In the Shadow of Jezebel (20 page)

Ima offered a hand of assistance, but Sheba stared at it, as confused by Ima’s civility as she was by Abba’s recklessness. “Abba hardly ever drinks too much, and the only time he tried qat was to soothe tooth pain a few years ago. I remember because he became sick from it. He’d never choose to—”

“No one knows about his reaction to qat except you, me, and Hazi. The doctor who pulled the tooth is . . .” She smiled in Mattan’s direction. “Well, he’s no longer able to testify to any treatment he prescribed for your abba.” She grabbed Sheba’s arm, squeezing as if she might break it. “At Baal’s Festival of Marzeh, all of Judah will realize that King Jehoram blames himself for our sons’ deaths and guilt has driven him to unrestrained decadence. His absence at the festival will be viewed as an offense against King Jehoshaphat and his sons—the spirits we’ve gathered to memorialize. Hazi’s strong presence will dispel any doubts of his leadership ability, and the kingdom will be his.”

Sheba stared, stunned. “Hazi won’t do it. He loves Abba and won’t steal his throne. How could you pretend to love Abba all those years?”

Ima motioned Mattan toward the door with a nod and then lowered her voice for Sheba alone. “I love those who submit to my will, and I love the children issued from my womb.” Her eyes grew sharp as daggers. “Your abba broke faith when he summoned our sons without my knowledge or approval. My sons were slaughtered while he hid like a rat in a hole.” A single tear leapt over her bottom lash, but she swiped it away, seeming offended at its intrusion. “Hazi is now my only child—and you are my queen of destiny. You will
both
do as I command.” Linking her arm with Sheba’s, she added, “Let’s go visit this great man you long to see.”

D
EUTERONOMY
16:10–11

Celebrate the Festival of Weeks to the L
ORD
your God by giving a freewill offering in proportion to the blessings the L
ORD
your God has given you. And rejoice before the L
ORD
your God at the place he will choose as a dwelling for his Name—you, your sons and daughters, your male and female servants, the Levites in your towns, and the foreigners, the fatherless and the widows living among you.

J
ehoiada held his brokenhearted wife on the small couch in their outer chamber. “Abba didn’t even recognize me. He’s out of his mind with pain, writhing on a straw pallet in his chamber. Only one doctor is allowed to treat him, and that man looks like death.” Overcome, she sobbed the broken words into the sleeve of Jehoiada’s priestly robe.

“I should never have let you go,” he whispered—as much to himself as to her.

She lifted her head, pausing her tears. “I may never see Abba alive again. As difficult as it was to see him, I needed to go.”

He wrapped her in the cocoon of his priestly robe, wishing he could protect her from life’s pain. She’d already seen too much.
Yahweh, how can she endure more?
One of the Levites’ psalms came to mind, and Jehoiada laid his cheek on top of his wife’s
head. “When King Saul’s jealousy caused him to pursue David in the wilderness, David prayed to the Lord, ‘Hide me in the shadow of Your wings from the wicked who assail me, from my mortal enemies who surround me.’ Just like my arms enfold you now, beloved, Yahweh surrounded David with protection, saving him from the whole Israelite army.” Jehoiada tilted Jehosheba’s chin up, peering into her eyes. “We must both remember that
Yahweh
is the one who protects you, Jehosheba. Hide in the shadow of
His
wings, my love.” Did she realize he spoke those words as much for his own comfort as for hers?

She snuggled closer, pulling his arms around her tighter. “I must remember that Yahweh is big enough.”

The absolute innocence of her faith squeezed Jehoiada’s heart. “Indeed Yahweh is more than big enough, and though I cannot fathom how, He loves you even more than I.” She didn’t respond, and Jehoiada sensed the telltale sniffing of fresh tears. He sat her upright to search her expression. “What? What is it?”

“I’m not sure
you’ll
love me when I tell you what I’ve done.” She averted her eyes. “Mattan was waiting in Ima Thaliah’s chamber when I arrived. They plan to ruin Shavuot with a competing Baal festival called Marzeh, luring wealthy noblemen of Judah to believe lies about Abba Jehoram.”

Jehoiada tucked a stray curl under his wife’s headpiece, touched by her zeal for the Lord. “We can’t prevent people from believing lies, but we’ll continue to worship Yahweh and welcome whoever comes for Shavuot—”

“But you don’t understand,” she shouted, her eyes suddenly wild. “I betrayed you! I betrayed Yahweh! I revealed the rituals of Shavuot, and now they’ll make sure Marzeh attracts the elite of Jerusalem to Baal’s temple.” She leapt to her feet and began pacing. “Perhaps you could find out how Elijah made fire descend on Mount Carmel, or maybe somehow trick people into thinking—”

“Jehosheba!” Indignation erupted, startling his wife, leaving her frozen where she stood. “Elijah didn’t command the fire on Mount Carmel—Yahweh did. And Yahweh’s servants don’t use tricks to attract worshipers.”

She wiped away all expression, and he sensed the door of her heart slam shut. “I understand,” she said, rolling her shoulders back, straightening her spine. “May I be excused to the bedchamber? I’m tired.”

Jehoiada closed the distance between them in two steps, but she stood like a statue, her focus on his chest. “Jehosheba, please. I’m sorry I shouted again, but you must realize Athaliah didn’t summon you to discover answers about Shavuot.”

Curiosity seemed to force her to meet his gaze, and he wiped a lingering tear—and then held it out for her inspection. “
This
is what Athaliah and Mattan wanted—turmoil. They want to divide 
us
.”

“Arrr,” she growled, squeezing her eyes closed. “Why do I let her manipulate me?”

Jehoiada tilted her chin and she opened her eyes. “You’ve lived in Athaliah’s shadow all your life—as she lived in the shadow of Jezebel. Fear, distrust, and deceit were daily bread, and it takes time to break the chains binding your heart and mind. But Yahweh is faithful, Jehosheba.” He brushed her cheek tenderly. “And I get to demonstrate His love to you for the rest of my life.”

She hugged him fiercely. “I love you, Jehoiada.”

His heart nearly melted—it was the first time she’d spoken those words. “And I love you, my wife.”
Thank
You, Yahweh, for comforting us both in the shadow of
Your wings.

Priests and Levites stood reverently at dawn in the inner court while Jehoiada carried another year-old lamb to the pyre atop the brazen altar. Sheba stood at the north court gate, separate from others who lived at the Temple. Though Jehoiada had helped her make the proper sin offering—a male goat without defect—she still felt unclean, when beneath her robe she bore the scars of a Baal priestess.

The sight of her husband’s sacrifice no longer frightened her now that he’d taught her the enormous value of each offering. The daily services provided ongoing worship and atonement for the community’s unintentional sins. Each Sabbath heaped more
worship on a God who had blessed abundantly the previous six days, and each New Moon served as yet another opportunity to remember, worship, and sacrifice. Today the outer courts were already filling with faithful Judeans who’d come to celebrate Shavuot.

Gooseflesh rose on her arms as sunrise cast its glow on Jehoiada’s high priestly garments. Nathanael had arrived to dress him well before the cock crowed, as was their daily routine. This morning, however, Sheba asked if she could watch the process in their outer chamber. Nathanael seemed a bit unnerved by her presence, but Jehoiada used the opportunity to continue his wife’s education of Yahweh’s symbolic ways.

Each piece of Jehoiada’s daily golden garment was applied in order. He slept in his linen undergarment, so Nathanael helped him don the white tunic first. Then came the sky-blue robe with wool pomegranates and bells woven into the hem, cinched at the waist with a belt of embroidered wool and twisted linen. The high priestly ephod fit like an apron, held in place by two sardonyx stones at the shoulders. The breastpiece of decision hung around Jehoiada’s neck, set with twelve precious stones—three across in four rows, one for each of Israel’s original twelve tribes. Jehoiada then lowered his head, allowing Nathanael to settle the high priest’s turban in place. When he lifted his head, the golden crown with the inscription “Holy to the Lord” shone in the lamplight. Sheba had gasped at the sight, finally realizing why the priests’ garments were considered too holy to launder. When they became soiled, they were cut and twisted into wicks for the golden lampstands in the Holy Place.

“Hear, O Israel: Yahweh is our God, Yahweh alone.” Jehoiada’s declaration over the morning offering brought her back to the moment.

“Why me?” she whispered to no one, watching her husband lift his hands to heaven and then signal the Levite choir to begin their psalms. She was afraid to even whisper the real truth.
Yahweh, why did
You give me a husband so handsome, faithful, strong, and
gentle? One who loves me enough to teach me of
You? Finally, someone I can trust.

Tears coursed down her cheeks as she remembered the young priests teasing Jehoiada about marrying a beautiful young princess.
It’s I who
married above my equal.
She wiped her tears and grinned, amused that her self-assessment might conflict with Ima Thaliah’s destiny of queens.

Sheba noticed a group of older women entering the Sur Gate. Huddled together, they were followed—actually, more like herded—by a younger woman with a baby in a sling. “Shh, keep your voices down,” the young woman said. “Stay together, and don’t take food or wine from anyone except a Levite or priest. I’ll find a place near a Temple guard so that no one harasses us.”

Fascinated, Sheba listened as one of the older women tugged at the younger’s robe. “Keilah, tell us again why we can’t accept food or wine from anyone except the priests?”

“Because the beggars said Baal’s temple servants plan to offer tainted bread and wine in the Shavuot crowd, hoping to frighten future worshipers.”

Sheba’s heart was in her throat. If the rumor was true, she must warn Jehoiada. She rushed to the woman named Keilah and grabbed her arm, startling her horribly and waking the babe in the sling.

Keilah’s face paled to match the Temple limestone. “My lady?” She bowed at once, as did the women with her, and Sheba was left standing in a sea of tattered brown robes, a squalling babe the only sound.

“No, please stand. I heard what you said about the tainted bread and wine.”

Keilah stood, her shoulders slumped, head still bowed. “I spoke without knowledge. It was a rumor. I meant no disrespect against the queen or any of your family. I—”

“No! No, I don’t care about that. If you believe what you’ve heard, we must warn the high priest.”

The young woman glanced up, eyeing Sheba with suspicion.

“Please, Keilah.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I heard one of the old women—your friends say it.” Sheba
smiled at the curious faces gathered around them. “Are they your relatives?”

“Oh no, dear.” One of the toothless women grinned, pink gums shining. “Keilah is a widow like us. She shares her food with us now that she’s found work as a nursemaid—”

“Hobah, the princess isn’t interested in our woes.” Keilah herded her flock of widows toward the outer wall, settling the oldest ones on camel-hair blankets she’d brought. “Wait here while I go with the princess.” She glanced over her shoulder, and Sheba noticed her nervousness. “If I don’t return by the end of tonight’s service, you must find your way back to our safe place in the city. Know that I love you, and Yahweh will protect you.” She hurried away amid promises of prayer and comforted the babe in the sling around her waist.

As if walking to her execution, Keilah arrived at Sheba’s side and bowed. Confused, Sheba wondered why the woman was so certain the truth would bring disaster. Perhaps she was afraid to disturb Jehoiada, but the morning service had ended, meaning they had a few moments before Shavuot sacrifices began. “Do you need to care for the baby before we speak to my husband?”

“A fussy baby will give me a reason to speak quickly to the high priest and go.” She lowered her head. “I will leave the child with the widows if you command it.”

Sheba’s heart twisted in her chest. As a princess, she might have commanded it. As the wife of Judah’s high priest, she’d rather sit with this woman and hear her story. How had she become a widow so young? Whose baby was she tending?

But Keilah saw only the princess before her, or the wife of Judah’s high priest—someone she felt could hurt her; in fact, someone she seemed almost certain would. “Keilah.” She placed her hand on the young widow’s forearm, trying to put the woman at ease. “I was once a princess, but now I’m merely a priest’s wife. I live here on the Temple grounds with my husband.” She lifted her eyebrows, shaking her head. “Surrounded by hundreds of men and no women—it’s awful!”

The young widow gasped and then covered a giggle, her first sign of ease.

Sheba peeked at the baby and stroked his black curls, thankful for a distraction. She wasn’t especially fond of asking a favor or having to trust so quickly. “My husband needs to know of the Baal priests’ treacherous plan. You would serve both Yahweh and Judah with your courage—and I would be grateful if you would speak freely to Jehoiada.”

A tentative grin edged away Keilah’s fear. “I’ll try, my lady.”

“Come, I’ll introduce you, and please—call me Sheba.”

Keilah nodded and followed her through the growing swell of worshipers. Zabad stopped them at the gate separating the outer court of worshipers from the inner court of priests. “I’m sorry, Lady Jehosheba, but your friend can’t come any farther.” His expression was kind but unyielding. “Surely Jehoiada explained the inner courts are reserved only for royalty and consecrated priests and Levites.”

Keilah turned back like a frightened dove taking flight, but Sheba grabbed her arm and addressed the chief gatekeeper. “This woman must speak with Jehoiada immediately, or hundreds of Yahweh’s faithful will become ill.”

Eyes wide with surprise, Zabad hesitated only a moment before rushing toward Jehoiada, who was descending from the great altar. Sheba wrapped her arm around Keilah’s shoulders—partly to comfort, partly to ensure she didn’t flee—as they watched the two men confer.

Jehoiada hurried across the priests’ court, confusion and concern evident before he spoke. “What is it? Are you all right, Jehosheba?”

“I’m all right, but others may not be if Mattan and Ima have their way.”

“What now?” he demanded, looking utterly ferocious, brow furrowed, eyes aflame. He would have frightened Judah’s fiercest warrior.