The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

  Nathan whirled away from him and pushed through the crowd, but not before Joshua saw the tears in his eyes. The boy crossed to the opposite side of the ferry deck, facing back toward the Egyptian mainland, and leaned against the rail. Joshua let him go, giving him the solitude he desired. But as he watched Nathan from a distance, he no longer saw a rebellious, disobedient urchin but a pitiful, wounded ten-year-old child who had never known the blessings of a father’s love as he had. He realized what an awesome responsibility his own father had faced and what an excellent job he had done raising his four children. Joshua vowed to do no less.

  As the ship drew near the shore, Joshua finally crossed the deck and stood by Nathan’s side, resting his hand on his shoulder. Nathan flinched at his touch, but Joshua kept his hand firmly planted just the same.

  “What do you say, Nathan? Will you give me another chance?”

  Nathan wouldn’t look at him. “I guess so,” he finally mumbled.

  Joshua squeezed his shoulder. “I’m glad because there’s something else I need to ask, and I’m hoping you’ll say yes to that, too.” He waited until the boy’s curiosity made him look up. “Nathan, may I have your sister’s hand in marriage?”

  He didn’t wait for Nathan’s answer but guided him by the elbow down the gangplank and through the streets toward home. He knew by the look of stunned disbelief on Nathan’s face that he was incapable of uttering a single word.

  Later, it was Joshua who felt tongue-tied when it was time to ask Miriam the same question. He carried her from the dinner table outside to the rear courtyard after the evening meal so she could practice walking. Her legs had grown slightly stronger, but she still couldn’t stand or walk alone. Joshua knew it frustrated her that she didn’t have the full use of her hands, either, and couldn’t do her usual share of work.

  He set her down outside the door, supporting her so she could walk the few steps to the bench. “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded, steeling herself. Joshua could only guess how much pain she endured to walk these few faltering steps because Miriam never uttered a single complaint. “You’re very brave, you know,” he told her. “I marvel at your lack of self-pity.”

  “It frustrates me to be so dependent on everyone.”

  “Miriam, we’ve all been dependent on you for two years. It’s about time we repaid you. We would have starved to death if Tirza or Sarah had to cook all our meals . . . not to mention the fact that we’d still be wearing the same filthy clothes all this time.”

  He had hoped to elicit a smile, but her jaw remained clenched in determination, her brow furrowed as she concentrated on her task. “I won’t be this helpless forever. I’ll walk again, you’ll see.” She reached the bench in the center of the yard and sank down on it, exhausted.

  “As stubborn as you are, Miriam, I don’t doubt for a moment that you will walk.”

  When she looked up at him and saw him grinning, her face softened. “I knew your smile would be nice,” she said.

  “Will you marry me?” he asked suddenly, then laughed at the look of disbelief on her face. “You know, Nathan had the same look on his face this afternoon when I asked him for your hand.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Come to think of it, he never gave me an answer. And neither did you.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and he knew from her expression that they were tears of sorrow, not joy. “Please don’t joke,” she said.

  He crouched in front of her. “I’m not joking. I want to marry you.”

  “You’re only asking out of pity and guilt.”

  “You’re wrong. I don’t pity you. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. And it can’t be guilt because you forgave me, remember? The truth is, I need you. You’re not afraid to confront me with my faults. You’re probably the only person who can help me change.”

  “Friends help each other, Joshua. You don’t have to marry me.”

  “I know. But I want to marry you. I can’t imagine living my life without you.”

  “You couldn’t possibly want me. My mother was—”

  “So was mine.”

  “But my father—”

  “My grandfather loved Maki like a son. He would dance for joy at our wedding if he were alive.”

  “But you’re an important official, the king’s right-hand man, and I’m—”

  “Actually, I’m not an important official anymore.” A slow smile spread across Joshua’s face at the irony. “Amariah fired me today.”

  “He fired you?”

  “Yes. I’m just an ordinary builder again.” When she had no reply to that news, he took her hand in his. “Miriam, will you marry me?”

  She shook her head. “Joshua, look at me. I’m a cripple.”

  “So? I’ve been crippled by my own bitterness, but you loved me in spite of it. If you could look past my imperfections and fall in love with me, why can’t you believe that I could do the same with you?” He lifted her hand to his face and let her fingers brush his eye patch, his jagged scar. “Do you love me, Miriam? In spite of this? In spite of how crippled I am inside?”

  She lowered her eyes and nodded. Tears trailed down her cheeks.

  “Then please believe that I love you, too. Please marry me.”

  After a long moment she lifted her face, and Joshua saw the answer he sought in her beautiful smile and shining eyes.

  Part Two

  [Manasseh] did much evil in the eyes of the Lord, provoking him to anger. He took the carved image he had made and put it in God’s temple.

  2 Chronicles 33:6–7

  Hide yourselves for a little while until his wrath has passed by. See, the Lord is coming . . . to punish the people of the earth for their sins.

  Isaiah 26:20–21

  15

  Prince Amariah stood before the high priest, cradling his eight-day-old son in his arms. Today his firstborn would be circumcised, receiving the sign of God’s covenant. Deep contentment filled Amariah, and his heart brimmed with love for the God of his fathers. His thank offering burned on the altar in front of him, sending the fragrant aroma of roasting meat heavenward. The priests had also slain his peace offering, and Amariah’s guests would feast on it with him at a celebration following the ceremony.

  He had chosen Joshua to stand beside him as his next of kin, to read the Torah passage from the scroll of the Law. Joshua’s clear voice carried across the courtyard as he read the ancient words of scripture. “‘Then God said to Abraham . . .”This is my covenant with you and your descendants after you, the covenant you are to keep. . . . For the generations to come every male among you who is eight days old must be circumcised.”‘”

  The high priest’s robes billowed in a swirl of bright color as he lifted his hands in prayer. “Blessed are you, O Lord our God, who has made us holy through your Law and has commanded that our sons should enter into the covenant of Abraham our father.”

  “Amen,” Amariah breathed. He opened his eyes and looked down at his sleeping son’s face. One miniature pink hand had escaped from the tight wrappings of swaddling cloth, and as Amariah caressed it, the tiny fist closed in a grip around his finger.

  “What have you named this child?” Joel asked. As high priest, he would perform the ritual himself in honor of the community’s new heir and future leader.

  “His mother and I have named him Gedaliah—’Yahweh is honored,’” Amariah replied.

  “Amen. O Lord our God, may Gedaliah son of Amariah, son of Hezekiah, live to honor you with his life and by his adherence to your Laws, as his father and his grandfather have done. Amen.”

  “Amen,” the crowd echoed.

  Amariah passed his son to Joshua. He accepted him awkwardly, unaccustomed to holding a small baby, then finally settled his nephew in the crook of his arm. He carefully unwrapped the layers of cloth. Amariah knew he himself might draw the child away from the flint knife in an instinct of protection, but Joshua would hold Gedaliah firmly in his embrace. Ama
riah watched Joel’s face, not his son’s, as the high priest performed the sign of the covenant. In a few swift, sure motions, it was over.

  “Praise God for His blessings!” Joel shouted above the sound of Gedaliah’s wails. “Yahweh has given us an heir. His love and His promises to Israel are faithfully delivered from generation to generation. Even in exile, the House of David will continue to reign over Israel as God has promised.”

  When the service ended, Joshua carried the baby to his mother for comforting while Amariah turned to greet his friends and family members. “I want to thank all of you for coming to celebrate with Dinah and me,” he told them. “Please, join us at our home now, to share the feast of our fellowship offering.”

  As the crowd filed from the courtyard to walk the short distance to his house, Amariah waited for Joshua to fall into step beside him. “Thank you for standing as next of kin.”

  “It was a great honor. You must be very proud of your new son.”

  “You’ve always been like an older brother to me, Joshua. I’d like you to stand again at Gedaliah’s dedication when he’s a month old.”

  “When you redeem your firstborn . . .” The look of contentment on Joshua’s face suddenly vanished. To Amariah, it was like gazing at a field that was bathed in sunshine one minute, then cast into shadow the next as the sun disappeared behind a cloud. “How could Manasseh sacrifice his firstborn when God has provided redemption?” Joshua said fiercely. “How could he have been so deceived?”

  “Don’t bring my brother’s name into such a happy occasion.”

  “I’m sorry,” Joshua mumbled.

  Amariah glanced at Joshua’s troubled face as they walked, wondering what else was bothering him. “I want you to know that Dinah and I have found happiness together,” Amariah told him. “It’s time you stopped flogging yourself with guilt because you coerced us to marry. I love her. I’ve tried to treat her with gentleness and consideration, and I think that after a year of marriage and the birth of our son, she also cares for me.”

  “I know she does, Amariah. Even if she hadn’t told me so herself, I can see it in her eyes every time she looks at you.”

  Joshua raked his fingers through his curly hair, and the memory it evoked of Lord Eliakim made Amariah smile. Like father, like son. But Eliakim had possessed a peace of heart and spirit that was tragically missing in Joshua.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you, then?” Amariah finally asked.

  “I don’t know. . . . I guess the fact that you have an heir makes everything here so . . . so . . . permanent. I don’t want it to be. I want to go home. To Jerusalem.”

  “I used to be miserable here in Egypt, too, but it was because I was resisting God. Once I saw that this is what He wanted me to do, and that He would give me the strength and wisdom to do it . . . well, everything changed.”

  “But you have a job to do here. I feel as though my work was finished after I helped all of you escape. I don’t have a purpose anymore. When Hadad came up with his plan I was convinced that God was finally going to let me be His avenger. But I was wrong.”

  Amariah winced as he remembered the part he had played in the ill-fated conspiracy. He still thanked God every morning that he and Dinah had escaped. “I’m glad to hear you’re not going to seek revenge again. But what about the temple we’re building?” He turned to gesture to the courtyard in the distance behind them. “You’re the only one among us with construction experience, and you have a God-given gift for engineering, like your father.”

  Joshua stopped walking. “Each block I raise on that temple makes living here that much more permanent. Whenever there is a construction delay or a problem at the stone quarry, I feel relieved. I think maybe this isn’t God’s work after all, maybe we can finally go home. Everyone else seems to be settling down in Elephantine, but I can’t force myself to do it.”

  “You still want revenge.”

  “I can’t help myself. All day long I ask God, ‘Are you going to let Manasseh get away with murder and blasphemy? Let me do something! Let me fight for you!’”

  “Joshua, you know the words of the Torah as well as I do: ‘He is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him. . . . But those who hate him he will repay to their face by destruction; he will not be slow to repay to their face those who hate him.’ God doesn’t need you to take revenge. He needs you to build this temple, to start a new Israel, here.”

  “But I want to go home.”

  “I think you’ve confused going ‘home’ to Jerusalem with seeking revenge. This is your home.”

  “It isn’t, and I don’t know how to change that. I have my family, my work, the temple foundation is almost dug, but I still feel so lost and restless—like I’m waiting for something to change. I wish I could wake up one morning and suddenly be able to accept God’s will and live here happily. But nothing ever changes. I still long for Jerusalem. I still think about the view from the palace windows, the golden walls and gates, Yahweh’s Temple—”

  “You miss it the way it was, Joshua. But if you went back, you’d see how different it all is. You’d hate it. You have no idea what Manasseh has done. And you’ve been gone a long time. Things have probably gotten worse.”

  “That’s the work I want to do. I want to change it back. I want to help cleanse it, destroy the idolatry, make Judah the way it’s supposed to be—the way it was when our fathers governed.”

  In his own contentment, Amariah found it difficult to imagine Joshua’s restlessness. “Would it help if I made you my palace administrator again?” he asked.

  “You don’t need a palace administrator. You can govern Elephantine alone. You’re already doing an excellent job.”

  “And you’re doing an excellent job with the temple. I’m just sorry you don’t enjoy your work. When you’re finished it’s going to look as beautiful as the one in Jerusalem.”

  “Hardly!” Joshua’s voice betrayed his bitterness. “I thought for a while that by recreating Jerusalem’s Temple I could recreate my old life, but I can’t. It’s not the same.” Their eyes met, and Amariah glimpsed his friend’s profound sorrow. “Do you think we’ll ever go home again, Amariah?”

  “I haven’t heard a clear word from God either way.”

  “But what’s your personal opinion?”

  “My personal opinion?” Amariah sighed and started slowly walking again. “I can’t see myself ever living in Judah again. Maybe our sons or grandsons will return, but not us. That’s why I’m convinced that we need to work to make this our permanent home.”

  “That feels like a death sentence to me. To die and be buried here? In this place? What about the Promised Land? God gave it to Abraham as our inheritance. That’s where we belong. God could root out Manasseh with a flick of His little finger. Why doesn’t He do it, Amariah? Why does He allow evil to flourish when it’s within His power to change it?”

  “Only He knows the answer to that.”

  Joshua exhaled in frustration, and Amariah could almost see the darkness closing in around his friend. “What can I do, Joshua? How can I help you?”

  “Miriam asks me the same thing.”

  “She loves you deeply. You’re blessed to have her for your wife.”

  “I know. Sometimes she’s my only light, the only person who can keep the darkness away. I need her. . . . If anything ever happened to her . . .”

  Amariah gripped his friend’s shoulders and shook him slightly. “And I need you, Joshua. I don’t think you realize how much. Take a good look at that temple you’ve started. Do you have any idea how important it is? How much our community depends on it for our survival? We can’t possibly preserve God’s remnant and remain faithful to His laws without it. The task God has given you is the most important one in the community. I’m just a symbol, really. But the temple is the substance of our survival as long as we’re separated from our land. It’s our link to God.”

  “Do you r
eally believe that, Amariah?”

  “Yes, I do. And I think the task of building that temple is much more important to God’s plan right now than revenge. This is what He has called you to do. God says, ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay.’ All of us would like to believe that we could accomplish one brave, selfless act for God and for His kingdom. But it takes greater courage to faithfully accomplish the daily, thankless tasks of everyday life for Him—being a father to our children, a good husband to our wives, building His temple one laborious block at a time.”

  As Joshua stared thoughtfully into the distance, Amariah couldn’t tell whether or not his words were doing any good. He felt as if Joshua were drowning, and in trying to rescue him, Amariah was being dragged beneath the waves, as well. He longed to abandon his friend and return to dry ground, to eat and rejoice at his son’s feast.

  As if he had read Amariah’s thoughts, Joshua straightened his shoulders and smiled slightly. “Aren’t we supposed to be celebrating with your son?”

  Amariah sensed how much the effort to shake off his depression was costing Joshua, and he was grateful. “Yes—my son.” He drew a quick breath at the wonder of it. “In a time of exile and uncertainty, God has given all of us new hope for the future in my son.”

  16

  As dawn lit his sleeping chamber, Joshua lay on his side, gazing at Miriam asleep beside him. He had awakened early, his mind turning with plans for the day and thoughts of the past, but as he focused on his wife’s beautiful face, the world seemed manageable once more.

  Miriam’s eyes flickered open. She saw his tender gaze and smiled. “How long have you been lying there staring at me?”

  “Let’s see . . . a little more than three years now, isn’t it? I figure since I ignored you for the first couple of years that I knew you, I need to make up for lost time.” He pulled her into his arms.

  “Did you have another rough night sleeping?” she asked.