Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (23 page)

Lot set Ku-aya on the ground, patted her on the back, and urged the girls to go and play.

“Can I pick a ewe, Abi? Please?”

He looked at Melah as if for permission. At her nod, he turned to face his daughter. “Pick a young one, but not so young that it still needs its mother.”

The girls squealed and skipped off in the direction of Lot’s flock.

“Let this lamb be a promise that you will not teach Kammani to be a shepherdess. We do not need our girls learning things the servants can do.” She leveled him with a look, waiting.

“Knowing how to shepherd is a skill that would not hurt them to learn.” He turned to watch the girls search the flock for the smallest ewes.

Melah shook her head. “I won’t allow it.”

His gaze swiveled from the girls to her. “You won’t allow it? If I want to teach our daughters a skill, what business is it of yours?”

Melah’s heart skipped a beat. She was not expecting such a tone from him. “That is to say, my lord,” she amended, “I would not prefer it. The hills are dangerous for a young girl alone, and we have plenty of servants who can do the job equally well.”

“I would never leave our child alone with the sheep. Not until she was well trained and fully grown, and even then, only if need afforded it.” His scowl deepened as he turned his gaze fully upon her. “What kind of man do you think me to be?”

She lowered her eyes in a show of respect, surprised that she actually felt a twinge of emotion for him. He rarely crossed her, leaving her momentarily stunned now. This was not going at all how she had planned, and she must rectify the situation quickly before he stalked off and she ruined the reason she had come.

“Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to imply . . .” She lifted her gaze to his. “I’m afraid I am not quite myself these days.” She touched a hand to her middle. “I fear it is the babe that makes my words confused.”

His brow lifted, and she could see his scrutiny in every line of his face. “The babe?” he said at last, as though the idea were impossible.

She nodded. “It is only a few months along. I feel certain this one is a boy.” They had lost several boys already, so to say it this soon seemed almost rash, but she must turn his attention back to her purposes.

“A boy.” His tone held a hint of hope. Would a son keep his attention on her instead of the slave girls?

“Shall we sit in the shade over there, my lord, and share the food I’ve brought?” She pointed to a copse of trees farther up the hill, one she knew overlooked the well-watered Jordan Valley.

He nodded, taking her arm, and gently guided her to sit among the soft grasses. The view was breathtaking, but it was the cities beyond the plain that shone like gold among the green, its many temples shimmering brighter than the sun.

“Do you ever miss Ur or Harran, my lord?” She lifted the basket’s lid and handed him a thick slice of soft goat cheese and a fat loaf of raised bread.

He took the items from her hand and bit off a hunk of the cheese. “No.” He looked from her to the view spread out before them. “The quiet of the hills is so peaceful.” A wistful tone accompanied his words, and Melah worried that he might be harder to convince than she had first thought. She must tread carefully.

“Sometimes I would like to live close enough to visit the larger cities now and then.” She swept a hand in Gomorrah’s direction. “It sparkles like a jewel, and I can just imagine how exciting the place must be. I want to take our daughters there, to give them a taste for culture and art, to learn the ways of wealthy women, sophistication, and grace—something they will never learn living in tents.” She nearly added “or tending sheep” but thought better of it. She gauged his mood as he bit into the bread and washed it down with the flask of water at his belt. “I am not suggesting we live in Sodom or Gomorrah, only that perhaps we could live closer on this beautiful plain, so that the girls and I could visit now and then.” She smiled and touched his arm. “Perhaps I ask too much?”

He rubbed a hand over his beard. Looked out toward the valley. She hid a smile, knowing by his hesitation that she had triumphed.

“No,” he said, making her heart skip a beat. She hadn’t misread him. Had she? “You do not ask too much.” He turned to her then, his dark eyes assessing, his smile almost unnerving. “You have not voiced anything more than I have already thought. But you forget my uncle’s flocks and herds outnumber my own, and he is the patriarch of this group. Though we live in separate camps now, I must abide by his decisions.” He touched her hands, grasping her fingers. “Be patient, my love. You already have wealth beyond anything we knew in Ur or Harran. What more could you want?”

What more did she want? She did not know, and his question brought back the restlessness she could never quite seem to shake. “I don’t know. I only know I want more.”

He looked at her, clearly puzzled, then released his grip and shrugged. “Be patient, Melah. Adonai has already blessed us with great abundance.” His expression softened as he looked at her, and she hated the hint of pity in his eyes. “Perhaps when the babe comes, you will find peace.”

He stood then, and she knew she had lost what she had hoped to gain. What did he know of peace?

“Thank you for the food,” he said, then turned and headed back toward the sheep where the girls played.

She made no reply, her emotions swirling with a host of confusing thoughts. After tucking the remnants of the cheese and bread into the basket, she rose, dusted off the crumbs, and looked once more toward the cities of the plain. Somehow she must convince Lot to visit. Even once would be enough for her to show him how much better and cultured city life could be. There she could freely worship Ningal and push aside the nagging fear of Abram’s God. Then she would know peace.

Lot savored the fermented juice, then replaced the cap on the flask and let it hang from his belt. His tension eased only slightly as he took in the view of the lush Jordan Valley. Melah’s comments of a few weeks before had taken root, and he could not shake the desire to move away from his uncle completely and live among the plains.

He ran a hand over his face, turning at the crunch of stones. “Thank you for coming, Uncle.” He greeted Abram with a kiss to each cheek. He waved a hand toward the valley below. “Is it not beautiful?”

“Yes, Nephew, it is.” He touched Lot’s shoulder. “But beauty is not always a sign of good. The people of the plains—I have heard rumors.”

Lot turned to face Abram. “Rumors mean nothing unless they are true. I have heard there is much good in the cities—culture, art, music, and much more.” He ran a hand over his beard, choosing his words. “I am thinking of taking Melah for a visit.”

Abram gave him a curious look as he glanced toward the plains once more. “Is Melah asking for such a thing?” He moved to the tree line and settled among the lush grass. The sun hung low in the west, the colors behind them casting an orange glow over the shaded cliff.

“She has mentioned it once or twice.” Though in truth, it was the memory of her words and the silent pleading looks he had endured ever since that made the desire become his own. “But I agree with her.” He settled beside his uncle, fingering the flask but ignoring the desire for more.

“If you have already decided, my son, then why did you call me here? You are not asking my advice, and you do not need my permission.” Abram’s expression held concern, his dark gaze unwavering.

Lot looked away, heat filling his face, whether from shame or anger he could not tell. “I thought . . . that is, you are the head of our households. I thought you should know.” He lifted his chin in a show of confidence he did not feel and met his uncle’s gaze. “You have no objection then?”

Abram stroked his beard, looking toward the darkening valley. “I do not think it wise. I think you will open yourself up to temptation you do not need and danger you need not fear. Has Egypt taught you nothing?”

The reprimand felt like a slap to the face, and Lot squirmed, pressing both hands to his knees. “Egypt made me wealthy. Egypt taught me that Adonai is indeed powerful. But Sodom is not Egypt. They do not steal men’s wives, especially pregnant ones.” He cringed at his petulant tone, hating the shadow he had caused to pass through Abram’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Uncle. I didn’t mean—”

Abram held up a hand. “Nothing to be sorry for, my son. I only hope you fear the right things.” He stood then, leaning heavily on his walking stick. The years since Egypt had aged him, and Lot wondered at the foolishness of clinging to promises at Abram’s age. Melah was right. Sarai should do more to give Abram a son.

“Perhaps it is time you took a maid as a second wife.”

“What?” Abram’s expression moved from concern to shock.

“I’m sorry, Uncle. I spoke without thinking.” Had he sipped so often from the flask that it made his tongue loose?

“Yes, you did. Such things are not your concern.” Abram moved away from the trees. The sun’s fading glow illumined the sky as he turned in the direction of his tents.

Lot chewed his lower lip, kicking himself. He hurried after Abram. “I did not mean to offend. We come from different places, you and I. We just see things differently.”

Abram did not pause in his trek down the hill, and Lot hurried to keep his uncle’s pace. At the base of the hill, Abram stopped at last and turned to face him. “I do not know what is in your mind, my son, or why you can’t seem to decide whether you want to ask my advice or give me your own. Perhaps in the future it would be best if you make your own decisions and leave mine to me.” The slightest irritation flickered in his eyes, though his tone was controlled.

Lot studied the man for the briefest moment, a sense of sorrow filling him. There was a time when they had both tended smaller flocks back in Ur that they had talked of women and work and faith. He’d accepted Abram’s counsel, even his rebukes, back when he had rashly taken Melah before they’d said their vows. But the man who stood before him now was not the man he was back then. Egypt had shown his uncle’s weakness, and Lot suddenly realized that he no longer held his uncle in such high regard.

“You are right, Uncle. It is time I made my own choices.” He lifted his chin, his confidence soaring. He would do what he wanted from now on. He bid Abram a brief nod of farewell, then proudly strode home.

Abram sat beneath the shade of his tent’s awning, in desperate need of an afternoon’s rest. Leaves in the great oaks above him whispered secrets from one to the next, and he closed his eyes, letting his body’s tension slowly subside. The conversation with Lot the week before still troubled him, but bigger problems—bickering and arguing—had arisen between Lot’s household and herdsmen and his, enhancing his sense of loss.

He drew in a breath, scents of smoke and roast lamb coming to him across the compound. The high-pitched chatter of women at the grindstones drifted over the short distance, and the laughter of playing children sent a pang of longing through him. He closed his eyes, listening to their young voices first calling to and then chasing after each other. If only one of the children belonged to him.

How long, Adonai Elohim?
The waiting grew harder with each passing year. How easy it had been to believe the promise during his seventy-third summer when they set out from Ur. But eleven years had passed since then, and Sarai’s age, though barely showing outwardly, had surely not helped their plight. How long before the way of women left her entirely, making the promised child truly impossible?

His gaze traveled to Sarai’s tent at the thought, his eyes seeking a glimpse of the woman he had loved for so long. He’d been content in her love and in his roles as husband and brother and son. Adonai’s call had changed all of that, making him long for more, making the promises given to him a thinly veiled hope.

When?

The question went unanswered.

He closed his eyes again, trying to blot out the sounds around him, but what seemed only a few moments later, male voices caused him to look up. He lifted a hand to shade the glare of the sun, spotting Eliezer and two of his chief herdsmen approaching. He reached for his staff and felt the stiffness in his bones as he stood. Gripping the staff for added support, he stretched his back, then moved to greet his men.