Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (24 page)

“What is it?” Abram settled a look on his chief steward. Eliezer did not usually interrupt his afternoon rest without good reason.

“There is trouble at the well.” Eliezer glanced at the two men with him. “Between Lot’s herdsmen and yours.”

Abram bent to retrieve his turban from the ground and wound it around his head. He stepped away from his tent and the shade of the trees. “Which well?”

“The one closest to Ai, toward the Jordan Valley.”

“Nearest Lot’s camp then.”

“Yes.” Eliezer fell into step beside Abram as the two walked ahead of the herdsmen. “Tensions have been rising in the past few years, but now, trying to share the land with the Canaanites and Perizzites has forced Lot’s herds closer to ours.” Eliezer met Abram’s gaze. “Several of the men have come to blows.”

Abram stopped at the edge of the camp. The distance to the fields was still nearly an hour’s walk. He glanced at the two chief herdsmen, addressing the first. “Was anyone hurt?” He would never abide such a thing in his household, but Lot was not nearly as forceful with his men. And tempers were not always easily kept in hand.

“Several bruised jaws and ribs, but nothing that won’t eventually heal,” the man said, rubbing a hand along his square, bearded chin.

“The tensions are still simmering, though,” Eliezer added. “I came as soon as the messenger reached me. Lot is apparently already there trying to keep the peace.” His scowl reached his eyes.

“And not doing a good job of it?” Abram had come to read Eliezer’s expressions with ease. It truly felt like the man could be his own son, lessening the worry that often nagged on days when he succumbed to faithless doubts. Hadn’t God sent Eliezer when Abram needed him? Surely He would also send the child when the time was right.

“Lot is not you, my lord. He commands his own servants well enough, though sometimes I wonder if he isn’t part of the problem.”

Abram looked at the herdsmen as he started off again, picking a quicker pace. “Go on ahead of us and do your best to keep the peace. Tell them I am coming.” He looked at Eliezer as the two took off at a fast jog. “I have no doubt Lot is some of the cause. He’s a restless sort, and servants tend to follow the lead of the master.”

Hadn’t Abram learned that lesson long ago? Surely his many years had taught him something of value, though at times he wondered if he would ever learn enough.

“Then your servants are blessed. Their master is wise.”

Abram chuckled. “I fear your memory is in short supply, Eliezer. Have you so quickly forgotten Egypt?” He used the staff to guide his way down a gentle slope, taking care to avoid rocks and bramble bushes in his path.

“I have not forgotten, my lord. But I fear perhaps you have remembered too well.”

They approached the valley where numerous flocks of sheep and goats spread out before them, covering much of the grasslands. Beyond them, Abram knew, cattle would envelop even more of the open spaces.

“You fear I live with too many regrets?” Abram lifted a hand to shade his eyes, then continued on.

Eliezer kept pace with him. “You grow pensive at times, and Lila has noticed the effect your silence has had on Sarai. Sarai worries that you blame her.”

Did he? Abram drew in a breath, slowly releasing it. “How could I blame her? For what? Her beauty? I might as well blame Adonai for making her so.” He shook his head, stifling the unexpected irritation. “And if I blame Adonai for her beauty, might I also blame Him for her barrenness?” He glanced at his steward. “No. I cannot blame the Creator for what He has chosen to make. It is I who am unworthy.”

Voices of angry, arguing men reached them before they saw the gathered crowd. Abram looked at Eliezer, reading in the other man’s expression the same concern he felt. Had Lot done nothing to appease them? He straightened his shoulders and marched ahead, Eliezer parting the crowd before him.

“What is the meaning of this trouble?” Abram stopped near the center of the crowd, where Lot stood watching two men wrestling. “Put an end to this now!” His shout brought the jeers and jibes to a halt, though the two men did not stop. Abram nodded to Eliezer, who stepped forward, pointing at several of Abram’s men.

“Stop this at once.” They quickly obeyed, moving in to pull the men apart.

When at last the men stopped straining against those who held them, Abram approached Lot. “We are kinsmen, are we not?”

“Yes, my lord. Of course we are.”

Abram nodded. “Then we must not let strife come between you and me, and between your herdsmen and my herdsmen.” He clapped a hand across Lot’s shoulders. “What can I do to settle the differences between us?”

Abram released his hold as Lot met his gaze, tilting his head, his eyes wide. “There is nothing to be done, Uncle. The land simply cannot hold all we have.”

“Then we are not using the full extent of the land there is.” He swept a hand toward the Jordan Valley he knew Lot favored.

Lot turned, a wistful look filling his expression. Silence passed between them. The voices of men were abuzz about them, Eliezer’s calm, confident tone setting things right.

“Is not the whole land before you?” Abram said, moving his arm in an arc from the Jordan toward the west where the land was hillier and the water scarce.

Lot nodded. “You’re right. There is much more land available than we are using now.”

Abram came alongside Lot and placed an arm across his shoulders again. “Then separate yourself from me. If you take the left hand, then I will go to the right, or if you take the right hand, then I will go to the left.”

Lot’s eyes seemed to skim the west but clearly lingered on the well-watered Jordan Valley. “It’s like the garden of the Lord, like Egypt.”

Abram stifled a shudder at the comparison. Egypt’s inundation was predictable, trustworthy, offering her inhabitants little reason to fear the barren land or lack of rainfall. Egypt was like Ur and Harran, whose rivers brought security and prosperity . . . and faithlessness. Like the Jordan Valley spread before them now.

“I will go east,” Lot said after barely a moment’s hesitation. He looked at Abram, rested his hands on both shoulders, and kissed each cheek in respect. “Thank you, Uncle. You are most gracious.”

Abram kissed Lot’s cheeks in return, his heart heavy. “Take care, my son.”

Lot’s gaze grew shuttered. He knew what Abram meant. But as he looked toward the valley, his countenance changed. A smile lit his face, turning the corners of his mustache upward. “Never fear, Uncle. Have I not servants aplenty to protect me? Do not worry about me.”

He kissed Abram and thanked him once more, then turned to his men, ordering them to gather his flocks and move east toward the valley floor. Abram joined Eliezer and headed back the way he had come, feeling suddenly older than he had earlier that day. Concern for Lot and his family weighed heavily on him, and yet as they came closer to his camp near Bethel, a greater peace accompanied each step. Had not God commanded him to leave his family and go to the land He would show him? Parting company with Lot would finally allow him to do as Adonai had commanded. Perhaps now that he had fully obeyed, Adonai might fully give as He had promised.

19

Melah watched the campfire sparks flying upward toward the black of night and shivered. She pressed her hands, palms down, closer to the flames, knowing she should be huddled beside her children in the tent rather than standing here waiting, fearing for Lot’s safety. Where was he?

She cinched her scarf closer to her neck and glanced once more at the sparkling city lights winking like so many distant stars across the plain. Two months living on the plains had done little to still her restless spirit. If Lot cared about her at all, he would have listened to her pleas and given her a house of stone inside the city, with bars to shut them in and keep them safe. What kind of protection did he expect from a tent?

Her fear turned to anger and mingled with deeper dread as she left the fire and strode the short distance to the thin-walled shelter. The girls’ even breathing met her ear. Moonlight bathed the entryway, casting grotesque shadows over the baskets and cushions and cooking utensils. She removed her sandals and crept along the wall, letting the flap close behind her.

She stilled, cocking her head to listen. Male voices drew close. Too close. Her heart beat faster, her breath growing thin. Lot’s men were usually more considerate coming into camp late at night.

She pressed a hand to her middle to cradle the babe, easing her way back toward the opening. A man’s shadow filled the entrance. She scooted back a pace, nearly tripping in her rush, fear clogging her throat.

He stepped into the room. She drew in a breath, but a hand clamped over her mouth, blocking her cries. “Hush. Don’t scream.” Lot’s voice in her ear made her legs lose their strength. His arms came around her, holding her steady. “It’s all right. It’s me.” He pulled her close until she could feel the beat of his heart against her ear. She drew back enough to meet his troubled gaze.

“Where were you? What happened?” She reached for his hand and drew him further into the tent on the other side of the partition to her own sleeping quarters. “Tell me everything.”

He drew in several breaths, then sank onto her cushions. “We escaped bandits by the space of an arrow’s shot, perhaps less. They were waiting for us as we led the sheep to the rock pens. My men fought them off, and those we didn’t kill barely escaped. They did not flee in pairs, but alone and wounded.” He squeezed her hand. “I fear my uncle was right. It is not safe in the plains.”

“I have thought the same myself. Surely now you will listen to reason and move us to the city to a house of stone with doors that bar.” She knelt beside him and skimmed his lips with hers. “Please, my lord. Think of your children, of the babe.” She lowered her chin, letting his beard brush her face, then reached to stroke his cheek with one gentle hand.

He covered her hand with his. “You do know how to get your way with me.” His smile made her respond with a playful pout, but rather than the passion she hoped would come, he planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I will listen to reason,” he said, his breath on her ear. “We will move at first light.”

Abram awoke to the sound of birds chirping before the voices of the rising women could drown them out. He rose quickly in the darkness of his tent, alone. Sarai’s uncleanness had kept her in her own tent—again. A sigh escaped him, bringing with it a sense of resignation. Nothing could be done but to wait on Adonai, and though Sarai grew impatient, he knew that fretting would do them no good.

He thrust his arms through the sleeves of his tunic and robe, reminding himself once again that Adonai could be trusted. Hadn’t He rescued Sarai from Pharaoh’s clutches? Hadn’t He given them peace with their neighbors and a land of promise? Why should he doubt? Yet the nagging uncertainty of
when
remained.

Setting aside the disconcerting thoughts, he donned his sandals, lifted the tent flap, and stepped into the stillness, ready to greet the dawn. Pink-hued skies blanketed the earth, beckoning him to climb the hill toward the altar he had built when he first arrived in Canaan. A sacrifice would be needed soon. Though Adonai had not commanded it, Abram sensed deep within him that he owed Him as much and more.