Abigail stared at the closed door, too numb and confused to move. He was sending her away? So quickly? And not with the joy she expected or with the hope of letting her create for him a sanctuary of peace, but with anger and despair.
What had she done?
She picked up an embroidered pillow and hugged it to herself to still the sudden trembling. Her intentions had been to please him—and herself, if the truth were known. She had thought he would appreciate a place of refuge from the demands of his kingly life. She could give that to him in a home of her own. So what if she cared for her father in the process? Why couldn’t he see that she spoke wisdom?
She did, didn’t she?
Memories and uncertainty swept over her in little waves— times of trying so hard to appease angry men, of working to keep her heart from being broken again and again, of believing promises no man could keep. And what had it brought her?
A knock at the door drew her gaze from the pillow to the place David had just stood. Rosah pattered over the tile floors to answer the knock.
“We are here to assist the lady Abigail.” Two female servants stepped into the room, arms loaded with straw baskets. “The king has sent us to help pack your things.”
“Pack your things?” Rosah looked at her askance. Had she not heard the conversation?
“The king is sending us away.” Abigail heard her own flat tone acknowledge the unbelievable truth. She stared at the two servants in silence.
“Away? Where? Why?” Rosah moved closer and knelt beside the couch at her feet. “You must call him back. You must fix whatever is wrong. Please, my lady.”
Abigail looked into Rosah’s impassioned face. “Why do you care so? You will still be cared for. Just not here.”
Rosah’s cheeks flushed, and she leaned back on her heels. “I only thought . . . it isn’t good for your son to be away from his father. Forgive me, my lady.” She backed away, and Abigail wondered not for the first time if Rosah had feelings for her husband. But then all the young women were enamored with the king. She would outgrow it in time when she married and had a home of her own.
Which apparently Abigail would finally have as well—a home of her own to do with as she pleased. She would make the place a safe haven for her son and her father, while her husband went off to live his life as king away from her.
The thought left her empty and desolate. But she would not weep. She had done nothing wrong.
With new resolve, she rose from her seat and went to help the servants pack. There would be no rest for her this night.
David stood near the parapet of his roof, looking down at the small entourage ready to carry his wife and son to her father’s home outside of his palatial compound. An ache began along the back of his neck, and he could feel the tension knotting his shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to forget their conversation of the night before and return to the joy he’d felt when he’d first entered her apartment. How had this peace-loving woman managed to ruin his sense of well-being? Was he overreacting?
She didn’t realize, couldn’t possibly know, what this request had cost him. To allow her to return to her father was to let another man control what belonged to him. He would lose her when he moved his family to Jerusalem, something he had only recently shared with his advisors.
The thought of the future eased some of his tension. They had so much to look forward to. Why did she want to retreat? She needed to embrace these new challenges, to help him plan a new palace and give him some insight into how to bring the women into worship.
But all she could see was her fellow wives. Instead of embracing them as sisters, she wanted to see them as rivals for his affection, and though in her mind that may have been true, couldn’t she see that she already owned an important part of his heart? Who else among his wives loved Adonai and sought Him with heart and soul as she did? He never worried about Chileab learning to follow Yahweh as long as Abigail was close by. He counted on her wisdom to keep peace with the other women. Why did she want to give it all up?
The servants helped Abigail mount a donkey, then lifted Chileab into her arms. Her young maid rode behind her, and Benaiah and several of his bodyguards surrounded the small group.
David’s heart squeezed at the sight. How could she do this to him? Why did she test his goodwill? He gripped the edge of the parapet and blew out a breath. He could see them clearly from where he stood, but Abigail did not look up, apparently not caring whether she saw him again or not.
“Are you going to see them off, my lord?” His friend Hushai came up beside him and rested a hand on his arm. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”
Hushai had listened to his complaints without comment when David had returned the night before. David glanced at the man now and sighed. “She has made her decision. Let her go.”
Hushai hoisted his sagging middle and tucked his bulk beneath his belt. “It seems to me, my lord, that you made the decision for her. If what you told me is correct, she asked you to consider letting her live apart from your other wives, to care for her father, but you told her to get out today. I hardly think the lady Abigail meant for you to send her off during the feast with such animosity between you.” He looked at David then, his pointed, honest expression reminding David in the smallest way of Jonathan.
David turned his head, heat creeping up his neck, feeling more like a reprimanded child than a newly crowned king. “Nevertheless, she should not have asked. She implied that I am unfit to raise her son, unfit to be husband to her since she is forced to share me.” His own words mocked him, and he couldn’t bear to see their truth mirrored in Hushai’s kind face. He glanced down at the group again instead, watching as the donkeys moved forward toward the palace gate, feeling the dagger of Hushai’s words and his own petulant admission twist in his heart.
“We both know the law, my lord,” Hushai said, his gentle tone belying the sharp implication. “ ‘Kings must not multiply wives to themselves,’ yet you have seven wives and have considered more. Adonai gave that law for a reason.”
“So that the women would not turn the king’s heart away from Him. My wives have not done that. I am fully devoted to the Lord my God. So where is the problem?” Irritation pricked the back of David’s neck, followed quickly by a heavy weight of guilt. Was that the only reason God had given such a law? Might David have used his own desire to justify his choices?
“I think you know that answer as well as I do, my lord.” Hushai backed away from him and nodded. “I will leave you to think on these things in peace.”
Hushai left the roof, and David turned back to watch the road. The caravan carrying his wife and son grew smaller in the distance. He rubbed the back of his neck again and glanced toward the heavens.
My heart is devoted to You, O Adonai. Surely You know this.
His wives had not turned him away. On the contrary, he had insisted the foreigner Maacah learn the ways of Yahweh.
But it was Abigail who had shared his love for the Most High, his yearning for his Creator.
And he was sending her away.
But he was only giving her what she’d requested.
Turmoil churned his gut as he left the roof.
38
Abigail clutched Chileab to her chest as the donkey slowly plodded to the king’s gate, leaving David’s property and his protection. That he’d sent his trusted bodyguards to escort her gave her a small measure of comfort, but as they passed beneath the thick stone arches, she couldn’t stop the sudden doubt assailing her. Even now, should she beg Benaiah to return her to David to fall at his feet and beg his forgiveness? Surely he would restore her to her former place, allow her to stay with him as before.
Was it her pride that kept her from doing just that? The breeze cooled her hot cheeks, and she squeezed Chileab closer, drinking in his scent and wishing she could keep the truth of all that had happened from him forever. But he would one day want to know why he rarely saw his father, why he lived away from the palace, wha
t had become of his brothers . . .
Was she doing the right thing?
But what choice did she have? David was sending her away. She would risk everything if she tried to get back in his good graces, and she wasn’t sure she could do such a thing.
“Mama?” Chileab’s young voice cut into her musings, and she leaned forward to hear him better.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“Where is Abba?” He twisted in her arms to look into her face. “Why are we leaving our house?”
“I told you, beloved. We’re going to live with your grandfather. You’ll get to see your cousin Micah. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
He nodded, but his gaze was uncertain. “But will we be gone long? I didn’t get to tell Abba good-bye.”
I didn’t either, baby. But she couldn’t voice the words or give vent to the feelings they evoked. She swallowed hard. “We’ll see Abba again sometime.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
He fell silent and twisted around to look ahead again, apparently satisfied with her answers. She gripped the reins, tempted to turn and look behind her at the home she had occupied for the past seven years. But if he would not come to her, she would not look for him. She fought the temptation and stared straight ahead, unable to stop the sinking feeling in her heart.
David forced himself to act as though nothing unusual had happened as he returned to his dining hall that evening for the fourth day of the feast. He tried desperately to pay attention to the men sitting closest to him, but his stomach knotted with every bite of food, and the wine tasted like gall in his mouth. Abigail had trotted out of the city’s gates without a backward glance as though he meant nothing to her at all, taking their son with her. And he had let her go. How had it come to this?
He lifted a silver chalice to his lips, staring into the dark liquid and seeing Abigail’s reflection in his mind’s eye. He was unable to wipe away the image of the shocked look that had crossed her lovely face at his sudden demand she leave. He took a long drink, wishing he could drown his memories, but the hurt in her eyes stabbed him in the heart. He had once promised her he would never hurt her. So what had he done? He was no brute like Nabal, but hurt came in many forms.
He rose, suddenly disgusted with himself, and shoved away from the table. His servants and guards scrambled to keep up with his long strides.
“My lord, how can I help you?” a servant asked, puffing at his side.
“Get me my copy of the law, and do it quickly.” He would do his guilt no good to remind himself of Adonai’s commands, but experience told him that if he wanted answers, Adonai’s law was the best place to start.
His manservant brought a lounging robe for him, and he settled onto a plush couch in his bedchamber just as a scribe entered, carrying the scroll. He unrolled it carefully, spread it on a low table, knelt on a soft bearskin rug, and pored over the words. Words that now came into clearer focus, accusing him, convicting him.
“Neither shall he multiply wives for himself, lest his heart turn away . . .”
O Lord, surely You desire truth in the inmost place. And in truth, I have not kept this whole law. Surely I was sinful at birth. And the consequences have cost me much heartache and have hurt the ones I love.
He did love her. Now he realized just how much. Had he told her so? Did she know it? If sharing him meant never knowing for sure, she could not possibly know it or believe it.
Cleanse me from my sin. Wash me, make me whiter than snow.
He should have told her every moment she was with him, should have made her believe it, should have never allowed such hurt to darken those luminous brown eyes. His breath came slow and deep, and he bent his head over the parchment, his heart broken and bare.
Create a clean heart in me, O God. Teach me Your ways.
How could he possibly set things right again? He could not undo the marriages he had already made, but he could refuse to accept such future alliances. He recalled the pressure his advisors had placed on him to accept Maacah years ago and how easily the rest had been added after that. Maacah, the spoiled foreign princess who would expect him tonight.
He released a troubled sigh. To please and to appease them had cost him what he held most dear—a wife and son he dearly loved.
If he kept himself from adding more wives, would Abigail see it as enough? Would loving her be enough for him? He couldn’t ignore his other wives. There would always be reason to share his time. Always the struggle to give her the peace she craved.
So did he act on this law or continue as he had done all along?
Oh, Adonai, show me what to do.
The longing to set things right between them warred with his pride. Pride told him to let her be, to wait for her to come to him. Wisdom told him to set pride aside and go to her, to not let another sundown give root to bitterness. Voices of reason and want clashed within him, and he wasn’t sure which side would win.
He wasn’t sure which side he wanted to win.
Abigail tucked her feet beneath her on her father’s wood bench, listening as rain drummed a rapid rhythm on her father’s roof. Chileab and Micah sat on the floor playing war games with sticks and stones. Talya sat opposite her, stitching one of Micah’s worn tunics, while her father whittled a piece of olive wood into another soldier for his grandsons.
“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—”
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