Faith of My Fathers (Chronicles of the Kings #4) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Books by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Praise

  Prologue

  Part One

  I

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Part Two

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  A Note to the Reader

  Books by

  Lynn Austin

  FROM BETHANY HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  All She Ever Wanted

  Eve’s Daughters

  Hidden Places

  Wings of Refuge

  A Woman’s Place

  A Proper Pursuit

  REFINER’S FIRE

  Candle in the Darkness

  Fire by Night

  A Light to My Path

  CHRONICLES OF THE KINGS

  Gods and Kings

  Song of Redemption

  The Strength of His Hand

  Faith of My Fathers

  Among the Gods

  www.lynnaustin.org

  Faith of My Fathers

  Copyright © 2006

  Lynn Austin

  Cover design by The DesignWorks Group, John Hamilton

  Scripture quotations identified NIV are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 978-0-7642-2992-3

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Austin, Lynn N.

  Faith of my fathers / Lynn N. Austin.

  p. cm.—(Chronicles of the Kings ; bk.4)

  Summary: “Hezekiah’s unexpected death puts his son in charge. The new king’s angry heart puts him at odds with his best friend—drawing battle lines down the middle of their fathers’ kingdom”—Provided by publisher.

  Rev. ed. of: My father’s God. c1997.

  ISBN 0-7642-2992-3 (pbk.)

  1. Manasseh, King of Judah—Fiction. 2. Bible. O.T. Kings—History of Biblical events—Fiction. 3. Israel—Kings and rulers—Fiction. I. Austin, Lynn N. My father’s God. II. Title. III. Series: Austin, Lynn N. Chroncles of the Kings ; bk. 4.

  PS3551.U839M9 2006

  813’.54—dc22

  2005028051

  Dedicated to my friend

  Catherine Pruim.

  God must have known I would need

  a special friend like you.

  The Lord is my strength and my song;

  he has become my salvation.

  He is my God, and I will praise him,

  my father’s God, and I will exalt him.

  EXODUS 15:2

  LYNN AUSTIN is a three-time Christy Award winner for her historical novels Hidden Places, Candle in the Darkness, and Fire by Night. In addition to writing, Lynn is a popular speaker at conferences, retreats, and various church and school events. She and her husband have three children and make their home in Illinois.

  Prologue

  “COME ON, JOSHUA, just tell me the main points,” twelve-year-old Manasseh pleaded.

  “You didn’t read any of the Torah lesson?” Joshua asked.

  The look of horror on his face annoyed Manasseh. “You’re such a goody-goody! It’s not like I broke one of the Ten Commandments or anything. I just didn’t get around to reading it.”

  “Rabbi Gershom is going to be furious when he finds out,” Joshua said, his face solemn.

  “So? Who cares what that old tyrant thinks. He can’t do anything about it. I’m the king of Judah, remember?

  “You’ll feel his wrath, believe me. He can make you feel guilty without even raising his voice.”

  “If you tell me what the passage is about before he gets here, he’ll never know.”

  “Oh, he’ll know—” Joshua began, but Manasseh tapped his finger on the scroll impatiently. “All right, all right,” Joshua said with a lop-sided grin. “But just this once ... and only because you’re my friend, not because you’re the king.” He unrolled the Torah scroll and found his place. “The passage we read yesterday told about the curses that God will send on us if we abandon Yahweh’s covenant, but this part says if we turn back to God, He’ll restore our fortunes and have compassion on ... Hey, you’re not even listening.”

  Manasseh had risen from the bench and crossed to the tiny room’s only window. He opened the shutters, bringing in a gust of cold air. The window faced east, with a view of the Mount of Olives across the Kidron Valley.

  “That’s because you’re boring me to death,” he told Joshua. “I don’t see why we need to study all these ancient rules and regulations, anyhow.”

  “Because they’re part of God’s Word. We—”

  “Oh, spare me the lecture! You’re as bad as Rabbi Gershom.” It irritated Manasseh that his friend showed such a keen interest in all this stuff. To Manasseh it was as dry as old bones. “What else does it say?”

  “This verse sums up Moses’ entire speech to the Israelites: ‘I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live.... For the Lord is your life, and he will give you many years in the land he swore to give your fathers.’”

  “But He didn’t do it,” Manasseh said softly.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.” He was reluctant to voice the bitterness he felt, even to his best friend. Manasseh had been thinking of his father, King Hezekiah, who had been faithful to Yahweh—more faithful than all of Judah’s kings since David. But God hadn’t given him a long life. Hezekiah’s life had ended abruptly, five months ago, at the age of fifty-four.

  “Look! The sun is shining!” Manasseh said. The gray clouds that had muffled the late winter sky for days suddenly parted to reveal a small patch of blue along with the blinding sun. He turned to his friend. “It’s an omen. Come on, let’s go.”

  Joshua stared at him in surprise. “Go where?”

  “Who cares! Anywhere but here.” He pulled Joshua’s hand away from the scroll, and it rolled up by itself. “Come on, Ox. Let’s get some fresh air.”

  “But the rabbi will be here any minute. I don’t think we should—”

  “You’re so predictable. Don’t you ever get tired of playing by the rules? I do!”

  “But we can’t just walk away from our lessons.”

  “Why not? Who’s going to stop me? I can do whatever I want, and right now I want to go outside and enjoy the sunshine, not stay cooped up with a bunch of ancient scrolls. And you’re coming
with me.”

  Joshua lumbered to his feet, knocking the bench over, reminding Manasseh why he had nicknamed him Ox. Thirteen years old, Joshua was tall and gangly, and although he seemed to grow a little taller each night, he never grew any fatter. Manasseh, at twelve, was still built like a child, slender and small-boned. Joshua always stood stoop-shouldered beside him, as if embarrassed to stand a head taller than the king.

  Manasseh peered out of the doorway, looking both ways, then motioned for Joshua to follow him toward the back stairway.

  “Where are we going?” Joshua asked again. “Shouldn’t we find somebody to escort us if we’re going outside?”

  “We’re going alone. I want to escape from this place, and I don’t want any servants hanging around us.”

  “But—”

  “Shh! Follow me. And pick up your feet when you walk. You sound like an entire troop of soldiers.”

  “Sorry.”

  Manasseh crept through the harem, passing his mother’s closed door. She was still in mourning for her husband. The only person allowed to visit her from outside the palace was Joshua’s mother, Jerusha. But the rain had kept even Jerusha away for the past few days.

  He continued through the nursery, passing the room that had been his before he became king. Manasseh had been reluctant to move into his father’s huge rooms, unable to accept the fact that his father was gone and would never use them again. At first the king’s chambers had been filled with Hezekiah’s presence and with his familiar scent—a combination of the incense from the Temple that permeated all his clothes, the fragrant soap he used to wash his hair and beard, and the aloe balm he massaged on his hands every morning. But Manasseh hadn’t been able to stop his father’s scent from slowly fading away, along with the memory of his voice and his reassuring touch.

  Manasseh had almost made it through the nursery without being seen when he passed his younger brother’s open door. Amariah looked up from his reading.

  “Hey, where are you two going?”

  “He probably heard your big feet,” Manasseh whispered to Joshua. “Walk faster.”

  “Wait for me!” Amariah hurried into the hallway, following along behind them. “Where are you going?”

  “Never mind. You’re not invited.”

  “I thought you had to study Torah with Rabbi Gershom.”

  “Get lost.”

  “Can’t I come with you?”

  “No!” Manasseh turned and gave Amariah a shove that nearly sent the ten-year-old sprawling to the floor. “Go back to your room! And you better not tell anyone you saw us or you’ll be sorry. Understand?” Amariah nodded fearfully and retreated to his room.

  “Why can’t he come with us?” Joshua asked.

  Manasseh didn’t answer. He didn’t need to give a reason—he was the king. He had been slowly realizing that fact for the past five months and had started doing whatever he pleased, gradually testing his authority. When no one questioned his decisions, he’d grown more daring. But today would be his boldest action—abandoning his boring Torah lessons to escape from the palace. No one could punish him for it, either. Joshua’s father, Eliakim, served as his guardian and as the palace administrator until Manasseh was old enough to govern the nation by himself. But even Eliakim didn’t have the authority to discipline the king.

  He hurried down the flight of stairs that led to the palace courtyard, his feet skipping like a mountain goat’s, while Joshua plodded along behind him, gripping the railing. Manasseh smiled as he opened the outside door. He was the king. He was free!

  Huge puddles spanned the courtyard and more water ran in streams down the steep streets, washing the city clean. Manasseh dodged most of them, but Joshua’s sandals were soon soaked. No one stopped the boys as they continued past the armory and the guard tower. The courtyard where they practiced their military training resembled a lake. They headed toward the Water Gate, which still bore that name even though the Gihon Spring had been closed for many years. The scent of almond blossoms and damp earth filled the wintry air as the wind tried in vain to chase away the clouds.

  “Come on, Ox. I’ll race you to the bottom.” Manasseh sprinted down the steep ramp, well ahead of his friend. To slow an invading army’s momentum, the road curved first to the left, then to the right before leveling off at the bottom. Manasseh savored the freedom of the wind in his hair and the power in his pumping legs as the ground raced past. He easily reached the olive grove first and flopped down on the wet grass. Joshua staggered up a few minutes later, breathless, and sank down on a low stone wall nearby.

  “You win, Manasseh.”

  “That’s because I’m the king. You’re not supposed to beat me.”

  “No, it’s because you’re faster than I am.” Joshua was still puffing hard from the race. His lungs made a rasping sound like a shutter hinge blowing in the wind.

  Manasseh stared at the meadow, where he knew the spring had once flowed. “Too bad my father buried the Gihon Spring. I could use a drink of water.” An olive grove and half a dozen almond trees coming into bloom surrounded it now. He tried to imagine how the spring would have looked with serving girls lining up to lower their jars into the clear water, but it was too difficult to picture—as difficult as picturing his father’s face.

  “Do you miss your father?” Joshua asked suddenly. Manasseh glanced at his friend, wondering how he had perceived his thoughts, then turned away. Across the Kidron Valley, clouds gathered above the Mount of Olives once again. The small patch of sunshine overhead wouldn’t last much longer.

  “What do you think, Ox,” he answered sullenly. He knew he wasn’t supposed to grieve forever. To continue to mourn was to doubt God’s wisdom, the high priest had told him.

  “Well, if it were my father—I guess I would miss him a lot,” Joshua said. “I don’t know how I could stand it.”

  “Then what makes you think I want to talk about him?” The dampness from the ground began to seep through Manasseh’s robes. He stood, brushing off the loose grass, and sat on the wall beside Joshua. The cold stones weren’t much drier than the ground.

  “Don’t you need to talk about him, though?” Joshua asked. “Otherwise, if everyone is afraid to say his name around you, after a while won’t it be like he never existed? I would hate that. It would be much worse if everyone just forgot my father.”

  “No one around here is likely to forget King Hezekiah, the greatest king since David. This valley is where the miracle happened. Yahweh answered my father’s prayer and 185,000 Assyrians died in the night.” Manasseh’s voice had a mocking tone, almost as if he didn’t believe the story. Joshua stared at him in surprise.

  But Manasseh believed the story all right. It was the greatest achievement of his father’s reign and the event that worried Manasseh the most. How would he ever live up to such a spectacular performance? He was Hezekiah’s son. The nation expected even greater miracles from the heir to such a great king. But what if God didn’t listen to Manasseh’s prayers?

  “If it was my father,” Joshua said, “I wouldn’t miss him because he’s a famous man—the palace administrator and all that. I’d miss him because he’s my abba.”

  A flood of longing overwhelmed Manasseh, and he jumped to his feet, hurrying down the path so that Joshua wouldn’t see his sudden tears. He remembered how his father would remove the heavy mantle of his reign at the end of the day and for a few moments he wouldn’t be the king of Judah anymore; he would be Manasseh’s abba. He missed the way his father looked at him, the pride and the love he saw in his eyes, and the pressure of his strong hand on his shoulder. Then Abba would listen patiently to his childish tales as if they were the most important news he had heard all day.

  Yes, I love him and I miss him and it’s just not fair, Manasseh longed to shout like an angry child. Abba was too young to die! He loved God and he obeyed all His laws, and I don’t understand why God punished him—why He punished all of us—by taking him away!

  But Manasseh didn’t
shout. He was the king of Judah, not a twelve-year-old boy. There would be no childish tears and questions.

  By the time Joshua caught up with him, Manasseh had his emotions under control. “Why are you still puffing like a long-distance courier?” Manasseh asked him.

  “I don’t know.... I can’t ... catch my breath.”

  “Is it one of your breathing attacks?”

  “Almond blossoms ... They give me trouble sometimes.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah ... in a minute.” Joshua stopped and bent over double, resting his palms on his thighs as he struggled to exhale.

  Manasseh had seen his friend have attacks like this before, since the boys had grown up together. He tried to act concerned, but secretly he enjoyed witnessing his friend’s weakness. Joshua was superior to Manasseh in almost every other way: brighter in his academic studies, able to memorize long Torah passages, quicker with the answers to the rabbi’s questions about the Law. Joshua had his father’s brilliant intellect, and every aspect of the nation’s government fascinated him. One day he would take Eliakim’s place as palace administrator, serving in Manasseh’s court. That was why their fathers had decided to educate them together. Only in their military training, which required the speed and physical agility that Joshua lacked, could Manasseh outshine his friend. Joshua was old enough to take part in the Temple services, too, beside his father. But even though Manasseh would soon be old enough, as well, he would never be able to stand on the royal platform and worship beside his own father.