Song of Redemption (36 page)

“What are you talking about?” Eliakim felt a surge of panic that he couldn’t explain.

“Well, I’m their adoptive father, so it’s my duty to see that they find husbands. And what wonderful wives they’ll make, eh? They’re such beautiful girls, aren’t they? Especially now that we’ve put some meat on their bones.”

“Yes, lovely. But what’s the hurry, Abba? I think you’re getting a little carried away with all this matchmaking business. Have they told you that they want to get married?”

“Well, no, but they’re of age, and is there a healthy young woman who doesn’t want to get married and have a family? Just because
you
want to stay single doesn’t mean everyone else does.”

Eliakim tugged on his beard, his concern about this conversation rapidly mounting. “I suppose that’s true—”

“So I’ve begun to inquire around about husbands and—”

“You’ve
what
?”

“—and if I provide a nice dowry, it should be very easy to find suitable husbands for both of them.”

“Abba, why are you rushing into this? The girls seem happy here.”

“Yes, they do. And Jerusha has taken quite an interest in your building projects, hasn’t she?”

“She understands everything, Abba. She’s very bright and so easy to talk to, not silly and shallow like most other women—” Hilkiah’s laughter interrupted him. “What’s so funny? What did I say?”

Hilkiah wiped his eyes, then spread his arms wide as he looked toward heaven. “God of Abraham? How is it possible that my son, the brilliant engineer, is so stupid?”

“Stupid? Are you laughing at me because I think Jerusha is intelligent? How do you think she survived? Have you ever talked to her? I’ve spent a great deal of time with her these past few months, and I’m telling you she’s a beautiful, bright, wonderful woman who—”

Eliakim stopped short. Hilkiah had dissolved into laughter again, holding his stomach and shaking his head.

“Abba, why are you laughing at Jerusha this way?”

“I’m not laughing at Jerusha—I’m laughing at you!”

“At me? Why?”

“Because you’re in love with her, and you’re too thickheaded to realize it!”

Eliakim was speechless. He had never considered the possibility before. Was that why panic had seized him when his father spoke of her leaving? He tried to imagine the long evenings without Jerusha to talk to, and when he thought of her marrying another man, his heart leaped with fear. He stared at his father in amazement.

“Am I?”

“Yes, you crazy fool! Why else would you refuse at least two dozen excellent marriage proposals?”

Eliakim couldn’t imagine marrying any other woman. None of them could compare to Jerusha. “I-I don’t know what to say. Maybe you’re right, Abba.”

“Ah! At last!” Hilkiah leaned across the table toward him. “Now, what should my brilliant son the engineer do about it, eh?”

“Should I ask her to marry me?”

“Well, you’d save me the cost of a dowry if you did!”

Eliakim eyed his father suspiciously. “Have you really made inquiries about finding Jerusha a husband, or was that part of your little plot to trap me?”

Hilkiah rose from his seat and patted Eliakim’s shoulder. “As the proverb says, ‘A wise son brings joy to his father.’ ” He whistled as he disappeared through the door.

Eliakim sat alone at the table for several minutes, thinking about what Hilkiah had said. The entire conversation seemed absurd. He had work to finish. But when Eliakim returned to his room, he found it impossible to concentrate as his mind wandered back to Jerusha. He picked up a clay tablet and dipped his finger into the bowl of water to wipe it clean, but his hand shook, and drops of water splattered all over his parchment scrolls. He chided himself for acting so foolishly and dried his sweating palms on the front of his tunic. He was a grown man, not a lovesick youth. He had never acted this way before. But he had never before met a woman as captivating as Jerusha. He picked up the tablet again. What if his father was right? What if Jerusha decided to marry someone else? Jerusha, in another man’s arms? Unthinkable!

He recalled her sweet scent, the sound of her voice, the strange thrill he felt when he worked beside her. He remembered the foolish, giddy feeling he’d had when her hand brushed against his, and the nearly uncontrollable urge he’d had to kiss the lovely hollow of her throat. He felt a constant longing to be near her, and when he realized that she was probably sitting out in the garden right now, his heart began to race. His father was right. He was in love with her. And suddenly it mattered very much to Eliakim to know if she loved him, too.

He sprang to his feet and looked at himself in the mirror. She could never love him. He was too thin, his forehead too high, his hair never stayed in place. And Jerusha was so beautiful. He tried to smooth down his tousled hair, but it stayed hopelessly rumpled. Eliakim did his best to make himself presentable, raking his fingers through his beard and straightening his robes, then made his way breathlessly to the garden, hoping Jerusha was alone. He found her sitting on the stone bench, gazing up at the first few stars that twinkled in the sky.

“Jerusha … may I join you?” His voice felt out of control.

“Of course.”

She moved over and Eliakim sat beside her, convinced that his nervousness was obvious. He was afraid to look at her, afraid his heart would burst if her beautiful green eyes met his gaze. He cleared a lump from his throat.

“You look so serious tonight,” he said. “What are you thinking about?”

She brushed her hair from her eyes. “I was listening to your father’s laughter and thinking about my own father. I really miss him.”

Eliakim played with the hem of his tunic. “Your father was a good man, Jerusha, and a good friend. I miss him, too. He once told me that … that he wished I were his son.”

They sat in silence, and Eliakim was distressed to find himself speechless. He wanted to tell Jerusha in a beautiful, memorable way exactly how he felt about her, but his mind spun.

“Jerusha—” he began and cleared his throat again. “I’ve decided whom I want to marry.”

She turned to face him, surprised. “You have?”

“Yes. I wish I were more eloquent, but I’m not, so I’ll just say it. I … I love you. I want to marry you.” He reached to take her hand.

“Eliakim, no!” She leaped from the bench, jerking her hand away as if his touch had scalded her. She backed away from him, then covered her mouth and wept.

Eliakim stared down at his empty hands, stunned. He felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Oh, Eliakim, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, “but I can’t marry you. I can never marry anyone.”

Eliakim saw the anguish in her beautiful face, and he longed to hold her and comfort her. “But … but why not?”

She struggled to force out the words as if pulling arrows from her flesh. “Because I’m not a suitable wife for you. I … I’ve been with many men.”

Eliakim swallowed a lump of grief that had risen in his throat to choke him. “Did the Assyrians rape you?”

“Yes.”

“Jerusha, no one can blame you for that… .” he began, but it was as if she didn’t hear him. With tears streaming endlessly down her face, Jerusha told him the truth.

“It was more than rape, Eliakim. That was only the beginning. I wasn’t their cook; I was their mistress. I had a child. I don’t even know … which one … was her father.”

“Oh, God of Abraham,” Eliakim groaned, and a fist rammed into his stomach again at her words.

“She was such a beautiful baby, so tiny and perfect … with huge, dark eyes like they have, and soft, curly hair, so shiny and black …”

“Jerusha …” he whispered. He wanted her to stop. He could see that the memory caused her pain, and he felt her suffering as if it were his own.

“But they took my baby away from me the day after she was born, and … and I never saw her again. They have rituals, for their gods. They take newborn babies and—”

“Jerusha, don’t!” he said harshly, then his voice softened. “Please.”

“I’ve never told anyone about her before, not even Maacah.”

He wanted to hold her in his arms as he had that first day, but the memory of how she had recoiled from his touch was still sharp and painful. “Jerusha, it doesn’t matter to me. You were raped—you had no choice.”

“No, Eliakim. That isn’t true. You don’t know what I really am. You don’t know what they’ve done to me.”

“It doesn’t matter… .” Eliakim loved her, and he couldn’t bear to hear what the Assyrians had done to her. But Jerusha told him anyway, and her words tore through his heart like hot irons.

“I let them make me into a harlot. I became a prostitute. I let them all do whatever they wanted to me, because I was a coward. That’s why I lived when my cousins and all the others died.”

Eliakim covered his face. “Oh, God, no … no …”

“I didn’t want to die, so I let them own me and use me like an object for their own pleasure. But I did die, Eliakim. I died inside.”

“Please, Jerusha—stop!” He didn’t want to believe what she was telling him.

“You couldn’t possibly want me for your wife and the mother of your children. You don’t know how filthy I feel inside. And I can never be pure and clean again. I would pollute you. You deserve someone better than me. I’m filth—I’m garbage.”

“But you had no choice.” It was what he wanted to believe.

“Oh yes, I had a choice,” she said bitterly. “And I chose to be their prostitute.”

Eliakim felt sick to his stomach. “Dear God,” he moaned. “It’s not true.”

“I’m sorry, but it
is
true. I never meant to hurt you, Eliakim. But I knew you could never say you loved me if you knew the truth about me. You would hate me as much as I hate myself.”

Eliakim felt numb with grief and rage. The Assyrians had used and destroyed this beautiful girl whom he loved so deeply. Anger and hatred rose up inside him until they seemed to strangle all the joy and love he had ever known. He wanted to mutilate the Assyrians, by the thousands and tens of thousands, for what they had done to Jerusha—and to him, for it was as if they had violated him, as well. Somehow he would get even. He would make them pay.

“Eliakim, please … marry one of your father’s brides—a virgin, someone who could give you a happy home. You’re a member of the king’s royal council. You can’t marry a harlot.”

Eliakim looked at her, and the thought of Jerusha willingly sleeping with dozens of men was more than he could bear. He rose from the bench and walked silently into the house.

When Eliakim was gone, Jerusha stood alone in the courtyard. Above her head the dazzling stars floated and swam as she gazed at them through silently falling tears. The moon on the horizon shone nearly as brightly as the sun, bathing the empty bench where Eliakim had sat in pale yellow light.

Gentle Eliakim, with his dark, tousled hair and warm brown eyes … Jerusha loved him. In spite of all her resolve, all her efforts not to, Jerusha loved him—so much that she had told him what she had hidden from her own family: the truth about herself. Jerusha had suffered the loss of her child, her parents, her freedom, her dreams. She had felt the deep wounds of death and sorrow and grief. She had known anguish and despair and pain. But on this achingly beautiful night, none of those feelings seemed as painful to her as love. Eliakim loved her. But she could never belong to him. And she would have to live the rest of her life without him.

Eliakim slumped at his worktable, staring blindly at the drawings in front of him while Jerusha’s words echoed painfully through his heart.
“Many men … I chose to be a prostitute.”
The hatred that he felt toward the Assyrians was such a new feeling to him, yet it was so strong, it paralyzed him. In his imagination he held a sword, slaughtering thousands of them, avenging Jerusha’s shame. They would never get past his walls. They would never get their cursed hands on Jerusha again.

But Eliakim wasn’t a warrior. He couldn’t fight the Assyrians with a sword. His only weapon was his agile mind and his ability to plan and build. As the drawings in front of him slid into focus, Eliakim suddenly realized how he would fight the Assyrians—the water tunnel.

It had probably taken the Jebusites years to expand a natural cave into a usable water system, yet the tunnel King Hezekiah had proposed would be four times as long and nearly impossible to dig. How could he work fast enough to complete it before the Assyrians marched south to Jerusalem? But if he told the king that it couldn’t be done, the Jebusite shaft would be reopened. And now Eliakim knew that he would never risk even one Assyrian soldier crawling up that shaft into his city.

Fighting his anguish and grief, Eliakim lit three more oil lamps and bent over his drawings with renewed determination. He would find a way to do the impossible, a way to bring water into his city, a way to defeat the cursed Assyrians. He would get revenge in his own way.