Love In A Broken Vessel (12 page)

He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the wool-stuffed mattress he’d purchased before going to Israel. He’d been so uncertain then, questioning God’s plan, doubting Yahweh’s calling. He had no idea he’d find the little girl he’d cared for in Bethel. Now the little girl was the woman God had chosen as his wife.

“Gomer, I will love you all my life,” he said, laying her gently on the bed.

Her eyes blazed with a fire from within. “And I will make you happy you chose me.” She pulled him into an impassioned kiss, and Hosea was lost in a rapture he thought impossible this side of paradise.

• P
ROVERBS
12:4 •

A wife with strength of character is the crown of her husband, but the wife who disgraces him is like bone cancer.

G
omer lay beside Hosea in the first rays of dawn, studying every detail of her husband. No man had ever treated her with such gentleness, nor had she felt such tenderness toward any man. He’d been gentle yet strong. She’d lain with soldiers whose arms weren’t as defined as those she saw in the morning light. How she longed to trace her fingers over his heavy brows, narrow nose, and round eyes. His lips were deep red and soft—no doubt from the small vial of sheep fat he used while traveling through the wilderness. She smiled, remembering how he slipped it out of his pocket, coated his lips, and returned it to its hiding place.

Oh my!
The memory of the sheep fat in his pocket reminded her of the nonexistent gift she’d promised Hosea in Jerusalem. She’d successfully hidden her Asherah when they arrived in Tekoa, but how would she ever find a pocket-sized gift for her husband to make her lie seem true? Perhaps she could barter for something from Yuval without Hosea’s
knowledge. Yuval could send Amos to purchase something from a nearby market. It seemed a harmless request.

Hosea’s long, black eyelashes fluttered, and she laid her head on her arm, pretending to be asleep. When he didn’t stir again, she opened one eye and found him still sleeping. Leaning on her elbow, she watched his eyelids continue their dance. Merav said that when a baby’s eyelids fluttered, the gods were tickling them in their dreams.
Oh, Merav.

The thought of her old friend reminded her of the miraculous connection with Yuval. Amos’s wife had been as comfortable as an old pair of sandals, and Gomer wondered if her demeanor would change if she knew of Gomer’s past. What tricks were the gods playing to have sent her a new friend that so closely resembled her old nursemaid? After learning that Yuval was an orphan from the land of Israel, they pondered the exciting possibility that Merav could have been an unknown relative. Gomer knew nothing of Merav’s family, so they would likely never know.
How extraordinary that I would travel so far and find someone like Merav in such a place.

“You’re up early,” a husky voice said while strong arms rolled her to her back.

She was consumed by Hosea’s presence. More than his physical form that loomed above her, it was the fullness of his presence that left her breathless.

“I think I love you,” she said haltingly.

He searched her expression but remained silent, and she cursed her foolishness. His elbows rested beside her head, and he combed his fingers through her hair. “Tell me what love means to you,” he said gently.

She felt fire rise in her cheeks and turned away.

He kissed her lips, then her neck, and whispered, “I love you and have promised to always love you. Now, please, my wife . . .” Another kiss. “Tell me why you
think
you love me.”

She kissed him thoroughly, no desire to talk. But he eased away, grinned, and raised one eyebrow.

“Uhh! I should never have said anything!”

Her frustrated quip dowsed the fire in Hosea’s eyes. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

Gomer squeezed her eyes shut. Why must they talk like old women at the well? Why couldn’t he be satisfied with her passion as other men had been?
He’s not other men. He’s Hosea.
She felt the gentle strumming on her fingers and couldn’t suppress a smile. He always knew how to calm her.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, still lying beside him looking at the ceiling. “It’s hard for me to tell how I feel because it’s like giving you a part of me that you can destroy.” Her throat tightened with emotion, and she considered stopping there. Surely that was enough to satisfy him. But then she remembered last night. Perhaps she could trust him—just a little. “I think I love you because I don’t want any other man to touch me.” There. She’d said it. It wasn’t eloquent. It didn’t smell of roses. But it was the truth.

Neither of them moved. She wondered what he was thinking but was afraid to ask.

“Thank you for trusting me and for telling me you love me.” He leaned on his elbow then, hovering over her, and traced the line of her nose, her mouth, her neck. “I went to Israel because Yahweh told me to marry a prostitute and love her as He loves Israel. I thought that kind of love would be . . . I don’t know . . . practiced, strictly an arrangement. I never dreamed I would love this woman with every fiber of my soul.” Tears gathered on his long lashes. “I’m awed that God could love His people this way, and I’m beyond thankful that He gave you back to me after all this time.”

“Oh! I just remembered!” Gomer’s sudden jolt startled her husband, and they both giggled.

He pecked her nose with a kiss. “What could you possibly remember at such a moment?”

She felt her cheeks burn again, but this time adoration, not shame, lit the spark. “When you said your god gave me back to you after all this time, it reminded me of Yuval. She brought a
small meal last night, and I thought Mot had sent the ghost of my old friend Merav.” Hosea frowned, and Gomer wondered if he was confused or unhappy at her mention of Mot. “Do you remember the old woman who tried to stop the sacrifice in Jeroboam’s temple?”

Hosea nodded slowly, recognition dawning. “I didn’t see her clearly, but I do seem to recall she resembled Yuval. But Gomer, you are among Yahweh’s people here. You need not fear the pagan gods while—”

“I know,” she interrupted, hoping to skip the Yahweh lesson. “But while Yuval and I were talking, she told me that Amos’s abba bought her as an orphaned slave from Israel. She has little memory of her life before coming to Judah, and when Amos fell in love with her and claimed her as his wife, she was accepted into his family and has thought little of her Israelite roots.” Gomer realized she was sitting up, gesturing wildly, and Hosea was watching with an amused grin.

“So you’ve been in camp less than a day and already have found a friend?”

She squealed and pounced on him. They rolled over and over, wrapping themselves in the blanket. “Yes! And she’s the owner’s wife!” Gomer settled atop her husband, resting her chin on his chest.

“We care very little about status and wealth here on Amos’s farm. Yuval is one of the most caring women you’ll ever meet. She may be the owner’s wife, but she works harder than the poorest serving maid.”

After the slight reprimand, Gomer treaded lightly on the next subject. “While we were in Samaria, we never discussed my wifely duties.” She paused, not sure how to proceed.

Unexpectedly, Hosea tumbled her onto her back and hovered above her, smiling. “I don’t think we need to
discuss
anything. You do very well without any discussion.”

She giggled. “I was talking about cooking.” His smile disappeared, and she laughed aloud. “Didn’t you notice that I never cooked a meal in Samaria?”

“I thought it was because you hated me.” They laughed together at this.

“Well, I suppose that was part of it,” she said, “but the complete truth is that I’ve always had servant girls cook for me. So Yuval is going to teach me to cook!”

The tenderness in his eyes staggered her. “I’m so proud of you.”

Her throat constricted. No words could describe a man who was proud of his harlot wife who didn’t cook. She pulled him into her arms and wept. “I
know
I love you.”

Hosea basked in his wife’s delight during their morning exploration of Amos’s farm. He remembered the fascination he’d felt when arriving with Abba Beeri twelve years ago. Seeing Tekoa’s rugged beauty through Gomer’s eyes was like gazing out a window through a silken sash.

“Look at the endless fig trees! And those sheep—they’re tiny!”

Hosea laughed, watching his wife scatter the shepherds’ carefully herded sheep. “Yes, they’re a special breed of desert sheep. Amos travels to markets and festivals from Beersheba to Damascus to sell their wool and the cloth our women weave.” One of the shepherds rose from his shady resting spot, a scowl on his weathered face, while his whole flock broke into a bleating frenzy.

“Hello, little sheep! Come here and let me see how soft you are.”

Hosea captured her hand. “Come, Wife. Let’s get to the pottery workshop and meet the king’s uncle Amoz.” He glanced over his shoulder, noting two shepherds whispering and pointing. He hoped they were simply angry about Gomer’s lack of animal husbandry.

“But I saw a lamb over there . . .” She pouted as he pulled her away.

“The shepherds are a bit protective of their flocks. Have you spent much time around animals?”

“No, in fact, I was a little frightened when we were traveling through the wilderness. I’d heard there were lions between here and Samaria, but I’ve never really been around animals since I’ve lived in cities.”

Hosea watched his wife wander and chatter as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Of course, I’ve seen smelly old donkeys, and I know goats are a nuisance and will eat anything you put in front of them.”

Hosea laughed out loud, thoroughly entertained. “Well,
we
own a smelly donkey and two bothersome goats. We also have several chickens, but the rooster you hear crowing each morning belongs to Yuval and Amos next door.”

“I have chickens?” Her voice was filled with wonder. Then she raised her arms and shouted, “I have chickens!” They passed two women who stared at Gomer as if she’d grown two heads. They’d been busy weaving an intricately designed fabric on a large loom but stopped when the couple passed by. One whispered to the other behind her hand, and then both scowled in Gomer’s direction.

Hosea glanced at his wife, relieved to find her taking in the lush canopy of sycamore figs above them. Another distraction was in order. “And because we have chickens, my wife, we also have snakes.”

“What?” All mirth disappeared. “Snakes?”

He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. “But Amos bought a useful gift for Yuval on his last market run to Beersheba.”

“We have snakes?” Gomer couldn’t seem to get beyond that news.

“Amos discovered a new kind of animal called a cat—from Egypt. He bought two of them for Yuval, and, well . . . they multiply quickly because now we have fifteen.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist, searching the
path before her. “Are there snakes everywhere? Are they just after the chickens, or are they out here with people too?”

Hosea stopped walking and held her at arm’s length. “Listen. Tekoa is southern Israel, and we have snakes. And yes, there were lions in the wilderness through which we traveled, but they remain outside Amos’s gates. Most wild animals are more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“I doubt that.” Then almost pleading, she said, “I know the larger beasts won’t come into the compound and they prowl at night, but snakes frighten me, Hosea.”

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Our chickens eat small snakes, and the cats prey on the larger vipers. Snakes sleep between rocks most of the day, so just stay on the main path and you’ll be fine.”

“What about the house? Are they in the house?”

“How about if we ask Yuval to borrow one of her cats?”

His wife’s quick and emphatic nod told him she approved.

“All right, as soon as I introduce you to Amoz, I’ll have Yuval introduce you to a new cat.”

Her smile returned, and they resumed their walk, ambling along the farm’s main path. They passed homes, stables, storage barns, and the prophets’ hall, where students gathered for Jonah’s lessons. They veered off the main path that circled north and continued south toward the pottery workshop. The large, two-story building stood a stone’s throw away, belching smoke from two chimneys.

Gomer inspected the shop from foundation to rooftop. “Why is it so far from the rest of the camp?”

Hosea directed her gaze to the smoke rising above them. “When Amos agreed to let the king build his uncle’s workshop, they knew the kilns would produce significant smoke and fire hazards. So they situated it in the farthest southern corner of the property, away from our homes, the livestock, and the wool and fig operations. They also built a southern gate to make transporting the raw clay and drying pottery more convenient.”

He placed his hand at the small of her back, nudging her forward. She seemed hesitant, a little nervous to embrace this new adventure. The woman he married wasn’t so different from the little girl in Bethel. She still blustered of big adventures but needed his reassurance to take the first step. He held open the curtain on the workshop doorway, and they stepped inside.

“Hosea!” Amoz’s cheerful voice greeted them from the potter’s loft. One word and a lifted hand would suffice from the man of frugal speech.

Hosea saw Isaiah’s betrothed rushing down the loft stairs. “Aya!”

“Hosea, welcome home. It’s good to see you.”

He felt Gomer tense, and she leaned close to whisper, “Who’s the lovely maiden that blushes at the sight of you?”

He chuckled quietly. “That’s Isaiah’s beloved Aya. The one to whom he compares every other woman on earth.”