Abigail by Jill Smith Page A

her parents after Daniel had convinced David to move to the wilderness of Maon.
    Memories assaulted her at the thought, and she sighed, feeling again the ache that came from missing her father’s strong arms about her. She could not tell him of the abuse she suffered in Nabal’s house, but she could see by the glint in his eyes that he knew.
    They all knew. Or at least suspected. Though none of them spoke of it because nothing could be done to change it.
    “Perhaps when you have a child, Nabal will become a decent man,” Mama had said, confirming her own silent hopes. But her mother’s clinging embrace and the way she avoided looking Abigail straight in the eye dashed those hopes just as quickly. A child would not change Nabal. Short of a miracle, nothing would.
    “I don’t know what he wants, my lady,” Zahara said, snapping Abigail’s thoughts back to her maid. Zahara looked toward the front of the house and motioned for Abigail to follow as she stepped toward the hall through the kitchens that led to the main courtyard. “Some visitors came to Nabal by the river where they are shearing. Jakim raced home in a hurry looking for you, but that’s all he would say. Come. He is at the well watering his horse.”
    Male servants rarely spoke to her unless there was trouble. Abigail tucked a loose strand of her thick, ever-straying hair beneath her headdress, smoothing the fabric and wishing the wrinkles of her heart could be so easily pressed into submission. She forced aside her anxious forebodings as she wove her way around the serving girls and followed Zahara. The scents of garlic and cumin mingling with the baking bread, normally appetizing fare, now made her stomach do an uncomfortable flip. Her sandals slapped the rectangular stones of the court as she lifted her robe and tunic and half ran to keep up with Zahara’s long strides. They moved past the guards at the gate toward the well at the entrance to Nabal’s estate and arrived moments later, out of breath. Jakim stood rubbing down a lathered horse while the horse panted and drank water from the stone trough.
    Abigail slowed her pace and released the grip on her skirts. She held Jakim’s gaze for the briefest moment before he averted his eyes and fell to one knee before her, arms raised in supplication.
    “Please, my lady, you must do something, or every man in Nabal’s household will be dead by morning.”
    Zahara’s sharp intake of breath and Jakim’s unmasked fear told Abigail that this was no ruse.
    “Tell me what happened.” She pressed a hand to her throat, feeling the rapid cadence of her pulse. She willed herself to stay calm. Nothing could be so bad that she couldn’t, with God’s help, figure out a way to fix it. She just needed to listen, to think.
    Jakim rose to his feet. “David sent messengers from the desert to give our master his greetings, but he hurled insults at them.” He kept his voice low and glanced about as though he expected Nabal to appear at any moment. His actions would have seemed ludicrous if she didn’t know for a fact that Nabal had loyal spies everywhere—much like King Saul’s supporters who ignored the fact that they served a mad king.
    “Yet these men were very good to us. They did not mistreat us, and the whole time we were out in the fields near them, nothing was missing.” Jakim’s voice cut into her thoughts, the weight of his words suddenly registering deep within her. “Night and day they were a wall around us during the whole time we were herding our sheep near them.” He shifted from foot to foot, his movements agitated, his gaze darting beyond her as though he feared the rocks themselves would betray him. “Now think it over and see what you can do, because disaster is hanging over our master and his whole household. He is such a wicked man that no one can talk to him.”
    “What did David request?” The question formed of its own accord as she worked to overcome her shock. She knew the