He touched her shoulder. “May I call you Eglah?”
“You may call me anything, my lord.”
He pulled her back to his chest and hugged her. “Please don’t be formal with me.”
She bristled and remained stiff. “Your request sounded quite formal.”
“I’ll call you Michal, if it’s what you prefer.”
“Call me Eglah,” she said, her face pointedly averted from his.
“Sure? I don’t want you to dislike it.”
“I’m sure.” She softened slightly. “You’re my husband, and I must obey the LORD in all things.”
David’s heart ached. During her time in the dungeon, she never once cried for him. He wished she’d obey him because she wanted to, not because she must. He wished she’d encourage him instead of blame him at every turn. But mostly he wished she would trust him and depend on him.
They cut back on the trail toward Jerusalem. The full moon had set, and the faint traces of dawn peeked from the ridge above. Unlike the misty dawns of the past, this one rose bone dry and stark, not a drop of moisture in the air.
“Eglah, are you tired? You’ve been up all night.”
“I’ve spent more than five months sleeping in your dungeon.” She took a deep breath. “The sunrise is so beautiful. I haven’t seen the sun or moon for so long. Why did you lock me up?”
“You tried to kill yourself and had to be sedated. I didn’t want you to become used to the poppy. So I locked you in a safe room where you couldn’t throw yourself out any windows, or stab yourself with a weapon. You spent almost two months immobile. I fed you by hand.”
“You cared for me two months? How come I didn’t know?”
She had alternated between raving and frozen, had not recognized anyone. And David had neglected his duties, held her in his lap and prayed for her, coaxing every drop of sustenance into her mouth, and kissing every tear from her cheek.
His hands tightened on the reins. “You retreated into a cocoon. And when you woke, you hated me. You… called me… enemy. I got angry and left you alone.”
“You were mad at me for months?”
He squeezed her between his forearms. “Yes.”
“Didn’t you care?”
His heart cringed with a hollow ache. “I did. I came every night and sat outside your door.”
“Why didn’t you come in?”
“You needed the time, and so did I.” God had put them both in the wilderness, the crucible, to try their hearts.
“When were you going to let me out?”
“I was waiting for you to say my name.” He sounded pathetically like a small boy. Cords of pain twisted in his heart, and his voice cracked. “I just wanted you to call for me.”
For a small moment have I forsaken thee;
David reined the horse up a set of switchbacks, leaving the Valley of Sorek. The soulless sun scorched the barren wasteland they passed. Bleached bones stuck through the sand. Michal shielded her eyes. He stopped the horse and pulled her sideways away from the blood-thickening rays.
She pulled the scarf over her face and rested her head against his chest. David fingered the waves in her hair. If he could only go back in time, back to the beginning, to the day he first met her.
…but with great mercies will I gather thee.
“David?”
His name sounded sweet on her lips. He kissed her cheek.
“All I had to do was say your name?”
“Yes.”
She nudged him. “The drought hasn’t lifted, has it?” Her voice was soft, without a trace of accusation.
“No. But I didn’t know that before we carried out the sentence.”
The famine had not abated, and the seven sons hung, with no relief in sight. The burden in his heart grew until he could barely breathe.
Her throat rippled, but she did not speak.
“I wish you wouldn’t blame me,” David whispered. The familiar weight pressed his shoulders, and he hunched away from the stinging blast of the east wind.
“But you’re the man after God’s own heart, a hero favored by God.”
“I’m nobody’s hero.” His voice broke. “I can’t bring the boys back. The drought continues. And the LORD has not answered me.”
In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment…
David’s heart drained as dry as the cracked, parched earth they trod on. The dust-laced wind irritated his throat. He slowed his horse, wanting to prolong the contact. He had lost her, the woman God made for him. He had allowed anger and pride to snuff out the love she had for him. He inhaled the fragrance in her hair, jasmine and thyme. The pain in his chest grew and surrounded him in a wasteland of broken dreams.
They arrived at the palace gate and dismounted. Michal pulled her shawl over her face.
He placed her hand on his shoulder. “These shoulders are not strong.”
He touched his chest. “And this heart is crushed.”
He lowered his head. “And this man needs you.”
Her eyes were watery, and she squinted in the sun. “You left your crown.”
“I know. I’m not your king. I’m only a man—your man.”
She closed her eyes and turned around.
He could not beg. He could only let her go. He carried her to Abigail’s house.
…but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the LORD thy Redeemer.
Chapter 52
Proverbs 5:18-19 Let thy fountain be blessed: and rejoice with the wife of thy youth. Let her be as the loving hind and pleasant roe; let her breasts satisfy thee at all times; and be thou ravished always with her love.
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David lay face down on the floor. He had been fasting for days.
“O LORD God, restore me my wife Michal. For I have espoused her in my youth. Oh, if I had only the faith of Isaac, I would have prayed for her, and You would have raised a king from her womb. Restore her heart to me. I made a vow with her, to love her and cherish her. Give me another chance. Hear me, O LORD.”
I have both heard you and seen your faith. Solomon, your son, shall be your heir, and I will place him upon the throne of the Kingdom of the LORD over Israel. He shall build my house and my court, and I will establish his kingdom forever. As for your wife, Michal, I will bless her and make her a fruitful vine to dwell with you in my house forever.
* * *
I twirled Abigail’s spindle repetitively. Why did God keep me alive when my existence brought a curse to all those around me? I cried out to the LORD.
“Be still and know that I am God.” I know you are. But was I really made for David or was I mistaken? Why do we hurt each other? And why has all this evil happened to us?
“I know the thoughts I think toward you, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.” LORD, you’ve stripped me naked, made me destitute, show me, LORD, the expected end.
“Call on me, pray unto me, search for me with your entire heart, and I will hearken to you and you shall find me.”
I shut myself in Abigail’s house, asking the servants for water only. I fasted and prayed, beseeching the LORD to take the curse away, to show me David’s heart.
After days of hunger, the LORD let me recall the first time I beheld David, a young man. He stripped him bare of all his glories, his kingdom, his power, his might, and his failings. And He showed me a man who loved the LORD God above everything.
David had sacrificed everything to please God. Everything to obey God, to do His will. Everything.
And I had been so wrong about him. Could he ever forgive me? The jealous, spiteful, selfish daughter of Saul. Was his heart big enough, or was it too late?
* * *
David seated his wives in order: Ahinoam on his right, Abital in front of him, and Bathsheba to his left. Sweat prickled his brow, and he bent his head to pray. He had sought the LORD, and the LORD had answered him. Now, he had to obey.
“Women, I have sinned,” he sa
id. “God gave Adam a woman, Eve, fashioned out of his rib. One. Single. Rib.”
Ahinoam clutched her shawl. Bathsheba blinked and lowered her eyes. Abital nodded, encouraging him.
“I have dealt deceitfully, gone the way of the kings of the world, taken what was not mine. And the LORD has heaped his judgment on me and my house.”
He paused. The tension was as palpable as his thickened pulse. “Women, I intend to provide for you, to be your friend, and to love you as a brother. Choose any house, and I will buy it for you. I will serve and support you all the days of my life.”
Bathsheba shuddered, and David grasped her hand. Her blue eyes were sodden with tears, and she slumped over the table.
Ahinoam hardly breathed. Her face ashen, she regarded him with a look of reproach. David placed his hand on her shoulder and kissed the side of her face. “Ahinoam, wife of the wilderness, you’ve suffered more than anyone. My love for you is rooted in the thorns, and thistles, and parched creeks, and dusty cliffs, and the calling of the LORD in the day of my distress.”
She sobbed. “My lord. You have been so good to me. More than I deserve. I love you, David, and I thank you.” Her lips trembling, she fled with a rustle of skirts.
“Abital, I have loved you with brotherly love. You may think you’re weak, but you are strong. You’ve kept the word of the LORD and have not denied my name. Our son, Shephatiah, will be a mighty warrior and serve the next king with truth and loyalty.”
She bowed her head. “Thank you, my lord. I will not cease to pray for you.” She kissed him on the beard and patted his shoulder. “I love you, David.” Looking back, her sweet apple cheeks dimpled.
Bathsheba raised herself into his arms. “My lord, forgive me for all the trouble I caused.”
He held her tightly. “Beautiful Bathsheba, I regret our sin, but I will never regret the love we had. Out of the ashes of wreck and ruin, we’ve sought redemption and purified our hearts. God has selected our son, Solomon, to be king after me. You shall be his queen and sit at his side. Guide him as you are guided by our merciful LORD.”
She lifted her chin. “I will. And I love you, David, always.”
He held her a bit longer and kissed the tears off her face. “You shall be the mother of kings, and I shall never forget you.”
* * *
David asked a messenger to bring Michal to his bedchamber. He had left her at Abigail’s house and had not made an attempt to see her after he brought her back to Jerusalem. He had failed to reach her, and he couldn’t force her to come to him. He wanted her to choose him freely, even if it meant letting her go. But first, he needed to set his house in order.
The famine raged and the people reproached him. Unbelievably they murmured that he had caused the famine by harming Saul’s house—Saul, the people’s choice, exalted by the people, the people’s king. Oh, how short were the memories of the people.
The door opened with a knock, and Michal stepped in. The messenger bowed and retreated.
She stared at his feet. Her face had hollowed, and she appeared frail.
He took her hand and kissed it. “I have something to ask you.”
She flinched and clutched her throat with her other hand. The centers of her lovely eyes pinched as she took a step back.
He ached to draw her into his arms, to touch her cheek, to kiss her soft lips. “It is nothing to be afraid of. It concerns our sons and their bones.”
“Aren’t they buried already?”
“Sadly not. The Gibeonites desecrated their bodies by leaving them on the crosses for these last six months.”
Michal’s eyes widened. She shook her head as a choke tore from her throat. “Why? How can this be?”
He drew her into his arms. “Rizpah and her family have been guarding them these six months. It’s time to give them a proper burial. I will take Joshua and Beraiah’s bones and put them in my sepulcher in Jerusalem. We’ll collect the rest of the men’s bones, along with the bones of your father and brothers, and inter them in the sepulcher of your grandfather Kish.”
Michal pushed back and trembled. David could feel her apprehension and reticence. She covered her face with both hands and wept.
“What’s wrong? Do you not like my plan? I’ll also set you free. Your six month sentence has been served. You may go and see whoever you wish.” She deserved to be happy, even if it was with another man.
She appeared not to have heard him. Her shoulders shook, and she pounded the wall with her fists.
David held her from behind. “Did you hear me? You’re free. You can leave after the burial if you wish.”
His fingers ached where he touched her, and his chest warmed where he held her. “I should like it if you’d stay, but I won’t force you.”
“Oh, David. Don’t hate me.”
He turned her around. “Why would I hate you? I forgive you for everything.”
She wiped her eyes furiously. “You’re going to hate me when I tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“You can’t put Joshua and Beraiah in your sepulcher.”
A spear lanced David’s heart. He staggered back as if the earth heaved and bucked. “What do you mean?”
“I lied to you.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “They’re Adriel’s sons. Merab and Adriel’s.”
A cold, heavy fist punched the wind out of him. Michal had lied? She might have been stubborn and willful, sarcastic and bitter. But always honest.
His voice broke. “Go away. Just go away.”
* * *
Covered in a heavy veil, I rode on a mule behind David. He led the solemn procession from Jerusalem to Gibeah. He had not spoken to me since the day he told me to depart from him. But his messenger urged me to attend the burial. It would not do for the daughter of Saul to miss this event. My father and brothers’ bones rode in an ox-cart. Crowds thronged the streets. The entire tribe of Benjamin and many onlookers came to honor my father and his house.
David’s men entreated with Rizpah to leave her post as they took down the bleached bones of our sons. The men placed all the bones on the ox-cart, and we rode to Zelah where the sepulcher lay.
It took the procession some time to gather around the entrance to the cave. Dry, chalky dust clogged my nose, and I craned my neck to see the large stone as it was rolled from the entrance of the tomb. The bundles of bones were lifted one by one and carried into the cave. My eyes blurred in memory.
“Walk for Eemah.” I held my hands just out of reach. “Joshua, come to me. Beraiah.”
They stood and stumbled a few steps, then fell in a pile of squealing, laughing arms, tummies, and legs.
“Try again. Come to Eemah.” They climbed over me, grabbed my hair for leverage, and tumbled into my lap. Two sets of eyes, two gapped-tooth smiles, two blessings from God.
I swept a hand behind my veil to wipe my eyes. The stone had been rolled back in place, and the people played music. David handed the parchment bearing my father’s genealogy to Meribbaal, Jonathan’s son.
He stood on a platform and spoke, “Saul and Jonathan were mighty men. The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places: how are the mighty fallen! Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death, they were not divided: they were swifter than eagles and stronger than lions. I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan, very pleasant have you been to me, your love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women. How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished! Saul and Jonathan, may my house and your house be joined together in peace as brethren.”
“To brethren! To brethren!” cheered the people. “Long live King David. Long live the king!”
As the mourners departed, I dismounted and fell to the parched ground to say my own prayers. When I rose, Ittai passed under a nearby tree with his daughter Kyra and her Egyptian maid.
I stepped toward him, and the women walked away.
“Michal.” Ittai’s eyes held tears. My veil still in place, I embrace
d him. His throat bobbled. “Are you free now?”
“David has let me go. I’m free.”
He touched the side of my veil. “What will you do now?”
I gazed into his loving eyes and traced the scar on his left cheek. His arms had supported me, and his chest had warmed me. I hugged him tighter. “I’ll go back to Jerusalem and live as a daughter of the Law should.”
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “I’ll never forget you. Michal, mine.”
His declaration brought a lump to my throat. “I can still remember the time I saw you in that clearing.”
He grinned sideways. “You were watching?”
“Jada told me to hide.”
“Tell me what you were thinking.”
I must have blushed because a smirk split his face, and he wiggled his eyebrows. “You wondered what it’d be like to run your hands over my body and reach under my leather kilt.”
“Ittai! You’re incorrigible.”
“Did you like what you found?”
The lump swelled to fill my throat. I placed my face on his chest. “I found a loyal friend, a comforter, and more, much more.”
He stroked my hair. “And I love everything about you—even dragging your stinkiness out of jail.” He kissed the top of my head. “You taught me how to love. The day I married you, I believed we would never part. I believed you would be mine forever.”
“Are you disappointed now?” The lump rose in my throat.
“No, never. It’s why God chooses not to tell us the future. He gifts us only with the present, so we can love to the fullest, without fear or reservation. I love you, Michal, mine.”
“I love you, too, Ittai, my Gittite.” A tear rolled down my cheek. “I have to go.”
He pulled my veil aside. “Let me look at you. If I could have been David, I would never have let you shed a single tear.” His lips pressed together, he forced a smile. “No more tears. I don’t want to carry your weeping face in my mind for eternity.”
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