One Night With the King: A Special Movie Edition of the Bestselling Novel, Hadassah by Tommy Tenney;Mark Andrew Olsen Read online

  One Night With the King: A Special Movie Edition of the Bestselling Novel, Hadassah by Tommy Tenney;Mark Andrew Olsen

  One Night With the King: A Special Movie Edition of the Bestselling Novel, Hadassah by Tommy Tenney;Mark Andrew Olsen

  One Night With the King: A Special Movie Edition of the Bestselling Novel, Hadassah by Tommy Tenney;Mark Andrew Olsen

  PUBLISHERS WEEKLY-“... from their imaginative fleshing out of Esther's unusual girlhood and preparation for her tryst with the king to the uttering of her famous words, `If I perish, I perish,' the authors reinvigorate an age-old story.... A few surprise twists will catch readers familiar with the story off-balance.”

  RENDEZVOUS-“Anyone interested in ancient religious history will enjoy and be enlightened by the in-depth research of this skilled author. Hadassah is a book to keep and reread. One paragraph is not enough to express the beauty and depth of this wonderful read.”

  INSPIRATIONAL MARKET NEWS-“This gripping drama of a simple peasant girl chosen over many more qualified candidates to become Esther, Queen of Persia, captures the imagination and fires the emotions of men and women alike.”

  BOOKLOONS-“A brilliant narration ... a fresh perspective to a familiar story. For those who have read The Red Tent, it is similar in its presentation.... I urge readers to be swept away by this fantastic story.”

  MESSIANIC TIMES-“Fans of ... Bodie Thoene's The Zion Chronicles series will find much to enjoy about Hadassah.... Displays imagination and insight ... adds elaborate dimension and scope to the courageous character of Esther.... A finale that is heart-stopping even for those familiar with the story's end.”

  ROMANCE JUNKIES-“A glorious tale straight from the book of Esther ... rich detail that transcends the typical `Bible story' and brings it to life ... everything that makes a great story-danger, love, war, murder, deceit and kidnappings ... will remain in my memory for a very long time.”

  ALL ABOUTROMANCE-“It's not by mistake that [Esther] wins Xerxes's affections and manages to save her people.... If you like ... stories about brave and intelligent women, this book might be for you.”

  THE CHRISTIAN FICTION SITE-“Deserves to become a beloved classic! ... a stunning retelling of one of the best-loved accounts in the Bible ... that will have the reader entranced from beginning to end.... This novel is a must-read.”

  TOMMY TENNEY

  with Mark Andrew Olsen

  To every little girl who would be queen ... But especially to the Queen of my life. And to our three girls, every one a princess.

  Mark Andrew Olsen is a talented and creative writer, and he provided a wealth of experience for our collaboration on Hadassah. Being a novice fiction writer, I questioned my ability to write effective dialogue. Mark helped educate me on this and other pieces that contribute to writing a novel. Downloading my research on Esther, he took my “architect's drawing” for the plot and themes and began to build the story on the foundation I had laid. Many hours of phone conversations and multiple drafts passed back and forth between us until my original vision for the story of Esther was completed. Thank you, Mark, for your significant contribution to this effort.

  Larry Walker has assisted me editorially on many writing projects. Rarely can the phrase “my friend” be added to the phrase “my editor.” Larry can wear both badges equally well. His research assistance on this project was invaluable.

  Much thanks also to Carol Johnson, an incredible editor with a fine eye, a soft voice and a red pen.

  Hadassah Kesselman: A modern-day Jewish bride-to-be.

  Hadassah (Star, Esther): A beautiful young Jewish girl raised by her cousin, Mordecai.

  Mordecai: A Jewish man who works as a palace scribe at the King's Gate in the Persian capital of Susa. “Mordecai” is a derivative of the Persian name “Marduch.”

  Rachel: Mordecai's Jewish housekeeper and Hadassah's confidant.

  Jesse (Hathach): Rachel's grandson and Hadassah's friend.

  Xerxes: King of Persia from 486 to 465 B.c., also known as Ahasuerus.

  Memucan: King Xerxes' chief advisor, the Master of the Audiences.

  Hegai: Royal eunuch in charge of preparing the Queen candidates for their night with the King.

  Haman: An Amalekite warrior, also known as the Agagite, who fiercely despises all persons of Jewish descent.

  Hadassah Kesselman .................................... 11

  THE JERUSALEM STAR SOCIETY PAGE

  “... the Kesselman/ben Yuda wedding promises to be the social event of the summer ... ”

  Haman, son of Hammedatha ........................... 25

  KETHUVIM ESTHER 3:10

  “... the king removed his signet ring from his hand and gave it to Haman, son of Hammedatha the Agagite, the foe of the Jews. ”

  Hadassah, daughter of Abihail .......................... 55

  KETHUVIM ESTHER 2:7

  “... had neither father nor mother The maiden was shapely and beautiful.... ”

  Xerxes, son of Darius ................................. 101

  KETHUVIM ESTHER 1:1

  “... who reigned over a hundred and twenty-seven provinces from India to Nubia. ”

  Esther, Queen of Persia ............................... 221

  KETHUVIM ESTHER 2:17

  “The King loved Esther more ... so he set a royal diadem on her head and made her queen.... ”

  Mordecai, son ofJair ................................. 307

  KETHUVIM ESTHER 3:2, 4

  “... but Mordecai would not kneel or bow low.... They spoke to him day after day, and he would not listen.... ”

  Hadassah ben Yuda ................................... 345

  THE JERUSALEM STAR FRONT PAGE

  “... Prime Minister to meet with Minister of Defense regarding current conflict ... ”

  ISRAEL MUSEUM-JERUSALEM-PRESENT DAY

  ather, where are you taking me?"

  The old man turned shakily upon his cane, paused at the top step and looked toward his daughter while still panting to catch his breath. Despite the wrinkles that had lately etched their way across his face, she could still recognize the sly smile that always signaled his toying with her.

  “Why, Hadassah, this is the Shrine of the Book. You've been here a dozen times.”

  “Of course, Poppa. I know that.”

  As if to punctuate her statement, she glanced about the monument. Her gaze rose into the cobalt blue Judean sky where the Shrine's celebrated dome thrust its odd, milky white swirl. She noted again its fluid shape, meant to evoke the ancient jar lids that once sealed the beloved scrolls now housed inside. Just beyond, her gaze settled briefly on a jutting slab of ink black basalt-the famous architectural apposition of Darkness against Light. “Ideological structure,” her ninth grade teacher had called it years ago, just before using the term in a test question.

  Ideological structure: designing a building for a symbolic as well as a functional purpose....

  “But why today?” Hadassah continued the conversation in the modern Hebrew with which she had grown up, though she also spoke fluent English. “With the wedding just a few days away? This is no time for sightseeing, Poppa.”

  He smiled again, indulgently this time, and waved her on up. “My child, have you ever known me to waste your time?”

  It was an odd question to pose so flippantly, but she pondered it nevertheless while she scrambled up the steps after him. In fact, he had always been
a quiet, mild-mannered father, and she had to admit after consideration that he had never been one to yank her about on useless errands.

  She reached him, and he laid his arm upon her shoulders. “Just follow me,” he said with a smile that grew wider and more inscrutable by the second.

  Still locked in their amiable stalemate, they entered the lobby where tourists waited in line to see the world-famous Dead Sea Scrolls. For the first time her father did not approach the counter for a ticket but merely waved at the cashier and received a solemn nod in return. They walked through the entrance passage with its smooth, rounded walls intended to emulate the cave at Qumran, site of the scrolls' discovery. And then, presumably like the young shepherd who had found them half a century earlier, they emerged into a cool, vaulted space: the main hall.

  Despite both her bewilderment and her familiarity with the room, Hadassah could not help but glance around. One of the wonders of modern architecture, the luminous inner hall of the Shrine of the Book never failed to seize her imagination. Overhead, the curved underside of the dome shone with countless horizontal grooves, each one capturing a different hue in the sunlight that filtered from a window at its apex. Rising from the floor, just beneath this aperture, stood a huge scroll handle-as though someone had half-buried a giant Torah upright in the floor.

  A hush overtook the pair as they entered the chamber, as both its acoustics and the solemnity of its contents discouraged noise. But her father was not here today to peruse the softly lit parchment tables. He crossed the room and immediately started down a nearly hidden stairway that led into shadow below.

  “Poppa?” she asked.

  She saw only the back of his hand motioning her to follow, then disappearing into the gloom. Hadassah shook her head and frowned, then followed him. A door opened into soft half-light. She followed him through it into a carpeted hallway that branched off into three additional corridors.

  And there, smiling in anticipation, stood-

  Aunt Rose? “What are you doing here?” Hadassah asked, incredulous. Aunt Rose lived in America. The two had not seen each other for four years. Rose was indeed flying over for the wedding, but Hadassah was sure she was not due for another few days.

  Rose leaned toward her with a knowing smile and simply engulfed her in a hug. And that was when, over her aunt's ample shoulder, she saw the rest of the women. Standing in a corner, strangely quiet and still, were Grandma Grossman, Great-Aunt Pauline, Aunt Connie and two more elderly matrons she only faintly recognized, yet all were facing her with intent and shining eyes.

  As soon as she disengaged from Aunt Rose, the women converged on their youngest descendant en masse, crying softly and creating a tumult of greetings and congratulations. Although she responded in pleasure and surprise, this gathering, on this day and in this place, filled her with an intense curiosity and even a sharp sense of foreboding.

  What in the world is going on here? She pulled away and shot her father a questioning glance.

  “My dear, I brought you here to maintain an ancient tradition,” he said as though he'd read her mind. He turned to the group while jerking his thumb dismissively in her direction. “Ladies, Missy here did not even want to come today. I practically had to drag her over-I thought she'd call a nursing home to haul me away before I could get her in here.”

  The women all laughed knowingly, which did not help the bride-to-be's disposition. Her father faced her again, and this time his expression had changed completely; she could even see a surprising gleam of tears in his eyes.

  “Your mother would have brought you here herself, were she still with us,” he said huskily, then paused a moment. “And, of course, I wondered if I would last long enough to see you actually find your beloved.”

  It was true. She had been picky, taking her time to find the one she would want to wake up with every morning for the rest of her life.

  Now her father was off again, hobbling down the center hallway with his cane, the line of old women in tow. She shrugged and followed. He paused before a large metal door recessed into the wall. Then he stopped and took a maddeningly long time to extract first a folded piece of paper from his pocket, then his glasses with which to read it. He looked up, punched one of the buttons in a wallmounted keypad, then glanced down for the next. The whole process took several minutes. Finally the door clicked open with a whoosh of compressed air. The group filed in without a pause, as though they had gone through many times before.

  A vast underground room sprawled before them. Subdued lighting emanated from somewhere under glass-covered table rows. A stout woman of about fifty wearing a museum uniform and a worldweary smile stood in front of them with her hands clasped before her.

  Hadassah had always known that most of the Shrine's workings were underground. She also knew that the Dead Sea Scrolls were periodically rotated from public areas to subterranean chambers in order to reduce their exposure to light. But she had never known of this chamber or any reason her relatives might have for congregating here.

  “You are members of the family?” the uniformed hostess asked in a smooth voice.

  “Yes, we are,” her father said loudly.

  “And who is today's bride?”

  Her father turned back to her and motioned. “Hadassah.”

  The woman smiled knowingly. “A most apt name.” Then she stepped forward, gave another reassuring grin and shook Hadassah's hand before leading her toward one of the waist-high tables.

  “Please, Hadassah. Step forward and sign.”

  “What am I signing?” she asked.

  The museum staffer looked sharply at her father. “So she has been told nothing.” It sounded like a statement but was actually a stern question.

  Rather than answering the woman, her father turned to Hadassah. “My dear, I apologize for all the secrecy and uncertainty But you must understand. For nearly three thousand years the mothers of our family have been keeping these pages a secret until a bride's wedding week.”

  “What pages?”

  He sighed heavily, as he always did when she showed impatience, and swept his arm toward the display.

  “These tables hold the remains of a private family parchment. In more recent times, the government has been kind enough to safeguard it for us because of its enormous historical value, but it belongs to the family and is completely private, for our individual use. It is our single copy of a letter written, in a way, just for yougiven by someone very special to your grandmother nearly one hundred times removed.”

  “Okay. Who gave it to her?”

  “Queen Esther.”

  “Queen Esther-of the Tanakh?”

  “No. Queen Esther from the corner bakery.” He reached out and touched her hand to show he had meant no offense. “Yes. The Esther of old. It is a memoir she wrote in her later years to a younger Jewish girl also chosen as a candidate for Queen of Persia, just as she had once been. Tradition has it she never wanted these words to end up in public, framed in some Palace museum, but she wanted its message reserved privately for every bride of royal standing descended from its recipient for time everlasting.” He bit his lower lip, and a thick tear rolled down his cheek, which he quickly swiped away. “Now you know why your mother insisted so strongly that you learn to read Hebrew fluently.”

  “So, would you care to sign here at the end?” repeated the museum attendant, with the faintest hint of insistence. She pointed to the left, as Hadassah would have expected since the document was written in Hebrew-from right to left.

  Then she realized what she was being asked to do and recoiled. “You mean-actually sign the end of the document itseff~”

  The woman nodded and almost smiled. “This is a piece of living history. And you are its latest addition.”

  Hadassah exhaled forcefully. She could feel her mind reel under an unfurling stretch of antiquity suddenly far more colorful and vibrant than any she had contemplated before. To think that shemodern, busy, disorganized Hadassah-led a life linked to a saga s
tretching back nearly three thousand years ... that her everyday existence was now connected to a story she had known only upon the printed page or in tales of rabbinical legend on synagogue scrolls ... It made her heart pound. She was truly becoming a part of its history.

  Feeling almost dizzy, she followed the staffer to where the long table ended, where a length of the ancient parchment now lay shockingly exposed to the elements. A gold fountain pen rested beside the manuscript, waiting. She stopped for a moment.

  Just above a blank space near the end of the scroll stretched a long array of signatures in an endless variety of feminine handwriting. Some of the scripts flowed, some were meticulously squared, some thick and strong, others wispy and ethereal with their inks fading under the onslaught of time.