Abigail (40 page)

“Of course you are welcome here, Abigail. You know that. But we don’t have the room you are used to or the wealth. Can you live with that?”

“I have lived with little and with much, Abba. I can be content with either.”

“Then why were you not content to stay with the king?” Talya’s soft voice held neither reprimand nor accusation but rather took on a curious tone. “Was life in David’s household so terrible?” She looked up, breaking off a thread with her teeth. “I imagine it must have been hard to watch him with all of those other women.”

Chileab’s head tilted, and Abigail wondered how much he heard and understood. He looked at her with an innocent, questioning look, intensifying her sense of guilt. Should she have tried to reason with David, to appease his anger as she had so often done over the years? She was weary of playing peacemaker.

“You don’t have to explain, Abigail.” Talya met her gaze with a look of understanding and concern. “We are glad to have you here.”

“Thank you.” Abigail shifted in her seat, then stood, suddenly agitated. She walked to the window overlooking the outer courtyard and gazed into the dusk. Damp air greeted her as she pulled the shutter open farther, letting the breeze fan her face. Normal night sounds were masked by the patter of rain, and Abigail wished the water could wash the pain and hurt from her heart.

She moved from the window to the doorway and slipped into the courtyard. She stood beneath the awning, feeling the dampness seep into her skin. She pulled the scarf around her neck, covered her face, and looked up into the darkness, a darkness that matched her mood. If only she had kept her mouth shut, had not spoken of her concerns. Not during the feast. Not when David had come to her to rejoice and share the good fortune of finally seeing the kingdom united. When would she learn to curb her tongue?

A clap of thunder accompanied flashes of memory:

Nabal standing above her again, his arm raised to strike, casting insults and demanding that she do that very thing— curb her tongue.

You want to leave? Then go!
David’s words hurled at her in brittle tones.

She closed her eyes and leaned against the wet limestone of her father’s house, clinging to its support. Weariness enveloped her, and she knew her lack of sleep from the night before coupled with her battered heart were taking its toll. Why did she love a man she couldn’t satisfy? Why did she long for him even as he disappointed her again and again? Why did she punish herself with the desire to please rather than act as her sister wives and live to please herself?

Search me, O God, and know my heart. Test me, and know my anxious thoughts.
David’s words came back to her, words he’d shared with her long ago when Chileab still slept in her womb.
See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

She looked up again at the heavens as the rain petered to a stop. A handful of stars poked through the dissipating clouds, and she felt the tug on her heart, the yearning for Yahweh. Life would be so much better if David had not taken so many wives. But she could not change him, even as she could not have changed Nabal from his abusive ways. She had accepted her lot with Nabal yet chafed at her lot with David. Why?

She examined her heart as she moved away from the wall and walked through the court to the small lane connecting her father’s house to his neighbors. She had accepted Nabal because she didn’t love him. She had managed him as best she could.

“But I loved you, David,” she spoke softly to the empty night.

“Loved, or still love?”

She stilled, knowing the voice but not believing her own ears. Her heart thudded wildly as she slowly turned, and there he stood, hands extended, dressed as a shepherd rather than a king.

She looked into his handsome face. His dark eyes assessed her, and his outstretched hands beckoned her. She placed her hands in his, and her stomach did a little flip as his fingers covered hers. But he didn’t close the distance between them.

“How did you get here? I didn’t hear you come.”

“Benaiah helped me escape the feast. It took a little doing, but no one expected the king to dress as a lowly shepherd. I slipped away rather easily.” He squeezed her fingers. “I had to come, Abigail.” His Adam’s apple moved, and he cleared his throat, his gaze skipping beyond her. The moon bathed his face in ethereal light. “I . . .” He looked at her then, his expression open and vulnerable, no longer the unreadable mask she had grown accustomed to. “I spent some time tonight reading the book of the law that I copied when I took the throne of Judah seven years ago.” He paused at her curious expression. “Despite what you may think, I do know the law and have hidden it in my heart.” His smile was guarded. “I know my many wives trouble you—”

“David, I—”

He held a finger to her lips to stop her words. “If you don’t let me finish, I may not have the courage to say this to you again.”

She nodded, her pulse kicking up a notch. Her eyes searched his and read only truth there.

“When I read the words that warned kings not to take many wives, I assumed it meant not to do so only to prevent the king’s heart from straying from Yahweh. Since I decided I would never allow such a thing, I saw no reason not to unite tribes and nations with marriage treaties.” He glanced briefly away from her. “Though that’s not the whole truth.” He pulled one hand away to rub the back of his neck. “Truth is, Abigail, I gave in to desire as well.” He looked beyond her at the heavens, then finally let his gaze settle on her face. A sigh lifted his shoulders, as though the words were too painful to say. “I was wrong, Abigail. Taking so many wives . . . I broke Yahweh’s law. The hard part is, there is nothing to be done about it now. There are seven of you, and that is the truth of it.”

He searched her face, and her heart yearned for him to pull her close, but she would not squelch the effort this was costing him or ruin this moment to read into his soul. She was certain he was right—this chance would never come again.

“I cannot even promise you that I won’t fail to keep this command in the future. I know the pressure placed on kings for treaties of peace among nations and tribes . . . and I know my own weakness.” He dropped his head then, as though to admit such a thing was the epitome of grief to him. “But if you will return, I will do my best to keep the law from now on, to add no more wives, to treat you all with the care you deserve.” He lifted his gaze then, his expression hopeful. “I love you, Abigail.” His voice grew husky. “Will you come?”

Her heart soared with his words. Had he spoken them in that way to her before? Surely she knew that he loved her, but she couldn’t remember him ever having said the words. Her throat closed as she squeezed his hand and pulled the scarf from her face, exposing her emotions in the look she gave him and allowing him to read the fragile trust in her soul. “You honor me, my lord, more than I deserve. Surely I have tested your patience and grieved you in my desire to steal so much of your time. I know my own weakness. I am not better than you.”

Her heart throbbed as emotion pulsed between them. He lifted a hand to her face and traced a finger along her jaw, his gaze unutterably tender. And in that moment she believed him. Not in the sense of a man who might say words to get his way and later break his promise, but in the sense of a man who means what he says with all of his heart. He had come to her when he could have let her go, and here he stood, longing to take her back. And she knew without doubt she wanted nothing better. Despite the circumstances, she wanted him and wanted to be near him all the days of her life.

She stepped forward and held her palms open in a gesture of acceptance and peace.

“I love you still, David.”

He reached for her and pulled her into the warmth of his embrace, and she caught the steady cadence of his heart beating beneath his rough tunic.

“I will come,” she whispered, kissing his bearded cheek. “And I will serve Adonai at your side, David, all the days of my life.”

Epilogue

One Year Later

Abigail held her infant daughter Anna tightly against her breast and stood at the altar at the tabernacle in Gibeon. David stood at her side, one arm around her waist, stripped of royal garb, head bowed. Zadok the priest took the lamb and the turtledove they had brought for her purification—the lamb for a burnt offering, the dove for a sin offering—and placed them before Abigail. She laid a hand first on the dove, then on the lamb, then watched the priest slit the animals’ throats, spilling their blood to cover her sins.

Tears filled Abigail’s eyes as she considered the high price of her redemption. Sin she had inherited at birth, dating all the way back to the first mother, Eve. Sin she had carried all on her own as Yahweh tenderly broke her stubbornness and her discontent to teach her obedience, much like her father once broke the leg of a ewe lamb to teach it not to wander from the shepherd. She glanced down at her sleeping daughter, knowing all too well how soon this child would display her own penchant to disobey the laws of Adonai.

The pungent aroma of burning flesh filled the air as the smoke from the sacrifice wafted upward. Abigail followed the path of the smoke, lifting her eyes to the heavens.

Oh, Adonai, please help me to teach this child to love You. Help her to have a heart like her father David.

She glanced at her husband and met his gaze. He smiled at her and squeezed her closer to him.

“Thank you for my daughter, David.” Her delivery had been easier this time, much to her and David’s relief. The reinstitution of purification offerings after childbirth had helped to alleviate the guilt they both felt at neglecting the law with Chileab’s birth, to remind them where to put their trust. They would not always obey, that was certain. Their own human weaknesses had proven how easily they lost that obedience and trust.

David leaned closer to push the blanket away from Anna’s face, his smile prouder than it should have been for a daughter. “She has her mother’s beauty already. Every young man in Israel will be vying for her hand.” He winked at her, then looked back at the sacrifice.

Musicians took up a song David had written, and his quiet tenor blended with them. It was the song he had begun when she still carried Chileab in her womb, a song now completed with Anna’s birth.

“How precious are Your thoughts to me, O God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand. When I awake, I am still with You.”

She glanced at David, noting the sheen of tears dampening his lashes. She was grateful beyond words for her husband, a man willing to admit his faults and repent of his sins, a man after God’s own heart. How grateful she was for the change in him. No new wives had joined them since David’s promise that night in her father’s courtyard. She could only hope he would stay strong and true to the laws of Adonai.

“Search me, O God, and know my heart. Test me, and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

When the song ended, David took the child from her as the two of them knelt before the Lord. Abigail’s heart was humbled to know how far Adonai had brought her—from a broken spirit and wounded heart to a woman who had learned to trust Him even when she didn’t always understand, a woman at peace with her husband and her God.

While her time with David was never long enough, she had learned to be grateful for what he could give her and accept it as a gift from Yahweh’s hand. He would never be perfect, but what man was? He was her husband—shepherd, warrior, poet, lover, and king—and she would accept what she could not change. But she would not cower in fear of his reprisals, knowing now how much he depended on her. She would work to change what she could and would serve him as she served Adonai.

Smiling now, with a heart turning in surrender to the Lord, Abigail lifted her eyes and hands to the heavens and worshiped.

Acknowledgments

Abigail’s story has been a long time coming. I originally imagined her life—the how and why behind what happened in Scripture—during the first five years I homeschooled my sons. I learned point of view and much more about the craft of writing during the first draft of
Abigail
. After the Wives of King David series sold to Revell, I reexamined and rewrote the story. The journey into exploring her life, first with Nabal and then with David, has been eye-opening, especially as I studied polygamy in both ancient and modern times. Despite three thousand years spanning between us, human nature has not changed. Men and women will always find ways to justify their actions and even try to use the Bible to excuse them.

During the months of rewriting
Abigail
, I relied on the encouragement and prayers of many people, particularly my prayer team, the members of Transforming Grace—what an army of prayer warriors you are; my friends, who love me just because; and my precious family. Thanks to all of you—you and your prayers are priceless. I love you!

A special thanks to Kristin Hill Gorin, who believed in me years before
Michal
saw print.

To my editors at Revell, Lonnie Hull DuPont and Jessica Miles, for your help with pacing and other issues. Your gentle comments always opened my eyes to ways I could show the story better. You have my highest respect and thanks!

To Wendy Lawton, my faithful agent whose advice has helped guide my career far better than I could do myself. You encourage me in ways I will always treasure. Thank you for supporting me and rejoicing with me.

To the marketing team at Revell—what would I do without you? Cheryl Van Andel, your cover designs should earn you awards! The cover for
Abigail
is every bit as wonderful as that of
Michal
. Thank you! Twila Bennett, Claudia Marsh, Michele Misiak, Deonne Beron, Carmen Sechrist—thank you for so expertly promoting my work. You are the best!

To my critique partner, Jill Stengl, who made me believe Abigail’s story had merit and loved it even amid my self-doubts and second-guessing. I love you, dear friend.