In the Shadow of Jezebel (18 page)

“Our
wedding
may have been arranged, but our
marriage
is not an obligation. You are a gift to me from Yahweh. And please call me Jehoiada. It means ‘God knows.’ Has anyone told you what
Jehosheba
means?”

Indignation replaced her reticence. “My name is Sheba.”

“Your name is Jehosheba, and it means ‘God’s oath.’ Your saba Jehoshaphat suggested the name to your abba Jehoram to remind him of Yahweh’s enduring promises.”

The revelation quieted her, and Jehoiada wished he knew what thoughts raged behind those liquid brown eyes. He reached out to take her hand, but she skittered backward like a frightened fawn.

Frustration welled up before he could tamp it down. “What have I done to frighten you so, woman?”

“You mean besides threatening to stone me? Or maybe grabbing my hand while I was pouring your wine and bullying me when I was simply being
kind
to you?”

“That wasn’t kindness. That was a game Queen Athaliah instructed you to play with my heart.” He watched his words hit their mark. Her reply seemed to dissolve in whatever conscience she had left. “I will never harm you. Do you hear me? I squeezed your hand while you poured my wine as a solemn promise that you will never have to live a lie again. Not a threat, a promise.”

“I’m tired.” She stood abruptly. “Will I be sleeping on this couch?” The cushioned bench under the small window was the only piece of furniture besides the table in the outer chamber.

“No, Jehosheba. You’ll sleep in the bedchamber and I’ll sleep out here on the floor. But I have one more thing to discuss before we retire for the evening.”

She crossed her arms and plopped down on the cushion. “What?”

He stifled a grin. Her emotions were a ball of tangled yarn, but indignation seemed her favorite.

“The seventh day of ordination ceremonies falls on the tenth day of the month. It’s the day all faithful Judean families choose lambs to care for in their homes until Passover begins at twilight on the fourteenth day.”

Her eyes brightened. “You actually bring a lamb into your chamber and care for it?”

He chuckled at her delight. “This year,
you
will choose the lamb since I’ll be busy with the ordination, and then we’ll care for it together until Passover begins.”

Wonder showed briefly, but her trembling returned as some dark thought shadowed her features. And then panic set in. “I can’t choose your lamb. You’ll be the high priest. What if I
choose the wrong lamb?” She shuffled to her feet, eyeing the bedchamber door for escape.

Jehoiada leapt to his feet and caught her arm. She winced, and he released her, remembering her wounds. And then she stood utterly still—obedient, beaten, resigned to whatever he was about to say or do. The same resignation he’d seen when Mattan announced her role as Astarte at their wedding feast.

In that moment he realized—Mattan’s blade hadn’t inflicted the deepest wounds. Jehosheba’s inner wounds, though invisible, were far more destructive. He must allow those wounds to heal also. Like a scapegoat, his wife had borne the sins of others all her life. How much violence had been poured out on this young woman?

He laid his hand at the small of her back and kissed her cheek. “Good night, Jehosheba.”

She fled to the bedroom and shut the door behind her. Jehoiada heard distinct sounds of furniture being moved, table legs scraping the floor, rattling against the door. He chuckled to himself. She was barricading herself in the bedroom.

Another sigh—and then a wave of wonder.
Thank You, Yahweh, for speaking to Your servant.
Jehoiada fell to his knees, the frustration, the anger, the unanswered questions swept away by that holy
knowing
during their wedding ceremony. Without the certainty that Yahweh had approved this marriage, Jehoiada might have given up before it began.

2 C
HRONICLES
17:7–12

In the third year of [Jehoshaphat’s] reign he sent his officials . . . to teach in the towns of Judah. With them were certain Levites . . . and the priests. . . . They taught throughout Judah, taking with them the Book of the Law of the L
ORD
; they went around to all the towns of Judah and taught the people. The fear of the L
ORD
fell on all the kingdoms of the lands surrounding Judah, so that they did not go to war against Jehoshaphat. Some Philistines brought Jehoshaphat gifts and silver as tribute, and the Arabs brought him flocks. . . . Jehoshaphat became more and more powerful.

S
heba sat on the new stool Jehoiada had placed in their outer chamber, grinding barley into the fine flour the priests would use for tomorrow’s bread. The sun had set long ago, and she waited—rather impatiently—for her husband to return home after the crowds dispersed on this last night of the Unleavened Bread Feast. Tonight began their weeklong yihud, and she felt both terrified and anxious to know her husband more fully.

Over two weeks had passed since their wedding, and Sheba had spent most days sequestered in Jehoiada’s chamber, unable
to return to the palace and refusing to observe Jehoiada’s violent sacrifices. She’d enjoyed the days they cared for the Passover lamb together—Methuselah, she’d named him. The little beast had become so tame, they’d taken it outside the city for an afternoon hike through the Kidron Valley—making it all the more heartbreaking when Jehoiada wrenched the bleating ram from Sheba’s arms at twilight when Passover began. She’d refused to speak to him for two days, but he didn’t seem angry—not even when she stubbornly refused to participate in either feast. He said he’d rather she learn of Yahweh before worshiping Him. He wanted her to live in truth rather than living a lie.

His integrity was exasperating.

She’d slept alone in his bed every night, having barricaded the door only once. Why didn’t he kiss her again? For that matter, why hadn’t he even touched her? She knew he desired her when she noticed his eyes roam the length of her one evening. His neck turned four shades of crimson when he realized she’d discerned his interest, and he fairly shoved her into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She half expected
him
to barricade the door.

A knock interrupted her musing. Odd. Jehoiada had set a Temple guard outside so she wouldn’t be disturbed, and her husband would certainly never knock.

“Just a minute.” She set aside the grinding wheel, thankful for something to keep her hands busy during the long days alone. After wiping the grain dust from her hands, she reached for the latch. “Hazi!” She leapt into his arms, nearly knocking him over. “What are you doing here?” Joyful tears anointed his fox-fur collar.

He walked through the door with Sheba hanging on him like a necklace. “I’ve come to see how my sister is faring as a priest’s wife.” The Carite guard Zev waited outside, nodding his greeting before the door closed behind Hazi. “I’ve just attended the last day of the interminable Feast of Unleavened Bread.” He rolled his eyes. “What a lot of rules with absolutely no entertainment. I could only stand four days of their ridiculous crackers before sneaking over to the palace for some
real
bread, and they don’t even have any priestesses involved in the ceremonies. How do
they expect to attract a crowd if they don’t appeal to their sense of adventure and excitement—and need for pleasure?”

She, of course, had no idea what he was talking about, since she hadn’t attended the ceremonies, but she felt a stab of resentment at his criticism. “Did you hear any of Jehoiada’s teaching on the rituals? Did you learn anything that will help you relate to all the people you’ll meet on your Judean tour?”

Hazi had become distracted and ignored her question. Having found her grinding wheel, he pinched some flour between his fingers, letting the fine dust fall back into the trough. “So they’ve got you grinding grain like a servant girl, eh?”

“Stop your teasing.” She shoved his shoulder, eliciting the expected chuckle. “I’m quite good at it, if you must know.”

He cupped her cheek. “You’re good at everything you do, little sister. You were a good Baal priestess, and Ima was furious when Jehoiada announced your vow to turn from Baal.” He searched her eyes, concern lacing his tone. “Are you unhappy here? Has Jehoiada been unkind to you?”

“No, Hazi!” She tore her chin from his grasp. “Jehoiada has been very kind.”

He grabbed her hands and inspected the blisters. “You call this kindness?” Anger tinged his tone. “Why must you work so hard?”

“Because I choose to.” She let her gaze settle the words into his soul. “Jehoiada has forced me to do nothing, Hazi. He’s given me a freedom I’ve never known.”

Her words seemed to have the opposite of her intended effect. “Freedom? You call being locked in a guarded chamber
freedom
?”

“The guard is to ensure no one bothers me.”

“Or is it to keep away anyone from the palace who would wish to communicate with you?” Hazi’s eyes sparked with fury.

“Hazi, I don’t understand. Why are you so upse—”

“He’s upset because the Temple guard he tried to bribe came to me and ruined Queen Athaliah’s plan to pass messages to you with her secret seal.” Jehoiada’s large frame filled the door as it swung open.

Sheba’s heart was in her throat. “Jehoiada, I didn’t. I haven’t.”

“I know you didn’t.” His gaze softened. “But you would have.”

Shame silenced her like a shroud. The pain in her husband’s eyes tore down a few bricks in the wall around her heart. He was right. She would have betrayed him if a guard brought a scroll.

“You cannot keep my sister locked away like a prisoner,” Hazi challenged, but after an excruciating pause, he exhaled and tried a calmer approach. “I’m leaving tomorrow on my tour of Judah’s cities, and I need to know she’s safe, Jehoiada. You promised to protect her.”

The high priest stepped closer, nose to nose with Judah’s prince. “Why do you think I’ve cut off her communication with Athaliah?”

“You don’t know Ima Thaliah like Sheba and I know her. She thinks Sheba betrayed her when she turned her back on Baal.” Hazi thumped the big priest’s chest. “And if you turn this into a war with Sheba as the prize . . . I assure you, Ima Thaliah will kill Sheba rather than lose the battle.”

“Every guard on Temple grounds would give his life for us!” Jehoiada thundered.

“And how long could a few hundred Temple guards stand against all of Jerusalem’s watchmen?” His question silenced Jehoiada, and Hazi returned his attention to Sheba. “I leave the decision to you, Sister. Ima’s last scroll summoned you to the palace for a meeting in her chamber. You can either stay in this limestone prison until one of Ima’s assassins slips past a Temple guard, or spend an afternoon with Ima Thaliah. Your choice.”

Sheba’s vision clouded with spots, and a growing roar dulled her hearing. Breathless, she tried to speak but was unable. Jehoiada seemed just out of reach . . . and then darkness . . .

She awakened lying in her bed, Hazi seated on one side, Jehoiada on the other. The dim glow of lamplight revealed concern on both faces. “What happened?” she asked.

Jehoiada lifted a single wiry eyebrow in Hazi’s direction, and
her brother seemed abundantly contrite. “You fainted, Sheba. I shouldn’t have spoken so roughly.” He stroked the back of her hand, his eyes sincere, a single dark curl fallen onto his creased forehead. She hadn’t seen him look so grave since they’d found Abba in the quarry. “We’ve discussed a plan for you to communicate with Ima Thaliah.”

“No!” Panic rose in her chest, quickening her breathing. “It’s peaceful here with Jehoiada. I can’t leave. I won’t.”

Jehoiada gathered her into his arms, the sensation both comforting and . . . strange. He’d never held her before. Did he simply feel obligated to protect her, or did he really care? “Your brother and I discussed a plan, but nothing is settled until
you
decide,” he whispered against her ear, stroking her back. “Will you listen to Hazi and then make your decision?” He loosened his embrace, but she clung to him. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he said, his arms tightening around her again. As the three sat in silence, her heartbeat slowed, and she felt herself relax.

Jehoiada laid her gently on the lamb’s wool pillow, and Hazi cradled her hand. “I’ll tell Ima Thaliah you’re struggling to adjust to life as a priest’s wife. Grinding grain, weaving cloth . . .” He glanced at Jehoiada. “You could find some cloth for her to weave, couldn’t you?”

The high priest raised an eyebrow. “Tell the queen that Jehosheba is very busy
adapting
to her new life.”

“Right.” Hazi bounced his eyebrows at Sheba, making her smile, and then brushed her cheek. “Ima must believe she has unrestricted access to you, or your life will be in danger. If you won’t go to the palace, you must at least accept her secret scrolls.”

“The scrolls that aren’t secret anymore.” Jehoiada leaned down, tilting her chin toward him.

Sheba’s tears began again, and she covered her face, ashamed.

“What? What is it?” Jehoiada stroked her hands, coaxing them away so she could speak.

She tugged at the leather cord around her neck, drawing out the personal seal Ima Thaliah had given her.

Hazi reached out to inspect it. “Even I don’t have my own
seal yet. Where did you get this?” He inspected the design and dropped it like a hot ember when he recognized the pattern. “This is Jizebaal’s seal, adding your first initial. Did the Gevirah give this to you in Jezreel?”

“No, Ima gave it to me soon after we returned. The Gevirah planned for me to marry Yahweh’s high priest before any of us knew of Jerusalem’s raid.”

“Jezebel wanted you to marry Amariah?” Jehoiada asked.

Sheba squeezed her eyes closed. Her answer would alienate the only person who had shown her honest concern. But he deserved the truth. “The Gevirah’s plan was to wait until Amariah died—of natural causes—and then arrange my marriage. I was then to use my influence with the new high priest to incorporate idolatry with Yahweh worship, and thereby sway his decisions in central court.” She buried her face in the pillow, guilt chewing her insides.

Silence. She waited for Jehoiada’s shocked disdain, his command that she return to the palace with Hazi. Rejected, she’d be sentenced to execution, or worse—to service as one of Mattan’s priestesses. Unable to bear the silence, she peeked from beneath her pillow and found the two men staring back, wonder on their faces.

Jehoiada recovered first. “So, you’re saying Queen Jezebel had already commissioned you to marry Amariah’s successor
before
King Jehoram made the same decision in Jerusalem?”

Hazi’s mouth still gaped, so Sheba confirmed. “Yes. When Abba told me
his
plan in the quarry, I realized the gods must have been conspiring—” Sheba clamped her hands over her mouth, hoping the mention of other gods hadn’t ruined her husband’s apparent good humor.

Jehoiada again drew his wife’s hands away from her face and cradled them gently. “There are no other gods involved in this plan, Jehosheba. Only Yahweh. And on the night we left the quarry with your abba Jehoram, I was certain the king’s decision to wed his daughter to the high priest’s successor was a mistake.” He smiled sheepishly and kissed her hand, sending the most exquisite fire up her arm. “On that same night,
Yahweh chose me to be your husband and you to be my bride, and I’m so glad He did.”

Sheba stared into her husband’s eyes, her breath growing ragged. Tonight was to be the beginning of their yihud. She’d dreaded their seven days of uninterrupted solitude—until now.

Hazi cleared his throat, interrupting their intimate moment. “I must have a decision, Sheba. Will you exchange scrolls with Ima until you feel well enough for a meeting?”

Sheba’s fluttering heart suddenly turned to stone.

Hazi leaned forward, closer to the light so she could read his eyes. “Your scrolls can still report the truth. Tell Ima Thaliah that your husband is a stubborn man—no offense, Jehoiada—”

“None taken.”

“And that his age makes him less responsive to your seduction.” Again Hazi raised an eyebrow, looking distinctly uncomfortable before continuing. “I’ll explain my long visit with you tonight by saying Jehoiada showed some curiosity when I spoke to him of Baal and Astarte.”

“What?” Jehoiada and Sheba asked in unison.

The prince grinned. “We must convince Ima that Sheba’s efforts are still promising, but that my help will also be beneficial. Plus, it gives me an excuse to visit you more often when I return from my city tour.”

“But it’s not the truth, Hazi.” Jehoiada was respectful but firm.

Sheba watched her brother squirm, saw the thoughts spinning behind his eyes. “It’s not the
whole
truth, but it’s not a lie. Aren’t you curious about Baal and Astarte, Jehoiada—why so many Judeans are drawn to Mattan’s new temple?”

Jehoiada shook his head, released a sigh, and returned his attention to Sheba. “The decision is yours, Wife.
If
you write scrolls to your ima Thaliah, we’ll write them together, and we’ll be wise without lies.”