The Strength of His Hand by Lynn Austin Page B

oxen, the soft swish of olive branches in the wind, the taste of cold spring water on a hot, dusty day.
    She sat outside holding baby Tirza on her lap, watching little Jerimoth explore the outdoors. At first the open spaces had frightened him after knowing only the safety of their tiny courtyard garden. But once he adjusted, he wanted to experience everything at once— watching the servants milk the goats, picking early grapes from the vineyard, playing hide-and-seek among the olive trees. He already felt at home, too.
    But even as Jerusha watched him run and play, she couldn’t shrug away her growing unease. Eliakim’s elaborate story and false cheer hadn’t fooled her. Something was wrong. All afternoon she had listened in vain for the sound of horses’ hooves signaling her husband’s arrival. As the sun sank lower in the sky, her anxiety deepened. When he still hadn’t arrived as the family prepared for supper, Jerusha was gripped by the overwhelming fear that she would never see Eliakim again.
    She was staring down the deserted road, fighting her tears, when Hilkiah came and stood by her side, gently resting his hand on her shoulder. “Come, my child. Dinner’s almost ready.”
    “Aren’t we going to wait for Eliakim?” She watched his face, searching for a clue to the truth as she deliberately spoke her husband’s name. The sparkle in Hilkiah’s eye was missing, and she thought she detected pain in its place.
    “No, you know what he’s like when he’s working. No sense of time, that son of mine. It’s better we should eat than wait.” He turned away from her too quickly, calling, “Come on, Jerimoth. Time to wash for dinner.”
    The boy raced up to Hilkiah and hurled himself into his arms. “Is Abba here?” he asked, breathlessly.
    “Not yet, son.”
    “But I don’t want to eat without Abba.”
    “Shh … your aunt Shoshanna has dinner prepared already. We must eat. It would be rude not to eat.”
    “Abba isn’t coming at all, is he, Grandpa?”
    Jerusha froze as her son voiced her fear. She watched her father-in-law carefully, waiting for his answer. She knew that Hilkiah could never tell a lie.
    “What did your father tell you, Jerimoth?” he asked gently.
    “That he would see us later.”
    “Well, then, if it’s within your father’s power, I know he will keep his promise.”
    “Why isn’t he here yet? Where is he? It’s almost dark.”
    “How can I know these things, Jerimoth? It’s impossible to say for sure where your father is right now.”
    “Do you think he’s coming, Grandpa?”
    Hilkiah didn’t answer right away, and Jerusha saw the uncertainty in his face. She strained forward to hear his answer, knowing it would either calm her fears or confirm her suspicions.
    “Jerimoth, your father is a very busy man. A very important man. Only Yahweh can know for certain when we will see him again. Now, come. Aren’t you hungry? I know I am.”
    Jerusha hugged the baby tightly to herself and stared down the road toward Jerusalem one last time. Hilkiah’s words hadn’t revealed what he knew, but they lingered in her mind like a prophecy: Only Yahweh knew when she would see Eliakim again.
    “Grandpa?” Jerimoth asked as they washed their hands for dinner. “Can Abba’s horse see in the dark?”
    “Such questions he asks! Am I a horse that I should know such a thing?”
    The mealtime seemed strained. Hilkiah’s cousins carried the conversation, talking of relatives Jerusha had never met and past events she hadn’t been part of. Jerusha ate in silence, her worries and fears multiplying rapidly. By the time the dishes were cleared away, the children were yawning from their long day.
    “Time for bed,” she told Jerimoth.
    “I want to stay up until Abba comes.”
    “We don’t know when that will be, honey. It might be very late.” Or it might be never .
    “But I’m not tired, Mama.”
    “Then you may lie in bed and listen for Abba, and if you hear him coming you may