I still wore the rough garments of a widow when Yonit sent for me. Her time had come.
Aunt Naamiy frowned when she saw me. "Is something wrong, Sheva?"
I said nothing. I had barely spoken since my husband had fallen in battle. I hadn't even been able to tell my family what had happened.
As Aunt Naamiy pulled me into a close embrace, I began sobbing. The words suddenly came gushing from my heart like water. I told her about what the king had done to me and that I now carried his child, ending my tirade by stating that Uriyah had been slain in battle.
"Oh, my dear!" Aunt Naamiy allowed me to bury my head in her shoulder like a young child. "Does your mother know?"
"How can I tell her?" I sobbed. "She'd just tell me that death was inevitable."
Yonit looked remarkably well for a woman in her condition. She winced each time she felt a pain, but she had yet to scream. I remembered Aunt Naamiy's explanation that the experience was different for all mothers. Some claimed it hurt worse than anything fathomable; others felt nothing worse than strong indigestion.
It all seemed so unfair. My cousin was bringing forth the son or daughter of the man she loved dearly, and they would be a happy family. I carried the child of a man I despised, having been widowed by the man I had hoped to love one day.
The horrid memories I had of my sister dying in childbirth had no place in Yonit's life. She travailed only a short time before she brought forth twins. Meydad's eyes shone with pride when he saw his children, and Yonit had never looked happier.
It was more than I could bear. I took my leave as soon as I could do so graciously. There was no pleasure in having new additions to my extended family. I simply felt a dark, cold lump within me.
Aunt Naamiy had been right about one thing: I couldn't postpone the inevitable forever. I had to tell my parents what had happened, but I still wasn't ready to face Ima, so I decided to visit Qetsiyah first.
My older sister's eyes widened when she saw me. "Sheva, what are you wearing?"
"Widow's garments," I stated simply.
"I envy you."
I frowned. "Are you unhappy?"
She pulled back her hair, revealing a bruise on her neck. "Gaddiyel is a wonderful man when he's of sound mind, but every few weeks, he has too much wine and finds fault with everything I do. He always feels guilty when he sees my wounds the following day."
Unsure of what to say, I kept silent.
"Once he even went in to a harlot!" A tear streaked down my sister's face. "She conceived and gave him a son. If Gaddiyel had come to me that night, perhaps I would have given him a child. Now my duty as his wife has been usurped by a harlot!"
"Why didn't you tell me before?" I asked. "You became a wife years before I did."
"He's only recently turned to wine. I keep asking myself what I did wrong, how I upset him so he didn't want to live as my husband anymore. Why was I not comfort enough for him? Why did he turn to drink? He seemed happy enough for the first several years of our marriage."
"What are you going to do?"
"What can I do? He's my husband."
I slipped back into my habitual silence. Why was marriage so complicated? Why were some couples elated to live together while others struggled?
Sometimes I still saw Uriyah in my dreams. Every time I opened my eyes, I was startled by the silence of my empty home. Then I looked at my growing figure and remembered the nightmare that had me entrapped within its cruel grasp.
What would I do with the baby? I could hardly raise it alone. My sister would be no help, especially with an abusive husband. My cousin had two of her own babies, so she wouldn't want another.
"We'll make it somehow," I whispered to my unborn child several times a day.
One afternoon, I received a visit from a messenger who worked at the palace. I was so surprised to see him that I nearly dropped the dough I was kneading.
"Is something the matter?" I asked.
He cleared his throat. "King Dawid wishes to see you at once."