Free Abigail's Story by Ann Burton Page B

work.” I placed a hand on my brother’s arm. “Promise you will do this, and help our dear neighbor in all things.”
    â€œI swear I shall.”
    â€œI love you, Brother. Never forget that.” I pressed my lips to his cheek and went in. My father was watching Cetura and Chemda preparing the evening meal, but there was a terrible defeat in his eyes when he glanced at me.
    â€œYou return to Maon tomorrow, then?” he asked, as if he had never forbidden me to do so. “We shall come with you.”
    â€œNo, Father.” I could not tell him my husband was too cheap to provide a wedding feast. “The trip would be too much for Mother. Nabal sends me to the hill country directly, to look after his herds.” I could not think about any of that now. “I do not know when I shall see you again. Likely not until after I return for shearing time.”
    â€œMy daughter.” My father’s throat worked around the harsh rasp of his voice. “How can I permit you to do this? How will we go on without you?”
    â€œGo as I shall, Father.” I went to him and kissed his forehead. “With love in your heart.”
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    Amri took me back to the house of Nabal the next day. Nothing had changed, and no one came to greet us. The steward admitted us and told us that the master was still in his private chamber.
    â€œHe stays in the baths until noon each day, perhaps a little later,” the servant said.
    I had never known anyone to take a full bath every day. My mother and I visited the public baths once each week but otherwise washed from a basin at home.
    â€œNot this day,” Amri snapped. “Wake him and tell him his bride is here.”
    â€œWe will wait in the courtyard,” I told the steward in a gentler voice. I wanted to see the garden, anyway.
    We were brought to the center of the house, where the beds of rich soil, carefully tended, grew a bewildering variety of flowers. One small corner seemed neglected, however, and I went to investigate.
    Absently I bent to tug at a melon vine, withered and dying. “These might have been saved,” I said, fingering the tiny, neglected fruit.
    â€œYou would save everything,” Amri said, his voice harsh, “but you cannot. I knew that witch in the market cursed you. She was the one to bring this misfortune into your life.”
    I glanced up at him. “How can a husband be a misfortune?”
    â€œThis man will be no husband to you.” He drew me up and clasped my hands in a painful grip. “Heed me now, daughter of Oren. Herdsmen are nomads; they go wherever the flocks take them. They live in tents and have ways strange to you. Learn them. Their women will not be like you, and they will be suspicious of you. Befriend them.”
    The ferocity of his words startled me. “I shall try, Amri.”
    â€œAdonai yireh, but this is a bitter thing.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Where you go, you will have no friends or family to protect you.” He looked at me now with the same, angry resentment the m’khashepah had shown me. “In all things, protect yourself. Save yourself.”
    The steward appeared before I could reply. He looked even more sullen and resentful. “Master Nabal will receive you now.”
    As before, we were brought to Nabal’s great room. The air smelled of exotic spices, but none I recognized. Two male servants stood fanning Nabal with wide palm fronds. Another, older woman sat at his feet, into which she was rubbing oil.
    My husband-to-be was naked to the waist and holding a round object with a handle in front of his mouth. He grimaced at the object and then applied a small, frayed-ended twig to his teeth.
    Amri cleared his throat.
    Nabal looked over the edge of the strange thing he was holding. “Why do you come here so early? Cannot this thing be done at night, when there is no sun to pierce my eyeballs or make me sweat?”
    I did