Free Love In A Broken Vessel by Mesu Andrews Page A

earning more than one backward glance. Asherah’s groves. That’s where she’d go! She reached into her pocket, fingering the nose ring, gold chains, and earrings she’d taken from the brothel—Tamir owed her that much. Perhaps if she offered them to Asherah, the great goddess of abundance would show her the right path for her life.
    Gomer hurried toward the city gates, struggling against the flow of incoming travelers. The grove would be deserted this time of day. All the better for an anonymous offering from a married woman. The veil would cover everything except her eyes so the priestess wouldn’t recognize her. She found herself suddenly thankful for Hosea’s gift.
    She strayed from the main road, following the path lined with oak trees south of the city. The lush green leaves reminded her that Baal had responded to the child sacrifice—in spite of Merav’s foolish heroics. The old woman had given her life to save a baby that wasn’t even her own. How senseless. Now Gomer had lost her friend, the baby was dead, and the leaves were green. Why not give the gods what they wanted and hope they left you alone? Unlike Hosea’s incessant deitywho wanted to badger humans into some sort of continual conversation. How exhausting to worship a god so needy.
    The path spilled into a clearing surrounded by poplar, oak, and terebinth trees—Asherah’s sacred grove. The most beautiful place on earth. She inhaled a cleansing breath, enjoying the sweet aroma of fresh sacrifice. Lamb , she thought. Though she’d served at the temple for only two years, she’d learned the distinct aroma of each sacrifice—each scent sending a unique message to the holy queen of heaven. Occasionally, she missed the grandeur of the temple, but never the routine.
    Once inside the clearing, she looked up, listening to the breeze tickle the leaves. Silver and green boughs greeted her. Welcome home. Lifting her arms, she danced in a circle, laughing with a freedom she hadn’t known since Merav’s death. But I hear no bells. She would never again wear bells around her ankles and wrists and waist. The realization slowed her dancing, quenched her joy, and then she realized—her veil had fallen to the ground.
    Instinctively, she reached down to grab it, but another hand snatched it away first. Gomer met the stare of Asherah’s high priestess. “I taught you at a very young age what the punishment would be if you were caught wearing a veil in public, Gomer.”
    “But I’m married! I’m supposed to wear that veil!” She reached for it, but the priestess yanked it away.
    “Guard! Take the harlot to the elders.” A slow, satisfied smile creased her lips. “I’m sure many of Samaria’s leaders will observe your trial with interest.”

    Hosea sat on the completed two-wheeled cart, packed and ready for tomorrow morning’s journey. Leather straps secured baskets stuffed full of supplies, creating a seat suspended between two wheels—a brilliant design by Hosea’s missing wife. Where could she be? Gomer had left for the market just after midday, and now the sun was sinking in the west.
    “I can go look for her,” Isaiah offered for the third time. “No one in Samaria has seen me with Gomer. I’m the safest choice.”
    “I’m not sure she’d come back with you.” Hosea tried to muster a grin, but it died when he glimpsed his friend’s face.
    “I’m sorry, Hosea.” The words were whispered, a struggle for composure.
    “What do you mean? Why are you sorry?”
    “I’m sorry for a lot of things,” he said, taking a deep breath and beginning to pace. “Jonah was right. I was jealous when you received Yahweh’s call before me. I tried not to be, but I was. And when I saw Gomer, I was jealous again because she’s so beautiful, and she was so lost and needed a protector.” Isaiah stopped pacing. “But I’m most sorry because I thought Gomer was beneath us—unworthy of love or forgiveness.”
    Hosea bristled, but he let his friend