Michal (32 page)

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.

“Couldn’t sleep, Captain?” Benaiah asked. David sat back on his heels, poking the fire with a nearby stick.

“Too much to think about, Benaiah. So many questions slip through my thoughts.” He scratched a sudden itch along the back of his neck and lifted his sooty hair away from his head. A dip in the river would refresh him. After seven days it was time.

“I suppose you’ve heard the talk of making you king.”

David glanced at the burly bodyguard, who shifted his tall frame on a log placed before the fire. “Some. But I’m not sure it’s the Lord’s time.”

“The camp is overflowing with men from Israel and Judah pledging allegiance to you. What more evidence do you need, my lord?”

David studied the resurging flames, fascinated by the orange and yellow tongues licking the charred logs. “I’ll inquire of the Lord, Benaiah. Then I’ll know.”

Silence passed between them, and David’s thoughts turned to Yahweh.

Show me Your will, O Lord. Guide my steps.
He glanced up at the glittering sky and breathed deeply.
Let me know if
Your time has come to grant me the kingdom.

Muted shadows of a pale pink dawn awakened David from his cramped position before the fire. Somehow the place where he’d heard the news of Jonathan’s death brought him a measure of comfort. Peace settled over him, and he sensed this day would be different, despite his recent untold grief.

He rose before the women stirred to start the morning meal, slipped into his tent for a fresh tunic, and walked the short distance to the river. After a brisk scrub that rinsed the dust and ashes from his hair and beard, he stepped onto the shore and donned the clean tunic Abigail had fashioned for him. He glanced down at the intricate design of palm leaves etched in green and the line of purple and gold trimming the edges. The design made him pause. His fingers traced the delicate embroidery. This was no ordinary tunic. This pattern signified royalty and months of intricate work.

He remembered Abigail’s words to him soon after he had taken her as his wife. “The Lord has chosen you to be king, David. You must have a wardrobe fitting your future position.”

So this was what she had been up to. All those times when he’d seen her sitting with the women, stitching—forever stitching. She was making this kingly tunic for him. Was it possible . . . could she have . . . ? He climbed the steep bank and trudged the short path to Ziklag, his heart picking up speed.

“Good morning, Captain!” Joab called from across the street.

“Yes, good morning, my lord,” another man, one of the tribal leaders, called out.

David waved to both men and a group of other well-wishers, nodding and smiling before ducking into his tent.

“Abigail?”

Silence. He peeked into the women’s quarters. Empty. They were probably off getting water or starting to prepare the morning meal. He stuck his head under the tent flap.

“Abigail!” If she were within earshot, she would surely hear him this time.

“Yes, my lord?” She came running from the fire pit.

“Come here.” He lifted the flap for her and pulled her into his quarters.

Her thick chestnut-brown hair was pulled away from her face and tucked under a pale blue scarf, and her face and hands were streaked with flour. Her inky eyes held a fresh sparkle, and her full mouth dipped in concern, her breath coming fast from running.

“What is it? Is something wrong, my lord?”

“This.” David touched one hand to the ornamented tunic. “This is what you were working on, isn’t it?”

She nodded, eyes downcast. “You don’t like it.”

He looked at her. How could she think that? “Of course I like it. I just wondered if there was a robe to match.”

She met his gaze, and her bright smile revealed evenly matched white teeth. “Oh yes, my lord. Let me get it.” Before he could respond, she walked to the other side of the tent to her sleeping mat and pulled a folded object from a wicker basket. He followed at her heels, and as she whirled to face him, she nearly bumped into him. He caught her elbow, and she gave him an awkward smile.

“I finished it two nights ago. I was going to give it to you sooner, but . . .”—she unfolded the purple fabric as she spoke— “the timing didn’t seem appropriate.”

David took the ornamented, kingly robe from her outstretched hands and studied every line in the dim light. Somewhere, deep within his soul, he knew. Abigail’s work symbolized God’s timing. And now that Saul was dead, the time was right.

He slipped his arms through the wide sleeves and allowed Abigail to wrap the golden sash around his waist. She hurried to another basket on the tent floor along the center divider and pulled a bronze mirror from its depths.

“It’s hard to see in this light. Perhaps you’d rather step into the sunshine?” she asked, her shy gaze meeting his.

He studied his reflection for a long moment, then laid the mirror on the ground, pulling her into his arms. “Thank you,” he whispered, his throat tight. “I don’t know how you knew to make such fine garments, but . . . thank you.” He kissed the sweet moistness of her parted lips.

The kiss lasted longer than he intended, but he couldn’t pull away from the security of her arms. Somehow he knew that once he released her, his life course would take a turn, and his relationships with his men and his wives would be forever altered.

“But don’t you think wearing this now is a bit presumptuous? No one has declared me king yet.” He still held her close, letting her head rest against his chest.

She tilted her head to gaze at him. “You could wear the tunic and your captain’s robe. I mended and washed the one you tore a week ago. A little royalty mixed with humility should be a good mix, my lord.”

David released a slow breath, then kissed her again. “You are always so wise, my love.” He brushed flour from her cheek with his thumb. “Thank you.”

She helped him slip the royal robe from his arms and then folded it, setting it aside for a better day.

“You’re welcome, my lord.” She patted the garment lovingly and stood facing him.

His hands cupped her shoulders, emotion overwhelming him as he studied the depths of her gaze. What a blessing from the Lord this woman had been. First she had kept his hand from slaying innocent men. Then she somehow managed to keep the kidnapped women from panicking when he was not around to protect them. And now she was preparing for his future reign without being asked, humbly giving of herself to him.

Would Michal have done the same?

The thought troubled him. Guilt mixed with anger every time he thought of his first wife—his heart’s first love. He should have gone back for her. And she should have waited for him.

David closed his eyes, hoping the action would block the tormenting guilt from his mind. He slipped one arm around Abigail’s shoulders, walked her to the tent door, and placed another tender kiss on her cheek. “Wait for me tonight, my love.”

“Yes, my lord.” She gave him an appreciative smile and ducked under the flap, leaving David alone.

26

The earth shook. A stampede of horses grew closer. Dust billowed, filling the air, choking her.

Get away. Run, Michal, run!

Thunder split the sky. Fists pounded on the door. Violent screams.

Hurry, Michal!

They were coming for her.

Her breath came in short spurts, like the snap of a distant drum before an army marched off to war. She dragged for air.
Oh, help me!

A hand on her arm. Gentle shaking.

“Michal, wake up! Do you hear me? Wake up, I say.” Paltiel gripped her elbow, and Michal sat upright, eyes wary, fear constricting every muscle.

“Where am I?”

“In Bahurim, with me,” Paltiel said softly against her cheek.

Michal blinked, trying to clear her vision. Below them she heard what sounded like muffled screams. “What was that?” Her heart refused to slow its destructive pace.

“Calm down, Michal. You had a bad dream. It’s all right now.” Paltiel’s fingers stroked her bare arm. “Everything will be all right.”

The muffled scream grew in intensity, doubling Michal’s fear. “Then what is that?” she demanded. In one leap she jumped from the sleeping mat and strode to the door. If he wouldn’t tell her, she would find out on her own.