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Authors: Francine Rivers
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long as she could remember? Wasn’t she entitled to one night of happiness without having her entire life destroyed by it?
Life was unfair!
She’d never been meant for Uriah. She’d been meant for David. Surely that made it all right for them to steal a few hours together. She’d thought she would have wonderful memories of their night together, enough to last a lifetime, but she was tormented instead. The fire David had built in her was turning her life to ashes. She felt abandoned and terrified of the future. She’d been filled up with love for him. She’d poured herself out like a drink offering for David, her king. David, her idol. And now, she was consumed by fear, her loneliness worse than ever. It was too late to go back and undo anything. What price would she pay for that one night? What cost to others whom she loved and who loved her? Uriah, her mother, her father, her grandfather. She couldn’t bear to think of it. She would rather die than have them know. But did she have the courage to take her own life?
Shaking, she put her hands over her belly again. If she died, so would David’s child. Part of her rejoiced over the life growing within her. Part of her wished the evidence of her sin would be swept from her body with a stream of blood before anyone else knew of it. Everyone was going to know this child was conceived in adultery. How could she defend herself when her husband had been away at war for months? She imagined the angry shouts of a mob closing around her, taking up stones. She imagined the condemnation in her mother’s eyes, the hurt, the disappointment. A mother knew a daughter’s heart better than anyone. Her mother had known for years that she was in love with David. Hadn’t she counseled Bathsheba to give up her childish fantasies, her unrequited love? Hadn’t her mother told her to guard her heart? The blame wouldn’t be put at the feet of the king, but laid firmly upon her head.
No one could help her now. No one but David. But would he?
Lowering her hands, she clenched them in her lap. Silence did not always mean indifference. Hadn’t he promised that no harm would come to her? Hadn’t he sworn it? Hadn’t David always been a man of his word?
She cut a piece of papyrus from Uriah’s accounts. David would help her. He had to help her! She wrote him a brief message. Rolling it tightly, she tied a string around it. Then she summoned her handmaiden. “Take this to the king.”
“What if the guards won’t let me through the gate?”
“Ask for Joram. Give him the message. Tell him it’s from me and meant for the king’s eyes only.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Bathsheba closed the door and pressed her forehead against it. All types of fearsome possibilities swirled in her mind. Surely David would be honor bound to help her. Surely he wouldn’t forsake the daughter of Eliam, the granddaughter of Ahithophel. Surely he would try to do something for her so that Uriah would never find out she’d betrayed him. But what could he do? What? He could secret her away so that she could have his child in another city. Where would he send her? Where? Where!
Oh, David, help me! Please help me!
She refused to believe he was indifferent. How could he be after the risks he’d taken to bring her into the palace? But what would David do to solve this problem?
Exhausted by worry, she sat. She had no choice but to wait, for her life was in the king’s hands.
David felt an ominous premonition when his guard whispered, “The handmaid of Bathsheba, wife of Uriah, has come with a message.” The mere mention of Bathsheba’s name was a jolt to his senses, arousing feelings he knew were better forgotten. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. How many times over the past weeks had he denied himself the pleasure of summoning her again because he knew it would increase the risk of exposure? He’d had to remind himself repeatedly that she was the wife of a friend, the daughter of
Life was unfair!
She’d never been meant for Uriah. She’d been meant for David. Surely that made it all right for them to steal a few hours together. She’d thought she would have wonderful memories of their night together, enough to last a lifetime, but she was tormented instead. The fire David had built in her was turning her life to ashes. She felt abandoned and terrified of the future. She’d been filled up with love for him. She’d poured herself out like a drink offering for David, her king. David, her idol. And now, she was consumed by fear, her loneliness worse than ever. It was too late to go back and undo anything. What price would she pay for that one night? What cost to others whom she loved and who loved her? Uriah, her mother, her father, her grandfather. She couldn’t bear to think of it. She would rather die than have them know. But did she have the courage to take her own life?
Shaking, she put her hands over her belly again. If she died, so would David’s child. Part of her rejoiced over the life growing within her. Part of her wished the evidence of her sin would be swept from her body with a stream of blood before anyone else knew of it. Everyone was going to know this child was conceived in adultery. How could she defend herself when her husband had been away at war for months? She imagined the angry shouts of a mob closing around her, taking up stones. She imagined the condemnation in her mother’s eyes, the hurt, the disappointment. A mother knew a daughter’s heart better than anyone. Her mother had known for years that she was in love with David. Hadn’t she counseled Bathsheba to give up her childish fantasies, her unrequited love? Hadn’t her mother told her to guard her heart? The blame wouldn’t be put at the feet of the king, but laid firmly upon her head.
No one could help her now. No one but David. But would he?
Lowering her hands, she clenched them in her lap. Silence did not always mean indifference. Hadn’t he promised that no harm would come to her? Hadn’t he sworn it? Hadn’t David always been a man of his word?
She cut a piece of papyrus from Uriah’s accounts. David would help her. He had to help her! She wrote him a brief message. Rolling it tightly, she tied a string around it. Then she summoned her handmaiden. “Take this to the king.”
“What if the guards won’t let me through the gate?”
“Ask for Joram. Give him the message. Tell him it’s from me and meant for the king’s eyes only.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Bathsheba closed the door and pressed her forehead against it. All types of fearsome possibilities swirled in her mind. Surely David would be honor bound to help her. Surely he wouldn’t forsake the daughter of Eliam, the granddaughter of Ahithophel. Surely he would try to do something for her so that Uriah would never find out she’d betrayed him. But what could he do? What? He could secret her away so that she could have his child in another city. Where would he send her? Where? Where!
Oh, David, help me! Please help me!
She refused to believe he was indifferent. How could he be after the risks he’d taken to bring her into the palace? But what would David do to solve this problem?
Exhausted by worry, she sat. She had no choice but to wait, for her life was in the king’s hands.
David felt an ominous premonition when his guard whispered, “The handmaid of Bathsheba, wife of Uriah, has come with a message.” The mere mention of Bathsheba’s name was a jolt to his senses, arousing feelings he knew were better forgotten. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. How many times over the past weeks had he denied himself the pleasure of summoning her again because he knew it would increase the risk of exposure? He’d had to remind himself repeatedly that she was the wife of a friend, the daughter of
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