Abigail (26 page)

His announcement that she was the one he chose to be with made her heart sing. “She was staying at the back of the cave, my lord.”

He looked beyond her, then met her gaze. “She is hiding in fear?”

Abigail shrugged. “Some of the time, yes. I believe she is simply exhausted, as any expectant mother would be.”

David straightened, his eyes growing wide. “Ahinoam is with child?” He toyed with a smile, and his eyes lit with delight. “How is she?”

The familiar stab of jealousy stung, replacing her joy of having him to herself this night. “She is fine, my lord.” She stuffed her frustration down and took his hand. “Come and see for yourself.” She led him toward the back of the cave but stopped when Ahinoam met them halfway.

“David?” She lowered her gaze in a decidedly shy gesture and placed a protective hand on her middle. “Thank God you are safe!”

David released Abigail’s hand and stepped toward Ahinoam, pulling her into his arms. Abigail watched the exchange, feeling bereft.

“How are you, beloved?” He kissed Ahinoam with a tenderness that made Abigail’s heart ache.

“I am fine now that you are here. I didn’t get to tell you before you left. I am carrying your child, my lord.” Her words were soft, breathy. Abigail couldn’t help but look at her and noted the healthy blush on her cheeks and the joyous smile on David’s face.

He placed a hand over the secret place where Ahinoam’s child grew. The intimate gesture brought the sting of tears to Abigail’s eyes. She turned and willed her mind to focus on other things. Moving a few steps beyond them, she told herself that sharing a man wasn’t all that unusual, though no one else in the camp lived with the same struggle. Despite her suspicions of Nabal’s unfaithfulness with Zahara, Abigail’s heart had never ached as it did now. When David was king . . . would he take more wives? Fear fluttered in her heart.

She leaned against the cave wall, listening to the sounds of men and women reuniting, the squeals of children laughing and singing that their fathers had come home.

David’s hands on her waist startled her, but a moment later he wrapped his arms through hers and nuzzled the back of her neck. “Running away from me already?” His lips brushed her ear. “Don’t be jealous, Abigail. Now that Ahinoam is with child, I can devote my time to you.” His whispered words brought her up short. Was her jealousy so obvious?

She leaned her head against his chest and turned toward him, meeting his gaze. His weary smile melted her heart. “I’m sorry, David. I didn’t know my feelings were so visible.”

“I see everything about you, beloved.” That he used the same endearment with Ahinoam pricked her anger again, but she squelched the emotion. His weary tone and sagging eyelids told her exhaustion was quickly overtaking him.
Beloved
was better than some of the things Nabal had called her.

“You should rest.” She faced him then and took his hand. “Do you want to wash first or sleep?” Love would have to wait until another day.

“Sleep.” He tried to stifle another yawn to no avail as he dropped one arm across her shoulders.

She put her arm around his waist and guided him toward the back of the cave where Ahinoam still stood. The two of them helped David out of his cloak and spread it on the ground, the clean side facing up. David curled on his side moments later and slept.

Abigail awoke the next morning before David or Ahinoam. In their relief at being back in the safety of David’s company, they had lain on either side of him, taking comfort in his nearness. Now David lay with one arm draped over Ahinoam in a distinctly protective pose. Abigail crept from her spot at his other side and brushed the dust from her robe, looking away from the image of the family they made.

She never should have agreed to marry the man. If she had declined his offer, perhaps her father would have found some other man to keep her, someone who would love her alone. Didn’t her parents have such a relationship? Didn’t Daniel care for Talya in that way? Why did both the men she had married have a failing that stirred her to despair?

The questions plagued her, causing a frenzied dance in her head, and she hurried from the cave lest she give in to her doubts and openly weep. The pink edges of dawn greeted her, illuminating the surrounding hills and casting blue and yellow hues over the blood-soaked plain. The stench of death nearly overpowered her, and she took a step backward and held a hand to her nose to filter the smell from such a pungent onslaught.

Carrion birds cawed and swooped low, feasting on the bodies of the defeated Amalekites. Was Zahara’s body among them? The thought troubled her, bringing with it a host of other thoughts that accused her of her own foolishness. Why hadn’t she been as suspicious of the woman as David had been? She should have known that Zahara’s loyalties would have stayed with her own people. After all, she was a foreigner who, despite her amiable attitude, denied that Yahweh alone was God. David would have killed her in one of his raids on Amalekite towns—had she been there—in fulfillment of Adonai’s curse on the cruel, idolatrous nation.

But what of the argument she had witnessed between Zahara and her brother? Had Zahara simply fled to find her people, never expecting them to use her to lead them back to David and his people? Zahara had often been kind to her. Had everything been a lie? Somehow she suspected that Zahara had tried to stop her brother’s actions, and in the end, maybe the reason the man had not hurt her had something to do with Zahara’s impassioned words.

A woozy feeling swept over Abigail as she grabbed a clay urn and picked her way along the outskirts of the Amalekite encampment toward the river. They would need water to bake the morning’s bread, and perhaps in the process of getting it, she could wash from her skin the blood that David had gotten on her.

Unnatural stillness broken only by the sounds of the carrion birds and meandering river heightened Abigail’s already tense nerves. She should have waited for more of the women to awaken rather than come down here alone. What if some of the Amalekites who had gotten away came back to retrieve their belongings, and waited to pounce on unsuspecting men?

A shiver worked through her. She lowered the urn from her head and knelt at the river’s bank.

Branches crunched behind her. She jerked upright and pulled away from the edge, her heart skipping a beat. She glanced around, and relief spilled through her. “You scared me.”

David moved toward her, still wearing the bloodstained tunic, his face a mixture of pleasure and concern. “You shouldn’t be here alone.” He stepped closer and squatted at her side, then sat on a rock to untie his sandals. “I noticed you were gone and followed you here. Just because the enemy is dead doesn’t mean it’s safe, Abigail. You should have waited for the others.”

“I’m sorry. Forgive me, my lord. I only meant to get started on the morning meal.” His serious expression caused a longing for his approval to sweep over her.

He pulled first one sandal and then another from his dirty feet. “Never mind it now. Just be more careful next time.” His smile put her at ease as he proceeded to remove his robe and pull his tunic over his head. Warmth filled her as she watched him slip into the cool water and dunk his head. “Come in and join me.” His playful smile sent a flutter to her middle.

“It’s too cold.”

“It’s refreshing.” He laughed, the hearty laughter of a man whose cares are few, whose burden is light. “Come on.”

“Someone might see.” She couldn’t believe he would suggest such a thing.

“There is no one here but us.”

“The camp is awakening and the women will be here to draw water soon. They’ll see you.” She picked up his filthy garments and looked them over. “I should wash these instead.”

“Plenty of time for that.” He gave her his most charming smile. “We may never get such a chance again.”

She glanced behind her toward the camp, then looked back at her husband, who had disappeared from sight. “David?” Panic filled her for the briefest moment until he popped his head from beneath the surface and came up again, laughing and shaking the water from his thick, dark hair. He scooped silt from the bottom of the river and scrubbed it into his skin, all the while looking at her with a gaze that turned her knees weak.

She placed his robe and tunic back on the grass and worked to undo the belt at her waist. She sat on the rock David had vacated and untied her sandals, then slipped the robe from her shoulders. She was about to lift her tunic over her head when the sound of female voices drifted to her.

Should she hurry and join him, not caring what the women might see? Or should she don her clothes again and catch the women before they came too close to give David his privacy? Indecision filled her.

“Come on, Abigail. We’re running out of time.” His playful tone had turned the slightest bit impatient, and Abigail did not miss the disappointment in his eyes.

“We already have. The women are coming.” She lowered her tunic again and put her arms back through the sleeves of her robe. “You’d best get dressed.” She slipped into her sandals and quickly tied them. She found his spare tunic in his leather pouch and smoothed out the wrinkles as he shook the water from his hair and beard and stepped out of the river onto the shore. He took the clean tunic from her outstretched hands and placed it over his wet body. He looked so refreshed that Abigail instantly regretted not having joined him. And now it was too late.

As the women approached the water’s edge, he pulled his soiled robe over the clean tunic and bent to tie on his sandals. “I’ll wash this for you,” Abigail said, clutching his bloodstained tunic to her. She felt as though she needed to do something to redeem the moment.

He looked at her, then glanced at the women behind her and nodded. “Don’t come back alone.”

At her silent agreement, he turned and moved back through the trees, out of her sight, leaving her drowning in a river of regret.

27

By the time they had gathered the spoils the Amalekites had taken and trudged back along the path they had come, meeting up with the two hundred men at the Besor Ravine, the trek back to Ziklag had taken nearly a week. Now Abigail sat beneath the wide awning of the goat-hair tent she shared with David and Ahinoam, stitching some of the fabric David had given her from the Amalekite plunder. David would need new garments when he took the throne as Israel’s king, and somewhere deep inside herself she sensed that time was near.

In the three days since they had returned to Ziklag, the town had filled with men from Judah seeking to help David’s cause. They had salvaged the courtyards of the burned-out homes and made camp among the ashes. David’s wealth had jumped substantially with the spoils they had taken from the Amalekites, despite the large portions he had shipped off to friends in Judah who supported him.

Abigail fingered the fine fabric and smoothed it across her lap, listening to the midmorning sounds of women shooing children off to play and men shouting to one another across the square or speaking in guarded tones in small groups. She reached for her basket of colored threads and pulled a deep green from the assortment. Threading a slivered bone needle, she worked a leaf design along the edges of the tunic.

Zahara had taught her how to dye the threads to just the right shades back when she lived under Nabal’s roof. When Nabal was off inspecting his sheep, Abigail had learned creative stitches to design intricate patterns in cloth—something she rarely took time for in the day-to-day management of Nabal’s estate.

Where was Zahara now? A weight of worry pressed in on her at the thought. When finally alone with David, she had asked him for permission to search the dead before they left the Amalekite camp in hopes of finding her, but he had refused. Her jaw tightened as she remembered his adamant response, his stubborn unwillingness to allow her the chance to know what had happened to her maid.

“But my lord, she belongs to me. I’m only asking to find out what has happened to her. If perhaps she is still alive—”

“No one still lives out there, Abigail.” His sweeping gesture toward the rotting corpses and his hardened expression told her he would not be easy to convince.

“But you said four hundred men got away on camels. Is it possible she went with them? How will I know if you don’t let me check or send someone else to check? I want the chance to bury her, David.” She crossed her arms and turned her back on him, her own stubborn defiance surfacing despite the better part of judgment that told her to let it go.

His hands rested heavily on her shoulders, and she flinched as he turned her to face him, but he didn’t seem to notice. “She was an Amalekite. She does not deserve a proper burial.” He worked his jaw and glowered at her, an expression he’d never directed her way before. He dropped his hold on her and stood looking down at her, arms stiff at his sides, obviously waiting for her compliance. A compliance that she was loath to give, despite her longing for peace.

“I understand that, my lord.” She uncrossed her arms and held her hands toward him in a gesture of supplication. “But she was a good servant . . . and . . . and I think her actions spared me a terrible fate.”