Abigail (15 page)

She looked from Jakim to the wall barring her from her brother, then back at the house. If she hurried, she could see him and assure him of her safety. She turned to walk toward the gate when Zahara’s voice stopped her.

“My lady.” The sound of running feet met her ear. She turned back at Zahara’s panicked tone. “Nabal is up and in the dining hall and is asking for you.”

Abigail’s heart skipped, the fear knifelike. A moment passed, and her indecision mounted. Should she run to Daniel and flee or go to her husband as she had planned? She looked from Jakim to Zahara, reading the urgency in their eyes. But urgency to do what?
Oh, Adonai, give me strength.

The prayer came so naturally, she did not expect the calm that followed. Surprised, yet strangely at peace, she turned slowly, deliberately, toward the house. With one last glance in the direction of her brother and freedom, she moved with purposeful strides to speak to Nabal.

Abigail poured Nabal a cup of tea and walked back to the dining area, pausing at the threshold. She tested the unexpected calm in her spirit, expecting it to take wing and fly away as quickly as it had come. She drew in a slow breath and released it, then summoned her resolve and stepped into the room, setting the tea before Nabal. She took a step away from him just out of his reach.

Nabal looked at her through hooded eyes, accepting the tea from her hand. He sipped in silence, then helped himself to a fat grape, one hand on the fruit, the other on his left temple, rubbing what Abigail sensed was a horrific headache. He should know by now that too much wine left him feeling awful the next day, but that didn’t seem to curb his behavior. He spat the seeds onto a glazed plate, then popped another grape into his mouth. “Where were you?”

“In the courtyard, my lord. But I’m here now.” He expected her to greet him each morning, something she usually did. Jakim’s interruption had changed her routine and would not bode well with Nabal’s mood.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

“Yes, my lord.” She moved about the room, removing empty plates and replacing them with full ones. Nabal’s appetite was large on mornings like this, so Abigail waited, watching for the look of satisfaction to cross his face.

“I looked for you last night. Why didn’t you join the feast?” His deep scowl gave the impression of one nowhere near satisfied.

Help me, Adonai. It’s now or never.

“I was tired. I took a journey yesterday while you were with the sheep.” She watched as the meaning of her words slowly registered in his dark eyes. “I took food to David and his men. I had heard they were in need and had served you faithfully for months. Since we had plenty, I knew Adonai would want us to share. Besides, I heard evil was plotted against you and your household, so I took the food to them to appease, to keep them from shedding innocent blood.” She took a step farther from him, her eyes never leaving his face.

His brooding gaze darkened further. He rubbed both temples, closing his eyes. Silence enveloped the room like a shroud. At last he looked at her again. “You did what?” The quiet of his voice held the menace of a curse.

Calm shattered, she willed herself to swallow the fear his gaze evoked. “I took food to David—”

He shoved the bench from beneath him, its clatter making her jump. She backed up another pace toward the door.

“Ungrateful, foolish woman!” His voice dropped in pitch as he stepped toward her, a litany of curses coming at her in a low, fierce growl. The intimidating words along with the murder in his eyes struck terror in her heart. She should run, flee to Daniel. But her feet would not move.

He scooped up a heavy urn from a table near the window and lifted it high over his head. In two strides he would be upon her.

Run, Abigail. Don’t be a fool!
Her feet finally loosened, and she scooted away from him, then stopped at the threshold at the startled look that crossed Nabal’s face.

She glanced behind him, quickly searching the room. Had someone struck him with an arrow or stone from a sling? His eyes lost their murderous glare, their glazed appearance frozen in sudden fear. His arms fell stiffly to his sides, the urn slipping from his hands and crashing to the floor. He pitched forward face-first onto the table, crushing plates of food beneath him.

“Jakim, come quick!” Abigail heard her own voice call to the servant, though she felt like the words had come from someone else. Jakim appeared at her side with Zahara, while four other maids hovered near the door, quietly weeping. “Is he dead?” Abigail asked, barely able to speak above a whisper. She stared at the still form of her husband, his slackened face pressed against the table linen. “Get some men to help you lift him. If he isn’t dead, we’ll need to call for a physician.”

She placed both hands against her cheeks as she watched a sudden influx of men swarm the room, lift Nabal, and lay him on his back onto a cushioned couch. Jakim put his head on Nabal’s chest, listening to see if he was breathing, then felt his arms and legs for movement. “He’s alive. But his limbs are as weighted as stone.”

The announcement filled her with hope and fear. What would she do with a man who could not move?

“Take him to his rooms.” Jakim’s barked orders barely registered through the haze of Abigail’s thoughts. Time slowed as Zahara appeared at her side and escorted her to the family courtyard.

“Come, my lady, sit down. I will get your brother.” Jakim’s voice came to her from a distance.

Abigail’s shaky limbs embraced the chance to sit, to rest on the stone bench and breathe in the earthy scents of almond and oak trees. She shook her head to clear it, hearing shouts of men and whispers of women mixing with the cadence of birdsong. She felt a touch on her shoulder and slowly lifted her head to look into Zahara’s eyes.

“There was nothing you could have done, my lady,” Zahara said. “Your God struck him down so he wouldn’t hurt you.”

Abigail held Zahara’s gaze, trying desperately to focus. Was that what had happened? Did God strike Nabal for his reaction? Or had she caused his heart to fail because of her outright disobedience?

Guilt nudged her, awakening her spirit and filling her with a sense of despair. She pushed both hands against the smooth stone of the bench in an attempt to rise. Zahara’s hand on her shoulder gently forced her to stay put. “Let me get you something to drink, my lady. Don’t go anywhere until I get back.”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

She knew that voice. She turned to see Daniel coming toward her. Suddenly fully aware of her surroundings, she jumped up and ran to her brother. When his arms came around her, she fell into his embrace, unable to stop the tears.

“There, there. It’s all right, Abigail. Nabal can’t hurt you now.” His whispered words soothed her. “God will either take his life or change him. You’ll see.” He rubbed circles along the middle of her back until her breathing slowed and her tears dried.

“How will I care for him if he cannot move? How will I feed him? What will I do, Daniel?” She accepted a silver goblet of wine from Zahara’s hand, then walked ahead of Daniel into the house. “I must see to him.”

He hurried to catch up, grasping her elbow. “Let others care for him, Abigail. Why should you trouble yourself?” Daniel drained the cup Zahara had offered him and handed it back to the maid, forcing Abigail to stop her rushed movements. “You have done enough for the man. He doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”

Abigail looked at her brother askance. “You know that’s not true. Before Yahweh, I must honor my vows. He is my husband, Daniel.” She picked up her pace again toward Nabal’s rooms.

“I know another who would gladly be your husband in his place.”

Abigail stopped short. They stood at the fork that opened into a small, private court where the hall led either to her set of rooms or to Nabal’s. She glanced at the servants who had accompanied them. “Go on ahead of us. We will follow shortly.”

Zahara nodded, a knowing gleam in her eye. She had heard their conversation and seemed pleased with Daniel’s words. The thought troubled her, not so much that Zahara approved or that Daniel had suggested such a thing, but that her own heart betrayed her, wanting to know more. How unfaithful could she be? Her husband was not dead and might live for many years. She simply could not entertain such things, despite the rapid pounding of her heart.

“He told Abba and me that he would be willing to protect you, and I don’t think he meant that in a general sense. I think he wants to spread his garment over you, Abigail.”

She searched her brother’s gaze. “Who?” She didn’t have to ask, but she needed to hear it just the same.

“Who else? David was pretty taken with you.”

“David already has two wives.” So why did she long to be the third?
Oh, Adonai
,
forgive me.

“Only one now. Michal has been given to another man.” Daniel grinned, that annoying, self-confident grin that told her he was right and he knew it.

“Nevertheless, one wife is enough. He doesn’t need another.” Nabal might never have loved her the way she had hoped, but at least she had been his only wife. Though in truth, she had shared him—if not with the women she suspected he had taken to his bed, then with the wine and the many things that consumed him. She wanted better next time. If there ever was a next time.

“You could do worse, Abigail. David will be king soon, and kings have many wives.” His voice still held the edge of confidence, but he looked at her with a hint of uncertainty. “You asked him to remember you when he comes into power. I’m telling you, you have already made a deep impression on him that he isn’t likely to forget.”

His words sent a strange warmth through her. To know she was wanted, even if the wanting was impossible to fulfill, was an encouraging thought. She wouldn’t have to rely on her father’s or brother’s kindness for protection if she married again—if Nabal didn’t recover. The thought cheered her, but in the next instant, the sounds of household servants hurrying to and from Nabal’s rooms jarred her back to her surroundings.

“I must go to my husband,” she said, meeting Daniel’s gaze. “As long as Nabal lives on the earth, he is still my husband, Daniel. We must not speak of this again.”

She turned her back to him and moved to Nabal’s rooms, leaving Daniel to follow in her wake.

18

Mourning doves sang their melancholy dirge outside of Abigail’s window, awakening her with the familiar sense of foreboding she had known since that fateful morn ten days before when Nabal’s heart had turned to stone. Days of hovering over his rigid form, his body stretched out on the bed as though it belonged on a bier, his eyes staring above him, unseeing. Were it not for the soft rise and fall of his chest, the physician would have proclaimed him dead.

If only God would have mercy and either set him free from this bondage and let him live or take his life. This state of in between, of waiting and wondering, was taking its toll on her emotions and her disposition.

She ran one hand over her eyes, blinking away the need, the longing, for sleep. Depression sank roots into the soil of her heart, and each day found her less able to fight its growing strength.
Oh, Adonai, how long? Will my life continue in this wait-and-see pattern forever? Have mercy on Your maidservant. I am poor and needy and don’t know what to do.

She squeezed her eyes tight one last time, then rose quickly from the bed. Two of her maids appeared at her door, accompanying Zahara.

“Some of the master’s shepherds are here to speak with you, my lady. They don’t look happy,” Zahara said as she stepped into the room. “Let me help you dress.” She walked to the wall where Abigail’s robes hung on pegs, paused as if considering something, then chose Abigail’s second-best robe. She draped it over one arm and approached.

Abigail met Zahara’s gaze, the woman’s concerned expression matching the knot in her stomach. Why did she fear? These men had no claim to Nabal’s estate or to her. They were hirelings, and they would do as she commanded.

But if she believed that, why did her insides refuse to settle and her blood pump with dread? She didn’t want to meet these men. What was she supposed to say to them? She had no answers. Yet she would need to appear in control in front of Nabal’s burly shepherds whether she felt that way or not.

She turned to one of the female servants and accepted a chalice of goat’s milk from the maid’s outstretched hands. She fingered a soft square of cheese on the silver tray but couldn’t force herself to eat. Nothing, not even her fear, could pull her from the feeling that her life was spiraling downward, without meaning or purpose.

She placed the cheese back on the tray. “I will eat later.” She sat on a low stool and allowed a maid to adorn her hair. Zahara stood in silence, still holding her robe.

“Has there been any change in your master?” She looked at Zahara for a brief moment, caught the shake of her head, then glanced at her reflection in the bronze mirror. The application of kohl did little to hide the despair in her eyes. “I should be wearing mourning robes and sackcloth.”

“Would that you could,” one maid said as she scooped up the tray of barely touched cheese and dates and headed toward the door. The other maid fitted the final ivory comb into Abigail’s hair, then took a step back, holding out the mirror for her to see.