Free Queenmaker by India Edghill

fell as if Yahweh himself had struck him down, and became as one turned to stone until he died.”
    I stood as if I too had been struck to stone. Jonathan put his arms around me; I did not feel them. He spoke more, telling how David had sent an offer of marriage to Abigail, and how she hastened to accept and bring him all she had. Nabal had been a wealthy man; his sheep were fat, his lands rich, and his servants many.
    “This woman Abigail—” The words echoed cold in my ears, as if a stranger spoke; Michal stood far away.
    I did not have to finish, for Jonathan knew what I would ask. “She is still young and unblemished, or so I have heard. But I have not seen her, Michal, and they say all rich widows are good to look upon.
    “She has brought him much,” I said. “More than Michal, who is no longer called daughter by Saul the king.”
    Jonathan stroked my hair and said words he thought it would ease my heart to hear. “Do not weep, little sister. A man must do things a woman does not understand. This does not mean that David loves you not. He will come for you when the time is right.” He held me tight for comfort, but I would not yield to it.
    And I did not weep. Not then. I kissed my brother’s cheek and stepped back to stand with my head high. “David may come if he likes. The wife of Phaltiel knows how to welcome guests to her husband’s house.”
    Proud words. Jonathan was not deceived. But he granted me my right to them, and let me act the lady of the household for his benefit. As I have said, my brother was always kind.
    I walked back through the gate and into Phaltiel’s house. I called for the maidservants, and ordered a bath for Jonathan, and food, and wine, and all things done that were proper for an honored guest and a king’s son. And when all had been done, I told Miriam that I had looked too long into the sun and my head hurt me, and that I would go to lie upon my bed.
    “Oh, poor Michal! No wonder you look so pale—here, lean upon me—and you, Beka, go and soak a cloth in the cold spring for your mistress’s head—hurry!” Miriam fussed like a nesting hen, chivvying maidservants and coaxing me. “Would you like to drink some bryony—no, some willow-bark water would be better—”
    I had been proud and dry-eyed for Jonathan. Suddenly I was frozen stone no longer. “No!” I flung off Miriam’s tender hands; their gentle touch would drive me mad.
    “Why, Michal, what is the matter?”
    “You will know soon enough!” I cried. “Go away!” When she stood there gaping at me, I snatched up a pillow from the bed and flung it at her. I wished it were a stone; I wished it were something that would hurt. “Leave me alone!”
    Miriam reached out to me; I turned and threw myself down onto the bed to hide my face. After a moment I heard her run out of the room, and I was able to wail and weep as I pleased. My tears were hot and hard, not the easy grief of childhood, and there was a dull ache in my throat that made it hard to breathe.
    David had not waited; David had not come. He had forgotten me in half a year and married a rich widow before her husband had lain forty days dead. He did not want me any more, and all his words of honey had been lies.
    And under all my pain was the knowledge, sharp as a serpent’s tooth, that I would look a fool to all the world. Too many knew my tale. I had told them myself.
    I wailed again and beat my fist against the pillows. I could see nothing but grief and shame ahead, and I could not bear it.
    “Well, my wife, is this a proper way for you to behave with your brother a guest in the house?” Phaltiel came and sat down beside me on the bed. “Come now, stop your weeping—do you wish him to think I beat you?”
    I did not look up. “My brother will know why I weep, and he will not blame you for it, if that is what you fear.” My voice was tear-thick and sullen. “You do not understand—everyone will know—I wish I were dead!”
    Phaltiel was a good