” meant! And then you lovingly, patiently taught me to write real characters rather than teach through allegorical cutouts. “Thanks” is simply not enough to convey my appreciation for the way you gently coach, tenderly challenge, and graciously stretch me.
To Michele Misiak, Jessica English, Donna Hausler, Karen Wiley, Cheryl Van Andel, and the host of other creative and committed folks at Revell—you’ve spoiled me with your kindness and efficiency!
Immense thanks to Karl Kutz, chairperson of biblical languages at Multnomah Bible College. I don’t know any other busy professor who would sit down with a novelist and scour every word of Song of Solomon. You brought the Hebrew words to life and changed my perspective on several scenes.
And, once again, thanks to Suzanne Smith and Pam Middleton at the Multnomah University library. You’re awesome! Your expert research help has given me access to online databases and ancient texts beyond my scope of understanding but well within my heart to learn.
To my faithful prayer team—only God knows how powerfully you’ve impacted this book. Your love and support means so much to me and to my family.
I couldn’t have written about the healing love of Arielah’s father and mother had I not experienced it so profoundly from my own dad and mom. Charley and Mary Cooley have shown me Christ’s unconditional love throughout my life.
To Pat and Sharie Johnson, the parents of my heart—thank you for the tangible and intangible ways you love me.
To my father-in-law, Bill Kidwell—thanks for encouragement and impromptu suppers that help keep me at the keyboard.
To our kids, Trina and Jason, Emily and Brad—thank you for being easy to love, quick to forgive, and abundant with grace. Each of you shows me a different glimpse of Jesus’s love in a unique way. It is a pleasure and privilege to watch you live lives of integrity.
Finally, to my sweet husband, Roy—I would never truly know the love of the Holy Bridegroom if you hadn’t modeled it so beautifully. Thank you for pursuing me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being a godly example of sacred love.
Mesu Andrews is an active speaker who has devoted herself to passionate and intense study of Scripture. Harnessing her deep understanding of and love for God’s Word, Andrews brings the biblical world alive for her readers. She and her husband enjoyed fourteen years of pastoral ministry before moving to the Pacific Northwest to pursue the next step in God’s calling. They have two married children and live in Washington, where Mesu writes full time. Visit Mesu at www.mesuandrews.com.
Books by Mesu Andrews
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Love Amid the Ashes
Love’s Sacred Song
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