By James R. Shott

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The others remained outside, surrounding the walls, spreading out into the estate, trampling on the garden. They seemed relaxed and in a celebrative mood, as young men at a wedding should be. David's voice lifted above the buzz of conversation, calling for silence. They became quiet immediately. Something about him demanded full attention. " He spoke gravely, as though this were a formal oration. He might have been proclaiming a solemn assembly. "I now take Abigail, widow of Kenaz, as my wife. " The question was conventional, required in a formal announcement of marriage such as this.

She felt a twinge of guilt at comparing the old husband with the new in their ability to please a marriage partner. She looked forward to many more nights of love and passion. In the morning she arose early to bake raisin cakes, feeling sure her present husband would appreciate them more than her former. Thereshe had done it again. That subtle comparison between David and Nabal. She must not do that. Ever. It wasn't fair to Nabal. Nabal! Why couldn't she say Kenaz? Even in the privacy of her thoughts, she called him what everybody else did: the Fool.

His face grew even darker. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped. His breath came in short rasping gasps. And he fell heavily to the ground. Abigail stared at him. He lay face down, unmoving, on the hard-packed courtyard earth. What had happened? After a few seconds of paralyzed fear, she went to him hesitantly. Kneeling, she turned him over. Kenaz seemed to be having trouble breathing. He looked up at her, his eyes pleading.  . " he managed to gasp. "Shua! Jarib! " she shouted. When the two servants arrived, they helped her drag him to his bed chamber.

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