Isaiah's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  Curiosity gained the upper hand, and Isaiah glanced over his shoulder. Hephzibah.

  Face tear stained and eyes swollen, she fell to her knees behind him and pressed her cheek against his blanket-covered back. “Abba, are you all right? Tell me what this is about.”

  Tortured beyond humiliation, Isaiah felt as if his heart was torn from his chest. Yahweh, will my obedience cost Hephzibah her marriage? He couldn’t face her. “I must obey Yahweh’s command to walk stripped and barefoot for three years as a sign and portend against Egypt and their Cushite rulers—who will be marched, buttocks bared, by the Assyrians into captivity.” He met Hezekiah’s stunned features. “You will soon receive word that Assyria’s King Sargon has conquered Ashdod, which gives him a clear path to Egypt.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, Isaiah.” Hezekiah finally spoke the words his expression had screamed since Isaiah arrived in his chamber. “Assyria may very well conquer Ashdod, but their supply lines will never reach far enough west to support their army’s total invasion of Egypt—let alone farther south to Cush.” He stepped around Isaiah and lifted Hephzibah to her feet. “Reason with him, Zibah. I can’t allow him to walk around Jerusalem naked.”

  “Really, King Hezekiah?” There was fire in her voice. “Will you attempt to silence all Yahweh’s prophets as King Ahaz did, or just my abba?”

  Isaiah bowed his head, pride and fear welling up in the strained silence.

  “I will clothe him and return him to your ima, where she will surely keep him at home.”

  Standing, Isaiah pulled the blanket tighter around him and aimed his question at Judah’s king. “Do you question the prophecy itself or simply the fact that I must be naked to deliver it?”

  Hezekiah answered with a question of his own. “Tell me now, in your daughter’s hearing, have you changed your opinion? Am I the anointed King of your prophecies?”

  Isaiah glanced at Zibah’s hope-filled eyes, but he couldn’t lie. “You are not the chosen Root of Jesse, Hezekiah.”

  Zibah covered a whimper, and Eliakim studied his sandals. Only the king held his gaze. “Isaiah, it seems we’ve lost faith in each other, but no matter what you think, I haven’t lost faith in Yahweh.”

  The declaration was healing balm to Isaiah’s soul. “That’s what matters most, son.”

  “Indeed. Of next greatest importance is the nation of Judah and our city of Jerusalem, both of which I must protect against your wild accusations and fear-filled projections. You are relieved of all royal duties, Isaiah, and confined to house arrest until you abandon this madness.”

  “Hezi, no!” Hephzibah ran to her husband, but he brushed her aside.

  “Eliakim, summon two guards to escort Isaiah home.” Eliakim bowed curtly and offered Isaiah an apologetic glance before obeying his king and friend.

  Hephzibah hugged Isaiah, weeping. “I believe you, Abba. I know you speak for Yahweh. I know it.”

  Hezekiah stood aloof, alone.

  Eliakim returned with two guards to escort Isaiah, but Hephzibah hugged him tighter, refusing to let go. The king gently tugged at her arm, but she shoved him away.

  Provoked, Hezekiah pulled her forcefully from Isaiah. “You can visit him later.”

  She yanked her arm from his grasp. “Leave me alone.”

  Hezekiah set his jaw and stepped away, the chasm between them growing wider before Isaiah’s eyes.

  His heart ached for the children of his heart. Two souls Yahweh had knit together, now torn apart. Had he caused their rift? Could he somehow make it right? Aya would know. As the guards led him from the chamber, Isaiah called over his shoulder, “I’ll send your ima to check on you, Zibah. Hezekiah, you vowed to care for my daughter!”

  42

  He must not take many wives, or his heart will be led astray. He must not accumulate large amounts of silver and gold.

  —Deuteronomy 17:17

  Hezi stood at the chamber door, a camel’s length from me. Abba’s good-bye cut me like a battle-ax, “Hezekiah, you vowed to care for my daughter!” Hezi had cared for me well—until today. I rushed toward the door, needing to escape before more tears stole what dignity I had left.

  Hezi snagged me in his arms and wrapped me tight. I could barely breathe. Was it because he held me too tight or from the ache inside me? “Please, Hezi. Let me go.”

  Eliakim walked past us. “We’ll talk more about the tunnel later, Hez.” I’d forgotten he was in the room. The door closed behind him.

  I was alone with the man who had crushed my heart to dust. I’d rather be anywhere else. I’d rather be nowhere else.

  He rubbed my back and rested his cheek on my head. “I’m sorry, Zibah. I accused you and didn’t give you a chance to explain. Your abba said Yahweh, not you, told him I sent Shebna to Egypt.”

  Silence was my only friend. Words would only swell my rage, expose the rawness, and open my heart to more pain.

  Finally, he released me and tipped my chin. “Has one disagreement killed your love for me?”

  “Disagreement?” I choked on the word. “You said you’d lost your trust in me, Hezi. That’s more than a disagreement.”

  “I was angry.”

  “That’s true, but you believed I’d conspired with Abba against you.” Pausing to rein in my emotions, I breathed deeply and spoke again. “You had guards take away Yaira as if she were a prisoner. You banished me from your chamber. And you’ve placed under house arrest one of Yahweh’s most faithful prophets.”

  I wrapped my arms around my waist, fear and anger battling inside. “All this after you returned from your first battle as king. It sounds terrifyingly similar to the story your ima tells of King Ahaz’s transformation from loving husband to…” My words were strangled by my emotion, but I dared not drown in tears. I fought them like a soldier, holding his gaze, awaiting his reply.

  Jaw tight, Hezi took a deep breath before speaking. “Let’s not talk about your abba or mine. Can we concentrate on us?”

  “I think our abbas are part of what drives us apart. How can I ignore King Ahaz when I see you repeat some of his same behaviors?”

  His eyes sparked with anger. “How can we repair our relationship if you continually defend your abba and criticize me?”

  We stared at each other, locked in silence. As I stood there, in the chamber of Judah’s king, very harsh and true realizations dawned. King Hezekiah owed a wife no explanation for his actions. In fact, as Rizpah had pointed out when she saw the guards moving my belongings into the harem, Hezi could reject me altogether and take another wife at any time. My little “nest” was very fragile indeed. And I had no idea how to make it stronger.

  “I should go.” I started toward the door again, but Hezi stepped in front of me.

  “All right. Let’s talk.” He pressed his lips against my ear. “I’m not my abba.”

  My defenses began crumbling. “But you’re different after leading your troops as king. Impatient. Suspicious. How do I know you won’t become someone I don’t recognize?” I saw Abijah’s battered face in my mind. Hezi would never…

  He tenderly gripped my arms and looked into my eyes. “I won’t be like Abba because my focus is on Yahweh and my family—you, Zibah. You are my family now. Not Ima, Isaiah, or Mistress Aya.” He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “You and whatever children Yahweh gives us.”

  My heart flip-flopped, the fear of barrenness a constant hum in the corners of my mind. “What if I never conceive, Hezi? The line of David must continue on Judah’s throne. You must take another wife if—”

  He pressed his finger against my lips. “I will never take another wife. You will conceive, and Yahweh will continue the line of David through us.” He lifted that silly left brow. “You should move back into my chamber so we can work on it.”

  I ached with love for him, but I was still angry he’d cast me out of our chamber and terrified to trust again so soon. “No, Hezi, not yet.” The light in his eyes dimmed. “Let me stay in the harem with your abba’s
widows and spend more time with Selah. If I discover she worships Asherah, I’ll tell you. She is my friend, but I am your wife. My loyalty is to you above all.”

  He stood silent, and I wondered if he would argue—or maybe command me to return to his chamber. Instead, he offered his hand. “May I walk with you to the harem, then?”

  I stared at his hand for a long while. My decision to live in the harem sounded so brave moments ago. Now, I wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and never leave.

  “Ishma.”

  His voice caught my attention and drew my eyes to his.

  “Please, Hephzibah—delight of the Lord. Forgive me for hurting you today.” His hand still waited, coaxing. I held my breath and reached for him. He gathered me close, this time tenderly. “I treasure you, Zibah, my delight.” His kiss was like a butterfly’s wings brushing my lips, teasing, tempting. With a groan, I surrendered to his embrace, finding freedom in my first small steps of forgiveness. I would remain in the harem until my heart mended, but I knew Hezi’s arms were my true home.

  43

  You have set our iniquities before you,

  our secret sins in the light of your presence.

  —Psalm 90:8

  Hezi wiped his sweaty palms on his linen robe, smoothed his beard, and drank another sip of wine. He nearly knocked over the goblet when he set it back on the table. Food trays full of spilled wine—that would have been a lovely start to his first meal with Zibah in seven days. Why was he so nervous? Tonight was just a meal. With his wife. Who had chosen not to see him for a week. “Ugh.” He rolled his eyes and fell back on the pillow behind him. Had she forgiven him yet for ordering her out of his chamber?

  One knock on the door, and Samuel opened it. “Queen Zibah, my king.”

  Hezi stood as his wife crossed the threshold, timid but smiling. Her guard, Amram, stood like a twin pillar beside Samuel. “I’ll wait outside, my queen.”

  She nodded and waited until the door clicked. When she looked up, lamplight reflected in her sandy-brown eyes. “Good evening, Hezi.”

  His name on her lips made his throat suddenly dry. He wanted to pull her into his arms and beg her forgiveness. Instead, he smiled and offered his arm to usher her to the table. “Our meal has been prepared.”

  Zibah lowered herself onto her favorite red cushion, and he moved to his customary spot across the table—but paused. No. Tonight, they would be Hezi and Zibah, not king and queen. “Come,” he said. “You carry the cushions and the wine. I’ll get the food and plates. Let’s eat on the balcony.”

  Surprise lit her features, and they escaped to their private sanctuary as if they were children avoiding chores. They ate. They laughed. They remembered their days in Isaiah’s classroom with Eliakim, Shebna, Mattaniah, and a host of other children who now surrounded them in the palace each day.

  When their laughter faded and memories were spent, Hezi asked the question that had burned on his heart for days. “Have you seen your abba?”

  She reached for a candied date. Took a bite. Nodded. “I saw him today for the first time since…” Avoiding mention of their last painful encounter, she set aside the date and wiped her hands on a cloth. “I hope to see Abba each week. He’s doing well. He said he’s overwhelmed at the consistent flow of words from Yahweh since his obedience to this calling.” She chuckled and looked up. “That was actually why I went today. He ran out of parchment, and the chief scribe provided more to Jashub, his prized employee, to give to his abba,”—her cheeks flushed—“the naked prophet.”

  Hezi reached for her hand, but she drew away. An awkward silence fell between them. “I’m sorry, Zibah. I can’t imagine what this has done to your abba’s reputation. To your ima.”

  “I thought the same thing,” she said, “until I went to visit today.” She stared into the night sky. “He was sitting in his study, his back to the doorway, and we talked for most of the afternoon. About my life here at the palace. About my brothers.”

  “He wasn’t concerned what others said about his nakedness?”

  Zibah stared at Hezi, her eyes growing moist. “He was most concerned that his obedience might have damaged our marriage.”

  Speechless, Hezi was humbled by Isaiah’s selfless love.

  “I should go.” Zibah fairly leapt to her feet, seeming embarrassed by his silence.

  “No wait. Please!” He reached for her arm, and she hesitantly returned to her cushion, eyes downcast. Hezi gently stroked the arm he held captive. “You can assure your abba that it was not his obedience that hurt my wife. It was my brutish behavior.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “And I am rebuilding my wife’s trust.”

  Zibah gently drew her hand away but offered a halting smile. “Thank you, Hezi. I’ll tell him. There are two things you could do that might return me to your chamber more quickly—if you’re willing.”

  Anything! he wanted to shout, but he nodded respectfully instead. “Tell me, and it is done.”

  “First, I need your counsel on the harem wives. Most of the widows are beginning to talk to me, but Rizpah seems to despise me for no discernable reason. I don’t know the women’s relationships well enough yet to know why she would lie about Selah.”

  “Rizpah hates everyone. She’s an unhappy, bitter woman.”

  “Rizpah speaks very kindly to Selah.” She twisted her mouth in an adorable quirk. “Well, kinder to Selah than to anyone else.”

  Hezi pondered his memories of Abba’s wives. He didn’t know Selah. She was the youngest of the women, and he’d met her only a few times, but he’d known Rizpah his whole life. “What are Ima’s thoughts about Rizpah and Selah’s relationship?”

  “Your ima hates me more than Rizpah does.”

  “Zibah,” Hezi scolded. “Ima doesn’t hate you, and she’s known Rizpah the longest. They have sort of a…” How could he describe the relationship of a king’s first and second wives? “They have a mutual respect and disdain for each other.”

  Zibah laughed, the sound winding a cord around Hezi’s heart. He didn’t want her to leave. “You mentioned two things I could do to speed your return to my chamber. My counsel regarding the first is to talk to Ima about the women’s relationships. What’s the second?”

  Mischief brightened her eyes. “Keep feeding me candied dates.” She snatched the date off Hezi’s plate and leapt from her cushion, running toward the audience chamber to escape his playful wrath.

  He caught her in two strides and pulled her into his arms. A moment of indecision, and then he lowered his lips to hers. The taste of his wife was sweeter than any candied date.

  Hezi lay in bed, alone on this Sabbath morning, aching for his wife. He dreaded the coming day. No court. No scheduled meetings. Forgive me, Yahweh. Worship in the Temple was his only pleasure, but even there Zibah was separated from him. Hezi would stand under the king’s canopy, where only he and his officials were admitted, and watch his queen laugh and smile with Abba’s widows. When had he become jealous of other women?

  Zibah had lived in the harem for four months—four torturous months. And it had been nearly two weeks since she’d visited his bed. Not that he was counting. Yes, he was counting. All men counted.

  He could summon her; she’d come willingly before. Was she angry? No, if she was angry, she’d tell him. Zibah had never been one for games.

  Or had the harem changed her? Did she now prefer the company of her friends to the presence of her husband? Niggling fear ate at his gut. Yahweh, don’t let Abba’s wives change her. Harem life had changed Ima. He remembered cowering in a corner as Ima screamed. No, Abba had changed Ima, not the harem.

  “This is madness!” Hezi bolted out of bed and looked around his empty chamber. “Now I’m talking to myself.” Grabbing the gold bell off his table, he rang it with purpose. He would summon Zibah this morning, before the sacrifice, and request she come to him after dark when Sabbath was over.

  “Yes, my king?” His chamber servant arrived at the same time a knock sounded on
the chamber door. “Would you like me to answer that?”

  “No. I’ll answer.” Hezi walked toward the door, shouting his instructions. “Send a message to Queen Zibah. Tell her I’d like to see her.” He opened the door—and there she was. Stunned into silence, he must have looked like a fish out of water.

  She giggled. “You wanted to see me?”

  She’d barely stepped across the threshold before he pulled her inside, shut the door, and trapped her against it. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” He kissed her with two weeks of pent-up passion. Her hands caressed his back, leaving fire in their wake. “I’ve missed you,” he said, aching.

  “I’ve missed you too.” She pressed her forehead against his chest. “I need to tell you something.” Her voice quaked, and he felt as if his whole world shifted.

  He backed away, fear wrestling with dread, and he realized…“Where’s Amram?”

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward a couch. “Everything is fine, Hezi. Come sit with me.”

  He followed because of her smile, but he still wanted an answer. “Where is Amram, Zibah? He’s supposed to be with you at all times.”

  “He’s outside with your guards. You would have seen him if you hadn’t accosted me when you opened the door.” She laughed and shoved his shoulder.

  Feeling a little foolish now, he fell onto the couch and pulled her beside him. “Don’t scare me like that.” He brought her close and kissed her forehead. “What do you need to tell me?”

  She reached for his hand and placed it on her stomach. “I’m with child, Hezi. The midwife confirmed it two weeks ago. She said no ‘activity’ between us for two weeks, and then I was free to tell you.”

  He found himself playing the gaping fish again. Joy. Fear. Disbelief. How could he describe what he felt?

  Zibah’s expression fell. “Aren’t you pleased?”

  “I’ve never heard anything more amazing.” He stared at his hand on her stomach. “You and me in one tiny person. God did that!”