Abigail (16 page)

Abigail gave her appearance a cursory glance, then allowed Zahara to help her don her robe and tie the gilded sash at her waist. “There,” Zahara said, seemingly satisfied. “The men will give you their full attention now.”

Abigail released a slow breath. “It cannot be any worse than confronting David. I thought he would slit my throat before I had a chance to speak.” She offered her maid a weak smile. “I should be used to disgruntled men by now.” She turned and walked from her rooms to Nabal’s audience chamber, Zahara at her heels.

Three grizzled men stood in the court, one tapping a foot in impatience, another pacing the stone court, and the third sitting on a bench, legs outstretched, as if time held little importance. Abigail’s heart skipped a beat, increasing her sense of dread. What could they want?

She stood beside Nabal’s kingly chair, unable to sit in the place where he had claimed such self-importance. “Send them in.” She nodded to Zahara, who moved to do as requested.

At Zahara’s approach, they quickly came to attention and followed her into Abigail’s presence. They stood at a respectful distance, straight and proud, obviously unwilling to acknowledge that a woman might hold their fate in her hands.

“How may I serve you?” Abigail asked, meeting each man’s gaze without flinching.

“We heard the master has taken ill, and we wondered . . .” The man who had been pacing suddenly looked down at his feet as though he were embarrassed to speak the next words. “We wondered who might be in charge of the master’s sheep and goats with the master so . . . indisposed.” He glanced up at Abigail, his face flushing crimson. “Some of us were thinking that since the master doesn’t have a son, the man who marries his widow would inherit his property, and . . . well, I’m here to offer to do just that—should the master pass on.” His grin showed uneven, grayish teeth, and he smelled of a mixture of sweat, sheep, and too much wine.

What would happen to her if Nabal soon died? Her position would be one of a woman of means. If there were no kinsman redeemers to raise up a son to Nabal, she would be free to marry whomever she chose. And as far as she knew, Nabal had no other living relatives. The thought had not occurred to her until this moment. She’d been too absorbed in her own fear and uncertainty. But the idea suddenly held merit, and the thought of remaining alone the rest of her life was an unhappy one at best.

But if Daniel spoke the truth and David was truly interested in her, she could help his cause. She wouldn’t go into the marriage empty-handed or to cover a debt, feeling as though she had no control over her life and was at the mercy of an unmerciful man. Rather, she would add to the wealth David would need to secure the kingdom.

She looked at the man standing before her, his bearing proud and ridiculous, as though he had something to offer her that she would actually want. She’d seen him, all of them, at the various feasts Nabal had held. He was one of those who would do anything to get into the good graces of the wealthy, to further his own station in life, which shouldn’t surprise her, though she had never been impressed with the sniveling way some men would acquire such things. Not at her expense.

“As it stands,” she said, calmly meeting each man’s gaze, “my husband still lives. Now if you will excuse me, I have work to attend to.” She waited until the men exchanged embarrassed glances and backed out of the room, then she turned and hurried to check on her husband.

“How is he?” Abigail asked as she entered the room where the morning sun bathed the mosaic floors in welcome light. The town physician had been in attendance each day, his nimble frame bent over Nabal, trying to coax herbs and water past his lips. To no avail.

“His eyes move in quick motion as though he is trying to run from something. But otherwise, he lies as still as stone.” The physician looked at her then, his narrow face wreathed in sorrow. “There is no change, mistress.”

Abigail stood at Nabal’s feet, looking down on him. His eyes moved, met her gaze, and held. A shiver passed through her at the stark fear she saw in this brief window into his soul. She moved closer to kneel at his side opposite the physician. She reached for his hand, shocked at the total lack of warmth in his fingers.

“My lord, I am sorry to have upset you so.” The words came out slowly, and emotion filled her throat, choking off her ability to continue. She swallowed hard and wiped the moisture from her eyes with her free hand, then placed it over the other holding Nabal’s. “I don’t know if you can hear me, my lord”— she moved so that her eyes could connect with his—“but if you can, please know that what I did, I did for the safety of your household. Your insults to David had ignited his wrath. He was on his way to kill you and every man in your house. The food appeased him, my lord, and spared you.”

She watched for some sign that he understood, but the fear never left his face. “It is possible, my lord, that you are about to go the way of all the earth. Or perhaps Adonai in His great mercy will heal you and allow you to live. I hope, my lord, that whatever happens, you will seek His forgiveness for the deeds you have done, that He might yet have mercy on your soul.” The words pushed forth from her lips unplanned, but as she had that day when she spoke to David, she could not seem to stop them, to hold back the urgent need to be heard before it was too late.

She squeezed his hand but got no response. More tears fell unbidden, dampening her cheeks. She swiped them away, sniffing back the urge to weep.

“You must not trouble yourself with these things, mistress.” The physician put a hand to Nabal’s forehead, meeting Abigail’s gaze. “There was nothing else you could have done. Your words or actions did not do this to Nabal. El Elyon the Most High God Himself struck your master. It is the only explanation.”

He moved his hand to Nabal’s chest and leaned over him to listen. Soft raspy sounds came from Nabal’s throat, but a moment later they changed to a dry rattle. His chest heaved once, twice, and his stiff body lifted from the bed, then dropped again like a felled tree.

A collective gasp came from behind Abigail. She turned to see Zahara and three of her maids huddled near the door, eyes wide. She looked again at the physician who was making a thorough check of Nabal. At last their gazes met.

“He is dead, my lady.” The physician closed Nabal’s eyes one at a time, then stepped away to allow her maids to come and prepare the body for burial.

Abigail released her grip on Nabal’s cold fingers and sat back on her heels, staring at the man who had wooed her to want him but then controlled and mistreated her. She searched her heart for a sense of grief but found only relief instead. She was free of him at last.

The thought both comforted and terrified her. What would happen to her now? Even as a woman of means with a measure of independence, what good was her life without a husband and children? Who would care for her when she was old? Who would inherit the wealth Nabal had acquired if she never bore a son?

He would be willing to protect you, and I don’t think he meant that in a general sense. I think he wants to spread his garment over you, Abigail.
Daniel’s words came back to her, swirling around her like a feast-day dance. She stood and surveyed the room.

“We will bury Nabal in the cave of his father and mother this afternoon.” She glanced at Zahara. “We can be ready by then, can we not?”

Zahara nodded. “Yes, my lady. We can.”

“Good. And send a runner to David’s camp to my father and brother to tell them Nabal is dead.” They should be told, and better that it come from her than to wait for a passing caravan to happen upon them with the news. Never mind that her heart picked up its pace at the thought of what this news would bring. Her brother would insist she join them, and then there was the matter of David . . .

She brushed the thought aside, frustrated with the traitorous bent of her heart. She must focus on what was expedient now for the funeral. Food would need to be prepared and professional mourners called. Nabal would be buried with all the kingly fanfare he felt he deserved. And she would show him respect despite the conflicting emotions that told her not to. But she would not shed another tear for his loss.

And she would not miss him.

David stood at the crest of the hill overlooking the Judean wilderness. The summer heat bore down on him, adding weight to his oppressive thoughts. They should move on to a better place. They’d already been in the area surrounding Maon for months, and if his spies were right, since the encounter with Abigail, the Ziphites had shown enough unrest to convince him Saul would soon be at his back door. He needed another secure location. But there was no place left where they hadn’t already been, and with the summer months coming fast upon them, all hope of vegetation and a steady water supply was slim.

Even now the sun’s scorching finger had turned the valleys a hazy brown. The few sheep and goats that provided milk for the children would need better grazing land, but to go east toward the Jordan or north toward Jezreel would put him amid towns and land where Saul could readily find him.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he took in the barren landscape, unable to keep his chest from lifting in a troubled sigh. They should have moved on days ago when the spies first brought their report of the men of Ziph, but a second report that Nabal had taken ill had kept him from acting. Wait and see, he’d told himself more than once. But after ten days, the waiting was making him nervous. They definitely needed to move on, but where? Israel had many caves and hidden dwellings, but David was certain he had found them all. And he was weary of them. They needed someplace new, someplace where Saul would not think to look, where they might find at least the illusion of peace.

He turned, irritated that his train of thought had led him no closer to a solution, and trudged the narrow path that went around the hill, back to his hideaway. Benaiah and Daniel met him as he entered the camp.

“Good news, my lord,” Benaiah said, matching David’s strides as he walked toward the mouth of the cave. “A runner has come from the widow Abigail.”

David stopped as Benaiah’s words registered. “Widow?” Dared he believe it?

Daniel stepped closer, his wide grin showing a dimple in one cheek and lightening his normally dark eyes. “Nabal is dead, David! The Lord has struck him for his abuse.”

David worked at hiding a smile, but it was no use. Laughter burst from him. “Praise be to Adonai, who has upheld my cause against Nabal for treating me with contempt. He has kept His servant from doing wrong and has brought Nabal’s wrongdoing down on his own head.” He slapped Daniel on the back and motioned for Daniel to follow him into the cave. “Summon your father for me.”

“Yes, my lord.” Smiling, Daniel hurried to do his bidding.

David’s nerves hadn’t been strung so tight since the first time Saul had hurled his spear in his direction. He shouldn’t be worried. It wasn’t like he had never sought a woman’s hand in marriage, but this one seemed different somehow. And the fact that he already had a wife had made him pause more than once. He knew the law. Kings weren’t supposed to have many wives so that their hearts would stay true to Yahweh. But he wasn’t a king yet, and no woman of his would ever lead his heart from the worship of his God.