She looked at her husband, an unnamed fear working through her. Nabal had been controlling, cruel, mean-spirited, and abusive physically and emotionally. David had promised he would never hurt her, but wasn’t he equally controlling and cruel in a different sort of way? What could possibly have made him think that a wife could subsist on only a few moments of his time and go quietly to her rooms so he could see the next wife?
A hollow feeling settled in her heart, and she wondered what fate awaited her and her child in this place. Would David grow impatient with his child’s cries? Would he confine them to a place far from him?
“How are you feeling, beloved?” David’s question snapped her thoughts to the present, bringing them into clearer focus. His smile was trained wholly on her. The irritation around his mouth and eyes was gone, and his attention was hers.
She drew in a breath, trying to block out what she had just witnessed. She forced herself to mask the apprehension and concern drawing her up short. “I am well, my lord. Thank you for asking. The child has drained less energy today.”
He touched her arm, then his fingers traveled to the secret place where the child lay. “Does it move yet?” His look of wonder reminded her of a little boy, and she couldn’t stop the amusement it sparked inside of her.
“Not yet. Though I have coaxed him often enough.” She smiled, her longing for her husband rising again. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop loving this man, even through the pain of sharing him.
“Perhaps if I try.” He winked at her and moved his hand slowly in a circular motion over her middle, sending pinpricks of delight through her and raising her emotions to new heights. Something stirred inside her, the slightest flutter, the first sign of movement.
She placed her hand over his as she bent close to his ear. “I felt something.” Was it simply joy and desire at his touch? Or did the babe recognize the tender love of his father? “There it is again!”
His hand stilled, as though waiting to feel it too, but the kick was too gentle, meant for her alone.
“In time I will share your joy,” he said, moving his hand to her shoulder. He took her in his arms and kissed her. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, my love.” He touched a finger to her nose and backed away. “Rest well tonight. I will see you again tomorrow.” With that, he stood, nodded his farewell, and moved across the court to where Maacah sat outside her rooms.
He would make the rounds, going from first wife to sixth, giving them all a few moments of his precious time—the only glimpse they would have of him. The rest of his day would be taken up with military strategy meetings with his mighty men, political discussions with his advisors, and interviews with men coming to seek judgment over one issue or another. His life was planned for him from the break of dawn to the setting sun. Even then, after his visit to the family courtyard when he had chosen a wife to join him in his chambers, the time was not his own but was devoted to pleasing whichever wife he had called. Some nights no one was summoned, though each one of them would spend hours grooming themselves in hopes of being picked.
She glanced across the court where Maacah sat in her seductive pose. She was unable to stop the knifelike pain that struck her as David laughed at something Maacah had said. Abigail looked away, wishing she could wipe the beguiling smile from the woman’s haughty face. But as the moments ticked past, her curiosity would not allow her to ignore her husband, even if it meant seeing him interact with another wife. But when she saw David’s hand moving in circles over Maacah’s middle—the same intimate gesture he had shared with her, as if to awaken Maacah’s child—she felt stung. The child of the spoiled princess of Geshur was not nearly far enough along for movement, which David should know from Ahinoam, if he was paying attention.
She stood, bile rising in the back of her throat as the moment of joy quickly shifted to pain. “Help me to bed, Rosah.” She stumbled forward, a hand over her mouth, begging her roiling stomach to lie still until she could make it to the seclusion of her rooms.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Rosah gripped her arm and steadied her as the two hurried to cross the stones of the court into the safety of Abigail’s chambers.
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David smiled at Maacah, trying to remember why he had ever thought another wife would only complicate his life. This woman did add to his confusion at times, but she had a way about her and knew how to coax feelings from him that he didn’t know existed. Sometimes she carried a dark side, a sense of humor that bordered on that of a man, but he found the distinction intriguing, and the rest of her was by no means masculine.
Sometimes her boldness made him pause, as it did now as she grasped his hand and placed it over her belly, where she claimed his child grew. If she spoke the truth, the child would be too small to feel. Hadn’t it been only a few weeks since she had purified herself from her uncleanness, as he had made sure she knew to do when she joined his house? Foreign princess or not, his wife would keep the laws of Adonai. If Maacah carried his child, she could not have known for long.
He laughed as she moved his fingers beneath her palm in the same circular motion he had done with Abigail—of his own accord. Had she seen that exchange? He glanced to his left toward Abigail’s rooms in time to see Abigail place a hand over her mouth and hurry from the courtyard. He gauged the distance between the two women. Each one could definitely see what the other did. The court was not big enough for privacy. The house was not big enough for six wives.
He looked back at Maacah, trying to focus on her words, but he couldn’t get his mind off Abigail. Why had she rushed off like that? Was she ill again? The pregnancy had already caused her much distress. Would she lose the babe as she’d said her mother had often done? Would he lose Abigail in the process? He’d rarely lost a ewe in the throes of birth, but Abigail was not a sheep, and as much as he’d cared for his flock, he couldn’t bear to lose a wife. Especially not that one.
“If you like, my lord, I have some sweet cakes filled with pistachios and honey that I made just for you, a recipe from my people. Come to my chambers and I will feed them to you.” Maacah traced her finger along the side of his face, coaxing him to look at her again. “You are much distracted tonight, David. Let me warm your bed and you will have no more distractions.” Her coy smile made his blood rush quicker through his body. Desire filled him as she moved both hands to his face and slowly rubbed her fingers along his temples, soothing him.
But he had three more wives to see, and he should really check on Abigail to know what had caused her sudden change in mood. Though one look at Maacah, and he could guess. Abigail did not approve of his new wives and hated being one of six instead of one of two. The knowledge always carried with it a hint of guilt that she was right, but she should know by now that a king’s life was not always his own. She wanted peace as much as he did, and this way was far more pleasant than going to war. Then again . . .
He closed his eyes, momentarily accepting Maacah’s soothing ministrations, but concern over Abigail would not let him rest. He looked into Maacah’s dark, oriental eyes and then put his hands over hers to still their movement. He placed her hands in her lap and bent to kiss her, then stood quickly before she could protest. “I will see you tomorrow,” he said, suddenly hating that he’d caused the hurt in her eyes. He moved on to Haggith before she could snag him again, fighting a growing sense of disillusionment.
The sun had faded to the west and the family courtyard was bathed in shadows when David finally bid Eglah goodnight and walked back toward Abigail’s rooms. A sigh, deep and troubling, worked its way through him as he paused at Abigail’s threshold. He needed her, truth be told. She didn’t believe him when he said it, so he had stopped voicing the fact that he often wished he had married only her. Somehow that declaration only managed to distance them more, something he didn’t understand. Why did she think that she was the only one troubled by his many wives? Ahinoam nearly always frustrated him, and Maacah did not bring out his best qualities. He never felt
the oneness of spirit with either of them—with any of his wives—that he did with Abigail. Abigail shared his love for Yahweh, his devotion to what was true and right.
He nodded to Benaiah, who moved to position himself inside Abigail’s small courtyard, near enough to guard and to be summoned. David knocked on the door. Though he told himself he had the right to enter unannounced, he didn’t use it. He waited a moment, then knocked again. Hurried footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, and Abigail’s young maid thrust it open out of breath.
She bowed low to the ground. “My lord the king! I . . . we . . . didn’t expect you.”
“Take me to your mistress.” He was suddenly tired of the formalities that surrounded his kingship.
“Yes, my lord.” She scrambled to her feet, her face flushed crimson, her large, dark eyes lit with excitement. “This way.” He knew the way, of course, but he allowed the girl to lead him. When they reached the door to Abigail’s chambers, he stopped.
“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.
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“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 comi
ng, 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.”
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