Abigail's Story by Ann Burton Page A

welcome.
    No one came out.
    My steps slowed as I drew closer. Rotted boughs sagged over walls of cracked plaster and crumbling brick, while weeds and brush, blocking the dirt path to the doorway, grew as high as my waist. I nearly tripped over the door, which had fallen from its hinges and lay over the threshold.
    Calling Nabal’s hill house a hovel would be flattering it.
    I peered inside. There were no lamps, no food laid out to welcome us. Perhaps my husband had not sent word that I was to come and stay. As I cautiously stepped over the fallen door, a nest of mice erupted from beneath it, squealing as they ran into several holes at the base of the house.
    â€œWe will need fire and water.” Keseke came to stand beside me and eyed a dusty cobweb. “Keep your head covered or spiders will drop in your hair.”
    There was no danger of that. I was not going to remove my head cloth until I returned to Maon.
    One of the guards carried a flint stone and, with a bit of grumbling, started a fire for us. The others unloaded the wagon. Keseke used the last of the daylight to collect brushwood to feed the fire. I tried not to look at the mess inside the house, but glancing up I saw patches of twilight sky through the gaps in the collapsing roof. The boughs supporting the reed mats under the roof plaster were rotted, and some appeared ready to drop at any moment.
    â€œWe cannot stay here,” I told the driver of the wagon. “The house is not safe.”
    â€œYou may see the herdsmen in the morning,” thedriver said. “They can repair it.” He sounded tired and grumpy, and revealed the reason for it with his next words. “We cannot, for Master Nabal ordered us to return tonight.”
    â€œBut the animals must be exhausted.”
    He shook his head. “We change them at the crossroads.” He handed me a sack half-filled with dried fruit. “This is the last of it. We will bring more supplies with the new moon.” He went out to the empty wagon and climbed up behind the mules.
    â€œWait.” I hurried after him. Part of me wanted to beg them to stay. Another wished to beg go with them. “Please ask my husband to send word to my family that I arrived here safely.”
    The driver nodded before he turned the mules and drove away, followed by the other two guards. I watched them until they disappeared over the rise, and then hugged myself with my arms. The setting of the sun brought coldness to the air, but it was the silence which sank into my flesh and gnawed at my bones.
    â€œWell?” Keseke folded her arms.
    Her prediction had come true. We were but two women in a strange place without adequate shelter, alone and friendless. The lions would likely come at any moment.
    â€œIt grows cold,” I said. “Let us go inside and make the place livable for the night.”

CHAPTER
9
    K eseke proved very useful in finding things to make our new home somewhat more comfortable. She unearthed three unbroken saucer lamps and a juglet with a small measure of oil still inside. I made wicks for the lamps by twisting together threads plucked from the hem of my khiton, and lit them with a straw touched to a coal from the fire.
    â€œThere,” I said as I set the lamps out. “We will have light by which to work.”
    A fallen pine branch worked nicely as a broom, and I used its stiff brown needles to sweep the floor while the serving woman banked the fire. She encircled the coals with stones and bits of brick, too, so that the fire would not wander while we slept.
    â€œWe should make some food now,” I suggested, “while there is still enough oil to keep the lamps burning.”
    Keseke told me she would cook, but I insisted on sharing the work, so we both prepared the meal.Keseke made a soup while I ground enough grain to make a small lehem to bake on a pit stone. The grinding stones were old and worn, and I spent a few minutes picking the largest pieces of