Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (12 page)

“I wonder how long we’ll stay this time. Lot is ready to settle here if Abram agrees.” Melah looked toward the distant hills. “It is beautiful here.”

Sarai lifted her gaze to the lush hills, the sun glinting off the grasses, making them shine like burnished gold. “It’s breathtaking.” They had lived near the terebinth of Moreh for nearly a year when Abram declared they must move on again. Now, here in the hills between Bethel and Ai, she felt at peace.

“I have no idea how long we will stay here.” Longing filled her to put down roots and have the promised child. She glanced at Melah, then moved closer to the boiling water and tossed in the raw mustard, stirring once.

The sound of stone against grain filled the silence between them. Servants’ voices drew closer as more women came to help with meal preparations, and children awoke from naps, then ran off to play in the nearby grasses where their mothers could keep watch over them.

Melah finished the grinding and stood as she lifted the grains through a sieve to let the chaff blow away. She stepped closer to Sarai, nearly touching her arm. “Now that we are here, and assuming we stay for a while, it might do you good to offer prayers and a sacrifice.” She paused, glanced before and behind, then leaned closer still. “If you want proof the goddess can help you, just look at Kammani and Ku-aya—two healthy daughters.” Her chin lifted. “The images are in my tent. If you change your mind—”

“I’m not going to change my mind.” Sarai took a step back, scowling, even as her heart gave a twinge, betraying the truth. If only it were that easy. But an image could not bring about a child. Though Abram’s God had not brought one either in the three years since the promise. How long were they supposed to wait?

“I’m just saying, if you do . . . well, I won’t hold it against you for ignoring me all these years.” Melah gave her a pointed look, yet despite the suggestion, her gaze held kindness. “You know I only want your best. You do know that, don’t you, Sarai?”

Sarai turned back to the roasted seeds and stirred them, then moved to the pot with the boiling water and lifted the lid, watching the steam rise upward. Male voices drew near, and Sarai breathed a relieved sigh as she turned to see Abram and Eliezer bringing a portion of the sacrificed lamb.

“Ready for the meat?” Abram smiled down at her as he and Eliezer lowered the thick slab of lamb’s breast and thighs. “Do you want help cutting it up?”

She straightened while Eliezer positioned the lamb’s meat on a flat stone and took a sharp knife to chop it from the bone.

“Thank you, my lord, but the servants can tend to this.” She smiled into Abram’s appreciative eyes.

“You put such preparation into the meals. Thank you.” He gripped her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her forehead.

“It is nothing any wife wouldn’t do.”

He glanced beyond her to where Melah sat, then gave her a sly wink. “Not every wife,” he whispered in her ear.

She chuckled softly, knowing Lot had undoubtedly voiced his complaints long and loud about his wife when she was not within earshot. Had he also complained about the constant need to uproot and move on? Would Lot and Melah stay behind if Abram said it was time to go again? The thought almost pleased her, but Melah’s hinted offer made her pause. Should she take advantage of Melah’s gods while they were still together, while there was still time? Would it hurt to do so if Abram never knew?

She looked into his dark eyes, saw the love and trust he put in her evident in his fervent gaze. How could she do such a thing knowing how he would feel? But a part of her wondered. If the end result brought a child, what should the means to getting it matter?

“Supper will be ready in a few hours. Can I get you anything now, my lord? A mug of beer, perhaps?” The homemade drink from malted grain was among his favorites. She touched his arm, amazed at the youthful vigor she felt beneath his skin. He seemed stronger than he had in years, since the day he said he’d met his God face-to-face. If only Sarai could have met Him too.

“I have work to attend, but I will enjoy some with you after the meal.” He smiled and kissed her cheek, then strode off toward the main part of the camp. Eliezer soon followed, and Sarai returned to her tasks.

“Any time you change your mind, Sarai,” Melah said as she added water to the flour and shoved her palm forward, kneading the dough, “my tent is always open.”

9

Clouds hid the sun from view as Sarai trudged to the area outside the camp, carrying the basket of soiled linens on her hip. Lila and two other maids followed, hefting jugs of water from the nearby well and an empty cooking pot to heat the water. Two months had passed in this place, this sanctuary between Bethel and Ai, but Sarai drew little comfort from it today.

The servants set about building a fire to heat the water above the flames, while Sarai knelt in the grass and pulled one of Abram’s soiled tunics from the basket. Melah’s constant comments had worn her down until she almost believed them. At the very least, she’d doubted the promise, doubted Abram’s God.

Would a simple prayer to the goddess hurt?

Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked hard, squeezing them back, forcing her mood into submission. The camp need not know of her anxiety or the despair that dogged her every step. A new recipe for the evening meal would surely cheer her. She would pull out her finest spices, the ones she had been hoarding since they left Harran, and see if the servants could find some wild leeks and fresh olives.

She could dig out the yarns she had finished carding and gather some plants to mix new dyes. A colorful new robe for Abram would please him.

She turned at the sound of rustling grasses and the voices of women. Melah approached with Kammani and two servants, while a third carrying her infant daughter, Ku-aya, trailed slightly behind. She lowered her burdens to the grass and knelt at Sarai’s side. Melah slipped her hand into the pouch tucked along her belt and removed a small object. She leaned closer and laid it beneath the folds of dirty tunics in Sarai’s basket, gave a small nod, and stood, taking her basket closer to the cooking pot.

Kammani chattered as Melah gave her a wooden toy to play with, distracting her from toddling too close to the fire. Today of all days, seeing the child and hearing the baby coo brought Sarai’s wistful longing into sharper focus. She looked away, glanced down at the object in her basket, and pushed the folds of cloth away to get a better look. A small idol, like the one she had burned in the ashes in Ur, lay serenely among the folds. She studied its rigid posture, its arms supporting full breasts. She glanced up to find Melah looking at her, giving her another nod.

Sarai looked at the object again, her spirit recoiling yet drawn to it at the same time. Melah’s actions spoke louder than any words she could have uttered. It was time Sarai did something to help procure this promised child. Melah’s living daughters were proof enough that the goddess had heard her prayers. So why not Sarai’s as well?

What could one prayer hurt?

Later that evening, as Sarai bent over the grinding wheel, her thoughts churned with each turn of the stone. Female servants hovered near. Her maid Lila, whose status had risen since her marriage to Eliezer the month before, chatted along with several others while they worked alongside her.

Sarai felt Melah’s eyes on her from where she sat across the circular hearth. She glanced up, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve, and saw Abram striding toward her, staff in hand.

She rose, brushing the soft dust of the grain from her hands, and walked to meet him, accepting his kiss of greeting. “You are early, my lord. Supper will not be ready for hours yet. Is something wrong?”

Abram looked toward the women, who had paused in their work to listen to their master. He acknowledged them with a smile and turned back to her.

“The grasses are drying up with every day of the summer heat. It is time to move further south toward the outskirts of the Negev. We already started moving the flocks, so I came to tell you.” His look was apologetic as he glanced once more at the women, who one by one had resumed their tasks. “You will need to finish this up and start packing.” He touched her arm. “The men will help load the animals.”

“What of the supper I’ve prepared? Will we not eat?”

At her tone, petulant even to her own ears, he gave her a quizzical look. “You can complete the tasks when we stop for the night, can you not?”

“To stop and start again will not be easy, my lord. Could we not wait to move until morning?” The sun’s peak had already passed the halfway point in the sky, and she did not relish the idea of moving so late in the day. It was time to be thinking of relaxing with good food and barley beer, fellowship and laughter.

He looked at her, his jaw tightening. “All right,” he said, but his tone and the dark look in his eyes clearly told her it wasn’t. “We will send the animals on ahead, but the rest of the camp will leave at dawn. When you are done grinding grain, see to it you start packing.” He turned then, his manner brusque, and walked with strong, measured steps away from her.

She watched him leave, feeling suddenly bereft, knowing her lack of quick acceptance and obedience did not sit well with him. So he wanted to hold a grudge against her? Let him! Men could be so unrealistic when it came to planning things or moving such a large company. She did not care for his dark moods, though they came far less often than they did in the early years of their marriage, when they first discovered her barrenness. She would grow obstinate and he would brood, but as they matured, both had set aside their selfishness and had learned to accept what was—most of the time. Today was not one of those times, and she was not happy to see him walk off in anger.

She moved back to the grinding stone, feeling the weight of the image Melah had given to her press against her thigh. She picked up the stone, her thoughts churning and angry once again, and pounded out her frustrations on the grain as she worked. When the bread was set to bake and the stew was bubbling over the fire, she would visit the small shrine in Melah’s tent. She would pray for the child she so desperately desired, and she would pray that Abram would stop brooding and not find out what she had done.