Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (29 page)

Lila sat in silence until at last Sarai looked at her. The pity she expected was not there, only the slightest wrinkling of her brow.

“What will you do?” Lila placed a comforting hand on Sarai’s and squeezed.

“There is only one thing to do.” Everyone knew the laws, the expectations put on a wife. Her father’s command rang fresh in her ears.

Sarai, daughter of Terah, I hold you to your promise to give Abram, son of Terah, a son. If you do not fulfill your vow to my son, his vow to you never to take another wife is null.

“I must find a suitable maid and give her to my husband to wife. She will bear him the promised one.” The words grew gritty on her tongue, and she longed to spit them out. But she refrained, knowing with a growing conviction that they were true.

Lila slowly nodded. “Do you have a maid in mind?” She leaned closer, her gaze full of sympathy.

Sarai shook her head. She had gone over the list of her maids all through the night, even during the past weeks when the realization had settled over her. She’d spent days watching the younger unmarried girls, discarding those who were beautiful, yet not wanting to send one to Abram whom he could not wed with pride. His son would need a strong woman, one with good features, an intelligent maid, yet not one who might usurp Sarai’s own authority. Sarai would be the child’s true mother, after all. The promised son would still be hers.

“I am not sure,” she said at last. “Someone young and strong enough to bear a child, but not someone who might turn my husband’s head too often in her direction.” The very thought sent a stab of pain to her heart. She lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob and turned to Lila. “Oh, Lila, I can’t bear to share him!”

Lila scooted closer and wrapped one arm around Sarai’s shoulders. “I know.”

“But I must. There is no other way he will have a son. I certainly cannot give it to him.” She tasted bitterness like bile on her tongue.

“Which women have you considered?” There were many servants they had acquired, but most had been given in marriage to other servants. Sarai’s own handmaids were the most logical choices, of whom Lila had once been part.

“Hagar comes often to mind.” Sarai drew in a slow breath. She’d dreamed of Hagar and could not seem to shake the servant’s image from her thoughts during the night. And though she was neither beautiful nor hard to look upon, Sarai loathed the thought of offering such a one to Abram. Abram rarely paid attention to her, and part of Sarai still felt sorry for the woman, yanked so swiftly from her homeland and never quite finding a place of belonging here. Though she now looked like one of them in dress, her manner still reflected the Egyptians’ in the tilt of her head, and her onyx eyes reminded Sarai of one of the Egyptian statues she’d seen nearly every step she’d walked in the Hall of Queens.

“Hagar could be a wise choice.” Lila offered Sarai a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “She is foreign, so chances are Abram will never take to her the way he has to you.”

Sarai balked at the comment. “Do not even suggest such a thing! Of course he will not take to her. He will do his duty, and she will bear him a son. I will not abide him making her a full wife.”

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Sarai waved a hand, stopping the apology. “No. You are right. Though a foreign wife . . . Do you think Adonai meant for the promised child to be born of mixed blood? Could he have meant to bring Ur and Egypt together in one common bond?”

“I do not know. I suppose that is possible. But I had always thought Adonai meant for you to bear the promised one. As Abram has so long agreed.” Lila picked up one of the cushions that made up Sarai’s bed and smoothed the wrinkles.

Sarai’s heart pricked again, the pain familiar and unrelenting. “I thought so too,” she whispered. She sat for the space of many breaths, then finally pushed up from the ground and stretched the kinks from her back. “Obviously we were wrong. Not even Abram gets everything right every time. Our stay in Egypt should have taught us that.”

But perhaps something useful had come out of Egypt. Could Adonai have allowed her to be taken in order to meet and acquire Hagar as her maid? Did the Creator God have in mind Hagar for this purpose? She turned the new thought over in her mind, testing it, viewing it from different angles. She could give Hagar to Abram with restrictions. She was still the first wife here, and Hagar a mere slave woman. Giving her to Abram would change Hagar’s status, but if anything went wrong, Sarai could easily convince Abram to do right by her. Couldn’t she?

Worry niggled the back of Sarai’s neck, and she suddenly wondered if she had lost all perspective. But as she joined Lila outside the tent, working among the women for the day’s meals, she watched the young Egyptian and the thoughts grew stronger. Hagar could be the solution to her barrenness. The woman was kind and often gracious, quick to serve, and despite a certain Egyptian stubbornness, she seemed content with her lot. So why not choose her to carry Abram’s seed? Their age difference alone would ensure Abram would never truly bond with the woman.

Sarai blinked back tears, reminding herself that if she did this, she would no longer have Abram exclusively to herself. He would share intimacy with another—a woman she was not even sure she liked, a woman she would never consider an equal. But as she bent to stir the lentils and felt the stiffness in her joints, she was reminded with harsh clarity that she was no longer young, and her last chance at conceiving a child had left before Abram ever took off to rescue Lot. When Abram returned, if in fact he did return, she must offer him another way to bring the promise to pass, before his body grew as shriveled as her own and hope was lost for good.

Abram rode beside Eliezer, his whole being longing for home. The Valley of Shaveh spread out before him as they neared the city of Salem, the rich green of the land soft beneath the camels’ feet. He adjusted the head cloth away from his mouth, the dust no longer kicking up as it had during the trek across the sands. Glancing at Eliezer, he smiled.

“Soon. I will be pleased to sit in the shade of my own tent again.” His smile widened as he imagined Sarai’s relieved expression and could almost feel the strength of her arms clinging to him. How he missed her!

“It can’t come fast enough.” Eliezer nodded and shifted in the camel’s saddle. “Ariel has probably learned to grind grain, and Jael has surely weaned by now. Eran and Nahum have probably grown as tall as I am. I won’t recognize them.”

“A few months cannot make such a difference.”

“To you and I, no. But to a child . . .” He stopped the words and met Abram’s gaze.

“It’s all right, Eliezer. Do not be afraid to speak of your children to me. Someday I will need your advice when I hold a son of my own.”

They rode in comfortable silence a little longer, Abram’s thoughts turning to Adonai. How long it had been since the promise had been given. Twelve years since he had left Ur. Sarai had aged more than he had, despite her youthful appearance. She rarely spoke of it, but he knew she feared her time was running short when it came to any chance of motherhood.
How much longer, Adonai?

The sound of horses thundered toward them across the valley. Eliezer reined in his mount, and Abram followed his example.

“Can you tell who it is?” Abram asked. Eliezer’s eyesight was keener than Abram’s, though he could see clearly enough once the objects were within a bow’s shot.

“They’re still too far off, though the flags bear the colors of Sodom.” Eliezer glanced at Abram. “It could be Bera, their king.”

Abram pondered the thought a moment, then lifted his hand heavenward. “As Adonai Elohim, Creator of heaven and earth, lives, I will take nothing that belongs to him, not even a thread or a sandal’s thong, lest he be able to say, ‘I have made Abram rich.’” He lowered his hand and looked again at Eliezer.

“What of the men or Mamre and his brothers?”

“They can take their share. The oath applies only to me.” How could Lot return to live in such a city and overlook what everyone within walking distance knew of Sodom and its neighboring city-states? But there was no reasoning with Melah after the loss of their son, and Lot’s initial relief at being rescued and determination to obey Adonai had faded the closer they drew to Sodom.

Adonai, have mercy on them. Turn their hearts to You.

They moved forward again, slowing as they reached the walled city of Salem. The place sat like a precious stone near Mount Moriah’s crest, and Abram’s heart felt a strange warmth at the sight of it. A trumpet sounded, and he drew in his mount, turning his attention to Salem’s gates, where a procession of priests, flag bearers, and trumpeters approached in a kingly parade.

“Now what?”

Something stirred within Abram as he watched the high priest, his office evident by his resplendent robes decorated with pomegranates, tinkling golden bells along the hem, and a jeweled ephod worn over his chest. He carried a flask in one hand and what could only be a loaf of round flat bread in the other. At his approach, Abram commanded the camel to kneel and dismounted the beast.

A priest, or a king? A band of thick gold encrusted with small, sparkling jewels circled the man’s hoary head. Abram bowed low and waited until the man stopped in front of him.

“Rise, Abram, son of Terah.” He waited, and Abram did as commanded. How did the man know his name? Yet one look into the king’s fathomless eyes gave Abram the sense that this man knew him well.

“I am Melchizedek, king of Salem, priest of El Elyon, God Most High.” The king/priest dipped his head to acknowledge Abram. “Come and break bread with me.” The man turned and led Abram to a large boulder and bade him sit.

Melchizedek handed the flask to a servant, then broke the bread and gave some to Abram, keeping the other half for himself. “Eat all of it,” he said, doing the same.

When Abram had finished the last swallow, the priest poured wine into two golden goblets the servant held out for him. He handed one to Abram. “Drink.” Abram again did as he was commanded while Melchizedek drank from his cup. When they had finished, Melchizedek stepped closer to Abram and placed both hands on his head. He stood still for a moment, saying nothing, but Abram could feel his heart constrict at the man’s simple touch. He felt suddenly weak and exposed, yet at the same time enveloped and loved.

“Blessed be Abram by El Elyon Elohim, God Most High, Creator of heaven and earth,” Melchizedek said, “and blessed be God Most High, who delivered your enemies into your hand.”

He lifted his hands from Abram’s head and grasped Abram’s arm, pulling him to his feet. The man’s strength surprised him, and yet it didn’t. He met Melchizedek’s gaze once more.

“Thank you, my lord. Let me bless you now as well. I give you a tenth of all we have recovered.”

The priest kissed Abram on each cheek, then moved back a step. “Let it be as you have said.”

Abram nodded, then turned, waving Eliezer closer. “Of the spoils of Sodom, I will not take a thread or a sandal’s thong, but a tenth of all we have shall be given to this king.”

Eliezer looked at Abram, his gaze holding awe and approval. “Yes, my lord.”

Abram turned his attention back to Melchizedek. “Will I see you again?” Somehow he did not want to leave the man’s presence, yet knew he must.

Melchizedek’s smile warmed him, his eyes bright with unspoken mystery. “I must now return to my city.” His gaze lifted heavenward for the slightest moment, then he turned to walk back toward the gates of Salem. “You will see me again, my son Abram.”

Abram watched him go, unable to deny the sudden loss he felt, yet his hope in the blessing remained. He turned back to his men to speak with Eliezer while the gifts were still being dispersed and caught sight of the contingent from Sodom, King Bera at their head, coming his way. Eliezer joined him as the man approached.

King Bera stopped, leaving a lengthy space between them, his guards flanking his sides. His expression carried none of the arrogance Abram had heard about, only uncertainty about the outcome of his fortune. He raised a hand in supplication.

“You have done me a great service in rescuing my people from Chedorlaomer.” He bowed low, paying Abram homage.

“You owe me nothing. You need not bow to me.”

“Give me the people then, and keep the goods for yourself.”

Abram shook his head and lifted his right hand toward the heavens. “I have raised my hand to Adonai El Elyon Elohim, the Lord God Most High, Creator of heaven and earth, and have taken an oath that I will accept nothing belonging to you, not even a thread or the thong of a sandal, so that you will never be able to say, ‘I made Abram rich.’ I will accept nothing but what my men have eaten and the share that belongs to the men who went with me—to Aner, Eshcol, and Mamre. Let them have their share.”

King Bera’s brows drew close together for the briefest moment, as if he could not decide whether to take offense or feel relief at Abram’s words. “Take what is yours and go in peace.”

The joy he had felt in Melchizedek’s presence had swiftly dissipated in the short moments with this king, as though light and darkness had both met with Abram, and the one could not abide the other.