Love In A Broken Vessel (33 page)

Miriam nodded, swiped at her tears, and exhaled deeply. “He may try, but he’ll have a lot of explaining to do if he admits to bringing the girl here himself. I’m sure we can reach an agreement on discretion when it comes to disclosing
all
the facts publicly.” Miriam squared her shoulders and leveled her gaze. “He still has a wife and father-in-law to please.”

A sob escaped before Gomer could bridle it. She turned away quickly, covering her face, trying to rebuild her emotional wall. When she returned her attention to the girl, Miriam had already begun washing the body.

“Thank you, my friend. I’ll never forget you.”

Without looking up, Miriam said simply, “Go.”

• H
OSEA
2:2 •

Plead with your mother; plead with her. She no longer acts like my wife. She no longer treats me like her husband.

G
omer leaned hard on a walking stick she’d fashioned from an old branch somewhere between Jerusalem and Bethlehem. Her feet were blistered and bleeding, the beaded sandals not intended for an all-day hike to Tekoa. Hananiah’s girl had died just before dawn, which allowed Gomer to slip from Jerusalem unnoticed—with only the clothes on her back. Her heavy cosmetics and perfume announced her profession, but she’d staved off advances with the dagger concealed in the sheath above her right knee. The long slit in her robe made the blade as accessible as her legs. The slit and the dagger—necessary tools of trade for any harlot these days.

She’d passed through Bethlehem long before midday, so she guessed she’d arrive in Tekoa during the midday meal. Gomer crested the last rocky rise before entering the camp, paused, and scanned the width and breadth of the valley she’d once called home. Amos’s renowned dwarf sheep grazed on the foothills below. Yuval’s fig trees were between harvests, their
bright green foliage massaged by early summer sunshine. The olive grove waved a silver and green shalom as she hurried down the hill toward Uzziah’s rented house. He would be her first plea for mercy—perhaps her only chance.

“Unclean! Uncl—Gomer?” The shock on his face must have mirrored her own. Bandages shrouded living bones that were once the great King Uzziah. He was a whisper of the king she’d first met, sitting on a fresh straw mat in his doorway.

“Shalom, my friend.” Her suffering suddenly paled in light of the pain on the king’s face.

“I would love to embrace you, but I dare not make you unclean.”

She laughed through her tears. “You can look at my appearance and worry about making
me
unclean? You are perhaps the most gracious man on earth, King Uzziah.”

A sparkle in his eyes showed a smile, though his face was covered. “I must confess, I hesitate to touch anyone anymore. The pain is too great.” Tears wet the bandages on his cheeks. “What trouble brings you to Tekoa unannounced, Gomer?”

The disease had not impaired his instincts. “I come seeking mercy, my king.” She paused, wondering where to begin.

“Does this involve Commander Hananiah?”

A niggling fear began eating at the edges of her heart. “Yes, my lord, how did you know?”

“When Hosea arrived home from Jerusalem with baby Ammi nearly four years ago, he told me of the child’s abba. I know my commander, and though he is an impeccable soldier, he is a flawed man. And he is now my son’s military commander. So before you speak, I must warn you. I cannot—I will not—overturn any judgment my son has made regarding Hananiah.”

“But King Jotham hasn’t made any judgment yet—I don’t think.” It was the truth, at least when she’d left Jerusalem this morning.

“Gomer.” Her name on his lips broke her heart. It was the voice of a loving abba—an abba she’d never known.

She bowed her head and let the tears fall. “Yes, my lord.”

“Go to Hosea. Only Yahweh can overturn the laws of Judah. Hananiah is a powerful man, and I am dying. My son rules Judah with strength and wisdom, but he must choose to fight the political battles that will strengthen his reign.” He fell silent, and Gomer knew he waited for her to look at him. Defiance kept her head bowed, but at last respect lifted her gaze. “Yahweh is the only one who can help you now. Let Him.”

“Like He’s helped you?” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, and she regretted them as soon as they left her lips. But how could Uzziah defend a god who tortured him like this? She stood, and Uzziah looked away. “I’m sorry, my lord. I will do as you say. I’ll lay my case before Hosea and see if he might help.” She longed to embrace Uzziah, to stay with him—however many days he had left. But this would be the first place Hananiah would look for her.

“Hosea should be with his students. He’s taken over all the teaching and become camp administrator since Amos fell ill.”

“What?” Gomer’s heart leapt to her throat. “Amos? Is Yuval . . .”

Uzziah’s eyes smiled. “Yuval is still Yuval. We can all be thankful for that.”

She swallowed another lump in her throat, bid him good-bye, and stepped onto the path toward camp. They were the hardest steps she’d ever taken.

An excited buzz filled the room, and Hosea let the anticipation build. Micah had completed his first Sabbath-to-Sabbath wilderness fast and returned this morning with news of a clear message from Yahweh.

When Hosea had rejoiced with him, asking to hear the Lord’s words, he’d seemed unsettled, saddened. “Yahweh instructed me to speak only to the group of prophets, Master Hosea. I’m sorry. I can’t reveal it to you alone.”

Though Hosea had grown content in his role as teacher, the words still stung. Yahweh had chosen another—as Gomer had chosen others. Had he failed them both?

Hosea set aside his personal brooding, assembled the students, and coached himself to be content—no matter what Yahweh’s message revealed. “All right, Micah. We’re all anxious to hear what Yahweh has spoken to your heart.” He nodded, signaling the boy who’d long been his student to speak as a seasoned young prophet.

“Master Hosea, may I first share something you said to me the morning after I heard Yahweh’s first calling?”

Hosea smiled, granting permission.

“You said I wasn’t ready to prophesy until the words broke my heart—as the messages broke Yahweh’s heart.” His face twisted with emotion; he wiped instant tears from his eyes. “What I’m about to say breaks my heart, Master Hosea . . .”

Hosea’s stomach knotted, dread pulling it tighter and twisting.

“Yahweh says, ‘I will turn Samaria into a pile of rubble, a place for planting vineyards. I will roll its stones down into a valley and expose its foundations. All its idols will be smashed to pieces. All its wages for being a prostit—’” Micah faltered, bowing his head.

And Hosea realized he’d stopped because Yahweh’s reference to Israel’s prostitution was too similar to Hosea’s life experience, too personal to espouse as a general call to holiness. “You must speak the prophecy, Micah, no matter who is listening. A prophet must declare Yahweh’s words in every audience, in any forum.”

Micah lifted his head, eyes closed, and proclaimed through tears, “‘All Samaria’s wages for being a prostitute will be burned. All its statues will be turned into a pile of rubble. Samaria collected its wages for being a prostitute. That money will again pay for prostitutes. I will mourn and cry because of this. I will walk around barefoot and naked. I will cry
like a jackal and mourn like an ostrich. Samaria’s wounds are incurable . . .’”

Hosea’s heart leapt to his throat.
Incurable . . . Samaria’s wounds are incurable . . .

Micah continued the message, but Hosea heard Yahweh’s fresh revelation. Gomer’s wounds were incurable. It was time to mourn her as if she were dead. Stop looking back for lessons. Stop questioning Yahweh’s plan. Gomer would never recover from her life of prostitution, as Israel would never recover from her idolatry. He must release any lingering shred of hope.

Micah’s words echoed in the periphery of his thoughts. “Shave your head in mourning for the children you love . . .”

“Hosea, I’m sorry to interrupt.” Yuval stood in the doorway, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. The room inhaled a collective gasp.

“Is it Amos?” Hosea’s heart couldn’t beat until he heard her answer.

“No, Amos is well.”

“The children?”

“Please, Hosea.” She fought tears. “Come outside. I must speak with you in private.”

“Is Aya all right?” Isaiah stood among the students.

Hosea grasped his shoulders. “If it concerns Aya or the children, I’ll send word for you.” The two locked eyes, a silent pact.

Hosea exited the building, shielding his eyes from the midday sun. Yuval led him to a large boulder beneath a sycamore, where his children waited with a woman.

No! It can’t be!

Gomer held Ammi propped on her hip. Jezzy and Rahmy clung to her legs.

“Get away from them!” He ran at her, grabbing Ammi away, breaking Jezzy’s and Rahmy’s grasp. He guided his older children into Yuval’s care and placed the toddler in her arms. “What do you want?” he asked, standing as a barrier between
the harlot and his children. Her copper curls cascaded over her shoulders, tangled and dusty. The malachite on her eyelids was faded, the kohl around them smudged by tears.

“I come seeking mercy, Hosea.” She stood like granite, as cold and heartless as ever, her chin lifted in defiance even as she asked for the unthinkable.

“
You
seek mercy?”

Yuval nudged him aside, pleading. “Hosea, she’s been falsely accused.”

Incredulous, he stared at the old woman. “You’re asking mercy for
Gomer
? What about her children, Yuval?
My
children. Don’t
they
deserve mercy?”

He snatched Ammi from Yuval’s arms and grabbed Jezreel, standing a camel’s length from Gomer. The heady scent of perfume overpowered him. “Plead with your ima, Jezzy. Ask her for mercy, Ammi.” The youngest whimpered in his arms.

“Hosea!” Yuval said, taking Ammi from him. “That’s enough.”

Rahmy hugged Hosea’s leg, and he cradled her head, whispering, “Tell your ima to stop being a prostitute. Tell her to give up the lovers that are more important than you.”

“Please, stop!” The granite statue cracked, and a single tear fell down Gomer’s cheek. “Don’t speak to me this way in front of our children.”

“Our children? You can’t call them that when you no longer act like my wife. I should strip you as naked as the day you were born. You come back in some sort of mess, thinking you might as well return to your husband because he’s always there to pick up the pieces when you shatter the lives of those around you.”

Yuval laid her hand on his arm. “Hosea, will you just listen to her? She’s not asking to come back. She’s asking for protection against a wrong that’s been done her.”

“There’s always a ‘wrong that’s been done her,’ Yuval. Don’t you understand? It’s never her fault, and as long as
she refuses to acknowledge that Yahweh is Elohim, she is dead to me.”

Yahweh’s words echoed in his spirit:
Mourn her as if she were dead . . . She will never recover from her prostitution, as Israel will never recover from her idolatry.

His heart twisted in his chest. He knew what he must do. “Go to Israel, Gomer.”

She looked at him, startled, and wiped her tears. “Why?”

“Because both you and Israel have an incurable lust for sin. Israel will value her prostitutes until Assyria crushes Samaria to rubble. I don’t know when it’ll happen, but I know Yahweh has given up on Israel—and I’ve given up on you.”

“Good,” she said, raising her chin. “You were a fool to ever love a harlot.” With the hardness he’d first glimpsed in Jeroboam’s temple, she turned and walked away.

“Hosea, you can’t let her go.” Yuval’s near panic stirred the older children’s weeping. “She has no provisions, no silver. She’ll never make it to Israel. She’ll die in the wilderness.”

He sat on the ground with Ammi and called the other two into his arms. Hosea quieted them against his chest, nodding in Gomer’s direction. “She has rejected Yahweh and her family. You can do whatever you must, but she is dead to us, Yuval.”

• H
OSEA
8:9–10 •

The people of Israel went to Assyria. . . . Even though they sold themselves among the nations, I will gather them now.

G
omer stormed through Hosea’s courtyard gate, nearly breaking it off its hinges. She heard the chickens clucking and noticed he’d added a cow to his stable. Maybe he was finally letting go of some of that silver he’d stashed away. He never spent a shekel on gifts for his wife—when she was alive.
She is dead to me
, he’d said. Well, he was about to discover that dead people steal valuables in very real shoulder bags.

She burst through the door, tripping over Sampson. He screeched and scampered away but danced around her legs when he realized who’d come home. She lifted him into her arms, enjoying his soft purring. “At least someone is happy to see me.”

“Can you blame them, Daughter?” Yuval’s voice startled her. The old woman walked past her, removed a travel bag from its peg on the wall, and collected a few silver pieces from Hosea’s money pouch. “Start wrapping cheese and bread.
You’ll need as much as you can carry to get to Israel through the wilderness.”

Gomer held Sampson, paralyzed by confusion. “The wilderness? Wait. Are you helping me steal from Hosea?”

“He said to do what I must. And you must go through the wilderness if you hope to avoid Hananiah’s wrath and Israel’s troops.”

Gomer set aside the cat and helped Yuval wrap food at the worktable. When the pack was full, Yuval stared at her. “Hananiah will have guards posted on Judah’s main roads. He’s a dangerous man, but now he’s lethal because you’ve shamed him. So you must stay off the trading paths, but you mustn’t travel too closely to the Salt Sea. Its water is tainted, so you’ll need to find oases or slip into small villages at night.”

“But how will I know where to go if I don’t follow a path?”

“All those journeys with Amos taught me a thing or two about traveling, and I’m going to give you a quick lesson. You’re going north, so keep the sun on your right in the morning, at your back all day, and on your left in the evening. The desert is unforgiving—unspeakably hot during the day and deathly cold at night. You must find shelter for the most extreme temperatures during the day. Any kind of shelter will do—a boulder, a scrub bush, a cave. But if you choose a cave, throw rocks inside before you enter to alert any wild beasts.”

Panic rose within her. “I can’t travel alone in the wilderness! I barely made it to Tekoa from Jerusalem. I have no idea how to protect myself against lions, bears, jackals—and what about the snakes?”

“Wild beasts are the least of your worries, Daughter. Keep a fire lit at night, and they’ll keep their distance. Vipers are the only poisonous snakes, and desert cobras are the most lethal, but snakes in general will flee unless you step on them or they feel threatened. It’s the soldiers you need to fear.”

“Soldiers? Hananiah has no influence outside of Judah. Once I get into Israel, I won’t have to worry about soldiers. I can travel on main roads again, right?”

The question shattered Yuval’s instructive countenance and propelled her into a fierce embrace. “King Uzziah has received word that Israel’s military is on high alert. Assyria has begun a siege against Arpad in the north, and they’re pressing hard against Damascus on Israel’s east side. Tensions are high. Menahem’s soldiers have orders to attack first, ask questions later.” The words tumbled out as if she had to speak them before she lost heart. “You are no safer on the roads of Israel than in Judah. I will pray for your wisdom to survive.”

Yuval’s instructions assaulted Gomer’s mind and joined Hosea’s words like a clashing cymbal.
Israel will value her prostitutes until Assyria crushes Samaria to rubble.
It seemed the terrible irony of her life had come to this. “I will return to Israel—and die like the harlot I was at first.”

Yuval released her and then held her shoulders, staring hard. “You don’t have to return to harlotry, Daughter. Find a way to survive until you reach a city in Israel, and perhaps Yahweh will open a door for you to work in a pottery workshop.”

She brushed Yuval’s cheek. “Perhaps the sky will rain silver, and a handsome king will walk out of my dreams and carry me away to a faraway, peaceful land.” She hoisted the bag onto her shoulder, smiling sadly at her optimistic friend. “I wish the world was as kind as you are.” She grabbed a water skin on her way to the door.

“Gomer, wait.” Yuval untied her belt, removed her outer robe, and slipped off her sandals. “You’ll have a better chance at finding work with a potter if you don’t wear that.” She removed Gomer’s shoulder bag and untied her belt, then replaced the harlotry garb with her own woolen robe.

Fresh tears stung Gomer’s eyes. “So you would give me the robe off your back, my friend? What more can you give me but your lifeblood, eh?” She hugged her and wept.

“Yahweh is my lifeblood, Daughter, and He can renew your life too—if you let Him.” Gomer released her and started
to protest, but Yuval placed a finger on her lips. “I know it seems impossible, but the answer is so simple—not easy, no. But simple. If you would only believe.”

Gomer leaned down and kissed her feather-soft cheek. A fleeting vision of her old friend Merav invaded her thoughts. Why had the gods played such a cruel trick—placing the same face and the same kind heart in separate bodies—haunting Gomer with the memory of a friend taken too soon, and another she must now leave behind? “Wanting it to be true doesn’t make it so, Yuval. If that were the case, you’d be my ima, and I’d have a husband who loves me.”

The scorching sun seared Gomer’s already blistered face. She lifted the water skin to her lips once more. Sucked on it. As dry as the dusty hills around her. She hadn’t tasted water for three days. Why couldn’t Hananiah have brought his royal princess for a rue drop in the springtime? At least then she could have fled for her life when the wadis flowed with mountain thaw.

Gomer sat in the shade of a lonely scrub bush, shuffling through her travel bag for her last piece of bread. Moldy. How long had she wandered in the wilderness? What did it matter? No one would find her body anyway. The jackals would pick her bones clean. A pack of them had circled her campfire every night since . . . well, for a long time.

She checked the sun over her shoulder. It hadn’t moved. Yuval would be proud of her. She’d remembered the old woman’s instructions.
Keep the sun at your back all day.
How had her face become so blistered with the sun at her back?

She must be somewhere in Israel by now. She had counted six days before her mind grew muddled.

A faint sound in the distance clattered like a cymbal falling to the floor. Not a wilderness sound. A people sound. She listened harder. Her heart pounded. It was a soldier sound.

Many soldiers.

She’d lay her head on this bag and rest a moment. Should she find the soldiers? Would they help her or kill her?

A sudden splash of water revived her. “What?” She sat up, her head swimming. The sound of men’s laughter surrounded her.

“Well, she’s alive after all.” A large soldier nudged her ribs with his sandal. “You got a name?”

Gomer shielded her eyes, trying to judge by his armor if he was Judean or Israelite. He stood in the sun’s glare. She couldn’t tell.

He kicked her this time, and she curled into a ball, gasping. “I said, you got a name?”

“Yes. I’m Gomer.”

“Gomer, eh?” He crouched beside her. “Complete.”

She furrowed her brow, unsure what he intended.

“Your name. Gomer. It means
complete
.” He stood and announced to the rest of his troop, “She looks like a
complete
mess to me, but maybe our girls can clean her up and make her useful.”

“Wait.” Her voice sounded more like a croak. Her tongue swollen and sticking to the roof of her mouth. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Israel, Complete. And you’ve just been acquired by Pekah, one of King Menahem’s officials, to serve General Eitan’s royal guard.” He turned and began shouting orders; a whole band of people scurried at his command. “You two, load her into that cart. She doesn’t look like she can walk with the rest of the harlots yet. You, Atarah, as soon as she can walk and dress, I want her serving with the rest of the women. How many did we lose at the last town?”

Through a haze of confusion, Gomer watched this woman named Atarah give a trembling report to Pekah. “Two women died from dysentery at the last town, my lord.”

“Well, maybe Complete over there can do the work of two women when you get her healed up.” He grabbed her throat and pulled her face to within a handbreadth of his own. “We
can’t stop moving, Atarah. General Eitan has ordered us to Arpad, and we must arrive in time to observe Assyria’s pillage tactics. If you make me late, I will practice what I learn on you. Do you understand?”

Atarah nodded but made no sound. Pekah shoved her away, turned, and pressed on—shouting orders again to the men under his command.

Gomer felt herself being lifted, gasping at the sharp pain in her side where the officer’s sandal had left its mark. The name
Eitan
floated through her consciousness like a familiar spirit in a recurring nightmare.

The woman Atarah leaned over and whispered, “If you have a god, Gomer Complete, pray that it kills you now. That would be the most merciful fate for a harlot in Israel these days.”

Gomer laid her head back and let the jostling cart shake her into darkness. Her last thought—regret that she’d kept the jackals away.

Hosea hurried to Uzziah’s rented house, wondering what could be so urgent that the king would call him away from his students at midday. He’d noticed Isaiah’s absence from class and prayed Aya was all right. She was expecting their second child, but it was too early for her to deliver.

He emerged from the sycamores, entering the clearing where Uzziah’s camp had become a small village. “Unclean, unclean” was now little more than a whisper.

Isaiah stood beside his cousin near the audience tapestry, arms folded over his chest. Hosea sensed the tension immediately. “I came as quickly as I could, my lord. What’s happened?”

Uzziah’s eyes, visible between the bandages, remained alert—but today they radiated fear. “We received word during the early rains that the Assyrians continue to press their campaign west. They’ve seemed content to let raiding
parties harass most towns, except for Arpad. The siege ended recently—Arpad has fallen.”

“Arpad is more than a full moon’s march north of Samaria. Isn’t it good news that Assyria is moving away from us?”

“If it were anyone except King Pul, we might rejoice that he’d conquered a fortress so far north, but Assyria won’t be satisfied until they rule the earth. When victory over Arpad was imminent, King Pul summoned the coalition kings I had been trying to rally. He
requested
their presence for the final phase of his conquest. Menahem and his royal guard obeyed King Pul’s summons and began their way north with a reported tribute of 75,000 pounds of silver.”

Hosea squeezed his eyes shut and expelled a long, defeated breath. “That’s not good news.”

“It gets worse. Reports are flooding in of Pul’s intimidation tactics, displaying Assyria’s barbaric torture practices on Arpad’s citizens in the days after the conquest. They’re waiting until all the coalition nations arrive with their tributes to finish Arpad’s king and his advisors. If Menahem and the other kings pay their tribute to Pul, my dream of a coalition dies, Hosea. That silver will finance the Assyrian war machine’s march across the earth—and into Judah.”

Hosea felt as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet. “If the coalition is already gathered at Arpad, how am I to help, my lord?”

“Indeed!” Isaiah’s eyes flashed, his outburst startling Hosea. “There’s no reason for Hosea to risk his life.”

“Risk my life, King Uzziah?” Hosea glanced from one friend to the other. “What exactly are you asking of me?”

“I’m asking you—
Judah
is asking you—to travel to Arpad and reason with King Menahem before he pays tribute to Assyria. One man on a camel can reach Arpad in fifteen days, and my spies tell me the Assyrians’ torture is planned to last until the new moon.”