Michal (16 page)

Michal awoke to the sound of David’s footsteps tiptoeing across the wooden floor beside their bed. Summer’s unbearable heat filtered through the open window, and Michal rolled over, her hand to her stomach. She pressed her lips together, trying to suppress the urge to vomit, then bounced out of bed and made it to the chamber pot with no time to spare. The contents of last night’s supper—what little was left—emptied into the bowl, and Michal sat back on her heels, shaking.

“Sick again?” David asked, coming up behind her and helping her off the floor. “This is every morning for the past week, isn’t it?”

Michal wiped her trembling mouth on the towel he handed her and nodded. “You’ve been counting?”

“I get concerned when my best girl is sick all the time. You’ve barely eaten, Michal, and your eyes have dark circles under them.”

Michal looked at him. “Best girl?”

“Only girl,” he corrected.

He walked over to the dressing table and picked up the comb. Two months had passed since her father’s death threat had been lifted, and Michal relished these rare moments together. Usually Michal’s maid helped her freshen up and dress. Today David drew the comb through her long tresses. His gentle fingers lifted a strand and slowly worked the teeth through her tangles. Tears dampened Michal’s cheeks.

“You’re too good to me.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Thank you.” She leaned her weary head against him. She was so tired. And this constant queasiness was taking its toll. Was God punishing her? Was she dying?

“I’ve called for your mother.” David’s tender voice cut through her thoughts, and he swabbed her perspiring forehead with a soft cloth.

“All right.” Her heavy eyelids closed of their own accord.

David paced the small courtyard of his home, his head cocked, listening for some sign of movement within. Muffled voices and the sound of shuffling feet met his ear, but the door remained closed. He released an impatient breath. This was taking too long. He whirled about and strode to the front of the house. Two man-sized teraphim made of carved wood stared at him from either side of his front door. He restrained the urge to curse, sighing instead. Michal’s mother had taken charge the moment she stepped under his roof. She’d summoned the palace physician, sent servants rushing to and fro, and proclaimed his presence a nuisance.

His hands clenched one at a time, and he flexed his muscles in a rhythmic pattern. Future king indeed! He couldn’t even control his own mother-in-law. How was he supposed to rule a kingdom?

The sound of hurried footsteps made him turn toward the door leading to the sitting room. He caught Keziah’s sturdy arm.

“What’s going on, Keziah? How is your mistress?”

Michal’s maid lifted large, fear-filled eyes to David before dropping her gaze to her feet. He released his grip on her arm.

“My lord, I’m afraid I do not know. Her color is pallid, and the doctor doesn’t say anything except to send me for cool water and fresh rags.” She lowered her voice. “The queen just sits at her side, holding her hand and moaning, ‘My baby.’ I’m afraid we’re losing her, my lord.”

Losing her? Ahinoam had the audacity to send him away when Michal might be dying? Angry now, David marched to his bedchamber and burst through the closed door.

“What’s wrong with her?” David looked down at the bed, where his wife lay shaking among a pile of blankets. He faced the physician.

The wiry man bent over Michal, touching her forehead. “She has a fever, my lord, and she is delirious. Keeps mumbling your name and—” His words slid to a halt.

“And what? Tell me.” David heaved a sigh, reining in his temper.

A nervous laugh stumbled from the doctor’s lips. “Of all things, she has been”—he looked around the room and leaned toward David—“cursing the king.”

David hid a smile. Maybe not so delirious. He pushed past the worried little man and stood in front of Ahinoam.

“Excuse me, Mother, but I’d like to be alone with my wife, please.”

Ahinoam straightened, her hands still clutching Michal’s frail arm. She assumed her typical aristocratic pose. “I see no reason to leave.”

“I do.”

Ahinoam tossed him a look of utter disdain. “My daughter needs me.”

“She’s asking for me.” David met Ahinoam’s stiff glare.

“She’s delirious. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“Nevertheless, she’s my wife.” David’s eyes traveled to Michal’s sunken ones. His stomach did an uncomfortable flip. If he was losing her, he needed to hold her again, to tell her how much he loved her. And he couldn’t do that with an audience.

“Please give me some time with her, Mother.” He turned to Ahinoam and smiled. “Afterward, I’ll sing for her, and you can come back and listen.”

The anxious creases on Ahinoam’s forehead smoothed, and she returned his smile. “Very well.”

When the door closed behind the small entourage, David sat on the bed and let his fingers stroke Michal’s warm cheek. Her eyes fluttered open at his touch.

“David?”

“I’m here, my love.”

Her eyes closed again. Silence followed. David laid his ear against her chest, listening to Michal’s breathing.
Please, Lord,
let her be well. I don’t know how to help her. But You are
Adonai Roph’ekha
, and I know You can heal. Please heal her.

Her dark, somber eyes opened again. “I lost your baby, David.” The words were lifeless, like fallen leaves in winter.

David’s breath caught. Baby? He hadn’t even known she was expecting his baby.

“I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure, but when I got sicker and sicker, I couldn’t hide it anymore.” She lowered her lashes, perspiration beading her brow.

David smoothed the wet tendrils of hair from her face. “Don’t talk, beloved.”

Michal shook her head. “I have to, David. If I die . . .”

“You’re not going to die.”

Her lips quivered, and tears filled her luminous eyes. “I wanted to have your son, my lord.”

“And you still will someday.” He gripped her hand in his, intertwining their fingers. “You just need to rest and get well, Michal.”

“You’re not angry with me?”

“For what?”

The tears spilled over and fell from the corners of her eyes to the matted pillow beneath her head. “For losing the baby.”

“You couldn’t have stopped it, Michal. It wasn’t your fault.” He’d seen enough miscarriages among the sheep to understand the spontaneity of such an action.

Silent tears met his words. He kissed her wet cheek. “I love you, Michal. Nothing you could ever do will change the way I feel.”

He released his grip on her hand and snatched his lyre from one corner of the room. Perhaps his music would lift her from the depths of her pain. And in the process perhaps the Lord would grant him comfort as well.

“It seems like the normal frontline battle attack isn’t the best strategy,” Joab said, changing the direction of the advisors’ meeting at David’s home two weeks later.

David studied Joab’s expression, then glanced around the courtyard at Abner, Jonathan, and Abishai, Joab’s brother. “You have a better suggestion?”

Abner straightened, his proud chin lifting. He folded his arms over his burly chest. “We’ve employed sneak attacks and come-from-behind strategies before, Joab, when we’ve come upon small groups of the enemy. But you know as well as I do that meeting the Philistines at the edge of their territory, especially in a valley, is going to make any kind of sneak attack difficult—to say the least.”

“Any attempt to enter the valley and opposite mountain would be seen by their sentries,” Jonathan said, accepting a cold drink from Keziah, who moved about the courtyard offering refreshments.

“Unless we strike after dark.” David crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned against the cushions. Keziah stepped beside him and refilled his goblet with watered wine. He straightened and touched Keziah’s arm. She bent close to his ear.

“Yes, my lord?”

“How is your mistress?” David whispered. Michal’s condition had improved beyond the danger point, but the knowledge that he was leaving at the end of the week for yet another battle with the Philistines had sent her spirits sinking.

“She is sleeping, my lord.”

David nodded, dismissing her. Maybe Michal’s mood would improve when she awoke. He looked at Jonathan. “If we wait until dark, we could send scouts into their camp, even hiding near enough to strike before dawn.”

“We would need torches—they’d see us,” Abishai said.

“We would wait for the light of a full moon.” David sipped his wine, his thoughts turning. “Besides, the Lord can save by many or few. A better strategy would be to ask Him what we should do.”

“Indeed.” Jonathan smiled. He rose and stretched, glancing at the sundial. “I need to give a report to the king. We can talk more tomorrow.”

Abner followed Jonathan through the gate, but Joab and Abishai hung back.

“Do you trust them, Uncle?” Joab stood at David’s side, his voice low.

David’s wide eyes met Joab’s beady ones. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“They are loyal to Saul. Saul hates you.”

“Jonathan is my friend. And this mission is for Israel. What are you worried about, Joab?” David studied his nephew, noting the way his thick brows drew together in a straight line whenever he was deep in thought.

Joab shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still staring after Abner and Jonathan. “I don’t trust Abner.”

“For what reason?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t trust him.”

David looked beyond them into the gathering dusk. “When you come up with a reason, I’ll think about taking you seriously. Time to go, my brothers.”

Joab grunted, and Abishai followed him out. Abishai looked back when they reached the front gate. “Be careful, David,” he called. “Joab is usually right.”

13

The roof of her father’s fortresslike palace afforded a better view of the returning army than did Michal’s home. She stood in her old youthful hideaway between the twin guard towers facing the road, the wind tugging at her robe and plastering it against her too-thin frame. The scent of heavy dew hung in the air and still clung to her jeweled sandals from the short walk to the king’s estate. Paltiel, one of her father’s guards, had become her personal shadow since David’s departure. He’d been summoned by David to protect her until his return. The young man, barely past puberty but probably close to her age, had run to her shortly after sunup with the news of the army’s imminent return.