In the Shadow of Jezebel (25 page)

Jehoiada locked her head between his hands. “Stop this!” he screamed, startling her into silence. His face twisted in agony. “I love you, Jehosheba. Can you hear me?” He shook her. “Can you hear me? I. Love. You.”

Suddenly she felt like a filthy rag, used up and wrung out—no more strength, not even enough to argue. She closed her eyes. Wilting.

“No, Jehosheba, don’t leave me.” He shook her again. “Say something. I’d rather you yell at me! Kick, shout, cry. Say something. Don’t leave me!” He broke into sobs, cradling her head gently now.

Sheba opened her eyes, saw a kernel of hope in his expression, and determined to crush it. “Did your first wife kick and shout and cry when you couldn’t give her children?” The horror on
his face almost made her falter, but one more question burned on her tongue. “How long did you lie to her before she realized you’d betrayed her—
Priest
?”

Sheba stared defiantly, ready for Jehoiada’s fist to land its first blow. Instead, gasping for breath, he released her and scooted away. Unable to watch another person walk out that door, she buried her face in the wool-stuffed mattress and let quiet tears escape. She felt wretched, certain she’d finally become Athaliah’s spawn—as heartless and insane as a true queen of destiny.
But I cannot betray
as I’ve been betrayed.
She would rather die than inflict this kind of pain on another.

“Jehosheba.” A hand rested on her shoulder.

She shrieked, startling Jehoiada, who still sat beside her. “Why are you still here?” she snapped.

“Where else would I go?” His voice was infuriatingly calm, challenging her expectations, forcing her to reason.

She glanced at the small bedside table, the neatly stacked baskets of clothing and linens in the corner. “Of course, the high priest must live on Temple grounds. I’m the intruder here.” Her heart beat wildly, but her reasoning powers were returning. She scooted off the bed, wondering where she might go. The palace? No, she couldn’t face Ima. Maybe she could find Keilah and her widows in the City of David. Living with one wicked woman was no different than living with another.

Jehoiada grabbed her arm, sitting her back on the bed. “I didn’t betray you. I thought you knew.”

She jerked her arm away, thoughts racing. He was trying to trick her. How could she have known? She’d been a Baal priestess who knew nothing of Yahweh’s Temple or its priests. But Abba Jehoram . . . She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face, the wounds on her cheeks stinging at the touch. “Abba knew, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Did Hazi know?”

“I’m not certain.” She glared at him, and he studied his hands. “I think so.”

She left him sitting there and began packing a few items in
a small shoulder bag.
What will I need
to live with widows on the streets? Will people recognize
me immediately?
Perhaps she could trade one of her linen tunics for a plain woolen robe.

Sheba sensed Jehoiada’s approach but kept her back turned, hoping he’d pass by and walk out the door. She bent over to pick up her ivory comb and placed it in her bag. Perhaps she could sell it and buy bread for the widows.

Jehoiada’s hand slid around her waist until his strong arm pulled her against him. Her breath caught, heart still pounding. He pressed his lips to her ear. “I was wrong to shut you out last night, Jehosheba. When I saw Keilah with the baby at Shavuot, my lifelong failure to produce a child haunted me in the hopeful face of my beautiful young wife.” His voice broke. “I’m sorry I was too proud to share my pain. If I had, you would have discovered last night that I didn’t intend to keep my past from you.”

Jehosheba stood like a crumbling pillar, terrified of this man’s power over her. Did he truly love her, or was he a gifted liar like Hazi and the rest of them? She couldn’t give him her heart again—for if he broke it once more, it would end her.

The trembling began in her shoulders—and grew to quaking as Jehoiada waited for her to respond. She dropped the bag and grabbed fistfuls of her hair, her breathing ragged, her mind becoming muddled. What should she do? Where could she go? A low whine started deep in her throat. As she clawed at the wounds on her face, the pain distracted her from the here and now.

“Jehosheba, no! Shh, my love.” Jehoiada seized her wrists and then led her toward the bed. “Shh. Come here.”

She thought he meant to bed her, and panic nearly blinded her. “No, please! I can’t give myself to you now.”

“I only want you to lie down,” he whispered. “I won’t ask anything of you.” He cradled her elbow, guided her to the bed, and eased her head onto the lamb’s-wool pillow. Still shaking, she let him cover her with a linen sheet.

He sat beside her, brushing sweaty hair from her forehead. “I’ve never lied to you, Jehosheba. Our marriage happened quickly, but we both agreed it was ordained by Yahweh. Re
member? I heard Yahweh speak through the Thummim, and you realized He was at work when both Athaliah and Jehoram independently contrived our marriage.”

She closed her eyes slowly, then opened them. Almost a nod.

It was enough to invite more words from her husband. “Though I’m not perfect, I’ve never betrayed you, and I never will. Baal is a lie, Jehosheba. In the palace, people lie. But Yahweh is truth—perfectly dependable—and He has sealed a covenant of love with us that He’ll never break. Don’t let lies from your past tarnish the hope of our future. Trust Yahweh first, and then trust me.”

The gentleness of his voice eased her shaking, but so many emotions and questions chased in circles around her mind.

“Do you want to talk?” The mere question sent her into renewed trembling and tears. “Okay, no talking,” he amended quickly. “May I lie down beside you while you rest?”

She nodded. More tears, less trembling.

Jehoiada lay facing her. He closed his eyes too, and she fell into a fitful sleep.

L
EVITICUS
24:5–6, 8–9

Take the finest flour and bake twelve loaves of bread. . . . Arrange them in two stacks, six in each stack, on the table of pure gold before the L
ORD
. . . . This bread is to be set out before the L
ORD
regularly. . . . It belongs to Aaron and his sons, who are to eat it in the sanctuary area, because it is a most holy part of their perpetual share of the food offerings.

J
ehoiada edged slowly onto the bed, trying not to jostle his sleeping wife. She’d been resting all afternoon, giving him time to think, to pray.
Lord
,
please
don
’
t
let
my
sin
and
the
sins
of
others
destroy
this
precious
lamb
.
He glanced around their bedchamber, making sure everything was ready for when she awoke—clean linens, a fresh robe, pitchers of fresh water.

Tears clouded his vision as he lay next to Jehosheba, studying this gift from Yahweh. He’d rehearsed her hysterical words again and again, trying to make the irrational, rational.
I am
not your love . . . Yahweh is a lie . . . Give me to
Mot . . . Kill me now before Yahweh’s wrath devours me
like it has Abba . . .
Then her piercing words about his first wife, meant to destroy him. Jehoiada thought Jehosheba had overcome the ravages of
Athaliah’s abuses, but he was wrong. The inner wounds were still healing, torn open with devastating consequences.

Hazi had seen enough of Jehosheba’s collapse to frighten him. He’d returned shortly after she fell asleep, quietly knocking on the outer chamber, escorted by Zev and Zabad.

“Did you know about my first wife and our childlessness?” Jehoiada had asked.

The guilt written on Hazi’s face answered for him. “Who told her?”

“The point is—
you
didn’t tell her. I thought she knew, so she found out from someone else and feels betrayed.” Jehoiada spoke in a whisper at the doorway, not wishing to wake his wife. When Hazi studied his bare feet like a scolded student, Jehoiada instructed Zabad to fetch Nathanael, requesting the extra linens, water pitchers, and basins. The chief gatekeeper eagerly obeyed and hurried down the hall, knocking on side chambers to find the second priest.

When Zabad left, Hazi finally spoke. “Zibiah is very upset that Sheba called her a liar.”

Jehoiada stared at his brother-in-law, incredulous. “I suppose Jehosheba thought Zibiah broke her promise about keeping silent.” Indignation rose up, causing the overdue question to be asked. “Explain to me how you could sentence your sister to a life of barrenness without even gaining her consent. The Law gives all Jewish maidens the right of refusal before they enter into a betrothal . . .” He stopped, realizing how foolish he sounded. Why would Jehoram and Athaliah care about the Law of Moses?

“Jehoiada, you’re making too much of this.” Hazi broke into his charming smile, bracing the high priest’s shoulder like an old friend. “Sheba is a strong woman. She’ll overcome this, and she’ll have lots of nieces and nephews to bounce on her knee—”

“Don’t you dare.” Jehoiada ground out the words as Zabad arrived with Nathanael.

The second priest toted fresh linens over his arm. “Jehoiada, you’re bleeding!” Nathanael wiped blood from the sacred breastpiece and pointed to a smear on the ephod.

Hazi’s face drained of color. “What did you do to her? I want to see my sister!”

He tried to push past the chamber door, but Jehoiada stopped him, tears choking his voice. “She cut her face on my breastpiece, offering her own blood to Baal
or
Yahweh. Her mind is confused, and she’s frightened. She
will
have peace in this chamber.” He released Hazi, who stumbled backward into Zev’s arms, dazed, speechless.

In the awkward silence, Nathanael took charge. “May I suggest Eliab perform the high priest’s duties tonight and tomorrow while you tend to your wife’s needs?” Jehoiada nodded, and Nathanael turned to Hazi. “My lord prince, might I ask if you would send something from the palace that might refresh Lady Jehosheba? Perhaps her favorite food or some luxury we don’t have here?” The capable second priest continued his detailed planning at the door, and Jehoiada slipped inside and melted onto the embroidered couch.

Finally, Nathanael entered and closed the door, leaving the two men alone. The second priest helped Jehoiada stand and then began removing the priestly garments—crown first, then he unwound the turban. Nathanael had just removed the breastpiece and ephod when they heard another slight knock. Zabad let himself in, followed by three priests, each carrying a fresh pitcher of water, a basin, and a towel. Nathanael waited until the others left before removing the high priest’s tunic, giving Jehoiada a chance to wash the scratches on his face before donning a fresh woolen robe.

“Thank you,” Jehoiada said as his second took away the golden garments and dirty water. “I don’t know how I can ever repay your kindness.”

“There are no debts in Yahweh’s service. It is my privilege to serve you—and Him.” He bowed, maneuvered the door open with his elbow and foot, and then turned. “I’ll leave a tray of bread and cheese outside your chamber for this evening’s meal.” And he was gone.

Jehoiada’s stomach rumbled at the thought. A dusky amber glow lit the bedchamber now. The evening service would soon be starting.

Jehoiada found the food tray outside the door as Nathanael promised but didn’t want to eat without Jehosheba. So he lay beside her, watching her sleep, aching to touch her.

Dried blood from the breastpiece cuts had pasted clusters of hair to her cheeks and forehead. Long, black lashes lay in clumps, dried together with tears. The front collar of her gown was bloodstained—but all this could be washed away.
Yahweh, how do I
heal what’s broken inside her?
What lasting scars caused her to yearn for Mot and doubt Yahweh? What emotional cruelty had created the need to pack a bag and flee at the first sign of conflict?

His stomach rumbled again, and this time he blamed anxiety. The sound roused his wife, her face so peaceful—until she glimpsed him lying beside her. Her eyes filled with tears, and the trembling began instantaneously.

“What are you doing here?” She bolted upright, looking at the dusky glow from the window. “Why aren’t you at the sacrifice? Where is your breastpiece? Your ephod?” Her breathing grew ragged. “You’re heaping more of Yahweh’s wrath on me.”

Jehoiada lay still, speaking quietly. “Did you know that your ancestor King David once ate the holy showbread?”

Her only response—blinking streams of tears down her cheeks. At least she was looking at him, holding his gaze, listening.

“When Saul was still king of Judah, David fled his murderous attempts and was hungry when passing through Nob. Ahimelek the priest had just replaced the sacred showbread with fresh loaves at the Tabernacle. David and his men ate the old showbread—though the Law said it should only be eaten by priests.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her response.

She turned her back to him, curling into a ball. “I don’t care about showbread.”

She might not care, but her trembling had eased and her crying abated. Perhaps apathy was better than panic—for now. Jehoiada scooted off the bed, retrieving a pitcher of water and washbasin with a clean cloth. He walked to the other side of the bed, placed the basin on the table, and poured fresh water
over the cloth. He wrung it out and began dabbing her face. She didn’t resist.

It was a start.

After a few more damp cloths, her hair began to loosen from the wounds on her cheeks and forehead. He gently pulled it away and began explaining again. “I am consecrated showbread, my love. Sometimes I am present in the Holy Place before Yahweh, but on other occasions—like tonight—I am given over for a special purpose.” He wiped her fresh tears with the cloth. “I am showbread to nourish a daughter of King David.”

She turned away and shook her head, shame as visible as the blood that stained her robe. “I am a priestess of Baal, not a daughter of David. I am Athaliah’s daughter—not by blood but by careful training. We were pretending I could become something else.”

He leaned down to kiss her. She turned away. So he brushed his lips against her ear. “We were not pretending. You
are
becoming something else, with Yahweh’s help and my love. All your life, you’ve been abused by those who should have protected you. But it wasn’t your fault, Jehosheba. It’s something that happened to you, not who you
are
.”

Her eyes grew distant. She’d withdrawn again, the shutters closed on the windows of her soul. Gone, and he didn’t know how to bring her back.

Serve her.
The words blew over his heart like a warm breath, giving direction.

Remembering the servants he’d observed at the palace, thinking of Nathanael’s humble spirit, Jehoiada busied himself around the chamber. He carried the embroidered couch from the outer room, lifted his wife’s empty shell, and laid her on the couch. Her head rested on its edge. He placed an empty basin on the floor and released her long, black mane over the armrest. He knelt beside her, one hand pouring water from a pitcher while the other massaged the blood and sweat from her hair. The aroma of acacia and lavender filled the chamber, scented oils Hazi had brought from the palace that Jehoiada worked into the taut muscles in her neck and shoulders.

Eyes closed, she began sobbing quietly. He kissed her fore
head, her cheeks, her lips, continually rinsing her hair, massaging the oils into her silky skin, cherishing the precious gift Yahweh had given him. Words would only betray the moment. Fine arguments, deception, and broken promises had driven her to this brokenness. It was time for action—time to live the truth he’d touted so long.

He reached for one of the wool towels to wrap around her wet hair, but Jehosheba clutched his neck, deep, racking sobs shaking her. He laid everything aside and drew her into his lap on the floor, rocking her as she poured out her pain. Time held no purpose. Love had no bounds. The chamber was completely dark by the time she grew quiet, and Jehoiada’s legs had progressed beyond cramping to utterly numb. He laid her on the goatskin rug and stood, stretching in the moonlight.

“I’m sorry.” Jehosheba’s small voice was barely audible even in the black stillness.

Jehoiada rushed to lift her to the bed. She weighed no more than a yearling ram. “No, my love. No,” he said, wishing he could see her face. “There’s no need for apologies.” He waited, but the silence stretched into loneliness. He lay beside her again.

“I’m afraid.”

He found her hand in the darkness, cradling it in his own. “Whatever comes, we’ll face it together. Yahweh will never leave us.”

Yahweh, give
me understanding to speak when You’ve given wisdom and
listen when she’s ready to share.

Sheba woke to the sound of hushed voices in the outer room. “Jehoiada?” Trembling, she saw his face at the bedroom door almost immediately. He looked exhausted.

Keilah appeared behind him, and Sheba’s heart stopped beating. She heard herself gasp.

Jehoiada hurried to the bed and sat beside Sheba, his huge frame moving side to side, keeping her from seeing the wet nurse. “Keilah was worried when she didn’t see either of us at the sacrifice this morning. She was just leaving.”

Sheba’s mind reeled. “Do you want her to leave? Are you angry that she came?” In the new light of dawn, she wondered if she might trust Keilah. Had she been silly to think the nursemaid might have intentionally hurt her?

Jehoiada looked perplexed. “No, no. I thought
you
would want her to leave. She came to me crying, confessing that she was to blame for your pain—the one who told you about Anna.”

“Anna?” The name escaped on a sob, piercing Sheba’s heart. “Was that your wife’s name?”

A shroud of shame swept over Jehoiada’s face, and he seemed to struggle with control before leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Yes, my love, her name was Anna. There is much we need to discuss.”

Sheba glimpsed the back of Keilah’s robe and heard the outer door click. “Wait! Don’t let her leave!” she shouted, startling her husband. He looked hurt, but she had to explain to Keilah. “This wasn’t her fault,” she said through tears. “She can’t believe this was her fault, Jehoiada. Please.”

He nodded somewhat reluctantly and left their bedchamber about the time Sheba heard more voices.

“Keilah! I’m so glad to find you here.” It was Zibiah’s voice, and then Hazi chimed in, chattering at Jehoiada. Sheba wanted to find a hole and crawl in it. She couldn’t face everyone at once.

“Sheba?” Zibiah appeared at the door, hope and trepidation sketched in equal parts across her face. She gathered Keilah under her wing, and the two stepped together across the threshold into Sheba’s sanctuary.