Sarai epub-8.xhtml

Melah wrapped a thin scarf over her head, grabbed a basket from the floor, and stepped out of her tent. She glanced around at their servants, irritation rising at the sight of an Egyptian slave girl among the women grinding grain, while another shooed small children from the fire.

Since her confrontation with Sarai, which she admitted had not gone as she’d intended, her life had been in upheaval. She should have known better than to ask Sarai to give Hagar to her, especially not that way. But when she’d complained to Lot about it all, he’d seemed almost too eager to leave Abram’s campsite.

Were these Egyptians why he was so happy to heed her suggestion? She had barely hinted, had not even worked herself into a whining pout yet at moving away from Sarai, when he jumped at the chance. Normally he never gave in without at least a small argument.

Heat burned her cheeks. Lot’s gaze had lingered overlong on these women since leaving Abram’s camp, especially when they wore their native clothing for him and he didn’t know she was watching.

The thought made her blood pump fast. While she wanted to live as mistress of her own estate, that did not mean she wanted to sacrifice her husband’s affection. But did she even have his affection? He had vowed to never take another wife, and he could never legally divorce her, but what would stop him from having an illicit relationship with a slave?

“Where are you going, Mama?” Her oldest daughter, Kammani, hurried to her side, out of breath. Her younger sister trailed behind. “Can we come with you?”

Melah brushed a strand of hair from the girl’s face and straightened her head scarf, which always seemed askew from the moment she left the tent each morning. She looked into the eager dark eyes so like her father’s. “Of course. Only do not wander. We are going to the fields to see your father, and I do not want you waylaid by some fool rogue.” Though the girl was only eleven, she was already showing signs of maturity. Soon enough—too soon—men would come seeking her hand. But not here. Not yet. Surely there were better men in the nearby towns than the ones in her husband’s company.

Melah nodded once and set out walking again. Ku-aya, her younger daughter, skipped ahead while Kammani stayed at Melah’s side.

“Can I stay with Abi in the fields? He said he would teach me to be a shepherdess.”

Melah looked at her daughter, appalled at the thought. Though she knew many women tended sheep, her girls were not going to be among them. “There are other tasks you should be learning. Let your father worry about the sheep. That’s why we have servants.” She lifted her head, seeing a flock of sheep grazing just beyond them over the rise. “You are the daughter of a great man, Kammani. Daughters of great men do not stoop to such menial tasks meant for men.”

“But I like animals. Sheep are so big and soft.” She half ran to keep up with Melah’s hurried pace.

“Then ask your father to give you one as a pet. But not now. I must speak with him first about more important matters.” Perhaps bringing the girls was not as good an idea as she had first thought. But it was too late to send them back to camp alone.

Kammani opened her mouth as if to protest, but Melah silenced her with a lifted hand. “Don’t cross me, Kammani.” The girl flinched as though Melah had slapped her. Good. She had no intention of hitting the child, but letting her fear it brought swifter obedience.

Kammani ran ahead to join her sister picking wildflowers, and they chased each other through the grasses, laughing as they approached the sheep. Kammani spotted her father and reached his side before Melah could.

“Abi!” The girls cried his name in unison, jumping up and down. Lot bent to their level, scooped the youngest into his arms, and took the other by the hand.

“Abi, Mama said I could have a pet lamb. Can I pick her out now, Abi? Please?”

Melah bit back a scowl and an angry retort. The child was incorrigible, always pleading and prodding to get her own way. And her father was so easy to persuade. Not nearly strong enough when it came to his women.

Chagrin accompanied that thought. Would she want him any different? And yet she longed for something more.

She stifled the thought, unwilling to think too deeply about why she could not seem to be happy with her husband, her life. “I see the girls have already found you and taken advantage of your good graces.” She offered him her most pleasant smile, lifting the basket for him to see. “I brought bread and cheese and some of the olives we picked last week.”

Lot set Ku-aya on the ground, patted her on the back, and urged the girls to go and play.

He looked at Melah as if for permission. At her nod, he turned to face his daughter. “Pick a young one, but not so young that it still needs its mother.”

“Let this lamb be a promise that you will not teach Kammani to be a shepherdess. We do not need our girls learning things the servants can do.” She leveled him with a look, waiting.

“Knowing how to shepherd is a skill that would not hurt them to learn.” He turned to watch the girls search the flock for the smallest ewes.

His gaze swiveled from the girls to her. “You won’t allow it? If I want to teach our daughters a skill, what business is it of yours?”

Melah’s heart skipped a beat. She was not expecting such a tone from him. “That is to say, my lord,” she amended, “I would not prefer it. The hills are dangerous for a young girl alone, and we have plenty of servants who can do the job equally well.”

“I would never leave our child alone with the sheep. Not until she was well trained and fully grown, and even then, only if need afforded it.” His scowl deepened as he turned his gaze fully upon her. “What kind of man do you think me to be?”

She lowered her eyes in a show of respect, surprised that she actually felt a twinge of emotion for him. He rarely crossed her, leaving her momentarily stunned now. This was not going at all how she had planned, and she must rectify the situation quickly before he stalked off and she ruined the reason she had come.

“Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to imply . . .” She lifted her gaze to his. “I’m afraid I am not quite myself these days.” She touched a hand to her middle. “I fear it is the babe that makes my words confused.”

His brow lifted, and she could see his scrutiny in every line of his face. “The babe?” he said at last, as though the idea were impossible.

She nodded. “It is only a few months along. I feel certain this one is a boy.” They had lost several boys already, so to say it this soon seemed almost rash, but she must turn his attention back to her purposes.

“A boy.” His tone held a hint of hope. Would a son keep his attention on her instead of the slave girls?

“Shall we sit in the shade over there, my lord, and share the food I’ve brought?” She pointed to a copse of trees farther up the hill, one she knew overlooked the well-watered Jordan Valley.

He nodded, taking her arm, and gently guided her to sit among the soft grasses. The view was breathtaking, but it was the cities beyond the plain that shone like gold among the green, its many temples shimmering brighter than the sun.

“Do you ever miss Ur or Harran, my lord?” She lifted the basket’s lid and handed him a thick slice of soft goat cheese and a fat loaf of raised bread.

He took the items from her hand and bit off a hunk of the cheese. “No.” He looked from her to the view spread out before them. “The quiet of the hills is so peaceful.” A wistful tone accompanied his words, and Melah worried that he might be harder to convince than she had first thought. She must tread carefully.

“Sometimes I would like to live close enough to visit the larger cities now and then.” She swept a hand in Gomorrah’s direction. “It sparkles like a jewel, and I can just imagine how exciting the place must be. I want to take our daughters there, to give them a taste for culture and art, to learn the ways of wealthy women, sophistication, and grace—something they will never learn living in tents.” She nearly added “or tending sheep” but thought better of it. She gauged his mood as he bit into the bread and washed it down with the flask of water at his belt. “I am not suggesting we live in Sodom or Gomorrah, only that perhaps we could live closer on this beautiful plain, so that the girls and I could visit now and then.” She smiled and touched his arm. “Perhaps I ask too much?”

He rubbed a hand over his beard. Looked out toward the valley. She hid a smile, knowing by his hesitation that she had triumphed.

“No,” he said, making her heart skip a beat. She hadn’t misread him. Had she? “You do not ask too much.” He turned to her then, his dark eyes assessing, his smile almost unnerving. “You have not voiced anything more than I have already thought. But you forget my uncle’s flocks and herds outnumber my own, and he is the patriarch of this group. Though we live in separate camps now, I must abide by his decisions.” He touched her hands, grasping her fingers. “Be patient, my love. You already have wealth beyond anything we knew in Ur or Harran. What more could you want?”

What more did she want? She did not know, and his question brought back the restlessness she could never quite seem to shake. “I don’t know. I only know I want more.”

He looked at her, clearly puzzled, then released his grip and shrugged. “Be patient, Melah. Adonai has already blessed us with great abundance.” His expression softened as he looked at her, and she hated the hint of pity in his eyes. “Perhaps when the babe comes, you will find peace.”

He stood then, and she knew she had lost what she had hoped to gain. What did he know of peace?

“Thank you for the food,” he said, then turned and headed back toward the sheep where the girls played.

She made no reply, her emotions swirling with a host of confusing thoughts. After tucking the remnants of the cheese and bread into the basket, she rose, dusted off the crumbs, and looked once more toward the cities of the plain. Somehow she must convince Lot to visit. Even once would be enough for her to show him how much better and cultured city life could be. There she could freely worship Ningal and push aside the nagging fear of Abram’s God. Then she would know peace.

Lot savored the fermented juice, then replaced the cap on the flask and let it hang from his belt. His tension eased only slightly as he took in the view of the lush Jordan Valley. Melah’s comments of a few weeks before had taken root, and he could not shake the desire to move away from his uncle completely and live among the plains.

He ran a hand over his face, turning at the crunch of stones. “Thank you for coming, Uncle.” He greeted Abram with a kiss to each cheek. He waved a hand toward the valley below. “Is it not beautiful?”

“Yes, Nephew, it is.” He touched Lot’s shoulder. “But beauty is not always a sign of good. The people of the plains—I have heard rumors.”

Lot turned to face Abram. “Rumors mean nothing unless they are true. I have heard there is much good in the cities—culture, art, music, and much more.” He ran a hand over his beard, choosing his words. “I am thinking of taking Melah for a visit.”

Abram gave him a curious look as he glanced toward the plains once more. “Is Melah asking for such a thing?” He moved to the tree line and settled among the lush grass. The sun hung low in the west, the colors behind them casting an orange glow over the shaded cliff.

“She has mentioned it once or twice.” Though in truth, it was the memory of her words and the silent pleading looks he had endured ever since that made the desire become his own. “But I agree with her.” He settled beside his uncle, fingering the flask but ignoring the desire for more.

“If you have already decided, my son, then why did you call me here? You are not asking my advice, and you do not need my permission.” Abram’s expression held concern, his dark gaze unwavering.

Lot looked away, heat filling his face, whether from shame or anger he could not tell. “I thought . . . that is, you are the head of our households. I thought you should know.” He lifted his chin in a show of confidence he did not feel and met his uncle’s gaze. “You have no objection then?”

Abram stroked his beard, looking toward the darkening valley. “I do not think it wise. I think you will open yourself up to temptation you do not need and danger you need not fear. Has Egypt taught you nothing?”

The reprimand felt like a slap to the face, and Lot squirmed, pressing both hands to his knees. “Egypt made me wealthy. Egypt taught me that Adonai is indeed powerful. But Sodom is not Egypt. They do not steal men’s wives, especially pregnant ones.” He cringed at his petulant tone, hating the shadow he had caused to pass through Abram’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Uncle. I didn’t mean—”

Abram held up a hand. “Nothing to be sorry for, my son. I only hope you fear the right things.” He stood then, leaning heavily on his walking stick. The years since Egypt had aged him, and Lot wondered at the foolishness of clinging to promises at Abram’s age. Melah was right. Sarai should do more to give Abram a son.

“Perhaps it is time you took a maid as a second wife.”

“What?” Abram’s expression moved from concern to shock.

“I’m sorry, Uncle. I spoke without thinking.” Had he sipped so often from the flask that it made his tongue loose?

“Yes, you did. Such things are not your concern.” Abram moved away from the trees. The sun’s fading glow illumined the sky as he turned in the direction of his tents.

Lot chewed his lower lip, kicking himself. He hurried after Abram. “I did not mean to offend. We come from different places, you and I. We just see things differently.”

Abram did not pause in his trek down the hill, and Lot hurried to keep his uncle’s pace. At the base of the hill, Abram stopped at last and turned to face him. “I do not know what is in your mind, my son, or why you can’t seem to decide whether you want to ask my advice or give me your own. Perhaps in the future it would be best if you make your own decisions and leave mine to me.” The slightest irritation flickered in his eyes, though his tone was controlled.

Lot studied the man for the briefest moment, a sense of sorrow filling him. There was a time when they had both tended smaller flocks back in Ur that they had talked of women and work and faith. He’d accepted Abram’s counsel, even his rebukes, back when he had rashly taken Melah before they’d said their vows. But the man who stood before him now was not the man he was back then. Egypt had shown his uncle’s weakness, and Lot suddenly realized that he no longer held his uncle in such high regard.

“You are right, Uncle. It is time I made my own choices.” He lifted his chin, his confidence soaring. He would do what he wanted from now on. He bid Abram a brief nod of farewell, then proudly strode home.

Abram sat beneath the shade of his tent’s awning, in desperate need of an afternoon’s rest. Leaves in the great oaks above him whispered secrets from one to the next, and he closed his eyes, letting his body’s tension slowly subside. The conversation with Lot the week before still troubled him, but bigger problems—bickering and arguing—had arisen between Lot’s household and herdsmen and his, enhancing his sense of loss.

He drew in a breath, scents of smoke and roast lamb coming to him across the compound. The high-pitched chatter of women at the grindstones drifted over the short distance, and the laughter of playing children sent a pang of longing through him. He closed his eyes, listening to their young voices first calling to and then chasing after each other. If only one of the children belonged to him.

How long, Adonai Elohim? The waiting grew harder with each passing year. How easy it had been to believe the promise during his seventy-third summer when they set out from Ur. But eleven years had passed since then, and Sarai’s age, though barely showing outwardly, had surely not helped their plight. How long before the way of women left her entirely, making the promised child truly impossible?

His gaze traveled to Sarai’s tent at the thought, his eyes seeking a glimpse of the woman he had loved for so long. He’d been content in her love and in his roles as husband and brother and son. Adonai’s call had changed all of that, making him long for more, making the promises given to him a thinly veiled hope.

When?

The question went unanswered.

He closed his eyes again, trying to blot out the sounds around him, but what seemed only a few moments later, male voices caused him to look up. He lifted a hand to shade the glare of the sun, spotting Eliezer and two of his chief herdsmen approaching. He reached for his staff and felt the stiffness in his bones as he stood. Gripping the staff for added support, he stretched his back, then moved to greet his men.

“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.

18