Abigail (34 page)

“Leave us now.”

The girl gave a slight bow and backed away from him. He pushed open the door and found Abigail sitting near the window, fabric stretched across her lap, her hands stitching a rhythmic pattern. Her face looked pale in the dim light, and her mouth was drawn into a tight line. She looked up as he entered, surprise filling her eyes.

“David . . . I . . . you’re here.” Her hands stilled, a look of bewilderment passing over her face. “I didn’t expect you.” She started to rise. “I should call Rosah, we should get you some wine or sweet cakes—”

He waved her suggestions away with his hand as he closed the door and stepped into the room. “Don’t trouble yourself, Abigail. I can summon the servants as well as you can. I saw you leave the courtyard. You looked ill.” He knelt at her side. “Are you ill?” He placed a hand on her knee. “You had me worried.”

Her face flushed as though he had embarrassed her, and she looked briefly away, then faced him again. She watched him for a moment as though trying to read his expression, then drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “All of a sudden, I didn’t feel well. I was afraid I would be sick again, so I hurried here for privacy. I didn’t want to disturb you, my lord.”

She was speaking the truth, but not all of it. Her eyes told him there was more, but suddenly he didn’t want to know the cause of her illness. She appeared to be fine now, which was what mattered. “The babe is all right then?”

“He seems to be fine.” She smiled. “He knows his father’s touch.”

He returned her smile and stood. “Perhaps he should also get to know his father’s voice.” He walked to the door and summoned Rosah to tell Benaiah to fetch his writing utensils and his lyre. He returned to Abigail and sank onto a chair opposite her. “A song has been forming in my mind.” He stretched his legs out before him and crossed his ankles. “If you don’t mind if I stay, I would like to share it with you.”

Her eyes brightened, giving him an immense feeling of satisfaction. “I would like to hear it. Can you sing it to me?” “Now?”

She nodded. “You can sing it again when they bring your lyre.”

“The words are sketchy. I don’t have them written yet.”

“That doesn’t matter. I want to hear it.” She laid her stitching aside and folded her hands across her lap in a protective gesture, reminding him again of the babe.

He looked at her and smiled, then lifted his eyes to the window, toward the heavens.

“O Adonai, You have searched me and You know me. You know when I sit and when I rise. You perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down. You are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue, You know it completely, O Adonai. You hem me in—behind and before; You have laid Your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me. Where can I go from Your Spirit? Where can I flee from Your presence? For You created my inmost being, You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

David looked at her again. “It needs more,” he said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the babe, and it made me think of how Adonai forms us in the secret place. Is it not wonderful, Abigail? I can only imagine what is going on inside of you right now.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, stirring him. He came to her then, knowing that she needed him, probably more than he needed her.

“It’s beautiful, David. Many generations will be encouraged by such words.”

He pulled her to her feet, slowly enfolding her in his arms. “Come, let me love you, Abigail.” He kissed her then, relieved when she responded in kind. His fears for her subsided. The babe would be fine. She would be well, and he would enjoy this night in peace.

34

“How is she?” David met Naamah, Abigail’s mother, at the door to Abigail’s rooms and had all he could do not to push his way past her to rush to his beloved’s side. Abigail’s screams and moans had lasted through the night—the second night of her travail—far longer than Ahinoam’s had. He’d walked away more than once, tried to drown his concern in the camaraderie of his men, but all the masculine humor in the world couldn’t remove the guilt he felt for being a man and making her go through this in the first place. “Tell me the travail has ended.”

“And what good would it do to tell you a lie? Ach! You men are all alike. You want sons? Then you must put up with the burden of listening to the travail. Be grateful you aren’t the one having to push your son into the world to see the light of day.” Naamah raised her hands to her head, then flung them upward in exasperation. “Now go. You will only make her worry over you.” She moved her hand toward his chest as if to push him away, then apparently thought better of it and moved to close the door on him instead.

He placed a hand on the door to stop her. “If you promise me she is all right, Mother, I will go.” He couldn’t bear to lose her or the babe.

Naamah’s features softened and she patted his arm, but quickly tensed as another cry came from Abigail in the back room. Concern etched her features, spiking David’s fear. “Tell me the truth, woman!” Every broken cry coming from his wife ripped another piece from his heart.

She shook her head. “You want the truth? The truth is her waters have broken, her labor is fierce, yet the babe will not come. I must go to her.” She turned to go and he determined to follow, but she swiveled back to face him, this time apparently not caring that she touched him as she placed a hand on his chest. “Stay here. You will do her no good.”

Abigail’s maid Rosah met Naamah in the hall. “Come quickly.” She glanced back at David, then spoke to Naamah. “How could you speak to him that way? He is the king!”

“He is the king—nonsense! He is a man, and he wants to ease his guilt. He will just get in the way.” The door to Abigail’s room closed on Naamah’s words.

David stood outside the room, listening to Abigail, his heart twisting with every cry. He knew better than to be here, had heard the advice to the contrary from his men and knew he ought to hop on his mule and ride into the hills until the ordeal was over. Even Judah, Abigail’s father, had suggested the two of them do just that, but he couldn’t bring himself to give in to the idea. Perhaps it was because this was Abigail, and other than Michal, he had never loved a woman quite like he loved her. But he suspected the real reason for his worries had to do with Abigail’s illness and weakness during the pregnancy, something that had troubled him then and worried him now.

His hand reached for the latch but stopped cold at a scream that pierced like a dagger straight to his gut. Heart pounding, he whirled about and paced to the front of the house. With one last look back at the room where his wife strained to bring his child into the world, he walked to the seclusion of his rooms, got down on his knees, and prayed.

Sweat filled Abigail’s face, and pain, so fierce it took every effort she had to breathe, ripped through her body like a hundred knife blades.

“He’s coming, Abigail, just a few more pushes and it will all be over.” Her mother’s voice had become her one constant these past two days when the pains first began, and she let them guide her, blindly believing everything would be all right.

When at last she felt a small window of ease, she drew in a deep breath and let it slowly out. Once more the urge to push overtook her.

“Bear down!”

Talya thrust a cloth between her teeth so she wouldn’t chomp on her tongue. She pushed on Abigail’s shoulders and rubbed her back to make the burden of giving birth somehow easier to bear.

“Harder, Abigail. I can see his head.” Her mother’s excited voice lifted her spirits, and joy mingled with fear as she summoned energy she didn’t think she had to push through one more time.

A tearing, gushing sound filled her ears on the final push. “He’s here! You have a son, Abigail!”

Relief flooded her, and she went limp against Talya, who was holding her upright on the birthing stool. The baby’s soft whimpers filled the room as Abigail worked to expel the afterbirth. Her mother took the baby, and in one corner of the room Abigail could see her clean the child and rub him with salt, while the midwife and Talya cleaned her up and dressed her in a fresh gown. When she was at last settled in her bed, her mother brought the baby to her to nurse.

Abigail inspected the child from head to toe, awed by his perfect little body. His eyes were like hers, but his mouth and nose were David’s.

“He’s beautiful,” her mother said, planting a kiss on the baby’s soft head. “His father is anxious to see him, I am sure.” “He’s perfect.” Abigail stroked the baby’s cheek and guided his mewing mouth to her breast. “His father has perfected him.” She smiled, remembering the way David’s touch had made the child move, and how his words had stirred her heart. “David will be pleased.” She made a poor attempt to stifle a yawn.

“David needs to be told. The man has been here at least three times since your travail began, and the last time I had to practically shove him away. By now his guilt is great.”

“His guilt, Mama?” She jerked as the babe latched on to nurse, surprised at the strength of his pull.

“All men feel guilt at what we have to go through to give them sons. It’s God’s way of humbling them—though it never lasts.” Her mother’s rueful chuckle made her smile, even as exhaustion overtook her. She couldn’t imagine David feeling guilty over the pleasure that led to pregnancy. If he did, he wouldn’t want to put so many women through such a thing . . . unless he thought to spare them by allowing them go through it only once.

The thought troubled her, though she would readily admit she did not want to go through such an episode of giving birth again, not as it had been with this child. She studied him, drinking in the sight of his small body—was he smaller than most babies? For as much trouble as he had been to come, she expected him to be bigger.

“What will you name him?” Talya asked, interrupting her musing. “Daniel would be proud of you, Abigail.”

Abigail pulled her gaze from her infant son to look at her sister-in-law. “Two names—Chileab, whom the father has perfected, and Daniel.” She smiled at Talya’s look of tender pride, then turned back to Chileab.

“Rest now, Abigail.” Her mother’s voice grew distant as she fought to stay awake, but she was losing the battle. “While you sleep, I will take the child to his father.” Her mother’s hand reached for the baby, but Abigail roused at her words and clutched the child closer.

“Bring his father to him.” She wanted to see David’s reaction to the gift of her son. In the meantime, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

David stood at the window in his chamber looking out over Hebron’s bustling city, wondering not for the first time if Abigail’s child ever meant to be born.

Adonai, please be with her and the child. Have mercy on them.

This whole pregnancy had been hard on her, reminding him of some difficult births with his lambs, a rare few ending in the deaths of both mother and offspring. If Abigail did live through this, he wasn’t sure he could put her through it again. He had other wives who could bear him children. And as much as he would prefer they share Abigail’s blood, he would rather have her at his side than lose her through childbirth.

He glanced toward the distant hills, then let his gaze travel to the cloud-studded blue sky. Adonai had blessed him repeatedly since Saul’s death, despite the long war that had ensued between the tribes of Israel and Judah. But that didn’t mean he was now immune to grief—Asahel and Abigail’s brother Daniel being two examples. There was no reason for God to preserve each of his wives or the children they might bear him, except for His own great mercy.

A merchant caravan made its way through Hebron’s winding streets to the marketplace. The heat of summer was fast approaching, and what little breeze did manage to fan the otherwise still air came most easily through this window. It lifted the hairs on his arms now and cooled his damp brow.

A knock on the door behind him made him tune his ear to listen as a servant went to answer.

“I must speak a word with the king, if I may.” David recognized the voice of Abigail’s mother and whirled around, not waiting for the servant to respond. His long strides carried him quickly to the door.