“He’s alive?” She wasn’t sure how she managed the words past the grit on her tongue.
David gripped her hand and nodded. “He’s alive. We’ll have you home in a heartbeat.”
Dare she believe him? But a moment later Benaiah walked toward her cradling Chileab and laid him in Abigail’s waiting arms. His eyes were closed, but she could tell by the slow rise and fall of his chest that he was breathing. Yet his left arm was sorely misshapen, having been crushed beneath the wheel of the cart. A little cry escaped before she could stop it. She looked at David, who had obviously seen the damaged limb. She tried to interpret his reaction, but his face was unreadable.
He hopped onto the cart and ordered his driver to take them home.
“Mama! What of Mama, David?” Sudden fear snaked through her as she remembered her mother’s still form.
“The men will bring her. There is no more room here.” He rose to stand behind his driver, leaving her settled on the floor of the chariot, cradling their son.
Abigail sat at Chileab’s side, unwilling to leave despite the physician’s protests. She stroked her son’s forehead while the man gave him something strong to drink to help with the pain, then worked as best he could to straighten the broken bones. But after hours of careful work, there was little that could be done. Chileab’s arm would never be whole again, its shape unnaturally grotesque.
The news distressed her, not because she cared whether Chileab followed his father as king but because she feared— no, she knew—deep in her heart that this would change David’s view of their son. Would he spend less time with them now, unwilling to see the child without looking on her with blame? If she had kept him with her, never let go of his hand, none of this would have happened. And Mama wouldn’t be fighting for her life in the next room.
Her mother’s injuries shouldn’t have been life-threatening, but when she’d tried to free Chileab’s arm from the cart’s wheel, her own hand had been crushed. The pain and cut of the wound had become inflamed, and now her whole body had been claimed by a fever that left her delirious.
Chileab stirred in the bed beside her. Abigail rose and knelt over him, feeling his cheeks for any sign of the fever that was claiming her mother. Rosah appeared in the doorway, looking weary and troubled.
“Get me water and a cool cloth,” Abigail said. “He seems to be fine, but let me bathe his face just the same.”
The girl nodded and hurried away. Abigail turned back to her son, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Chileab. Your mama should have watched over you better. Whatever made you go under that cart?” She whispered the words, not wanting to wake him, but the herbs had put him to sleep hours before, so he was unlikely to hear her or rise to consciousness.
Rosah appeared moments later with the supplies. “I can do that for you, my lady.”
“No, I want to.” She took the cloth and dunked it in the cool water, then squeezed out the excess and carefully placed it over Chileab’s cheeks, gently stroking his soft skin. After she was satisfied that he did not possess a fever, she wrung the cloth out into the bowl and spread it to dry over a peg hanging on the wall. She tiptoed out of the room and retreated to her sitting room, startled to find David waiting for her on her couch, dressed in full regal garb.
“How is he?” His dark eyes assessed her but revealed nothing. She desperately needed his concern, his loving embrace, his forgiveness.
“He sleeps from the herbs and wine mixture the physician gave him. But he is not feverish like Mama.” She watched him closely, debating whether to sit opposite him or next to him. She wanted him to welcome her again but feared he never would. Did he blame her for all of this?
Well, why not? She was guilty enough.
He held out a package to her. “My men found this near the accident. The merchant said you had purchased it.”
The fabric for the robes she had planned to make for David and Chileab. Kingly robes for the king and his heir. She took the canvas wrappings from his hands and set it in a basket on the floor. They would have little use of it now.
“Thank you.” She straightened and smoothed her robe, avoiding his gaze.
He leaned against the couch, legs stretched out before him, studying her. Was he judging her as her king or assessing her needs as a husband might do? If a husband took the time and cared.
“Come here, Abigail.” His command held little warmth, and she almost felt like a child about to be reprimanded. The tone reminded her briefly of Nabal, and the thought made her pause, her feet suddenly unwilling or unable to move her forward.
“Why?” Her voice sounded weak and afraid even to her own ears, and she saw in him the warrior she had once appeased. She fell to her face before him, unable to stop the chill working through her. Would he cast her out? Would he find her unfit to be wife to the king because she did not keep better watch over his special son?
She heard him shift his position on the couch. Silence fell between them until she felt his touch on her head. “Come here,” he said again, his voice less gruff this time, “because I asked you to.”
She rose to her knees and forced her wobbly legs to stand. She stood before him, clasped her hands in front of her, and bowed her head, unable to look him in the eye. He must think her the worst of fools. He had already spent years denying her the right to share his bed—for reasons she could only surmise—and now, after what she had done . . .
“Sit beside me, Abigail.” He reached for her hand and pulled her next to him.
She sat stiff, fearful of him. “I’m sorry, my lord. I should have watched over him better. I’m a terrible mother. I don’t know how he got away from me—”
He held a hand to her lips. “Shhh . . . you are not a terrible mother, beloved. It was an accident. There was nothing you could have done.” He took her face in his hands, and for the first time since the accident, she read compassion in his gaze. “I forgive you, Abigail. And we can be grateful that Adonai spared him. He will never be the same, no, and he will never be king, but he will live and grow up and love and give us grandchildren.” He brushed his thumb along her cheek, then bent to kiss her. “He will be all right.”
“You’re not angry with me?”
He regarded her for a moment. “I’m angry and I’m grieved, but not at you, Abigail. Not at you.”
“At Chileab then? He’s just a boy, David, and he was probably chasing some fool bird. You know how he is with watching things—he gets so caught up.” She choked on a sob. “Please don’t hold it against your son, my lord.”
He silenced her again with a finger to her lips. “I’m not angry at Chileab. He is too young to know better. Nor am I angry at your mother or your servant. The donkey has been hamstrung and the merchant’s cart destroyed. I no longer allow merchants to keep carts beside their stalls.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I do not pretend to understand why Adonai allowed such a thing. Surely He could have stopped it from happening.”
So he was angry at the merchant, but in a deeper sense was he also angry at God? But that would be foolish. Adonai might have been able to stop it, but He didn’t.
“Perhaps I have sinned,” she said, begging God in silence to forgive her yet again. “Perhaps if we offered Him a sacrifice . . . We mustn’t hold it against Adonai, my lord. We deserve nothing from Him. We can only beg for His mercy.” She looked at him, praying she had not offended him with her gentle reprimand. Someday he would grow weary of her wisdom if she wasn’t careful.
His hands rested on her shoulders, his look thoughtful. “We will ask Abiathar to offer a sacrifice on your behalf.”
She nodded and lowered her gaze. So he believed the sin was hers alone. But what of the way he had kept himself from her? Did Adonai approve of a husband keeping himself from a wife? It had been so long since he had kissed her or loved her the way she longed for him to do. She lifted her face to his, knowing she could not keep her longing for him hidden from her eyes.
He caressed her cheek wi
th one hand, his look filling her with hope. She wrapped her hands around his neck and looked into those fathomless eyes, begging him to fulfill her desire. Dare she speak of it?
“I need you, David. Please love me as you used to.”
A soft wince crossed his handsome face at her words, as though the very thought would be his undoing. Before he could deny her, she reached up to kiss him, a slow, lingering kiss. How she needed his companionship right now. What was it about grief that made a person long for intimacy? She didn’t know, but she thrilled the moment she felt him deepen the kiss and respond to her in kind.
An internal battle waged in David’s mind, common sense warring with desire. He’d avoided Abigail’s bed to protect her, to keep from putting her through the agony of childbirth again. Yet here she was, still young and beautiful and arousing his own need of her. If Yahweh saw fit to give her another son, the boy would never usurp his older brother’s rights to inherit his throne. And suppose Abigail was right? If her sin had caused Chileab’s accident, what might happen to the next child born to them? What sin had she committed to cause Yahweh to allow such a thing?
He knew that sometimes Adonai visited the sins of the fathers to the third and fourth generation. But that curse was for the unrighteous. Surely Abigail was righteous. Hadn’t they both done their best to keep Adonai’s laws?
Guilt pricked his conscience even as his flesh yearned for her. He too had broken Adonai’s laws, if he were truly honest with himself. What man could stand righteous before the Most High? He had accepted more horses and wives and gold than a king ought to, and he was certain his thoughts were not nearly perfect, as God was perfect. Even allowing Abigail to shoulder the blame and accept his judgment of her proved his own self-righteousness. They both were guilty before the Almighty.
The thought sobered him.
He drew back from kissing her to look into her soulful eyes. Her longing for him was more evident than he’d ever seen in her. It would be a risk to love her as she asked, a risk for her health and, if anything should happen to her, a risk for his heart.
She leaned closer, her sweet breath mingling with his until she tasted his lips again and he could not pull away. A soft groan escaped him—the war was surely lost. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to her room and shut the door.
36
Abigail woke with a start long before dawn, her breath coming fast and sweat slithering down the middle of her back. It hadn’t been a dream, had it? No, the fear had been something tangible, something so real it had stolen her breath. She rolled over on her bed and swung her legs to the cool tiles, padding softly to Chileab’s room. The child had recovered from the injury remarkably well, though his left arm would never be whole. It was useless where it hung from his elbow to his hand.
She tiptoed to stand over him, looking down on his cherub face draped in moonlight. His look of peace made her heart yearn for such innocence, such ability to block the trauma and tragedy of life from her mind. On the days when she did not dwell on the things that tormented her, she found them pushing their way to the surface at night, when she was defenseless to stop them.
Oh, Adonai, why?
It was a question she felt unworthy to ask and yet at the same time longed to know. Why had her father felt so weak that his only solution to his own problems was to give her Abigail to Nabal in marriage? Why had Nabal treated her with such cruelty? Why had David lost faith in Yahweh and taken them to seek refuge among their enemies, leaving them vulnerable to the kidnapping that surely could have been avoided if he’d stayed in Israel? Why had David taken so many new wives after becoming king, and why had he brought back Michal to make their lives even more miserable?
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.
Abigail (The Wives of King David Book #2): A Novel Page 26