For the first time, Michal was glad her parents and brothers were dead. They would have been shamed beyond words by her behavior. A subject who publicly scorned the king could be stoned to death, even if that subject was a member of the king’s family. Furthermore, a decent woman did not speak to her husband in private as she had in public. She would have given anything to go back to yesterday, live that day again, and do everything differently. The worst part would not be the divorce. It was the nagging suspicion the hurtful words David spoke to her were true.
Michal stayed in her bedchamber and wept for the next two days. On the third day, with no handmaid to care for her needs, hunger forced her to join the other women during the evening meal. She went late and sat with the concubines, eyes downcast. No one spoke to her, but she was not refused food.
The next day, she ventured to Abigail’s chamber.
“Good morning,” Abigail said brightly. “Who are you?”
“Good morning. I am Michal.” She smoothed Abigail’s hair and swallowed a sigh. The only friend I have left doesn’t know my name. “I trust you are feeling well.”
“Please tell them to be quiet,” Abigail said in the direction of her attendant.
“Who?” the healing servant asked.
Abigail pointed to an empty spot. “Those little boys playing there. One of them is my son. I forget his name.”
“Daniel,” Michal said, even though there were no children in sight.
“No,” Abigail corrected her. “I think my son is called Nabal. I have seven sons. And five lovely daughters.”
The sadness of Abigail’s mental condition did nothing to lift Michal’s mood. When she emerged from Abigail’s bedchamber, she saw Bird and Maachah in the corridor. The two women looked at Michal and stopped talking. Bird turned and walked quickly in the other direction. My old friend’s coldness has now turned to outright rejection, she thought.
“Good morning,” Michal mumbled as she passed Maachah.
Maachah nodded a noncommittal greeting.
The celebration of the return of the Ark of the Covenant ended. The Sabbath came and went. A week after the public argument, Rizpah returned to Michal’s ante chamber. When no one objected to Rizpah’s presence, she resumed her duties as Michal’s handmaid.
Bird, who now insisted on being called Ahinoam, distanced herself even further from Michal. Instead of the previous curt greetings, Bird refused to acknowledge Michal at all—conveniently looking in the other direction when they encountered each other. In the context of palace logic, that made sense to Michal. The mother of the heir apparent would naturally avoid fraternizing with a shamed wife. Even though she understood Bird’s position, she found her old friend’s snubs painful.
“Don’t you know you shouldn’t sing to me?” Michal asked the chirpy bird who sat on her window ledge one morning. The bird turned his head this way and that before he flew away. She watched the creature soar into the bright sunlight of a cool, crisp day and wished she could grow wings to carry her away. Bored with her inactivity, Michal wondered what prevented her from dyeing yarns. She could think of no obstacles other than those inside herself.
Donning a stained old tunic, Michal gathered her supplies, and walked to the stream. The dyes did not understand that she had done something terrible. They mixed and reacted exactly as they did before she was disgraced. The living waters of the stream did not dry up because of her shame. The squirrels and rabbits treated her with the same wariness they always displayed.
Animals are not people, she reminded herself. Still, they were God’s creatures. And they did not shun her.
God, she thought, peering into the Heavens. How did Her Creator regard her? Everything that was dear to her was lost, even her husband. The Almighty One refused to answer her prayers for a son, and she refused to speak to Him.
“If You cared for me at all,” she said, gazing into the clouds, “You would not have left me so alone. Even outcasts need someone to love them.”
It occurred to Michal if she could walk out the back gate of the palace to the stream and return unchallenged, she might also be able to walk out the front gate and go to the place of worship. But for what purpose?
Two weeks after her outburst, Michal sat knitting in her bedchamber when a chilling summons came. She heard an unfamiliar messenger speaking with Rizpah. “The Princess Michal, daughter of King Saul, is commanded to report immediately to the south public chamber anteroom, by order of King David.”
So formal. Michal breathed deeply and composed herself, waiting for Rizpah to come to her.
“My lady,” Rizpah said sorrowfully.
“I know.” Michal picked up her emergency bag, expecting she would not return to the women’s quarters. “I heard.” She took one last look around her room. Would someone dye the waiting yarns? She could not carry her knitting supplies, let alone dye pots or extra clothing. “I will never forget your faithfulness, Rizpah. Thank you.”
“Shall I go with you?”
“No, you’ve done enough. Goodbye.” They embraced, and Michal followed the messenger girl to the designated chamber.
A young man sat at the far end of the room. So, she thought, my husband assigned some poor unknown government official to deliver the divorce decree. Perhaps he thinks I will become hysterical, or lash out at him again. She regretted there was no opportunity for an undeserved chance to apologize.
As she walked to where the official sat, Michal thought he looked familiar somehow. What kind eyes. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with the sensation she was about to receive judgment from her brother.
No, if Jonathan were alive, he would be twice this man’s age. Besides, the hair was wrong, too dark. She clutched at her throat, afraid she was descending into the pit of madness to join Abigail.
“Forgive me for not rising to greet you.” He smiled, but sounded nervous.
I am the one about to be divorced, Michal thought. No need for your voice to break, young man. Nevertheless, she appreciated any glimmer of compassion. Why was the situation difficult for him? Perhaps this was his first divorce decree.
She knelt before the official. “Good evening. I am Princess Michal of Israel, daughter of King Saul, wife of my lord King David.”
Unshed tears filled the young man’s eyes. His mouth moved, but no words came out. Michal waited, calmly observing her judge. She saw crutches leaning against the wall behind him. Perhaps he could not walk without them. Lame. Fortunate to be employed. Otherwise, he would live on what he could beg in the street. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke. “I am Mephibosheth. My son, Micha.” He gestured toward a solemn little boy.
How odd to see a little boy sitting nearby. A child of perhaps three years, she thought.
It was not appropriate for this man to introduce himself, much less his child. He was obviously a novice. However, if this civil servant wanted to prolong the proceeding for some unknown reason, why not accommodate him? If he had a soft heart, he might allow her to wait until morning before departing the palace.
She turned to the child. “Micha. That’s a very nice name. Unusual. Sounds just like my name without the ‘l’ on the end.”
“Yes, of course,” Mephibosheth said. “I shouldn’t have named him for a living person, but when he was born I thought you were dead.”
Michal attempted to make sense of what she heard. “My namesake? This darling little boy?”
“Micha, for my father’s favorite sister Michal. I am your nephew, Jonathan’s son. No one told you?”
Michal adjusted her position from kneeling to sitting. “No. I thought—” She stopped herself. He didn’t need to know she came here expecting to be divorced. She scooped up little Micha and wrapped him and his father in a heartfelt embrace.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
“NOW WHEN MEPHIBOSHETH, THE SON OF JONATHAN, THE SON OF SAUL, WAS COME UNTO DAVID…DAVID SAID UNTO HIM,…FEAR NOT: FOR I WILL SURELY SHEW THEE KINDNESS FOR JONATHAN THY FATHER’S SAKE,
AND WILL RESTORE THEE ALL THE LAND OF SAUL…AS FOR MEPHIBOSHETH, SAID THE KING, HE SHALL EAT AT MY TABLE, AS ONE OF THE KING’S SONS.” II SAMUEL 9: 6-11
King Saul’s former landholdings were turned over to Mephibosheth, free and clear. David all but adopted Michal’s nephew. The fifteen sons of Saul’s old servant Ziba pledged their allegiance to Mephibosheth and took over management of his farms.
King David’s generosity to Mephibosheth was the talk of the palace. It overtook the scandal caused by Maachah’s teenaged daughter Tamar going out with four finger-widths of hair showing outside her headdress, twice the customary two-finger maximum.
Michal was not surprised to find her treatment by the other women improved because of her association with Mephibosheth. Her nephew might be lame, but he dined nightly at the king’s table, seated among the princes. Rizpah reported whispers continued within the women’s quarters that Michal should have been divorced or stoned or both. Yet no one dared to speak against her openly. Maachah suggested Michal was spared because she was the daughter of a king. Kerah said Maachah merely wanted to make herself seem important, that being a princess was no more impressive than being the daughter of the chief priest. Michal kept the other wives and the concubines at arm’s length. She could not forget that Rizpah was the only member of the household who gave her comfort when she was out of favor with the king.
Mephibosheth began to come to the palace each afternoon, visiting with Michal in the shaded courtyard until time for the evening meal. Although he moved slowly and could not mount a donkey without assistance, his mind was exceptionally nimble. He seemed to delight in making people laugh, especially his aunt. On the occasion of his first visit, Michal’s heart ached to see how useless her nephew’s legs were. He leaned on crutches, each made from a smoothed sapling, cut to the correct length for the intersection of two main branches to fit his hands.
“Why did you decide to come to Jerusalem?” she asked him.
“The decision was made for me,” he replied as he maneuvered himself to a sitting position on the shady bench beside Michal. “King David’s emissaries searched Israel and Judea from one end to the other, looking for any remnant of King Saul’s family. Naturally,” Mephibosheth said with raised eyebrows, “I assumed his objective was to kill me. I say naturally. What else would I think, given our family history?”
“It was absolute chaos when we got the word of the defeat of Israel’s army at Gilboa. People were yelling that the city would come under siege, the palace would be raided, and we would all be hacked to death. I remember those words specifically—‘hacked to death.’ I heard someone say my father and grandfather were dead. It was all terrifying for a four-year-old.” Mephibosheth took a sip of cool water and glanced to the spot where Micha sat happily pouring dirt into and out of broken pieces of kitchen pots. “May God protect my son from such horrors.”
Michal remembered how King Saul’s palace seemed impregnable when she lived there as a girl. “It must have been terrible for you.”
“For everyone. I never saw another member of our family again from that day until the night I met you. A man ran through the courtyard yelling, ‘They are leaving. Go now.’ My nurse grabbed me and ran for the carts, which were already on the road. The men had them hitched to horse teams, but they were designed to be ox carts. So they were out of control on the steep downhill slope.” He indicated the angle of the road with his hand. “I don’t know exactly how it happened. Maybe there were loose rocks by the roadside, or maybe my nursemaid misjudged the speed. I only remember I hit the ground hard and it felt as if someone had chopped my legs off at the ankles.”
Micha held up a fat beetle and opened his mouth wide. “No, don’t eat that!” Mephibosheth exclaimed. Michal sprang up and took the beetle. “Thank you. He’d have swallowed it by the time I got there. He’s eaten insects before. So maybe they’re not all that harmful.” He spread his hands wide. “To continue with my story, someone dumped me in a cart and I started screaming. But everybody was screaming. I don’t know if I passed out or just went to sleep. When I woke up, I was at a farmhouse with a stable boy and the farmer’s family. I thought I would die from the pain in my legs.”
“I’m so sorry.” Michal dabbed at the tears that flowed at the thought of Jonathan’s little boy, hurt and abandoned. What was she doing in Gallim the day he was injured?
“Don’t be sorry,” Mephibosheth said heartily. He gestured toward his feet. “These curled up ankles probably saved my life. As far as I know, I was the only male member of our family in that caravan who survived. All of the others were hunted down and killed, either by foreigners or by Uncle Ishbosheth’s men.” He shifted his weight to one side, resting a hand on one knee.
“The stable boy who took care of me was incredible. At the time I thought he was a man, but he was only eleven himself. He carried me around on his back, until I was able to walk again with the help of the sticks he'd talked some kind-hearted carpenter into making for me. Smart, too. Ep knew we were in danger. Every few weeks, he’d say, ‘Time to move on,’ and we would. I’ve seen more of this country than any wandering merchant you know.” Mephibosheth tapped Michal on the arm. “The stable boy told people I was his little brother. My name was ‘Bo’, never Mephibosheth, and his was Ep. If somebody questioned him, Ep told them we were too poor to afford longer names. What an imagination! In one town we’d be orphans going to Damascus. Next place, we were headed to Jericho to join our parents. He was my protector and my best friend. Friendship was all I could give back to him then.” Mephibosheth raised a finger. “Now he’s a rich man. Anything I have is his for the asking. Including what he talked about from Megiddo to Beer-Sheba and back—that fast Arabian stallion.”
After wincing and shifting his weight, Mephibosheth continued. “Eventually, we began to stay in one place for months, then years at a time. Ep found a young widow and wanted to get married, but first he made her agree I could live with them. By then we had learned to make tents. We went east, mostly stayed in desert country, where there was a greater demand for our work. I never expected to get married. One day Ep met a fellow who offered to sell him his blind daughter. Ep asked if I wanted her. I said ‘Yes, provided she is a Hebrew woman,’ and between us we came up with enough shekels to buy me a wife.”
“Micha’s mother?” Michal asked.
“Yes. Norah. I think she had no eyes because extra room was needed to accommodate her huge heart. I loved her, and you may not believe this, but I know she loved me. She died giving our son life. I was constantly frightened for Micha. A king might not look on a lame man as a challenger, but my healthy son was in danger. When I tried to get Ep to move again, his wife wouldn’t hear of it. He found a place for me to go with Micha, and helped me get there. Then one day, two men came to the house where I was staying and asked me to come with them, saying King David wanted to see me.” Mephibosheth slapped an insect away from his face.
“Once again, being lame was an unknown advantage. I would have taken Micha and run away. But I knew we had no chance, so I surrendered. My best hope was for a merciful, private execution.” Mephibosheth pried open a pistachio shell and popped the nut into his mouth. “It took weeks to get here from Lodebar. I have to admit, I slowed us down as much as I could. I kept praying for a chance to escape, or for Ep to come and rescue us. But we kept pressing on.”
“You believe in prayer?” Michal asked.
“Most certainly. Another advantage of lameness. My weakness is undeniable, and so I have learned to depend on the One who is strong. You do not believe?”
“God hates me,” Michal said angrily. “He never listens to my prayers. He has singled me out for harsh treatment, and I don’t know why.”
“Ah, I see now. You have told Him, perhaps many times, how your life should be arranged. Yet He fails to follow your instructions. Why would anyone pray to such a disobedient God?”
“You mock me, Nephew.”
“Not at all. I have been through my own valleys o
f doubt and anger. I thought God was a fine master when I lived in the palace as the favored grandson of the mighty King Saul. When I woke up in that farmhouse, I asked God why He let my feet get crushed. He could have no reason for that, except to make me lame for the rest of my life. Why did my family abandon me? I was just a boy. Why did so many dreadful things happen to me?”
Mephibosheth drank from his water jar again. “So, now, would it be better to be lying dead in my tomb with two good legs? Is it not better to be sitting here, reunited with you, blessed by the sight of Micha sifting dirt and eating bugs?”
“Tell me this, then. Why has He not given me a son?”
“Tell me why he should.”
Michal realized the insufficiency of her reason for the first time. “Because that’s the one thing I want most.”
“Forgive me.” Mephibosheth removed the hull from another pistachio. “My religious education must be incomplete. I missed the part where God is supposed to comply with our wishes. That priest we lived with in Jericho told Ep and me we were supposed to obey God’s will. That stupid wretch got the whole thing backward. I should go beat him senseless with my crutch.”
“Seriously, now.” Michal put her hand on her nephew’s arm. “Why should it not be God’s will to give me my heart’s desire? It would be so easy for Him. What is one more boy baby to Him?”
Mephibosheth popped his open palm against his forehead. “You’re right, of course. Some people are slow-witted. But you and I are much smarter than God. Why doesn’t He realize we know what we need so much better than He does? Heal my feet. Give you a son. If He doesn’t hear from us, He can carry on in His own wisdom. When He makes a mistake we’ll let Him know, and He must repair things as we direct.”
“You know God doesn’t make mistakes,” Michal interjected.
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