Miriam returned the smile and stood once more. “I disobey only because you expect it of me.”
“You disobey because you realize how unwise your mistress can be. But in this I suspect we can agree. It is best for the suspicion to remain a secret until it is proven or disproven.”
Miriam nodded, her face serious.
Good. She would undoubtedly add her prayers to Abigail’s. Perhaps it would urge the Lord to answer sooner.
*
Abigail was just putting Benjamin back down after his first feeding of the day a week later when the nausea struck. She barely made it to the facility down the hall before she fell to her knees, retching violently. Even though her stomach was empty, still the heaves shook her until she was reduced to an exhausted ball on the ground.
Tears burned her eyes to match the acid in her throat, and she pounded the floor with her fist. “Why?” she cried in Hebrew, rolling onto her knees again but unable to sit up. She rested her head on the cool floor, then covered it with her arms. “Why do you do this to me, Jehovah? Must I pay the rest of my life for one week of sin? I repented. Lift your heavy hand from me, I beg you, I cannot handle these consequences. Eli! Lama sabachthani?”
She felt small, warm fingertips run over her arm, her hand, onto her face. “Why do you cry, Mother?” Samuel asked into her ear, curling up beside her. “Is it because Titus does not love us anymore?”
Abigail unwrapped one of her arms from her head so that she could put it around Samuel. “Not us, my son. You he still loves. It is me he hates.”
Samuel buried his face in her shoulder. “If he hates you, then I will not love him.”
“Never stop loving anyone, Samuel, or you will be as bad as the one who hurts you.” She kissed his forehead weakly. Moving her eyes, she saw Miriam and Phillip both standing a few steps away. “Help me up, please.”
They did so, and once Abigail was standing, albeit without much strength, she looked at Miriam. “I well remember this illness. I will tell Titus today.”
*
Abigail paced the chamber slowly, singing to Benjamin as she rocked him in her arms. She had spent most of the day in thought and prayer, but still anxiety balled up just below her throat, threatening to overwhelm her. Much of what would happen to her in the next years of her life relied on what Titus would say when he walked in and she told him she was pregnant with his child. If he wanted to have anything to do with the babe, whether it include a relationship with her or not, then she had no choice: she must stay in Rome. She could not ask him to give up everything to follow his child back to Israel, especially when Abigail had access to an estate nearby.
On the other hand, if he wanted absolutely nothing to do with any of them, she would have to consider how she was going to protect her family from the harsh rule of the Sanhedrin. She could always claim the pregnancy was the result of a rape; it would be a lie, but it would be a lie that would protect her children. Still, it was one whose very idea weighed heavily on her conscience. How could she claim that the babe was a result of violence?
The third possibility was moving somewhere else entirely, somewhere where no one knew that her husband had died before the second child was conceived. Somewhere where she could claim to be a widow, true enough, and simply never share that the two babes she had birthed had different fathers. But she could not ask Ester to leave the only place she had ever known, and she could even less contemplate spending the rest of her years absolutely alone, without anyone she loved. If she stayed in Rome, she would be without her family, she was sure, but at least Titus would be nearby. Even if he never wanted to speak to her, she would know he was there. He would answer her call if she ever truly needed him.
Like now.
She pushed that from her mind. She fully expected Titus to be angry, but she prayed he would calm quickly so that they could discuss the possibilities for her future. But she would not judge his immediate reaction as being an indicator of his true decision. She, after all, had had weeks to consider this possibility, to adjust to it. For Titus, it would be a slap in the face.
“He comes.” Miriam rushed from the window facing the street. According to the plan they had already laid out, she took Benjamin, and she and Phillip left the room and went outside to the garden to make sure Samuel did not decide to dash inside to visit her or Titus.
Nerves dampened Abigail’s palms and accelerated her heart. She forced herself to quit pacing, listening instead for the approaching footsteps of Titus. He would have to walk by this small cubiculum, no matter where he was going within the house. She would call him in when he did.