Michal

by Jill Eileen Smith

  David sobered but still courted an irrepressible smile. “No, no, Nephew, that’s not what I mean. When I was running from Saul, I went to see Samuel, and I met a girl at the well. What was her name?” He scratched his turbaned head. “Ahinoam! Yes. I remember because it was the same name as Michal’s mother.” He looked at Joab. “She was from Jezreel, but she was living with an uncle in Ramah.”

  “So?” Joab tapped an impatient foot.

  “So, I want you to get her for me. If I can’t have Michal, I must take another wife.” David’s pulse picked up its pace, and for the first time in months, hope pierced his heart.

  “What if she’s already spoken for?” Joab asked.

  David clasped his hands over the end of his staff. Joab had a point. The girl had been of marriageable age when he’d met her over a year ago. The chances of her being available were slim. “Obviously I will have to find someone else then.” He took two steps away from Joab, then abruptly turned back. “You don’t usually run to greet me—what did you want?”

  Joab glanced behind him, then faced David. “A prophet has come to see you.”

  David looked beyond Joab. The prophet Gad, one of Samuel’s students, walked with purpose toward him. David brushed past his nephew and embraced Gad, kissing each cheek. Joab came up behind David, greeting the prophet with a nod.

  “Welcome.” David stepped aside to look at the man. “What brings you to our humble dwelling?” He moved his arm in a wide, sweeping arc toward the surrounding homes that had become their village.

  “The Lord sent me.”

  David studied the prophet for a moment, uneasiness tickling his neck.

  “Has something happened to my parents? The king of Moab assured me of his protection when we took them there, but if he’s hurt them—”

  “Your parents are well,” Gad interrupted, his glowing eyes steadily holding David’s.

  “Is it Jonathan then? Or Michal?” His heart raced.

  “I honestly don’t know how they fare, David. I’ve heard nothing.”

  David’s chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. “What does the Lord want then?”

  Trust Me, David.

  The thought swept over him, bringing with it waves of peace.

  “The Lord says to leave the stronghold. He wants you to return to Israel.”

  “Where Saul can easily find us,” Joab said.

  David looked at his nephew, then turned serious eyes on Gad. “We will leave at dawn. Whatever the Lord wants, we will do.”

  The black goat-hair tents were easily camouflaged among the trees of the forest of Hereth, giving David a small amount of comfort. It wasn’t the most inviting place to bring a new bride, but Ahinoam had seemed pleased with the prospect of marrying him, despite the circumstances.

  He watched her now as he sat shaving the bark from a sturdy piece of olive wood to shape into a flute for one of the young men, a promising musician. She looked up from the mortar and pestle to sift the soft grains of wheat into a clay bowl. A soft blush covered her cheeks when he smiled at her. She smiled in return but quickly averted her gaze. She was more skittish than he remembered, as though in constant fear of offending him. The thought grated, but he brushed it aside, certain he was imagining things. She was simply adjusting to marriage and would soon grow accustomed to him. Still, their love did not hold the longing and passion he’d had with Michal.

  The familiar feeling of betrayal filled him, and he bent his head over the olive wood once more. Adonai surely had a purpose in allowing things to continue as they did, just as surely as He had a reason to move him from the stronghold to the forest. He only wished he understood what that purpose was. What gain was there in his going to the ground? His death would not accomplish Adonai’s purposes, not if his anointing meant what Samuel had insisted it did.

  He took a breath and released it, running his thumb along the smooth wood. He’d already learned the hard way that obedience to Adonai was far better than taking matters into his own hands—as he’d seen all too clearly in Gath—even if he lost his life in the process. Though he wasn’t exactly thrilled with the prospect of landing in Sheol just yet.

  “David?” Joab’s voice came to him before his nephew emerged from the trees.

  “What is it?” He set the wood aside and stood, grateful for the interruption to his unsettling thoughts.

  Joab walked forward, his expression clearly troubled. “We have a visitor.”

  A visitor was nothing unusual. Disgruntled men from every tribe, especially the tribe of Judah, continually joined him.

  “Who is it?”

  “Abiathar, the priest.”

  David’s stomach tightened. “Take me to him.” Ahinoam should not be witness to whatever had troubled Joab.

  “I couldn’t get a word out of him,” Joab said. David followed him through the trees to a clearing near Joab’s tent, where a man sat near the cold fire pit. “Perhaps you will have more success.” Joab pointed to a small man whose arms were wrapped around his bent knees. David felt a punch in his gut when the man lifted his head to meet David’s gaze.

  “Abiathar?” He’d seen the priest’s son helping his father with the sacrifices on his numerous visits to the tabernacle. But one look at him now told David something was terribly wrong. “What happened?”

  The young man released his grip on his knees and scooped up handfuls of ash and dust over his head to mingle with his already ash-coated hair and beard. It was then David noticed the torn robe and the priestly ephod lain out at his feet. The man sat unmoving, then slowly rocked back and forth, a soft moaning coming from his lips.

  David glanced at Joab, who shrugged his confusion, his dark scowl telling David more than words could say. Handling a crisis, dealing with people, or knowing the right thing to do or say in any given situation demanded wisdom—wisdom deeper and greater than any he’d learned in the sheepfolds, when God had taught him to shepherd helpless animals. Now more than ever, he needed Adonai to teach him to shepherd people.

  O Adonai, give me strength.

  He lowered his body to the dust, knelt beside Abiathar, and placed a hand on his shoulder. The man’s moaning grew to loud keening, and David felt his own tears of sympathy dampen his beard. When at last the young man’s tears were spent, he wiped them from his cheeks with his sleeve and looked into David’s eyes.

  “Saul has murdered all the priests of Nob, all the women, all the children, my father, my mother, my brothers, my sisters. I alone escaped to tell you.”

  He’d guessed it was bad, but hearing the truth . . . Waves of shock rolled over him, stealing his breath. “What happened? Please tell me,” David finally said.

  Abiathar worked his jaw, but no words came out. David waited, patting the man’s shoulder. “It’s all right. Later, when time has passed, you can tell me—”

  “No, I want to tell you now.”

  David nodded and sat back, hands clasped beneath his chin, giving Abiathar his full attention.

  “Saul called for my father . . .” He averted his gaze and coughed to clear his throat. “He demanded to know why my father had helped you when you came to him a year ago. My father defended you, so Saul told his guards to kill him and all of my relatives who were with him—the other priests.” His chest lifted in a shuddering sigh. “They wouldn’t do it. They knew the old king was out of his mind. So Saul turned to the man who had betrayed you and my father.”

  “Doeg the Edomite.” Hadn’t he known? David’s stomach twisted. “How did you escape?”

  “I ran away. I saw what Doeg intended to do, and I fled. Not a single guard followed me. Father urged me to go. I would have stayed with him . . .”

  “You did the right thing.” David studied the trees behind Abiathar, then at last met the young man’s troubled gaze. “I knew when I saw Doeg there that day that he would surely tell Saul. I’ve caused the death of everyone in your father’s house.” He spread his hands in front of him in a gesture of supplication. “I’m sorry, Abiatha
r.” David released a slow breath at the man’s nod. He deserved the man’s blame, not his forgiveness. “Stay with me, Abiathar. Do not fear. For he who seeks my life seeks your life, but you will be safe with me.”

  David rested his hand again on Abiathar’s slumped shoulder and stood. He strode from the area, Joab on his heels. “See that he has everything he needs,” he told Joab, then moved beyond him back to his tent.

  Shepherding lambs was far less draining.

  21

  Two Years Later

  After mounting his donkey and kicking its sides, Jonathan beat a swift path across the field to his father’s house. Arrow prayers darted heavenward. The rumors couldn’t be true. He tugged the animal’s reins until it came to a stop, hopped off, and stalked toward the king’s audience chamber.

  “Jonathan, what are you doing here at this hour?”

  “I could ask you the same question, Paltiel.” He eyed his brother-in-law with marked disdain. It wasn’t like him to show outward antagonism, but this man had defrauded his best friend, and despite the ensuing three years of Paltiel’s marriage to his sister, the fact remained that nothing he could ever do would improve Jonathan’s opinion of him.

  “Did the king summon you?” Paltiel asked, matching strides with Jonathan’s long ones.

  “I don’t need an invitation to meet with my father. I am heir apparent to the throne, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I hadn’t. But everyone else thinks you have.”

  Jonathan came to an abrupt stop. He whirled to face his nemesis. “I haven’t forgotten my father’s intentions. I’ve simply chosen the will of the Lord instead.”

  Not waiting for a reply, Jonathan took off down the darkened hall again, Paltiel on his heels.

  “How can you be sure of the Lord’s will, Jonathan? What if His plan is for you to be king? You’re throwing it all away.”

  Jonathan ignored the barb and flung open the door to the audience chamber. His father sat on a raised dais, observing a flutist and a scantily clad dancer perform. The music came to a halt and the dancer’s movements stilled as Jonathan stormed across the stone floor.

  “Tell me it isn’t true, Father.”

  Saul reached for a cluster of red grapes and plucked one, popping it into his mouth. His eyes held a curious gleam, and his mouth curved in an amused smile.

  “Tell you what isn’t true, Jonathan?”

  Jonathan waved away the fruit a servant offered. “I heard you’ve called the troops to prepare for war—not against a mortal enemy like the Philistines or the Moabites, but against your own son-in-law, your faithful captain, David. What are you expecting to do, Father? Chase him completely out of Israel? You can’t keep doing this.”

  “I can’t? I, the anointed king of Israel, can’t? I can do whatever I like, Jonathan.”

  “Not when you’re breaking the laws of Adonai.”

  “I haven’t broken any laws.”

  Did the man possess no remorse? “Father, killing the priests was not commanded by the Lord—”

  “Don’t! . . . Don’t even speak of them.” Saul’s countenance darkened, and a brooding expression clouded his glowering eyes.

  “Why? Because of the constant guilt you feel? Because the pain in your head and the misery you feel is worse since you killed eighty innocent people?” Jonathan regretted the ruthless way he flung the words, but the momentum of his anger propelled him forward. “And now you’re going to gather the armies of Israel and run after David to kill him, when you have no good reason for doing so. You know David will one day be king. He is the Lord’s anointed too, Father. I will be second to him. Why does this make you hate him? It is not David you fight against, Father.” He rubbed one hand down the back of his neck. “You fight against God.”

  “Stop!” Saul’s scream pierced Jonathan’s heart. He’d said too much. But he didn’t care. He watched his father clutch his temples and begin to moan. David wouldn’t be there to soothe his restless soul. The household would endure a night of bitter agony—something Jonathan had done more times than he could count.

  “Ohhh . . . Jonathan. Why do you torment me? I’m only doing this for you.”

  Any hint of pity Jonathan started to feel fled. “For me?” He fairly shouted the words. “You would kill David for me?” With one last glare at the man who had given him life, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door. When he reached the entrance, he paused and glanced over his shoulder.

  “If you loved me, Father, you would let David live and allow Adonai’s plan to unfold for both of us.”

  Ignoring the rising moans coming from the king, Jonathan stormed out of the palace.

  “How will you know where to find David, my lord?” one of Jonathan’s men asked. “Rumor has it he is staying in the stronghold near the Salt Sea.”

  “No, no, he left there over a month ago. Just last week the king got word of him living in the walled city of Keilah,” another of his men said.

  “Are you sure? I thought he went back to the wilderness after he left Keilah.” This from a third of the five men accompanying him.

  Jonathan listened to the banter with interest. Such confusion could be just the edge David needed to keep one step ahead of his father. He glanced into the shadowed face of the servant on his right and said, “I’ve no doubt David has been in all three places, some more than once. But my sources told me David’s men were spotted in the Wilderness of Ziph. He is hiding in the forests there.”

  “What happens if your father catches up to us? He might kill you too, my lord,” the second servant said.

  “My father will never find David. God is with him.”

  Jonathan fell silent and urged the donkey forward. They would rest when he was closer to David and farther from the armies of a mad king.

  The brush of soft flesh on David’s arm coaxed him from slumber. His new young wife lay sleeping, her golden brown hair cascading like a waterfall over her bare arms. She stirred, turning toward him. When she bumped against his bare chest, her dark, almond eyes flew open, and she reached for the blanket, tucking it around her.

  David chuckled, his voice low. “Ahinoam, I’m your husband. You don’t need to act like a frightened doe every time you share my bed.” His laughter deepened at the look of indignation flashing across her face.

  “You scared me, that’s all.” She looked away from him, bright spots of crimson dotting her cheeks.

  “Well, get used to it, beloved. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

  He reached for her, unable to still his amusement. The pale light of dawn began to filter through cracks in the ceiling of the cave. The rest of the camp would awaken soon, including the men and women sharing their small abode. Nevertheless, he wanted to feel the warmth of this delightful girl’s arms around his neck, to taste her moist lips once more.

  She giggled when his beard tickled her neck. He lifted the smooth strands of her hair and sifted them through his fingers. Had they truly been married only a month?

  “David?” She interrupted his attempted kiss. “Will you still want me when you’re king—when you take other wives?”

  “Who said I’m going to take other wives?”

  Ahinoam shrugged her slender shoulders, and David pulled her against his chest, kissing her forehead. “Don’t worry about the future, my love. Who knows what tomorrow may bring? I only know I have you now. And you can count on that.”

  He moved closer, his lips brushing hers, when a hushed voice called from the mouth of the cave. “David? Are you awake?”

  David lifted his head and gave her an impish grin. “It’s only Joab. Maybe I can ignore him a bit.”

  She giggled again, accepting his kiss.

  “David!” The whisper became louder, more insistent. “You have company.”

  Reluctantly David released Ahinoam and set her at arm’s length. He stood, draped his tunic over his head, and secured his robe with a leather belt. He walked to the cave’s mouth without a backward
glance.

  The pink sky illuminated the fire pit, and David saw a man sitting in the shadows. When David approached, he stood.

  “Jonathan!” Sudden, memory-laden emotion made his knees weak. How was it possible? And yet here he was.

  “David! Brother.” Jonathan gripped David’s shoulders, and as he accepted Jonathan’s kiss of greeting, he could feel the prince’s tears mingling with his own.

  “How did you find me?” David motioned for Jonathan to sit, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the deep lines furrowing his brow.

  “Men are always sending reports to my father. I have loyal sources in the palace who keep me informed.”

  “Please, my friend, tell me how it fares with you.”

  “I am well, all things considered. My father does not trust me.” Jonathan accepted a flask of water from one of the women. He looked into its depth before taking a long drink. “He spends every waking moment trying to find you, David. He thinks he won’t rest until you’re dead. But he’s mistaken.”

  “Don’t be so sure, my friend.”

  Jonathan touched David’s arm. “I have every right to be sure. You will be king over Israel, and I will be second to you. Even my father knows this.” He looked back at the goatskin flask in his hand. “Don’t be afraid. My father will not lay a hand on you.”

  “I wish I had your faith.” David leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared into the fire.

  “Didn’t Samuel pour anointing oil on your head? Hasn’t God brought you safely out of every difficulty thus far? The throne may not be yours yet, but it will be.”

  David nodded, his thoughts a jumbled mess. If only he shared Jonathan’s confidence.

  “This could be His time of preparing you, though.” Jonathan studied him, then looked beyond David into the distance. “We don’t always know why God allows trials. We do know He wants us to trust Him.”

  David focused on the smoldering fire. He knew that. Only a few months ago, when the prophet Gad had come to him at the stronghold, he’d heard the Lord’s quiet voice whisper those very words.