Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (27 page)

Foreboding settled around her with each passing breath as dusk turned to darkness and the fires dimmed.

“Any sign of them yet?” Lila appeared at her side, holding her youngest daughter on her hip. The girl would wean soon, and they would hold a celebration among the women, much smaller than the kind given Lila’s sons.

“None. I’m sure nothing is wrong.” She looked into Lila’s dark eyes, assessing. “Do you think something is wrong?”

Lila shook her head. “You know how men are.” She laughed, the sound lighter than the look in her eyes. “Perhaps these guests have not yet arrived, and they are waiting by the road.”

“Perhaps.” But the worry would not leave.

Sarai bent over the pot and stirred the stew once more. Voices drifted on the gentle wind, their sound growing louder. Abram had returned! Relief filled her. She laid the stirring branch aside and moved from under the canopy to where torches lit the path to the central fires. Abram and Eliezer approached with three men following behind. She recognized Mamre, Eshcol, and Aner, the three Amorite brothers who had allied themselves with Abram, before they settled near the large oaks.

“My lord,” she said, bowing to Abram.

He bent to kiss her cheek. “I am sorry we are so late, my love. When the food is served, you may wait in your tent.”

He passed her then, moving toward the circle where a low fire glowed. She would not learn more from him until he came to her that night. Whatever business he had with these men, the women were not welcome to witness it. The earlier foreboding returned in full force as she hurried to serve Abram and his guests.

Darkness crept far into the night, but Sarai could not sleep. Surely the men would end their conversation and Abram would come soon. She stifled a yawn, picked up her mending, and dipped the bone needle and wool thread into the tear of one of Abram’s tunics, barely able to see the stitches by the light of the clay oil lamp. The flap of the tent rustled, and Abram came inside, his expression grim. He removed his robe and sat down on the sleeping mat beside her.

“What is it, my lord? You have made me wait these many hours, and I fear I will burst with the need to know.” She took his hand between both of her own and clutched it to her heart. “Why were Mamre and his brothers here? Why couldn’t I listen as you spoke?”

He placed a finger to her lips. “Sarai, Sarai, you are speaking faster than I can think! I know you are curious, which is why I will tell you now.” He stroked her cheek, his gaze turning somber. “Sodom has been invaded, and Lot and his family captured. I must go to rescue them.”

She leaned away from him, stunned. “No! That is, you can’t. Surely there is someone else who can go.”

“Sarai.” His look held reproach. “You know there is no one else, and Lot is kin. I must rescue him.”

She stared at him as silence filled the space between them. “When do you leave?” She hated giving in so easily.

“My men are ready to leave at first light. Mamre and his tribe will join us. Adonai will make a way for us to rescue Lot.” He reached for her then and pulled her to him. “Don’t worry over me, Sarai. Adonai will protect us. Not one of us will be harmed.”

“How can you know such a thing?”

“I just know.” He kissed her forehead and rubbed her shoulders. “I will be back in a month, perhaps sooner.” He held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. “Do not worry, my love.” He kissed her as though his words were enough to allay her fears.

“How can I not worry? You are a foolish old man to think I won’t!”

He chuckled, making light of her comment, then kissed her again to silence her protests. But she meant what she said, and only wished she had the strength to fight him.

Sarai stood on the hill overlooking the plain, watching Abram head for Sodom, the distance between them a wide chasm. She drew her shawl across her neck, the pale light of dawn lifting like a mist. But even the brightening sky could not lift the veil over her heart.

If Lot had not foolishly chosen to live in such a wicked city, he would not be in danger now. She folded her arms, clutching them to her chest. Melah was surely to blame for such a move. Lot didn’t have the strength to stand up to his wife. She would be his ruin—Sarai knew it deep down. Yet the thought pricked her conscience in its stark criticism, filling her with guilt.

She felt Lila’s presence beside her, the silence between them comforting. They stood watching until the men disappeared beyond a ridge, the height of a hill obscuring them from view.

“A month.” Sarai looked at Lila, unable to keep a shiver at bay. “Do you think that’s all it will take? Abram suggested as much.”

Lila placed a comforting hand on Sarai’s arm, her gaze drifting to the plain once more. “Eliezer thought it could take two. With the time it takes to travel to Chedorlaomer’s land, rescue the people, return them to Sodom, and then come home again, it could be at least that long. He said not to worry if it took that long, or even half again as much.”

Sarai moved away, irritated that her husband had not bothered to reveal the truth, choosing to let her believe the impossible. Much like he believed the impossible about the child, telling her to trust.

“Let’s go home. We have work to do.” She hurried, reminding herself that Abram, above all men, could be trusted. If he said he would return safely in a month or so, then she would believe it. She didn’t have any other choice.

Melah slumped in a corner of the cave, Chedorlaomer’s temporary prison in the hills, and clutched Assam to her breast, weeping. The forced move, along with a shortage of food and water, had weakened the boy. Now they were huddled in a cave like animals. Her milk had slowed to a trickle, and what little remained barely made it past her son’s throat.

He would die soon.

She closed her eyes, tasting the salt of her tears. The weight of Assam’s small body pressed in on her as her daughters rested against her shoulders, smothering yet comforting her. Lot’s heavy snores were a stone’s throw from where she sat.

She glanced once more at the babe in her arms. She could barely distinguish his features in the darkness, but alarm shot through her when she realized that what she had assumed was his even breathing was in fact her own.

She shook him. Gently at first. But a hand to his cheek and forehead told her what her heart already knew. His last breath had already come. Had she known it all along yet simply refused to accept it? How long had she held him thus, weeping? By the cool touch of his skin, she sensed that his spirit had left him some time ago. When had he stopped his soft mewling?

A soft cry escaped her as she stared into his light, unseeing eyes. She must wake Lot before the barbarians returned. A sacrifice must be offered . . . but she had no way to reach Ningal’s temple, and they had no lambs to sacrifice to Abram’s God in this forsaken cave. She looked into the child’s serene face, her tears dampening his soft tunic. Lot stirred, shifted on the hard ground, and rolled onto his side, unaware of her pain.

She must wake him, and then together they would gather stones and build a small altar. Lot could steal a torch from the enemy, and they would offer their son’s body for the protection of those who remained. She drew in a shuddering breath and slowly released it. Surely Ningal would be pleased with such sacrifice.

She twisted, freeing herself from the grip of her daughters, and rose to her knees, then crawled with the boy the short distance to Lot’s side. She touched his arm. He jerked upright, instantly alert.

“What is it?” He glanced around, then rested a concerned gaze on her. “What’s wrong, Melah?” Why did he look at her so strangely?

She brushed the tears from her damp cheeks and clutched the baby to her breast. “You must help me. We cannot let the barbarians touch him.”

“Why would the—” He stopped, looked at her. “Is he . . . ?”

She nodded. “I just now realized he had stopped breathing some time ago, while you slept. We must quickly build an altar and sacrifice his body to the gods. I will not have him left in this desolate cave.”

Lot squeezed his eyes, then rubbed a hand over his face as if he were trying to awaken from a dream. She tried to read his expression in the pale light coming from the lone lamp they were allowed.

“How do you expect us to build an altar? And how can you even suggest such a thing to do to our son?” His whispered words carried rebuke and anger.

“I . . .” She looked at him, suddenly uncertain. “We can’t bury him here. We will never see him again.” She choked on a sob and clutched the boy tighter.

He touched the blanket-clad body of their son. “I will take care of him.” He held out his arms, but she could not release him. “No one will harm him, Melah, and you can rest here with the girls, protect them.” He cupped her cheek, coaxing her to meet his gaze. “Trust me.”

“You can’t take him from me. I will go with you.”

“Then who will stay with the girls?” He wrapped his hands around the boy’s body and gently tugged. “We cannot build a fire or others will notice.” He bent forward to kiss her cheek. “Please, trust me.”

Melah felt her son’s body slip away, her hands useless limbs at her side. Lot wrapped the boy in the crook of his arm and picked his way further into the cave. Melah collapsed in a heap, begging the earth to swallow her, wishing she could die with her son.

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