Abigail (The Wives of King David Book #2): A Novel
Wives of King David [2]
Jill Eileen Smith
Revell (2010)
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Rating: ★★★★★
Tags: Romance, FIC042030, Christian, Historical, Fiction
Romancettt FIC042030ttt Christianttt Historicalttt Fictionttt
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Abigail's hopes and dreams for the future are wrapped up in her handsome, dark-eyed betrothed, Nabal. But when the long-awaited wedding day arrives, her drunken groom behaves shamefully. Nevertheless, Abigail tries to honor and respect her husband despite his abuse of her. Meanwhile, Abigail's family has joined David's wandering tribe as he and his people keep traveling to avoid the dangerous Saul. When Nabal suddenly dies, Abigail is free to move on with her life, and thanks to her brother, her new life includes a new husband--David. The dangers of tribal life on the run are serious, but there are other dangers in young Abigail's mind. How can David lead his people effectively when he goes against God? And how can Abigail share David's love with the other wives he insists on marrying? Jill Eileen Smith, bestselling author of Michal, draws on Scripture, historical research, and her imagination as she fills in the blanks to unveil the story of Abigail and David in rich detail and drama. The result is a riveting page-turner that will keep readers looking forward to the next book in this trilogy.
THE WIVES of KING DAVID , BOOK 2
ABIGAIL
A NOVEL
Jill Eileen Smith
© 2010 Jill Eileen Smith
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
E-book edition created 2010
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-0771-5
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture is taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
Scripture marked NKJV is taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982
by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearance of certain historical figures is therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Published in association with the Books & Such Literary Agency, Wendy Lawton, 52
Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, CA 95409-7953.
To my beloved, Randy—a man after God’s own heart and a wonderful example of what it truly means to be called husband and father.
And to Jeff, Chris, and Ryan—follow hard after Jesus to do His will, and live the dreams He has given to you. Your mother’s heart trusts you all to His care.
Contents
Part I
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
Part II
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
Part III
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
Part IV
29
30
31
32
33
34
Part V
35
36
37
38
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
PART I
Now Samuel died, and all Israel assembled and mourned for him; and they buried him at his home in Ramah. Then David moved down into the Desert of Maon. A certain man in Maon, who had property there at Carmel, was very wealthy. He had a thousand goats and three thousand sheep, which he was shearing in Carmel. His name was Nabal and his wife’s name was Abigail. She was an intelligent and beautiful woman, but her husband, a Calebite, was surly and mean in his dealings.
1 Samuel 25:1–3
1
Maon, 1017 BC
“Rumor has it David is in the area not far from here. If you but say the word, Father, we could leave Simon for good and join him. I hear he has women and children in his company now. Mother and Talya and Abigail would not be out of place.”
Abigail nearly sloshed water over the sides of the bowl as she stood in the courtyard straining it through a cloth for tomorrow’s washing. Her brother’s oft-repeated plea shouldn’t surprise her. She’d heard it many times in the past two years since the king’s son-in-law had run off and surrounded himself with disgruntled men. So why did the thought cause her heart to beat faster and her limbs to tremble now?
“Ah, Daniel. Always you bring my failures before me.” Her father’s exaggerated sigh carried to her from the roof, where her parents, Daniel, and his wife Talya sat talking in the early light of the moon. She could imagine the slight shrug of his weary shoulders, the look of defeat in his eyes. Why did her brother insist on pushing his point? If he wanted to run after David so much, then go! But leave her father, leave all of them, in peace.
“You have not failed, Judah. You are a good husband, a loving father.”
“Yes, yes, you need not appease me, dear wife. Every day I watch my Abigail grow lovelier, and do you not think I regret what that man will do to her spirit once she lives under his roof? Ach! You mustn’t tempt me, Daniel. To run away . . . It is far too appealing.”
Silence followed the comment. Abigail sucked in a breath, disbelieving. Was Abba actually tempted to do as Daniel suggested? He’d never indicated such a thing in the two years since her childhood betrothal to pay off her father’s debt—a betrothal made before she had reached her full maturity, before her womanhood had come upon her. She fingered the sash at her waist, her heart thumping an erratic rhythm. The change had been late in coming, but six full moons had passed since then. Six months of knowing her betrothed could come at any moment.
“But Father, if you know things will only get worse when Abigail marries that fool, why let her? Surely there is a way to stop this, to undo the damage before it is too late.” Daniel’s voice dropped in volume, and Abigail strained to hear. She crept closer to the stairs leading to the roof and placed one foot on the bottom step.
“There is nothing to be done. Don’t you think your father would have gotten out of the agreement if he could?” The voice of her mother, Naamah, was stern as always, giving Abigail a measure of hope. Her father would not give her to Simon’s son Nabal if he truly feared for her future. He would have gone to the elders, found some other way to pay Simon off—something. “But I’ll admit, David would be a far better master than Simon of Carmel.”
Her mother’s admission, so unprecedented, sent a chill down Abigail’s spine. She gripped the wall for support, her limbs suddenly unable to continue the trek to the roof. Why were they talking like this? Nabal could come at any moment, eve
n this night. How could they even speak of running away? What would become of her?
“Perhaps I could take the case to the elders . . .” Her father’s voice pierced her in its stark uncertainty. Never had he suggested such a thing. “They may agree to a termination rather than a divorce . . . Abigail would carry the stigma, though, and I cannot provide for her forever.”
“I will provide for her.” She barely heard Daniel’s declaration above the pounding in her head. Divorce? No man would want her again. She would remain alone and barren, her life wasted.
And what of Nabal? Sudden doubt assailed her. Brash, deceitful son of Simon. The picture of kindness at their betrothal— but if her brother spoke the truth, the man carried an impulsive, explosive temper. Hadn’t she sensed it in the look he gave her when he took her aside into the privacy of the grape grove at the community wine treading? She pulled in a steadying breath, remembering the flush of shame—and pleasure—she had felt in the moment of his possessive kiss. What began as a tender, heady feeling of love’s awakening had turned aggressive and harsh. She pressed two fingers to her trembling lips.
She couldn’t deny it. Nabal was an attractive man. Of medium height, his muscles were not strong like Abba’s or thick cords like Daniel’s, and his hair was darker than her chestnut tresses, black as a goat’s skin, his eyes the color of an onyx stone. Sandwiched between his mustache and beard, his smile brooded something dark, mysterious. She’d heard the way the virgins giggled at his princely manner and flirtatious looks. If she had not known he belonged to her, she might have wondered if he had set his eye on one of them. And the knowing, the realization that he was bound to her, had made her proud. Someday he would come for her and carry her off on a jewel-bedecked camel to share in the wealth of his estate, to share the intimacies of his love. Intimacies he had already hinted at . . . if she had not pushed him away that day.
She grasped at the fringe of her shawl, cinching it tight, shivering more from the flash of anger she recalled in his eyes than the night’s damp, cool breeze. She’d almost ducked and run from him, but his grip on her arms had held her secure. He wouldn’t have slapped her for refusing him, would he? He would wait for the proper time, until she was truly a woman as she was now. He knew all he need do was come for her. He wouldn’t force her among the grapevines.
She shook her head, determined to clear it of the disturbing thoughts. Father may entertain traitorous ideas of annulling her marriage, but how did she dare? She had already allowed too much . . . and Nabal would collect on her father’s promise one way or another. Of that she was sure.
Lord, help me.
“If we run after David, how will that improve a thing? His enemies are around every corner. We would never know peace again.” Her mother’s words stilled the restless pounding of her heart. Yes, this was what they needed—wisdom—to talk sense into her brother, whose own logic was tainted with living under the oppression of Simon’s employ. And her father whose weariness grew greater with every passing day, his regret palpable.
“Your mother is right, Daniel. I’m too old to live my life on the run, not to mention what it would do to your mother. We would only slow David down.”
“You are far from old, Father. The freedom alone would renew your strength.”
“Would you have your child born in a cave, my son?” Her mother’s severe tone returned. “Talya is better off here, until she is safely delivered.”
Abigail released her grip on the wall and stepped back onto the stones of the courtyard. The discussion would turn to other things now. Too many infants lined the crevices in the burial caves near their home—brothers and sisters she and Daniel should have shared. Daniel wouldn’t chance his future or Talya’s health after such a declaration. Their mother knew how to get her way.
Abigail’s sandals trod softly across the court and into the small house, and she eased the door shut behind her. Two years she had waited since her betrothal, and now at fifteen summers since her birth, she was ripe with longing for a home of her own. At three and twenty, surely Nabal longed to marry, to procure sons.
When, Lord? When would her bridegroom come for her?
She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and pushed aside Daniel’s comments of Nabal’s churlish behavior. When they married, things would be different. She would help Nabal see the error of his ways, gently point out how people lost respect for men who were rude or unkind, help him change.
Things would be better. They had to be.
With a heavy sigh, she glanced about the dark room, then settled onto her mat, listening to the muffled voices of her family on the roof. Uncertainty niggled at the back of her thoughts. Everything had seemed so possible until now. Until she had heard her father’s doubts and her mother’s agreement. Until the possibility of annulment seemed a reality. Until running away to join a band of outlaws sounded more appealing than marrying her husband.
2
Abigail removed the evening bread from the clay oven in the courtyard and stood. One hand shading her eyes, she gazed toward the town of Maon, where her father, Judah, trudged the narrow path, a lone lamb draped across his slumped shoulders. Defeat shadowed his dear face, and when he glanced up and noticed her, he looked away as though he could not bear the shame she knew he bore.
“Any word, Abba?” That night on the roof, despite her silent protests, Daniel had finally convinced her father to seek the dissolution of her marriage to Nabal. Apparently, Nabal had been caught in a drunken brawl and nearly beat a man to death, which had prompted Daniel’s renewed concerns and convinced Abba to act. He had spoken to the elders a week ago. Surely they must have come to a decision. But her hope, which was thin and brittle at best, cracked and splintered at the distinct shake of her father’s head and the look of intense remorse in his eyes.
“Simon is too powerful, Abigail.” He reached for her then and placed a gentle, rough-worn hand against her cheek. “One of the elders must have brought my request before him . . .” He looked away toward the distant hills, shaking his head again. “Ach . . . we knew it was impossible from the start.” He attempted a shrug, but the lamb’s body prevented his shoulders from lifting. On closer inspection, she noticed the lamb’s splinted and bandaged leg.
She reached to pat the animal’s head, looking from the bandage to her father’s face. “How was she hurt?” Instinct told her the answer, but she waited to hear it from him, knowing he needed to talk about something normal, something besides the foreboding truth that hung between them. “Did a wolf or a bear get her, or did she run away too many times?” Sometimes Abba was forced to kill a rebellious lamb, one who would not learn obedience, but often he would first break the leg of the runaway, then carry the ewe close to his heart until it healed, to teach her obedience.
“She is the youngest yet the most stubborn of Nabal’s flock. A lion almost got her, but Daniel was quick to stop him. That boy would do well with his own flock, if Adonai ever sees fit to give him one. He is the best hireling Simon and Nabal have.”
Abigail looked into the large, frightened eyes of the lamb, almost hearing the pitiful cry she must have given, the betrayal and hurt she must have felt when Abba purposely broke her leg. She cringed at the thought, imagining what it must be like to be so rebellious, to suffer such consequences.
“Nabal will come day after tomorrow.” Her father’s words jolted her, sending her stomach into a spiraling dip.
“So soon, Abba? Then there is no hope of a termination, or of going after David as Daniel suggested?” She bent to kneel beside the lamb content in her father’s lap, and gently dug her fingers into the soft wool. She might have preferred a broken leg herself if it would have meant keeping her close to her father a while longer, despite her earlier thoughts that she would prefer a home of her own. She didn’t want to leave now. Not after her parents had expressed such doubts, after there had been such hope that she might marry someone other than Nabal.
Her father patted Abigail’s head, shifting t
he cloth that covered her dark reddish-brown tresses, keeping her beauty safe for her husband. “I have failed you, my Abigail. My little lamb.” He cleared his throat as though to say more would cost him, and when she lifted damp eyes to his, she saw the grief he bore.
She buried her face in the animal’s wool, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here. She had less than two days to prepare to become Nabal’s wife. Two days to mourn the freedom she knew in this house, to grieve as Abba did now, knowing neither of them could undo what had been done.
Nabal would come for her, and she would become his wife. And there was nothing they could do to stop it.
The shofar blew in the distance, announcing Nabal’s coming.
A hush settled over the courtyard as the neighing of horses and the sound of rowdy, loud male voices carried through the open windows.
“Behold, the bridegroom comes!” The voices of her ten virgin maids took up the traditional chant. “The virgins hold their lamps to light the way. Expectantly the bride awaits, till she hears the trump of her beloved.” Abigail’s heart throbbed beneath the multicolored robe that flowed in folds to her ankles and spilled over the wedding bench. She fingered the ruby pendant, Nabal’s betrothal gift that rested between her breasts, trying to see through the hazy curtain of her veil.
His insistent knock made her feel faint. The room tilted.
“Who knocks on my door?” Her father’s strong voice quoted the prescribed words, but his tone held no anticipation or joy.
“Your daughter’s beloved, my father.” Nabal’s words slurred ever so slightly. Had he been drinking already? “I have come to take my bride to be with me in my father’s house.”
Silence met her ear, and for a weighty moment Abigail sat, hands clasped, nerves taut like strings stretched across a lyre. At last, her father cleared his throat and opened the door. “Welcome, my son.” It was the polite thing to say, but Abigail knew Nabal would never hold a place in her father’s heart the way Talya did.
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