Love In A Broken Vessel (30 page)

Hosea glared at the king, ignoring the commander completely. “It is not war strategy that will save or destroy Judah, King Jotham. Yahweh says, ‘The people of Israel have built palaces, and they have forgotten their Maker. The people of Judah have built many fortified cities. Yahweh will send a fire on their cities and burn down their palaces.’”

“It sounds like a threat, my lord.” Hananiah had taken two steps before Jotham’s scepter blocked his path.

“It is no threat. It is a promise.” Jotham’s words were calm. Resigned. “I hear you, Prophet, and I believe I understand Yahweh’s message. We will spend more energy and resources to repair Yahweh’s temple and reinstate the daily offerings, and spend less time on military preparations.”

Hosea bowed, but Gomer was suspicious. The king seemed to concede too easily. Hananiah, however, looked as if he was ready to burst.

“One more thing,” Jotham added, “before you take your lovely wife back to Tekoa.”

For the first time, Gomer noticed a small boy seated on the other side of the scribe, Jeiel.

“Come here, Ahaz,” Jotham said to the little one who was
watching with wide eyes. He ran across the dais and crawled into the king’s lap, a miniature crown perched amid a riot of red curls.

Jotham kissed the boy’s head and returned his attention to Hosea. “This is my son, Ahaz. I have not taken him to Yahweh’s temple since his saba’s curse, nor will
I
ever darken the temple doorway—because I want my son to grow up with his abba seated on Judah’s throne, not wasting away on a farm in Tekoa.”

Gomer couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat. Finally, a Yahweh follower who seemed to understand her fear, her doubts, about this capricious god.

Hosea stepped forward, his anger seemingly spent. He knelt and bowed while speaking. “I believe your heart is pure, King Jotham, but I must warn you as I warned your abba. Destroy the high places and return to Yahweh’s temple to worship. King Uzziah was not cursed by some random act of bitterness by a fickle deity. Your abba has been disciplined by a loving God and is a better man for it.” He raised his head, pointing to little Ahaz. “I’d rather your son have an abba learning of Yahweh’s love in a rented house than growing up as a captive, exiled in a foreign land. Yahweh has warned you and will not tolerate Judah’s blatant disobedience.”

Gomer covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. Had Hosea just threatened a child?

King Jotham’s face was unreadable parchment. Emotionless. “Use caution, Prophet. You are welcome here because I have extended hospitality, against the better judgment of some of my officials.” After a deep breath, Jotham continued. “I will order the temple repairs and reinstate the daily offerings, but I will
not
compel those who are frightened of Yahweh’s presence to abandon the high places. Judeans must have a safe place to worship Him, and each one must choose where he or she worships.”

Hosea pinned him with a stare. “You are making a grave error, my lord.”

“And you are no longer welcome in my courtroom.” Jotham nodded to the guards behind them.

Gomer’s heart raced as the guards moved to escort them out. This was her only chance to speak to Hananiah. “No!” she said, fighting the rough hands that grabbed her. Her cry startled Ammi, and he let out a wail. She fumbled in the sling to remove him, desperate to show him to his true abba. But the guards pushed and shoved them. She fought, keeping Ammi clutched to her chest yet still trying to untangle him from the sling. Even Hosea seemed to be pushing her.

“Stop! Let me show him the child!” she screamed.

“Gomer, you can take care of Ammi outside.” Hosea’s voice was muffled in the confusion.

She finally broke free and lifted Ammi from his sling, presenting him like a shiny piece of silver. “See how he looks like his abba—”

“Take that madwoman back to Tekoa.” The guards sneered, shoving Hosea into the palace entry. They’d been discarded outside like waste.

Hosea stood, lifting stormy eyes to meet her gaze. “Ammi looks like his abba?”

• I
SAIAH
49:15 •

Can a woman forget her nursing child? . . . Although mothers may forget, I will not forget you.

L
o-Ammi—Not My People.
The baby’s name resounded in Hosea’s mind and boiled his blood. “What makes you think Ammi is Hananiah’s child? You’re a harlot, Gomer!” His voice echoed against the marble palace entry; people stopped and stared. “He could belong to any number of nameless, faceless men!”

Her neck and face flamed crimson, but she stood as erect as the pillars around them. “Hananiah was the only man in my bed while you were away, and he
loves
me, Hosea.” She spat the word like an indictment. “Something you only talk about.”

He grabbed her arm, moving them away from the gathering crowd. “If he loves you, where is he? Why isn’t he begging to be your child’s abba?” The hesitation on her features invited his scorn. “Hananiah doesn’t love you. He’s just—”

“Go back to Tekoa,” came a gruff bass voice. “Both of you.”

Hosea turned to face the imposing frame of Judah’s commander and four armed guards.

“You’re causing a disturbance on palace property, and I’d hate to arrest a prophet with his wife and—her illegitimate son.”

“He’s your son!” Gomer screamed, tears coursing down her cheeks. Hananiah raised his hand to strike her, but Hosea leapt in front of her.

The commander grinned. “I wouldn’t hit a woman,” he said, then glanced side to side. “In broad daylight.” His guards laughed uproariously.

Hosea trembled with rage but felt helpless to defend Gomer. She denied his love and refused to be his wife. “We’ll leave.”

He turned to collect Gomer and be on their way but found her firm as granite, shoulders straight, jaw set. “I’m not leaving,” she said, staring at Hananiah and then at Hosea. Before he could question her, she placed Ammi in Hosea’s arms and started down the steps.

Hananiah and Hosea stood dumbstruck. The first to gather his wits, Hosea charged after her. “What do you mean you’re not leaving? What about our children? What about Ammi?”

She kept walking, and soon Hananiah flanked her other side. “You
will
leave Jerusalem, Gomer.” He motioned to his four guards, who blocked her progress and brought the whole caravan to a halt. “Neither you nor your husband are welcome in Jerusalem. You will go back to Tekoa—”

“My husband will go back to Tekoa, and he can take
your
son with him, but I am staying in Jerusalem. I’ll find a potter to hire me, and I’ll earn a living here in the city.” Tears gathered on her lower lashes, and she turned to Hosea. “I can’t go back. I can’t. I wasn’t created to be a wife and ima. I’m a harlot, like you said. It’s what I’m good at.”

Hananiah grabbed her arm, lifting her off her feet. “I said you’re not staying in Jerusalem. I don’t care if you go back to Tekoa or travel to Egypt.” He cast her aside, and Hosea watched her heart shatter in the gold flecks of her eyes.

She turned and ran down the remaining palace steps, out of the royal courtyard. “Gomer, wait!” Hosea stood rooted to the marble, Ammi whimpering in his arms.

“He does have my nose.” Hananiah smirked. A crushing hand landed on Hosea’s shoulder. “If you leave now, you should reach Tekoa by sunset.” He strutted back into the palace, his guards shoving and laughing like bullies who’d beaten a weakling.

Hosea looked at the babe in his arms, wondering how he could satisfy the hungry cries.
Yahweh, give me strength to love when everything in me wants to hate.
A resolute step, and then another. Hosea would visit the high priest. Perhaps he’d know of a wet nurse in the city.
But I must return to Tekoa tonight.
He couldn’t face his future alone.

Gomer pressed through the crowded Jerusalem market, blinded by tears. Whom would Hosea find to nurse her baby? Did he know anyone in Jerusalem? Surely he’d go to the temple, and the high priest could guide him to a wet nurse. The baby’s cries echoed in her memory, torturing her as she passed countless merchants’ booths. She covered her ears against the phantom sound, drawing stares from puzzled shoppers. Maybe she was a madwoman, like the guard said. Only a madwoman would leave her baby in the street and two more children at home.

She stumbled in the street, and a dusty young boy steadied her. “Mistress, are you all right? Do you need water from the spring?”

His wide eyes were so innocent. He didn’t know he’d touched a filthy harlot. “A spring?”

“Yes, mistress.” He pointed south, down a sloping street. “Do you want me to show you?”

“No, no,” she said, backing away from him, fearing her vileness might somehow corrupt his goodness. “Thank you.”

The sun was past midday. The spring would be deserted, a
good time to draw water without facing the righteous women of Jerusalem. She’d refresh herself and then find a merchant who might help her leave the city.

Or perhaps I could wait until tonight, find Hananiah, and remind him of all we’ve meant to each other?
How could he have been so cruel? He’d seemed like another person, someone she didn’t even recognize. Perhaps he’d been put off by her appearance. Her figure hadn’t returned to normal yet, but she’d regain her shape once she bound her breasts and skipped a few meals.

“Shalom, lovely lady.” A smooth bass voice sent a chill up her spine, and a finger traced a line from her wrist to shoulder.

Without thinking, she turned and slapped the stranger who’d crept up behind her.

His reflexes were equally quick. He grabbed her wrists, shoved her out of the street, and pinned her against a wall behind the booths, covering her mouth. “You aren’t being very friendly.” She glanced in every direction but saw no means of escape. “If I remove my hand, can I trust you not to scream?”

She nodded, buying a few more moments to think of an escape. “What’s your name?” she asked, desperate to slow his attack.

“Does it matter? It seems to me you’ve done this before.” He placed his hand at her throat, squeezed, and then kissed her roughly.

She couldn’t breathe and began to fight. “Please. Please!” His hand remained on her throat but loosened enough that she could speak. If she could distract him . . . “Tell me why you think I’ve done this before,” she said, trying to keep the shame from her voice. He laughed and waved her off, as if the answer was too obvious to dignify by voicing it. When he moved in for another kiss, she turned her head. “Tell me. Tell me why you picked me.”

His hand held her face like a vice, and he leaned closer, his leering eyes now unavoidable. “Everything about you screams
‘harlot.’ You’re alone, visiting the spring at midday without a water jug. The way you walk. The way you—”

Suddenly, the man was gone, lying on the ground. Stunned, Gomer stood shaking, staring into Hananiah’s eyes. His guards were pummeling her attacker while Judah’s hulking commander towered over her.

“You came for me!” She threw her arms around his neck, but he pushed her away. Stumbling back, she felt as if he’d struck her. The hatred in his eyes lingered.

He stepped closer, letting his hands roam the length of her, and then ripped away the pouch of silver she’d been saving for years. “I want my silver back,” he said, disgust lacing his tone. “You can find your own way out of Jerusalem.” He threw the bag to his guards, and they celebrated like children with a new toy. “Consider that payment for rescuing you.”

“But that’s all I have. How can I—”

“I don’t care how you get out of Jerusalem, but your husband has already left. He’s on his way back to Tekoa with that child.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the mention of Ammi. “You didn’t hurt him, did you? Ammi’s all right?”

“Don’t even act like you care.” Hananiah began to tremble, his fists clenching and unclenching. She could see his rage boiling.

“Please. Let me explain. I—”

He lifted his hand, and she winced, expecting the blow—usually a white-hot burst of pain on the cheekbone. Instead, she heard a low, seething growl. “I need no explanation. You have shown what kind of woman you are.” He spit in her face and then stepped aside, pointing at the man who’d attacked her, lying unconscious.

Gomer’s fear settled into resignation, like the final few olives falling from a tree shaken bare of its fruit. She thought her dance meant freedom—but it was her final folly.

“Get out of Jerusalem, harlot. Your husband has left the city and is returning to Tekoa tonight. I doubt that he’ll have
you—I wouldn’t—but you could try to catch up with him. Or I can recommend a brothel to house you overnight.”

Gomer swallowed hard and glanced at the guards, hoping for a glimmer of mercy. They turned their backs, folding their arms across Judean breastplates.

“My guards are loyal to me alone, Gomer. How do you think I found you so quickly? I’ll take you to a brothel if you like. Otherwise . . .” He kicked the man on the ground. “Otherwise, you’ll run into more like this one.”

She nodded, staring at her sandals.

“Hurry up. My wife is expecting me home for the evening meal.” Hananiah shared a laugh with his friends, and Gomer’s humiliation was forged into white-hot rage.

She bit back a reply that would question his wife’s intelligence and earn the black eye she’d anticipated. Instead, she followed him obediently, noticing that the merchants’ observations held true.
All refuse drains downhill.
They passed drunkards and brothels, proving the theory accurate of people as well as waste.

At the end of the street stood two multileveled structures. One was undoubtedly their destination, where women leaned against the door frames and called to passersby. The second looked to be a warehouse, and a gentle breeze revealed the perfumer’s shop. Even in her misery, she smiled at the irony. She’d wished for perfume while in Tekoa, having to settle instead for the pathetic scent of cloves—until Hananiah had given her a small vial of nard. She’d left it behind with the rest of her belongings. Perhaps someday she’d wear perfume again—if she could get back the hard-earned silver Hananiah had stolen.

“Miriam! I’ve brought a harlot for your herd—but she stays only one night.” Hananiah pressed his way through the fawning women blocking the door.

They eyed Gomer but were distracted by the guards, who waited outside for their commander. One of the girls teased, “Come in, boys. We can light twice the flame
she
stirs in you. She’s old enough to be our ima.”

“Ha!” Unbelievable that this
child
would call her old.

“Here she is.” Hananiah reappeared at the door with a curvaceous woman a bit older than Gomer. “She stays tonight only. Do you understand?”

Miriam appeared annoyed, and Gomer wondered if she’d kick her out as soon as the commander left. A man’s interference in a harlot’s world was a breach of unwritten law.

“Come on,” the woman said flatly. “I’ll show you to our common room. Private chambers are reserved for business. You’ll have a mattress of your own in a roomful of girls.”

“She’d be more comfortable in a roomful of men.” Hananiah laughed and elbowed one of his guards. Without a parting glance or a coarse good-bye, Judah’s commander walked away.

If Gomer had been a warrior, she would have sunk a dagger between his shoulder blades. But she was a woman. Powerless. Friendless. Worthless.

“Did you love him?”

She gasped, startled as much by the intimate question as by the woman who asked it. Every harlot knew love wasn’t part of their business.

Miriam’s lips were pressed into a seething, thin line. “He’s played most of us in Jerusalem. Gives us gifts, makes us feel like we’re the love of his life. But at the end of the day, he goes home to his wealthy wife in their mansion on the hill.”

“Why doesn’t someone stop him?”

“Stop him?” Miriam choked out a mirthless laugh. “Who can stop him?”

“Get me a bottle of perfume, and tell me where his wealthy wife waits in this mansion.” Gomer had nothing left to lose. “I’ll show you who can stop him.”

“What if I’ve been wrong all this time, Isaiah?” Hosea sat huddled in his friend’s home, trembling on a late summer night, exhausted after his grueling journey home alone with
Ammi. “What if I heard Yahweh’s prophecies and interpreted them the way I wanted to hear them—that our family would one day be united? What if Yahweh’s intention was for me to literally stop loving Gomer, to stop forgiving her?”