Abigail (37 page)

Why did Daniel and Mama have to die?

The last thought brought the bitter surge of bile to her throat. She shoved a fist to her mouth to stifle a sob that would surely awaken Chileab and hurried from the room. Her mother’s death after the accident had been the worst. The fever had never abated after her hand had been crushed beneath the wagon. She’d died a week later, leaving Abba distraught and inconsolable.

Why, Adonai?

She wanted desperately to understand. And no matter how hard she tried to tell herself otherwise, she could not stop blaming herself. If she had never taken Chileab that day or had never let go of his hand, Mama would still be alive. Abba, David, Talya—they all blamed her, though they never said so to her face. She knew it deep inside, where her guilt lived.

The night was still except for her heavy breathing, and she held a hand to her chest as she clung to the walls to keep from falling. She eased her way back to her room, but the bed mocked her with its promise of peaceful sleep. The only peace she’d felt since the accident was the night David had stayed with her and had given in to her charms. He’d been conspicuously absent since, and Abigail couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever return. He had his precious Michal back now, and if Adonai chose to smile on them, Michal would soon bear him a child who would be the obvious, rightful heir to David’s throne—a mix of kingdoms, Saul’s and David’s. Even the favorite Absalom would lose out over any child Michal might bear.

Abigail shivered, suddenly aware of the chill that still marked these spring nights. She fell to her knees before the edge of the raised bed and buried her face in her hands. Where had so much bitterness come from? Why was she so angry?

David’s handsome face floated before her closed eyes, and she couldn’t stop the ache that filled her. Every thought of him touched a chord of such longing it took her breath. He’d been everything she dreamed of those long ago days of her girlhood when she imagined herself mistress of her own household. Handsome, noble, strong yet gentle, proud yet humble, a leader men would die for, a shepherd who would die for them, a warrior, a poet, a lover, a king. Perhaps “everything” was more than she’d bargained for.

Her throat constricted with unshed tears, and she knew she would not sleep any more this night. It was wrong for her to stay bitter. She would hurt not only herself but Chileab as well. She couldn’t let her son see the ugly sorrow within her heart. She didn’t want to turn him against his father, considering the few moments his father managed to spend with him these days.

But God forgive her, she could not rid herself of the pain David had inflicted and kept inflicting on her every time he took another woman to wife, every time he brushed her lips with a chaste kiss and moved on to visit a rival, every time he favored one of the other women or their children above her. Sometimes, if the truth were known, she wished she had died in Mama’s place.

A groan escaped her suddenly parched lips as she crawled into her bed and rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling above her head. Something must be done. She could not continue to live as she was. She was still young and capable and could do much good if she put her mind to it. She must. For Chileab’s sake.

She would consider how to handle David’s attention in the future—whether to look for a way to accept her lot or find a way to change her status in his eyes, she didn’t know. Or perhaps the better choice might be to seek distance from it all, to beg permission to live away from the women’s quarters, from the intrigue that moved in every corner, from the bickering and gossip and the constant sharing of him. If she could have her own home away from here with Chileab, perhaps her father and Talya could join her . . . Excitement began to build in her as she contemplated the thought of escape from this place, from the turmoil that robbed her of joy and peace.

She placed her hands behind her head and glanced toward the shuttered window. Darkness still blanketed the earth, but the slightest hint of dawn’s pale light seeped in along the edges. She drew in a breath and slowly released it, her heart calming as she did so. Later today she would formulate a plan to seek an audience with David and lay her ideas before him. If everything went as she hoped, she might actually work out a situation that would satisfy them both.

Abigail followed David’s flag bearers and trumpeters to the threshold of his audience chamber. Michal and Ahinoam moved ahead of her while Maacah, Haggith, Abital, and Eglah trailed close behind. The trumpet sounded, announcing their presence, and Abigail’s heart skipped a beat as she took her place to the right of David’s gilded throne.

Ahinoam leaned toward Abigail’s ear, a hand over her mouth. “I suppose our lord will name Michal his queen today. Though I don’t see how she can be queen when they have no heir.”

Abigail glanced at David’s first wife, noting the woman’s straight back and the proud tilt of her chin. Her mouth held a grim line, and her dark eyes held the telltale signs of grief.

“You would think she’d be happy on this of all days,” Ahinoam added, her tone low but laced with the hint of bitterness Abigail had grown accustomed to. Somehow Ahinoam didn’t seem to notice her own unhappiness.

“You can hardly blame her for grieving after losing her brother,” Abigail whispered back, darting another glance at Michal, knowing all too well the pain of a brother’s loss. “Rumor has it David isn’t planning to pick a queen today anyway.”

The trumpet sounded again, cutting off further words. Abigail turned her attention to the wide oak doors where the young princes were ushered into the audience chamber, each one guided by his personal attendant. Her heart swelled with motherly pride at the sight of Chileab dressed in blue and green stripes, the color of princes. The sleeves of the garment concealed his withered arm, the evidence that he would never be heir to the throne his father was about to ascend. But none of that mattered today. David’s coronation as king over all Israel overshadowed everything, though the desire to speak of her plan with him had not waned.

The buzz of excited voices drifted through the open windows from the outer courtyard, adding to the mix of bodies pressed in close within the audience chamber, sweat and the sweet scent of incense faint in the stifling summer heat. Servants stood behind the women and children, wielding palm branches, while musicians picked up a stately tune. Trumpets sounded again, longer this time, and all heads turned to the grand oak doors.

David, dressed head to toe in regal attire, strode into the room behind his flag bearers and bodyguards into the open area of the court, his presence commanding. The crowd cheered as David strode to where the priests Zadok and Abiathar stood. An alabaster flask of cinnamon-scented oil was in Zadok’s hand. Several paces away near the front of the court, roped off to keep people from defiling the place, a new altar stood. Seven bleating rams waited nearby, and Abigail’s heart squeezed at their pitiful cries.

The trumpets ceased, and as Zadok raised his hands, an awed hush fell over the crowd. He looked up to face the people, a mass of men and women that extended from David’s court to the front gate of the king’s house, into the streets, onto the rooftops, and as far as Abigail could see.

“Hear the word of the Lord,” Zadok cried, arms still lifted toward the heavens. His white garments glistened in the morning sun, and a smile poked from beneath his dark brown beard. He was a solemn man, short yet strong, and a recent addition to David’s household. His dark eyes were alight with joy. But then, when had there ever been such a joyous day in Israel?

“When you come to the land Adonai your God is giving you, and possess it and dwell in it, and say, ‘I will set a king over me like all the nations that are around me . . .’ ”

Abigail looked at David, wondering what he was thinking. She was only able to see him from the side, but his solemn look struck her as undeniably humble in the face of such grandeur, and his sense of awe made her wish once again that he belonged only to her. How easy it was to love him!

When the speech ended, David knelt before the priest, head bowed. Zadok lifted the oil and poured it over David’s head until it dripped into his beard and onto the collar of his robe. A smile crossed his handsome face until the trumpet sounded again and the people shouted, “Long live King David!”

Abigail cut a glance from David to Chileab, her heart yearning for husband and son. What she wouldn’t give to wrap them both in her arms right now, even as her own voice lifted with the crowd, praising the king.

David stood and raised his hands to silence the crowd. “Your throne, O God, will last forever and ever. A scepter of justice will be the scepter of Your kingdom.” His gaze slid heavenward, then with a look of utter joy and compassion, he turned in a circle to encompass all those in attendance. “Establish Your servant, O Lord, over Your people, to rule in righteousness and justice.”

He looked then to Zadok and Abiathar and nodded. The priests led the way to the altar where the seven rams waited. David placed his hand on one young bull to offer as a sin offering, symbolizing his need of forgiveness. David bowed his head again as Zadok prayed then slit the bull’s throat. Abiathar caught the blood and sprinkled it on the altar, then the bull’s flesh was placed there to burn as an offering to Yahweh.

Tears pricked Abigail’s eyes as the rest of the sin and fellowship offerings were presented to the Lord. It had been so long—years, in fact—since all of the people had been led to obey the laws of Adonai. Too long since she had made atonement for her own sins.

The bitterness she tried so often to suppress toward David rushed to the surface of her thoughts. Seeing him now, humble and bowed before his God, she felt her heart constrict. David would make a good king, a great king. He was not a perfect man, but he knew how to repent with a contrite heart.

Did she? How long had she already harbored such resentment?

She glanced at her sister wives, feeling a check in her spirit. Ahinoam had been David’s only wife when Abigail came to him after Nabal’s death. If she had refused to marry David, would he have found it so easy to take a fourth and a fifth and a sixth and a seventh wife? She was the one who had made him into a husband with two wives, for who could count Michal at that point? Even David had never expected to get her back. Had he?

Tension knotted her shoulders, her thoughts accusing her.
You knew better.
The other women had come to David at their fathers’ behest, whereas she had come of her own accord, knowing he already had a wife, knowing she would be the one to open the door to more women in the future. Sweat drew a line along her brow, and her cheeks flushed with warmth coming not from the sun’s oppressive heat but from the shame deep within.

A trumpet blared, announcing the end of the sacrifices. More speeches followed as David ascended the throne prepared for him and the men of Israel bowed at his feet to pledge their allegiance.

Abigail’s head spun as she tried to focus on the things her heart told her were true. All of her jealousies, all of her bitter resentment toward David’s other wives—they were her own doing. If she had restrained her own desire, her own desperate need for love, had not given in to his lure and charm . . . She could have refused to marry him. Instead, she had made it all the easier for him to take more women to wife. And she had done so without thought of the consequence.

O Adonai, please forgive me.

Remorse clung to her, an unwashed stain upon her heart. She longed to undo the past, to fix what she could no longer touch, to return to better days.

Voices of men praising the king drowned out the voices of reason in her head. Chileab’s quiet cry snapped her thoughts back to her surroundings.

“Stop pushing me.” Chileab’s gaze rested on his younger brother Absalom, who had managed to wedge his way between Chileab and Amnon.

“It’s my turn. I want to see Abba.” Absalom’s confident insistence, as though the place between his older brothers was rightfully his, mimicked his arrogant mother’s overconfidence too well.

Abigail took a step forward, wishing for an excuse to distract her tumultuous thoughts. She intended to pull Chileab away from his brothers and escape the hot room and noisy crowd, but the children’s maids got to them first and hurried them from the audience chamber. Defeat settled over her. She closed her eyes, willing it away, and searched for the good of the moment, the joy that was evident all around her.

It would be rude to leave, and she didn’t dare anger David on such a day. Still, she was more determined than ever to leave the oppression and intrigue of the king’s household, to live away from the gossiping, grasping women who vied for his attention. She would give him one less wife to trouble himself with. If he would allow it, she would simply take Chileab and go to live with her father and Talya and Micah. He might even enjoy having a place to come to, away from the trappings of royalty—a place of peace.

She drew in a breath and let it slowly release. The royal entourage finally moved from the audience chamber, and Abigail followed the guards to the banquet hall. If she could catch David’s eye, perhaps he would visit her again soon, and when he did, she would do what she could to make things right.