Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (25 page)

As he reached the summit of the low hill, Abram paused, glancing again at the lightening sky, marveling at the beauty, the splash of color and light beckoning sleepers to wake.
You are great, Adonai. Your creation speaks of Your glory.

He could not observe a sunrise without a stirring in his soul. Surely God was with him, knew him by name. He could not imagine it otherwise or imagine life apart from knowing the Creator.

The last vestige of color crossed the threshold of the horizon, fully embracing the sky’s expanse, when suddenly the air grew thick around him, cocooning him in gentle warmth. He looked about him, sensing a presence, feeling the softest brush of wind on his cheek. But nothing moved in the stillness, the only sound his own breath.

He stood still, waiting, his heart beating faster, an inexplicable joy filling him. The breeze caressed his face now, and he turned to watch it weave through the branches of the adjacent trees.

Abram.

He felt his name more than heard it, his whole being yearning heavenward.

Yes, Lord, I am here.

The response seemed nonsensical. Surely God knew where he was. He waited again, tilting his head, but the sound seemed to come from every direction at once, echoing in the ground beneath and the air above.

Lift up your eyes and look from the place where you are, northward and southward and eastward and westward, for all the land that you see I will give to you and to your offspring forever. I will make your offspring as the dust of the earth, so that if one can count the dust of the earth, your offspring also can be counted. Arise, walk through the length and the breadth of the land, for I will give it to you.

The words ended. Slowly Abram turned, sensing the presence had gone as unexpectedly as it had come. He lowered his body to the grasses and pressed his face to the earth. “Your servant is unworthy.” The very ground seemed set apart, as if the dust itself belonged to God. “I will do as you say, Adonai.”

When he lifted his head, the sun had barely moved, suspended in the exact spot it had been when he first arrived at the altar. He must find Eliezer and quickly offer a sacrifice, then set out to inspect the length and breadth of the land God had promised.

Melah sank onto a plush couch in the sitting room of her new home, barely able to enjoy the luxury. Exhaustion came over her in waves, and she tilted her head to listen. Could she hear Assam’s cries from here? Oh, but she needed to rest! Surely he would sleep for a while.

She closed her eyes, faintly aware of the chatter of her servants and the scraping of the millstone in the courtyard beyond. In the three months since Assam’s birth, she had done nothing but attempt to feed and care for him. She would allow no one else to interfere. Let the servants do the daily tasks.

The thought pleased her as her mind drifted in a half sleep to the shores of the Euphrates where Lot had first wooed her. Their love had meant something then. Surely he had loved her. And she had at last given him a son.

Tinny, high-pitched shrieks and squeals jolted her. Where was she? She blinked hard, anger flaring. What were they arguing about now?

Her limbs protested movement, but she forced herself up, her temper rising with her daughters’ bickering voices. She stomped down the hall toward the chamber they shared. They would wake Assam if they kept up this racket. She stopped at his door, her heart plummeting at his soft cries. She would punish them but good this time! Could he not sleep even an hour?

Assam’s cries grew louder, as if he thought to drown out his sisters’ shouts. She closed her eyes, drew in a breath, and whirled about to storm into her daughters’ room.

“What is wrong with you?” She yanked Ku-aya’s hair until the girl’s screams grew real, then shoved her away. Rage lashed her. She turned on Kammani, raised a hand, and struck her across the mouth. “Your brother never sleeps! When at last he does, you can’t keep quiet for even an hour?” Her whole body shook. “I will lock you out in the street to sleep with the wayward ones tonight. Don’t think I won’t!”

Melah stared down at her daughters, not really seeing them, barely hearing their cries, now quiet whimpers. Assam’s wails pierced the air, and the girls fell silent.

He couldn’t possibly be hungry again. Her milk let down at the thought, her instincts alert. She could not still the trembling as she hurried to his side. Hadn’t his sisters been half again as big?

Her touch silenced his pitiful cries, and she settled into a cushioned chair, guiding his small mouth to her breast. She felt his tug, but her milk came too fast and he nearly choked, pulling back. She cursed, grabbing a cloth from beside his bed to stop the flow.

“There, there. It’s all right.” She drew in several breaths, but she could not relax. Weariness and fear had dogged her since his birth. And now, with each effort, only a little milk found its way into his stomach. “Come now, sweet child, if you are not hungry, why do you cry? Why will you not grow?” Had she somehow offended Ningal? Or was this the work of Abram’s God?

A door opened and slammed from across the house, and heavy footfalls hurried in her direction. Lot’s anxious voice called to her until he stopped at the threshold of her room.

“There you are.” He drew in a labored breath. “Does he eat?”

She shook her head and could not stop the tears. “I don’t know what to do for him.”

He regarded her, then stepped closer to her side. “There is trouble.” He touched the babe’s head and stroked the fine, dark hairs. “King Bera and his allies have rebelled against the heavy taxes Chedorlaomer has placed on us. They are gathering to war against Chedorlaomer and his allies in the Valley of Siddim.”

She pulled her baby tighter against her chest. What did she care of war? “So let them go. The king takes too much from us as it is.”

A snort of disgust came from Lot’s lips, and he knelt at her side. “Melah, I don’t think you understand. This is a foolish act on the part of the king. Sodom and Gomorrah and their small-town allies are no match for Chedorlaomer and his forces. They’ve already defeated the Rephaim, the Zuzim, the Emim, and the Horites in their hill country as far as their border of the wilderness. Then they turned back and defeated all the country of the Amalekites and the Amorites. There is no stopping them.”

A shiver of fear worked through her, not only at Lot’s words, but at the intense anguish in his dark eyes. “But what can we do? You cannot stop the king. You barely know him yet.”

He nodded and stood, running a hand over his beard. “There is nothing to do but leave.”

“What?” Her heart fluttered at his meaning as her gaze traveled to look at their son. “Where do you propose we go? We cannot travel with Assam.”

“We must. I have already told the servants to begin packing. We must leave Sodom and escape to my uncle’s until the danger is past. There is no other way for me to keep you safe.”

“I cannot go.” She stood, clutching Assam to her breast, her breath agitated even as she tried to still her racing heart. “Have you not seen the way Assam seems to grow hungry every time the flutes play at Ningal’s temple? It is as though Ningal is waking him to remind him to eat. If we leave, Assam will not hear the flutes and then he will not eat at all.” She was crying now and barely felt Lot’s arms as they attempted to pull her close.

She broke free of him, her mind hurrying ahead of her pacing feet. “Surely Ningal will protect us from any silly war. You don’t really think, after all of my sacrifices to her, after how faithful I have been, that she would abandon me now, do you?” Was that her voice rising in pitch and volume? The sound seemed so far away.

Another cry pierced her consciousness as Lot’s hands gripped her shoulders. “Melah, stop! You are scaring Assam.”

His tone snapped her thoughts into submission. She looked at Lot, though his face seemed distorted before her eyes. “I’m not scaring Assam.” She stroked the baby’s cheek, then lifted him to her shoulder and patted his back. His cries settled again, and the room grew still, broken only by the distant chatter of servants. Even the girls’ bickering had ended.

“Melah, listen to me. We cannot stay here if we expect to survive the coming invasion. Chedorlaomer will defeat Sodom. You can count on it.”

A laugh escaped before she could stop it. “And what else should I count, dear husband?” She touched his face. “The new worry lines along your brow? Surely if King Bera has decided to go to war with this Chedor fellow—”

“Chedorlaomer, and he is not someone to take lightly.”

“Well, then King Bera won’t take him lightly if that’s the case.” She sank back onto the cushioned seat, her energy drained. There was no reasoning with Lot when his mind was so set.

“King Bera is taking this war far too carelessly, and I can see that my wife is no different!”

“How will I ever get Assam to nurse if you keep fussing at me! You know how many nights he has kept me awake? How hard it is to calm him then?” She lowered her voice to a mere whisper and patted Assam’s back, rocking back and forth.

Lot looked at her as though he did not know her, his gaze finally resting on their son. What was wrong with him today? So much worry over a little war. She had far more to worry over with the child. If he did not start to eat better soon . . . She could not think about that now. She had already lost so much.

“All right, Melah. I know I will live to regret this, but if you think the babe is too weak to travel—”

“He is. He most definitely is.” At last he was listening to her! And giving in as he always did. Such a good husband he was to give her whatever she asked of him. A sigh escaped her, and she turned her attention to the babe, pulling him from her shoulder and trying once again to coax him to eat. When she looked up, she saw no sign of Lot.

“Come on, sweet child. A little more milk and you will be strong like your father.”

20

The steady vibration grew, its pulse matching the rapid pounding of Lot’s heart. He stood on his roof, taking in the sight from a home that no longer felt safe, his wife and daughters sleeping below. Torches dotted the Valley of Siddim, moving fast, headed toward Sodom. The battle could not have gone well. A sinking feeling turned to stone in his gut.

He should never have listened to Melah. Though there had been only a few days to travel, they could have reached his uncle’s camp by now, safe from the marauding invaders whose swift horses and iron chariots would weave around the tar pits and across the plain to Sodom’s gates long before morning light. He must do something. But the very movement of light coming toward them held his feet to the roof, weighting his legs.

Oh, Adonai, what have I done?
He glanced at the stars, sensing the truth his uncle had tried to teach him. The Creator God was the only true God, the only real Savior. If ever he needed to be rescued . . . But would Melah heed his words? Even now, would she follow him if he readied his household to flee? How far would they get before the chariots would swoop down on them?

The thought spurred him from his sluggish inaction, and he turned toward the stairs, grasping the railing in his hurried flight. He nearly bumped into his steward, dressed in his night tunic.