Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (39 page)

What was taking them so long? The child still cried, making Abram groan within. He should know better than to worry. Didn’t all babies cry at birth? He’d heard plenty of them in the camp over the years, Eliezer’s own children being no exception.

A servant brought him a cup of goat’s milk, and this time he did not refuse. Moments later, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood.

Sarai emerged from the tent, carrying a wrapped bundle. She approached him and met his gaze. “You have a son, my lord.”

She offered the babe to him to bless on his knee. He sat again and accepted the child from her arms, but he did not miss the mixture of awe and longing in her dark blue eyes. He held her gaze, wishing the child was hers, yet glad he had not had to endure such cries of anguish coming from this beloved wife. Could he bear such a thing? Yet as he looked into the face of his son, he knew he would want her to experience the same joy, the same love he felt swell from deep within him.

“Ishmael,” he said, placing the babe across his knees and holding him steady.

Sarai lifted the blanket to reveal the babe’s fingers. “He is perfectly whole, my lord,” she said, covering them again. “We must keep him warm.”

Abram nodded, wondering how she knew such things but accepting her appraisal that all was well. He turned his face to gaze down on the child again. “May Adonai bless you mightily, my son. May you live long on the earth and father many sons to follow after you. And may Adonai give you peace.”

He looked up at the crowd that had been waiting with him in the circle of the campfire. “My son!” He lifted the boy in his arms and stood. “His name is Ishmael!”

Cheers erupted, causing Ishmael’s cries to begin again. He lowered Ishmael and held him against his chest. “Perhaps he needs his mother.” He looked at Sarai, reading the pain in her gaze as he handed the boy back to her. “Take him to Hagar.”

She accepted the boy and turned to go.

“Sarai.” He stepped beside her and touched her shoulder. “It is time you came to my tent again.”

She met his gaze, then swiftly looked beyond him. “As you wish, my lord.”

He could tell by her reticence that his request was long overdue. He must speak with her, comfort her, and reassure her of his great love for her. Perhaps then she would see the babe as the blessing he was.

He told himself that things would be well now that the babe was safely born. But Sarai’s proud posture as she walked with the boy back to the birthing tent told him life with two women in the same household would not be easy. Trouble lay ahead—he could sense it.

Sarai entered Abram’s tent as dusk descended over the camp. She had left Ishmael with Hagar and one of the Egyptian servant girls, wanting to do nothing more than fall onto her own pallet and sleep. The birth had exhausted her, and she wondered not for the first time how hard it would be to suffer such anguish. Yet for the joy of a man child, she would go through it. She would die if only to glimpse her own child’s face and kiss his downy head. The thought left a lump in her throat. It was not meant to be.

Abram stood at her approach, his arm extended toward her. Sudden shyness crept over her despite her exhaustion. She had not slept in his arms since before Hagar’s disappearance over five months before. Why had he called for her now? Had he somehow felt that Hagar would run off again if he showed his favor to Sarai? It made no sense, but she had learned long ago that he was past figuring out.

“Come in, Sarai.” He stepped closer, and she placed her hand in his.

The strength of his arms as they came around her brought tears to her eyes. How long had it been since he had held her close? When he rubbed her back and did not release her, she could not hold back the emotions that she’d held in check throughout the birth.

“It’s all right, dear one. I’m sorry I have stayed so long away from you.” His whispered words held gentleness, and when he held her at arm’s length, he brushed away the remnant of her tears with his thumbs. “Please do not fret or worry over Ishmael’s birth. Hagar gave him birth, but you will be his true mother. You will always be the only woman for me, Sarai.” He bent to place a soft kiss on her lips, and she knew he tasted her tears.

“I only wish it had been I who had given you such a gift, my lord.” She sniffed back her emotion and blinked hard, willing it away. “You have reason to be proud today.”

Abram nodded and touched her cheek. “There was a time I thought any man could father a son. Now I know what a gift it truly is.” His gaze would not release hers, until she glanced away.

“Not every woman can bear such a one. Adonai has chosen a foreigner, while me He has set aside. I am too old for such pleasure now.” She took a step back and turned away from him toward his sitting area. She bent to finger one of the cushions. “The fabric is wearing thin on these. You should have told me. I would have stitched them long ago.”

Did he think she accused him of neglect? But she did not care anymore. He had his promised son and a woman to raise him. She was nothing more than a wife to him now. A useless wife at that.

“I do not notice such things.” He came up behind her and touched her shoulder. “Another reason I was a fool to keep your touch from this place. Forgive me, Sarai?”

His declaration startled and pleased her. She turned slowly and searched his gaze.

“I thank you for giving your maid into my arms, for allowing her to give us a son.” He placed both hands on her shoulders. “But you are my wife. My only wife. And I love you.”

She allowed a smile and reached to kiss him. “You are all I have.”

He took her hands in his and pulled her close, then wrapped her in his arms and kissed her as he used to in the early days before babies and barrenness constantly occupied her thoughts, back when she was young and in love with this handsome prince, certain she held the power to give him anything.

“Come sup with me, Sarai. Taste the fruit of the vine, and share in my love.” His words were like a sweet caress, and she allowed him to lead her to his plush cushions, accepting the wine he poured from his own hand. “This is a night to celebrate and remember,” he said, sinking down beside her, cradling a silver chalice between his fingers. He sipped the wine and smiled.

She returned his smile, wishing she could share his joy, wishing she could tell him all the things that still lay like a troubling wound deep within her soul. But he would never understand, and bringing up her jealousies and insecurities now would only dampen his jubilant mood. No. Better to wait until another time when their old friendship had been fully restored, when the babe was not such a fresh reminder of her failures.

She sipped the wine and laughed at something he said, praying to the Unseen One that He might yet look with favor on her, and if not give her a child, then at least grant her peace.

Part
4

When Abram was ninety-nine years old, the L
ORD
appeared to him and said, “I am God Almighty; walk before me and be blameless. I will confirm my covenant between me and you and will greatly increase your numbers.”

Genesis 17:1–2

“As for Sarai your wife, you are no longer to call her Sarai; her name will be Sarah. I will bless her and will surely give you a son by her. I will bless her so that she will be the mother of nations; kings of peoples will come from her.”

     Abraham fell facedown; he laughed and said to himself, “Will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?” And Abraham said to God, “If only Ishmael might live under your blessing!”

     Then God said, “Yes, but your wife Sarah will bear you a son, and you will call him Isaac.”

Genesis 17:15–19

33

T
HIRTEEN
Y
EARS
L
ATER

Sarai fingered the topaz pendant Abram had purchased from visiting merchants, then fastened it to a chain about her neck. Matching topaz earrings dangled from each ear, and her maid had taken care to weave rose-petal pearls into her dark, silver-streaked hair. The ornaments reflected the changes age had brought, and when Sarai examined the effect in her silver mirror, she could not help but smile. Hagar might have her youthful vigor, but even at almost ninety years of age, Sarai’s beauty remained.

She placed the mirror on a low table and smoothed the soft fabric of her blue and green robe, forcing her tense muscles to relax. It did no good to think of Hagar in that way. She was not a rival for Abram’s affections. Not really. No, it was the boy Sarai competed with. The boy who was supposed to be hers. But the feelings of motherhood had never managed to surface, and Ishmael had bonded too well with his Egyptian mother.

She moved past the sitting room of her spacious tent and nodded to a maid who was busy cleaning and straightening from Abram’s visit the night before. That he came to her often just to talk brought some small comfort. They’d grown accustomed to life in these hills. If only Abram could talk of something other than Ishmael.

The voices of the women drifted to her, and she left her tent, head held high. Today she would join Abram as he greeted merchants coming from Mesopotamia, and she hoped to view their wares as well as hear news of Abram’s brother and family. It had been so long. Was Milcah still living? Even Melah, though she lived much closer, had not been to visit them in years. Time kept marching on, whether Sarai wanted it to or not.

She spotted Abram standing near the central fire speaking with Eliezer while Ishmael stood nearby. The boy wore the headdress of a grown man now, though at thirteen he still carried the gangly limbs of youth. A handsome boy, he bore a striking resemblance to his mother and carried the same proud tilt to his jaw. The realization prickled, and Sarai felt her muscles tensing again. She rolled her shoulders and drew in a deep breath. If she had her way, Ishmael would not be joining them today.