Valor

Valor

Heroines of the Bible

Book Two

Margy Pezdirtz

Copyright © 2017 Margy Pezdirtz

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Aishet Chayil

A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies. Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value. She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life. She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands. She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar. She gets up while it is still dark; she provides food for her family and portions for her servant girls. She considers a field and buys it; out of her earnings she plants a vineyard. She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks. She sees that her trading is profitable, and her lamp does not go out at night. In her hand she holds the distaff and grasps the spindle with her fingers. She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy. When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in scarlet. She makes coverings for her bed; she is clothed in fine linen and purple. Her husband is respected at the city gate, where he takes his seat among the elders of the land. She makes linen garments and sells them, and supplies the merchants with sashes. She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue. She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all. Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised. Give her the reward she has earned, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

[Aishet Chayil is Hebrew for A Woman of Valor from Proverbs 31]

To the Women of Valor in my life whom I am fortunate enough to call

my friend

CONTENTS

One—Maon

Two—The Compound

Three—Spring

Four—David

Five—Surprises

Six—Fury

Seven—The Oasis

Eight—The Encounter

Nine—Revelry

Ten—The Telling

Eleven—Waiting

Twelve—Messages

Thirteen—Plans

Fourteen—Farewell

Fifteen—Epilogue

1 Samuel 25—Death of Samuel

About the Author

One—Maon

Abigail was so mad her jaws ached. She had been clenching her teeth for three days to keep from spilling out the vile words of disgust she felt toward her husband. This wasn’t the first time Nabal’s actions had loudly declared him to be the fool she had come to know he was, but it was the most infuriating. His intense stubbornness and selfishness had created ongoing abuse toward her and those within their care and Abigail was sick of it.

She knew there was no need to try to talk to him. Changing his mind was like trying to change the direction of the wind. He always did this. He made decisions without consideration of her or anyone else. Then he plunged ahead and did whatever his will directed and there would be no changing him. Anyone trying to reason with him would be the unwitting victim of his bad temper and threats. But this time she wasn’t sure they were threats.

It was the same old argument. She was barren. It was her fault, always hers.

She had come to hate their private times together if for nothing else but this very issue. There were reasons, lots of them, which caused her to pull away from him. His rude and crude demands. His bumbling attempts at manliness. She hated his filth. His dirty body reeked of sweat, sour juice of the vine and aged smoke of the pipe. She hated all of that. But most of all, she was repelled by the fact that he had no consideration for her or her needs. She felt her concerns were legitimate but he refused to accept them, becoming more and more insistent and forceful.

He was right in his demands. If he didn’t come to her then how would she conceive. She wanted a child more than he did. With a child she would always love and be loved. And, there would be security for her future if she had a child. She knew that was selfish but she couldn’t help it. Each day brought the same vile threats. As strong as she tried to be his threats frightened and intimidated her.

This time the fight was louder and more accusing than it had ever been with him ending it by saying he was going to the Oasis to get him a woman – a real woman – one that could bear him a son of his own. He stomped out of her tent heading toward the gate of the compound, muttering to himself and yelling to Shimon to bring the men.

Fury over Nabal’s behavior spun Abigail through the morning activities, remaining at her side as a close companion, striding with her through the compound as she continued with her daily work schedule. At this point she didn’t really care who saw the anger that she usually tried to hide from the servants. Their empathy for her would cause trouble for them if Nabal caught on. She didn’t want that. It was one thing for them to hate him and disrespect him, but his wife – that was unacceptable.

She knew his yelling had gone through the entire compound. His disgusting accusations had probably been heard by all but she was determined it would not effect her. She would hold her head up and maintain her dignity as the mistress of the compound, at least for today. A strong demeanor would keep the servants from feeling sorry for her. She needed to maintain strength for herself as well as for them. The fighting had done nothing to reassure anyone, especially the servants, of her longevity in this household.

Her relationship with the servants was good. She understood the burden they carried as servants and she tried to make their environment as accommodating as possible. It was harder for everyone when they were here, in Carmel at the spring camp. There was so much more work to do and little time for fun except for Nabal’s endless feasts. As to whether or not those were fun - well there were varied opinions on that issue as well. What had originally started as celebrations of Pesach - the exodus from Egypt generations before - had evolved into his celebration of the harvest. Over the years these so-called feasts had slid into long nights of drunkenness and debauchery with no strains of Pesach, or any of God’s appointed festivals, remaining. Few that lived in the compound actually enjoyed the so-called feasts. The servants complied with Nabal’s demands, going about their work and staying out of his line of vision, making sure they kept their heads down. Direct eye contact with him could be dangerous.

Abigail preferred the ruggedness of Carmel to the more comfortable city life of Maon, even with all of its conveniences. The eyes were less damning here, more accepting of her and her failure to bear a child.

Most of the households in Maon were of multiple generations, often as many as three, with fathers and mothers, married sons and grandchildren all living together under one roof. But not the house of Nabal. Instead of the happy chatter of extended families there was the hollowness of silence which caused an aching loneliness that echoed through their home.

That part of her life with him had been comfortable. The wealthy part. Abigail no longer scrubbed floors or emptied chamber pots. Others did that for her. While Nabal remained selfish in most things he was quick to build a spacious home in Maon and fill it with the finest possessions the trader caravans had to offer.

He didn’t build the home for their comfort but to insure that it would be a witness to all of his vast and growing empire. Their home in Maon was beautiful and stately with its wide porches that opened to the exquisite view of the desert that lay below them. It was beautiful and spacious, almost fit for a king - the king that Nabal had imagined himself to be. There was magnificent hand carved wooden doors and furnishings, elegant hammered and hand cut hanging copper oil lamps, carpets woven in the land to the east and carried by camel caravans to the Oasis where he purchased them. He had built a castle for himself and he was eager to show it to all but share it with none.

Nabal’s home was larger than any other in Maon he had made sure of that. There were several rooms, each set apart for its own purpose, including living quarters which were shared by the two of them along with their favored servants. Their sleeping quarters were in an area that was separated from the remainder of the house, all of which opened onto a yard lined with pillars that held the thatched roof so the courtyard could be open to the sky.

The plush garden was adorned with pomegranate and almond trees that provided some shade from the desert sun, and blooms which scented the air with abundant fragrances from the blazing red and white blossoms when they were in season. There was a small grove of his favorite fig trees to assure he always had enough of his chosen delicacy. Peacocks strutted through the courtyard making their strange screeches and leaving trails of manure and debris that kept the household servants busy trying to clean it up so it wouldn’t be tracked into the house and onto the stately hand rubbed slate floors.

There was a second floor accessed by a winding, narrow, open stairway in the courtyard which provided sleeping quarters for the rare visitor that would find his way to the House of Nabal. Such luxury was unheard of outside a king’s castle.

Perhaps the thing she appreciated the most was that he owned enough land in the town that the animals he chose to bring home didn’t have to be kept in a portion of the house. She had always hated sharing the house with animals and the smells and dirt they inflicted on the living quarters. Instead his animals had their own shaded quarters to the side of the house. This was so much more pleasant and Abigail felt that she was truly favored to have access to such a lovely home.

In some ways she understood Nabal’s frustrations. He had built this home as a witness to his kinglike wealth, but the witness was a mockery as long as there were no heirs. In the building of his ‘castle’ he made sure there was sufficient room for a growing family. Everything else in the Household of Nabal was growing: his flocks, his servants, his wealth. Everything but his family.

Just as Nabal was quick to fill his home with the finest of silks and furs and furnishings purchased at the Oasis so he demanded the same of her. She was a show piece for him, a beautiful trophy that he had purchased and owned. He insisted that she wear the finest of clothing which he believed would give him the appearance of a gentility that he would never possess. She enjoyed the silk and linen of her garments, a far cry from the vestments of servitude she once knew and the roughly woven fabrics that her servants would weave for clothing for themselves.

The wealthier Nabal grew the more things he desired until it seemed to Abigail that he would never have enough of anything to make him happy. If he got one of something he wanted another and then another, it didn’t matter what it was.

Her suspicions that he would soon be replacing her with another wife, younger and prettier, and capable of bearing children had haunted her for several months. Now that he was openly threatening to do this very thing her security had been greatly shaken. She’d heard the Holy Scrolls spoke of rules concerning such things but it didn’t matter. She knew he would never follow them as he hated anything that had to do with the God of his people. She mused that he would probably rather see her dead than commit an act of kindness toward her.

How did he get this way, she wondered. He