Michal

by Jill Eileen Smith

  My soul, wait silently for God alone, for my expectation is from Him. He only is my rock and my salvation. He is my defense; I will not be moved. In God is my salvation and my glory; the rock of my strength and my refuge is in God.

  Jonathan bent his face to the dust and worshiped.

  24

  “The Philistines are coming! Hurry, grab what you can and come to the palace. We’ve got to get out of Gibeah.” Joash barked the orders, stomping past Michal, where she sat embroidering a tunic. He shouted to the servants, then came back to face Michal.

  “My lady, you must hurry. Gather what you need and come with me.”

  Michal’s heart slammed against her chest, and her feet felt like millstones stuck to the wooden floor. She grabbed the front of Joash’s robe. “What are you talking about? How can the Philistines be coming? We’re supposed to be defeating them!”

  Joash shook his head. “Not this time, mistress. If what I’m hearing is true, your father and brothers are dead, and the Philistine army is headed this way to capture as many cities as they can. Their target is Gibeah.” He placed one hand over hers to uncurl her fingers from his robe and urge her along, but she tightened her grip.

  “What about Paltiel? What’s happened to my husband?”

  Joash shrugged. “I haven’t heard. Most of the casualties will take a while to discover. The important thing is, Israel is without a king and without an heir.”

  The impact of Joash’s words finally registered. Her father and brothers were dead? How was that possible? Jonathan! A swift, sharp pain filled her. Hadn’t she sensed it in the look of resignation he’d given her at his departure for war? And Father. Was he finally at rest? Or did the demons torment him even in Sheol?

  Joash managed to release her fingers from his robe and shook her arm. “We’ve got to go now, Michal.”

  Her clouded eyes cleared at the sound of her name, and she shoved her grief aside and dove into action. “Keziah, help me!” The young woman came running, and the two of them began stuffing clothing and essential items into baskets.

  Joash moved to the door, then threw a parting word over his shoulder. “Be at the palace before the sundial moves to the next mark. Don’t delay.”

  Michal ran from shelf to cupboard, filling the last basket with food. “Let’s go.”

  A few paces from the closed door, Michal took a parting look at the home she had shared with two different men for the past eleven years of her life. What would become of this place that housed so many memories? So many unfulfilled dreams.

  She felt Keziah’s hand on her shoulder and whipped around to run with her maid toward the palace.

  Michal felt a measure of relief the moment she stepped under the gate of her father’s fortress. Surely the strong stone walls could keep out the advancing Philistine army. Besides, a vast group of weary men carrying tents and supplies couldn’t travel that quickly, could they? On the other hand, it stood to reason that killing Israel’s king and his heirs had energized them—the way David’s slaying of Goliath that long-ago day had turned her father’s army from weak-kneed women into ardent warriors.

  “Michal! Help me get the boys into the cart. Adriel’s bringing Merab.” Ahinoam’s barked order brought Michal’s wandering thoughts to the present. Michal stared at her mother, who carried two-year-old Jacob with one hand and held firmly to four-year-old Reuben with the other. She had aged twenty years since Michal had seen her two days ago. Michal rushed to her side, took Jacob from her arms, and grasped Reuben’s hand.

  “Where are the others?” Michal lugged Jacob and Reuben toward the cart, her mother at her side.

  “Keziah, go get Merab’s older boys. Merab’s maid has baby Joel.” Keziah hurried away. Michal lifted Jacob into the cart and looked into her mother’s dull eyes.

  “Why can’t we stay here? The walls will protect us.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Michal. Your father is dead. Do you want to join him?”

  Michal turned her attention to Reuben and away from her mother’s biting words. She hoisted the wide-eyed child into the cart next to his brother. In the distance, a piercing scream split the air. A mournful wail followed. What on earth . . . ?

  Michal watched Joash drop a sack of grain into the cart and run toward the wailing sound. What other awful thing could possibly happen?

  After settling Reuben into the straw-laden cart, Michal commanded the two children to scoot to the front and be still. Keziah came up behind them with Merab’s two oldest sons, followed by Merab’s maid carrying the infant.

  “Malchi, Benni, climb in with your brothers.” Ahinoam’s tone was stern again, and Michal noted the rigid set to her jaw. The two boys scrambled over the side of the cart as if this were some grand adventure. “Michal, you get in with the children, and I’ll hand you the baby. My old bones will not be able to take riding in a cart.”

  Michal started to protest but was interrupted by Rizpah, her father’s concubine. “Can we ride with you, Michal?” The woman’s sunken eyes bespoke a lengthy lack of sleep. She turned to Ahinoam. “Is that all right with you, my lady?”

  Startled, Ahinoam averted her gaze. There was no love lost between the two rivals for her father’s affections. Rizpah’s humility took Michal completely by surprise. But her mother’s nod of acquiescence stunned her more. “You have to ride somewhere.”

  Michal lifted one leg and began to climb into the cart when the mournful wail that had sent Joash running grew closer. She lowered her foot and whirled around. The sight sent her heart into her throat.

  Mephibosheth!

  She raced over to Joash, then noticed Sarah and her maid clinging to his sides. The guard carried Jonathan’s limp son in his arms. The boy’s legs were grotesquely misshapen, twisted in an unnatural way.

  “What happened? Is he dead?” Michal’s hand trembled as she reached to touch the boy’s curly dark head.

  Sarah stood silently weeping, one hand on her son’s arm, and her maid’s stricken, dejected look caught Michal’s curiosity.

  “What happened?” she asked again.

  “I dropped him!” Sarah’s maid wailed. “I was running . . . He’d just awakened from a nap . . . I didn’t see the flowerpot . . .” She burst into tears. “I’m so sorry. I should have let him walk on his own. It’s all my fault.”

  Joash carried the boy past Michal and laid him in the wagon, which was in front of the cart Michal would ride in with Merab’s boys. Sarah climbed in and knelt at the boy’s side, her tears dripping onto his brown tunic.

  Michal stepped to the side of the cart and said, “Maybe someone can straighten his legs. Marta was always good at that. Surely someone can help.” The memory of the family’s cook brought a reminiscent ache to Michal’s heart. Marta had ensured the healing of her own injured foot ten years before. If she were still alive, she would have done the same for Jonathan’s small son.

  Sarah lifted damp eyes to meet Michal’s gaze. “He’s all I have left.” She turned back to her son without another word.

  The command to move out came from Joash’s lips. Michal ran back to the cart holding Merab’s boys, settled herself among the matted straw, and took the baby from Merab’s maid. Ahinoam sat on a separate donkey, and the bedraggled group made its way slowly through the gate.

  “Where’s Merab, Mother? We can’t leave her here,” Michal said.

  “Adriel is with her at the back of the line. They must move more slowly because of her condition. If we get separated, she wanted the boys to be safe.”

  Michal’s gaze swept the crowd of family and servants squeezed together, fighting panic in their hurry to escape an unknown fate. She spotted Adriel’s head in the distance and could only imagine Merab lying in the cart he was driving. The sound of an infant sucking its thumb turned Michal’s head to the baby in her arms. What was she supposed to do when the child wanted to eat? She’d never birthed or nursed a baby. It was a trial she bore with continual regret. Once in a while she could forget the yearning for
a son, when she was in a state of dreamless sleep. But in her waking hours, not a day passed that her empty arms didn’t long to be filled.

  Was this God’s punishment for marrying Paltiel? Would she remain forever barren because she’d scorned her vows as David’s wife? She stroked the baby’s downy cheek and fought tears. Where were these thoughts coming from? Bitter grief sliced through her as the wagon jostled her from side to side. She had grown to love Paltiel. But what if he too was dead along with her father?

  Jonathan’s face floated before her eyes, his gentle, reassuring voice whispering in her memory. Trust in the Lord, Michal. Whatever happens, wait for Him.

  Wait for Him? Trust? How was she supposed to trust when everything she loved kept slipping through her fingers like sifted grain? She dug her nails into the folds of the baby’s blanket and held Merab’s infant son close to her wet cheek.

  “Do you think they got the message, Abner? Will our families be waiting at Bahurim when we get there?” Paltiel dragged one exhausted leg behind the other, trying to keep up with the brawny commander of Israel’s defeated forces.

  “They’ll be moving slow with the women and children, but if the runner got to them, they’ll go to Bahurim.” Abner continued at a measured trot but finally slowed when Paltiel doubled over and sank to his knees in the dirt. He walked over to the man. “What’s the matter with you, Soldier? You’re younger than I am. Can’t you keep up?”

  Paltiel heaved a deep sigh, holding his stomach. “Guess not.”

  Abner placed one hand on his shoulder. “Catch your breath then. I’ll wait.” He walked to the side of the path and sat on a tree stump.

  Paltiel’s breathing slowed, and he sat back on his heels, placing both hands on his knees. When his wind returned, he rubbed one hand over his haggard, sweaty face. “What are we going to do with all of them gone?”

  Abner wiped his palms along his bloodstained tunic. “We still have Ishbosheth. If we can get the people to rally around him, we can keep the kingdom together.”

  Paltiel’s stomach twisted in a knot of fear, the realization of their plight rocking him. Ishbosheth might be of Saul’s blood, but he was not capable of running a kingdom. Israel needed a strong king, one who could unite the disjointed twelve tribes. One who could defeat their enemies. One whom the people already hailed a hero.

  David.

  Hadn’t God promised him the kingdom someday? Jonathan had repeatedly reminded his father of that fact every time one of their efforts to capture the man had failed. Every time David had turned an opportunity to kill the old king into a mission of compassion and forgiveness. Every time David had acted more like a king than Saul did.

  “The people might prefer another.” Paltiel looked into Abner’s hard features. “What will you do if they turn to him?”

  “You mean David.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “So how will you keep him from taking over the kingdom? Especially if God is with him?” Paltiel sat back in the dirt, defeat and fear coursing through him.

  Abner’s unyielding gaze reminded him of Saul. “You of all people should know we can’t let that happen. Unless you want to lose your wife the moment he takes the throne.”

  The words stung like a hand slapped across flesh. He knew better than anyone that he was living with another man’s wife in an unlawful union. But he couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not ever. He loved her. He would rather die first.

  “We can’t let him control Israel.” Paltiel looked at Abner with an affirmative nod. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help you keep David from becoming king.”

  25

  “Paltiel! Oh, tell me it’s really you.” Tears of exhaustion covered Michal’s face the moment the wagons came to a stop in Bahurim three days later. She squinted through a filmy haze at her battered husband, not certain whether to trust her vision.

  “Michal?” The emotion-choked voice of the man she had grown to care for sounded distant, but in two strides he stood at her side, leaned over the cart, and pulled her to him.

  His kiss awakened her deadened nerves, and when he released her, she sat back, out of breath. She looked around at the children clamoring for her attention, then back at Paltiel. Heat filled her cheeks at the bold look in his eyes.

  “Get these children settled with their mother.” He whispered the command as his fingers brushed the tears from her wet cheek. “I need you.”

  “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t? Just do it, Michal.”

  Michal swallowed hard. Sometimes Paltiel demanded too much.

  “Please, Paltiel, I have to take care of them. Merab isn’t well, you know, and the journey has sent her into early labor. Mother is worried about her.”

  Paltiel squeezed her arm gently and bent to kiss her cheek. “Put them to bed then. I’ll meet you on the roof.”

  After tucking the children safely into bed some time later, Michal walked through the main part of the house. The small estate belonged to Shimei, a distant cousin of her father’s—a man with no love for David. He’d welcomed them with open arms, giving them full use of the place, then discreetly kept his distance. She should be grateful that anyone would even take them in, but she didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be faced with living as a fugitive.

  She came to the end of the hall and stopped before entering the large, open courtyard. Twin palm trees graced the opening, and potted anemones in varying shades added a splash of color to the gray brick walkway and limestone benches of the court.

  “How much damage do you think the Philistines will do?” Ishbosheth’s timid voice caught Michal’s attention, and she leaned against the wall, listening.

  “Enough that it will take us a while to set them to flight again,” Abner said, his tone weary.

  Michal peered around the palm tree and studied the faces outlined in the torchlight. The three men looked unutterably weary, their fatigue matching her own. She stumbled toward the small group and settled next to Paltiel, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Just getting the army to come out for the fight could take months,” Paltiel said, drawing Michal closer in a comforting embrace. “The way they scattered after Saul fell . . . I never saw such chaos.”

  “Was David there?” Michal said without thinking.

  “Does it matter?” Undeniable hurt laced Paltiel’s words.

  Somehow it did. “I suppose not,” Michal said, measuring her words. “I was just curious.”

  “It’s a good question, Michal,” Abner said, shifting on the bench. “If David had been there fighting against Israel, we’d have enough ammunition against him to keep him from ever gaining the kingdom. As it is, he wasn’t there at all. Not defending or opposing. Which makes our job all the more difficult.”

  “But not impossible,” Paltiel insisted.

  “Do you really think I’d make a good king?” Ishbosheth’s uncertainty, reflected in his childlike tone, made Michal uncomfortable. Her brother was not capable of running a kingdom. Anyone giving him more than a cursory glance would know this.

  “You’ll do fine, Ishbosheth. Just do as I tell you and you’ll be all right,” Abner said, reaching over to pat the man on the arm.

  “I’m not dumb, you know.” He plucked a flower from one of the pots beside the bench and began to twist it between his fingers. “People think I’m dumb, but I’m not. I’ll make a good king—better than Father, ’cause I don’t worship idols.” He mumbled the words to himself, and Michal lifted her head to glance from Paltiel to Abner. Ishby had been religious about not worshiping idols, but that didn’t make him a qualified candidate for king. Were they really going to go through with this? But of course they had to if they wanted to keep David from the throne.

  She rose from her seat and left the courtyard, climbing to the small guest room on the roof to await Paltiel. Let them discuss their ridiculous plans. Maybe she could block out all of the nonsense and fall asleep before Paltiel jo
ined her.

  The coarse goat-hair blanket brushed against David’s cheek, its rough surface knocking some of the dust from his beard. The action woke him from a light sleep, and he tossed the black garment from him in a fit of annoyance. He hadn’t intended to doze. But grief had forced sleep to overtake him. A man could only shed so many tears.

  He rolled onto his back, clasped both hands behind his head, and stared at the tent ceiling. His dry eyes, swollen from crying on and off for seven days, ached to close. He squeezed them shut, trying to block the memory of that horrible day.

  Storm clouds on the horizon should have warned him, did in fact send a shot of wariness through his soul. But whether he knew it then or the moment he saw the lone runner enter their burned-out village out of breath, David sensed the day would change his life forever.

  He rolled onto his side and thrust one arm over his head, then flipped back over and stared at the opposite wall. Through the thin curtain separating his quarters from that of his wives, David could hear the women’s steady breathing. Abigail had wanted to comfort him, but he needed time alone. Time to think.

  Saul and Jonathan were dead.

  Death. There was such finality to that word. His nemesis would never again torment him. And his friend would never again bring him comfort. Why did he have to lose them both?

  Certain that sleep would not return, David pushed up from the earthen floor and ducked under the tent flap into the starlit night. Ziklag, his Philistine home for the past year and a half, still carried the scent of ash, evidence of the Amalekite invasion that had nearly cost him the lives of his wives and the families of his entire retinue. Thank the Lord they didn’t have to endure yet another loss.

  He walked the length of the camp, past the rows of tents housing his men and their families. In the center of the makeshift town, guards sat before a dwindling fire. He recognized Benaiah, former guard of King Saul, now his own loyal officer.