Isaiah's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  She laughed through tears, and Hezi joined her. He lay back on the couch and pulled her on top of him, but she hesitated. “Hezi, no. It’s Sabbath, and the midwife said we shouldn’t for at least—”

  He chuckled at his prim wife. “I just want you close. Lie down on me.” Her cheeks pinked, and she relaxed into the bend of his form, perfectly molded to his shape. He stroked her hair. “So, this is why you haven’t come to visit me.”

  “Yes. I’ve been avoiding you. Could you tell?”

  “I hated it. I was afraid you were angry with me.”

  Her head popped up, and she rested her chin on his chest. “You would know if I was angry, King Hezekiah.”

  She laid her head down again, and he closed his eyes. Thank You, Yahweh, for my wife—and our child. A desire to protect her overwhelmed him. “I think you should move out of the harem.”

  Silence. She made little circles on his chest while his concern deepened. “I can’t, Hezi. I believe I know who is worshiping Asherah, and I must confront the sin while I live among them.”

  He lifted her to her feet in one fluid motion and stood beside her, anger rising. “Who is it?”

  She held his gaze. “I believe if I confront her with the other widows, we’ll be able to discern if she’s the only one or if there are others.”

  The plan seemed logical. “Have you shared your suspicions with anyone else? Have you told Amram?”

  “No, because he would react the way you have and arrest her before we get further information.” She crossed her arms, waiting for him to disagree. He couldn’t.

  “At least tell me how you discovered the truth and when you plan to confront her.”

  She remained maddeningly silent.

  “How did you realize which widow it is?”

  “She’s the widow who has most to gain and least to lose.”

  Hezi studied her. “That makes no sense. Every widow leads a similar life. One may have a little larger chamber than the other, but they eat the same food, walk the same gardens, share the same lotions and paints. Is it their children that made the difference?”

  “No, my love. When you discover the reason, it may not seem logical to you, but what drove this woman to Asherah is as real in her heart and mind as the scrolls you read each day.” She kissed him gently. “I’ve come to love these women, and they have taught me so much in the past months. I pray they will teach me more as we raise our child. Thus, it’s as important to me to root out the idolaters as it is to you.”

  44

  Their malice may be concealed by deception,

  but their wickedness will be exposed in the assembly.

  Whoever digs a pit will fall into it;

  if someone rolls a stone, it will roll back on them.

  —Proverbs 26:26–27

  Nearly three weeks had passed since I’d refused to confide the idolater’s identity to Hezi. He asked every day if I’d confronted her, and every day my answer was the same: “I must wait until I’m sure.” Would I ever be sure enough to hand her over to the guards for execution?

  King Ahaz’s widows and their maids had become second family to Yaira and me. We joined in daily activities—carding, spinning, weaving. We laughed and told tales of past and present. Abijah was the best among us at embroidery. The other five of King Ahaz’s wives pretended not to envy her. All but Rizpah. She seemed least capable of deception. Perhaps that was her greatest ruse.

  Topics of our conversations ranged from henna art to dirty laundry. Occasionally, we spoke of deeper things. Life. Death. Yahweh. On those days, the widows now asked probing, honest questions. Today was not one of those days. Instead, things had gotten rather silly.

  “I didn’t drink four full wineskins at my wedding,” Selah said, looking quite serious. “My maid drank one goblet out of them.” She laughed at her own joke, gaining belly laughs from the others. I exchanged a grin with Yaira, trying to join the fun, but feeling more pity than joy that Selah needed to get drunk on her wedding day. She tossed a ball of yarn at me. “What about you, Zibah? Have you ever overindulged?”

  Just as I was about to answer, my stomach clenched—and then tightened like a fist. I doubled over, knocking my sewing to the floor. The cramping stole my breath and fear stole my voice. Yahweh, please! I remembered Yaira’s miscarriage and looked up to see horror written on her face.

  “Come, my queen,” Yaira said, lifting me off my stool, “back to our chamber.” She called over her shoulder, “Selah, get the midwife. Now!”

  Rizpah was the first to my side, and Abijah supported me from behind. The other wives surrounded me like buzzing bees, tending their queen.

  When we entered the hallway, Amram tried to break through. “What’s happening?” he shouted at Yaira.

  “Call for the king. The midwife is on her way.”

  I began to weep, but the buzzing bees shushed me, soothing and cooing. “It’s all right, dear.”

  “Stay calm,” one said.

  Another, “Fear won’t help.”

  “Relax and breathe deeply.”

  We arrived in my chamber, and Yaira removed my robe.

  “Off with your tunic as well.” Rizpah placed her hands on her hips. “You didn’t get that baby with your tunic on. Off with it.” Another contraction seized me, and Rizpah hugged me tight, smoothing my hair, rubbing my back. “There, there, little one. I know it hurts.” When the contraction eased, she stripped off my tunic before I could protest.

  The women fairly lifted me onto my mattress, shoving pillows under my knees and hips, covering me with a blanket. Abijah held my hand. “Relax your shoulders.”

  Yaira placed a cold cloth on my forehead about the time another contraction shook me. I curled into a ball and bit my lip to keep from crying out. Yaira whispered against my ear, “There will be other babies, my sweet girl.” Her tears wet my cheeks, mingling with my own.

  “Zibah?” Hezi’s voice shattered the cloud of pain.

  I couldn’t bear to look at him and turned my head toward the window.

  “Where’s the midwife?” he shouted.

  “Selah went to fetch her, Hezi.” Abijah hovered at my side, still holding my hand. “Calm yourself, Son. She needs your strength.”

  They exchanged a glance; he nodded. Resting beside me, he pulled me into his arms. “Zibah.”

  My name on his lips broke me. “I’m sorry, Hezi. I’m losing our baby.”

  “I’m sorry you must endure it, my love.”

  “Ahhh!” Another contraction robbed my dignity, and Hezi cradled me as I squeezed his strong arms. My rock. My anchor. “Don’t leave me,” I said as the pain ebbed.

  “I’m right here,” he whispered.

  “Excuse me, my king, but I must ask you to go.” The midwife stood behind my husband. A short, rotund woman whose gray sprigs of hair stuck out from her headpiece like an uncut acacia. “Men are generally too queasy for the world of women.” She stepped back and swept her hand toward the door—in case he’d forgotten where it was.

  “I’m staying.” Hezi brushed stray hairs off my forehead.

  “I suppose I can’t argue with the king, but right now, in this room, you’re second in command.” She kissed my forehead and patted my cheek. “I need to check your condition, my queen. It’s up to you if your husband stays or leaves.”

  I looked at Hezi, torn, and he offered a reassuring smile. He knelt at my head, and we gazed into each other’s eyes. Another contraction made the midwife’s exam excruciating but confirmed what Yaira and Rizpah suspected. Our baby needed to leave my body.

  Hezi rested his forehead against my shoulder. We wept together to the sound of the midwife barking orders. “Abijah, more cushions under her hips. Rizpah, more clean rags. Yaira, my basket of herbs. Selah, boil water for the queen’s tea.”

  “Are you giving her tea for the pain?” Hezi asked, but I stole his attention when another contraction gripped me.

  He held me until it passed, and the midwife was waiting with her a
nswer. “You see, King Hezekiah, that’s why I prefer women only in the room during these events. Men ask too many questions and slow down the process. I’m giving your wife giant-fennel tea. The tea lessens the chances of infection. Unfortunately, it also increases the contractions.” She stroked my cheek and offered a kindhearted smile. “By sunset, the worst should be over, and then I can give you something to help you sleep.”

  By sunset, I’d endured the worst pain of my life. Whipping wounds couldn’t match the physical pain and emotional reality of losing a child. It was the first moment in life that I’d begged for death. Yahweh, Holy One of Israel, may I never experience such torture again.

  Hezi witnessed it all. Somehow, though he’d lost a child too, he still tried to comfort me with a tenderness beyond my ability to receive. My pain reached so deep, I was numb.

  The buzzing bees were as exhausted as I. Rizpah leaned down to kiss my forehead before shooing the rest of the women out the door. “We must give the king and queen time alone.” Even Abijah left without a fight. Hezi looked at me with tears in his eyes. “I see now why you love them.”

  Using the last of my strength, I cradled his cheek in my hand and closed my eyes.

  “I was sure I packed poppy seeds in my basket.” The midwife’s voice sounded far away, like a dream. “It won’t take me long to go home and get them. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  “I’ll be here.” Hezi sounded tired.

  I drifted through occasional cramping but nothing compared to what I’d been through. Distant voices on the edges of my consciousness…

  “…midwife sent me…this tea…help Zibah sleep.” Selah’s voice.

  “…doesn’t need…fine…later.” Hezi caressed my arm, soothing.

  “She must drink it now!”

  Startled awake by Selah’s insistence, I tried to sit up but grabbed my belly, groaning in pain.

  Hezi cradled me, lowering me back against two large pillows. “Shh. Rest, my love.” He glared at Selah, his breathing ragged. “My wife was perfectly fine until you woke her.”

  “I’m sorry, really. I’m just trying to help.” Selah rushed to the other side of my bed and lowered the cup so I could take a sip of the tea. “Here, Zibah. Drink. It will take away your pain.”

  “I can’t sit up, Selah. You’ll have to—”

  Hezi reached for the cup to help. “No!” she said, drawing it back. Her lips quivered with a tense smile. “Rest, my king. You’ve tended to your wife admirably all day.”

  Tension sparked between them. My mind was too murky to understand why.

  “Give me the cup, Selah.” Hezi held out his hand.

  She tilted her head and smiled. “You’re tired, my king. Let me care for her now.”

  He extended his hand farther. “The cup. Now.”

  Warily, she passed the tea to him. “I was just trying to help.”

  “How did you make the poppy-seed tea so quickly? The midwife said she had to go back to her house for the seeds.” He smelled it and lifted the cup to his lips.

  “Wait! No!” Selah lunged for the cup.

  Hezi stepped back, easily out of her reach. “I wasn’t going to drink it, Selah. I’ve had poppy-seed tea with my leg wound, and it doesn’t smell like this. What sort of tea are you giving the queen of Judah?”

  The young widow straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, glancing first at me and then back at Hezi. Silent.

  “Must my guards question you in chains?”

  His calm chased away my haze. Selah was the widow I’d suspected of worshiping Asherah. Rizpah had sent Hezi the idol not to threaten but to caution us both. I knew Selah was calculating, but I hadn’t suspected her capable of anything this sinister.

  Backing away from my bed, Selah’s lips began to quake. “I would never hurt you, Hezi. Never you.”

  My husband’s eyes narrowed. “I am King Hezekiah to you, woman.”

  “But my abba promised you’d be mine!” She buried her face in her hands, weeping.

  “Selah,” Hezi said, “I never even met you or your abba until the day of your marriage to King Ahaz.”

  Her crying stilled, and she lifted her eyes to my husband, pleading. “At my birth, Abba made a contract with King Ahaz that I would marry Crown Prince Bocheru. After Bocheru died, I was promised to the next crown prince. When King Ahaz chose my firstborn brother for one of the New Moon sacrifices, Abba panicked and offered me as a bride to King Ahaz instead if he would spare my brother from Molek’s fire.”

  Selah turned hate-filled eyes on me. “You have the life I should have, Zibah, the love I should have.” Her lips curved into a sinister smile. “Now, Lady Asherah has taken your baby as I asked her to do.”

  Hezi threw the cup of tea at the wall. “Amram, get in here!”

  Selah stood with the solemn boldness of an impassioned traitor. All pretense was gone, and I regretted the dangerous compassion that had restrained me for months.

  Amram entered, sword clanging against his brass-studded armor. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Take Selah to the dungeon.” Hezi said with terrifying calm.

  Selah’s eyes were so full of hate, I hardly recognized her. “We don’t worship alone,” she spat. “Your honorable guards were delighted to join in the pleasures of Asherah. I’ve been winning guards to worship since King Ahaz first taught me the rites.”

  Battle fury shook my husband. “Amram, take Asherah’s high priestess away. She’ll be stoned at dawn for inciting guards to idolatry.” Face crimson, fists clenched, he turned toward me after they left, his rage slowly dying. “Samuel will replace the guards on this wing and question all the maids to find out which guards have been drawn in.”

  My emotions raw, I could barely whisper the words. “I’m sure Selah’s maid also worships with them, Hezi.” I closed my eyes, pushing through the exhaustion. “The other widows and their maids are faithful to Yahweh. You can trust their testimonies—and Amram’s.”

  Hezi laid his head against my arm and then fell to his knees at my side, weeping. “What if I hadn’t been here to protect you, Zibah? What if…”

  My strength spent, I felt a tear escape the corner of my eye. I had no words to console.

  He lifted his head and then sat on the bed beside me. Leaning over, he brushed my lips with a kiss. “I need you with me—in my chamber. Yaira can care for you there while you recover.”

  I lifted my hand to his cheek with the last of my strength. “Yes, my love, I want you to take me home now.”

  45

  May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us;

  establish the work of our hands for us—

  yes, establish the work of our hands.

  —Psalm 90:17

  I lay on a new mattress next to the balcony in the king’s chamber; it was brought in especially for my recovery. Hezi was forbidden to touch me during my bleeding, nor could he touch anything I’d touched. We ate together. He talked, sang, dreamed. “We’ll have other children,” he said, thinking his words would fill my emptiness.

  “I can never hold my first child in my arms. He—or she—is just gone, Hezi. As if a baby never existed.” I laid my hand over my stomach, a womb now empty. “But I know there was life there, a child I’ll never know.”

  He sat on his hands. I knew he wanted to hold me. I also knew he could not. The king of Judah, like a high priest, dare not purposely make himself unclean. “I love you,” he said.

  “I know.” It was all I could give.

  The double doors swung open and in walked Abijah and Rizpah. I groaned and turned on my side to face the balcony, away from the women who had tormented me until the miscarriage.

  Hezi met them before they reached me. “Zibah is not accepting visitors today. She needs rest.”

  “She needs to walk and regain her strength.” I heard the swish of Abijah’s robe draw near. “Yaira, we need you!” she shouted.

  “Ima!” Hezi followed her.

  I turned, seeing
Rizpah marching alongside the Gevirah. “Your wife needs the care of women, Hezekiah. If you will not leave her in the harem, the harem will come to her.”

  Yaira opened her door and scanned the crowded room, then looked at me. I didn’t need to speak. I held out my hand, and she hurried to my side.

  Abijah nudged my husband toward the door, whispering as they walked away. I could make out only a few words. “Your wife…pain…support…go…court.” Hezi cast a lingering glance over his shoulder and left the chamber.

  “Well done,” Rizpah said as Abijah returned.

  The Gevirah released a sigh. “That may have been the hardest thing we do today.”

  Rizpah pulled a stool close to my mattress. Abijah did the same. Both were…pleasant, almost smiling.

  I was flanked by the two women who hated me most, and they looked as if they would enjoy slaughtering me like a lamb. I held tightly to Yaira’s hand, fear shoving aside my grief. “Why are you here?”

  Abijah stared at me as if I were a fool. “I said we’d come to tend you, dear. Didn’t you hear?”

  “Why?” I’d pondered their kindness from yesterday and reasoned it to be sheer instinct. In a crisis, people simply react. Perhaps for Abijah, it was a sense of urgency because I carried Hezi’s child, her grandchild. Perhaps Rizpah responded out of duty when she saw the king arrive.

  Rizpah lifted my left hand, drawing my attention. “Do you know the worst part of living in the harem, Hephzibah?”

  I stared, speechless. She’d never spoken my name.

  “The lack of purpose.” She nodded at Abijah. “Do you think Abijah likes embroidery?”

  The Gevirah grinned. “I have stacks of it in baskets that I’m sure you’ll throw away when I die.”

  “I hate embroidery,” Rizpah said. “I’ve tried weaving. I’m terrible at it. Your dovecote looked like an interesting pastime, but I’m put off by all the bird droppings. I know you use it to fertilize our garden—”

  “The flowers have never been more beautiful,” Abijah added.

  “Agreed,” Rizpah said, and then looked at me. “I haven’t yet found an activity that captures my attention, so I sit in my chamber alone—and think. It’s the worst thing a woman can do in a harem.”