Free Abigail's Story by Ann Burton Page A

the hills.
    â€œYou are a pleasant-looking child.” One thin arm stole around my shoulders. “What is your name, girl? My husband did not say.”
    The sickness that had sent Chemda’s mind to bizarre fancies and meaningless wandering had also hurt me. From me, it had taken the mother who soothed my pains and fussed over my meals and combed out my hair. It stole the laughter and songs and love we had shared, and left me with this fragile, confused being who knew my name one day and forgot it the next.
    She, too. I would leave tomorrow.
    â€œI am Abigail,” I told my mother as I moved out of her embrace and bent to pick up the basket of trimmings. “I am going away and I do not know when I shall return. You must stay close to Father now, for Rivai will be out working.” But who would do the grinding and the cooking? Who would launder the garments and take the goats out to graze? Who would draw water and complete the thousand other tasks involved in keeping the family home?
    Not my mother. My father would do what he could, but in the end the bulk of the work would be upon Rivai, who would also have to find some sort of work outside to earn enough to provide food for the family.
    There would be no more time for his carving and dreaming. As useless as it was, part of me mourned that. Rivai may have been spoiled, but he did make his fancies into such lovely things.
    â€œYou should not worry yourself so.” Chemda took the basket from me. “Let the men care for your troubles. That is why the Adonai puts them here.”
    The men had created all my troubles, but I could not tell her that. “I shall.”
    â€œMen cannot do everything.” Cetura came into the garden and embraced me. To my mother, she said, “Chemda, would you have a cup of water for a thirsty old woman?”
    I glanced toward the door but did not hear my father’s or brother’s voices any longer.
    â€œOf course.” My mother smiled; she liked Cetura. She wandered back into the house.
    The widow inspected me closely. “You know nothing about herd animals.”
    I nodded. “I was desperate.”
    â€œWell, it is done, and you will have to marry that lout. I pray the hill people will be kind to you.” She sighed. “If only you had not been too young for my sons, you would be my daughter in truth now.”
    â€œI am, in my heart,” I assured her.
    â€œThen as your other mother I think it my right tosee to the rest of the family after you go to your husband.” She turned around. “My house is larger and more comfortable, I think.”
    I felt confused. “Cetura, what do you say?”
    â€œI mean that your mother, father, and brother shall come to live with me. Since my sons went to Hebron, I have lived alone, and I am weary of it. I could use Rivai’s strong young back to haul my barrows to market, too.” She nodded in agreement with herself as she bent to inspect the black cumin. “I shall have to take a cutting of this; I have only the white, and these are sweeter. How many goats have you here?”
    Something large and painful swelled beneath my breast. If Cetura took in my parents and brother, they would be well cared for, and never go hungry. Rivai would have work he could do. “You are jesting with me. You cannot do this. It is too much.”
    The widow eyed me. “I can do what I like, and when do you know me to jest?”
    â€œOh, Cetura.” I flung myself into her arms.
    â€œChild, child.” She laughed and stroked my hair; then her movements stilled.
    I lifted my head to see Rivai waiting with a cup of water.
    Cetura murmured something about my mother and slipped into the house.
    â€œI would do anything I can to make it right,” Rivai said. “Anything, Abigail. Tell me and I shall, this moment.”
    â€œCetura will look after you all when I am gone. She is getting older and needs a young man to dothe heavy