Sarai

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Abram glanced behind him, then looked at her again. “Let’s take a walk.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him they still had much to do and didn’t have time for a frivolous visit that could wait until they shared their bed that night, but she silenced the thought. She could read his expressions like a scroll, and his look told her to do as he’d asked. “Yes, my lord.”

  He released her hand and turned, leading them through the house, past the servants working in the courtyard, across the sun-drenched grasses to the shade of a spreading terebinth tree—the place he often came to in the afternoons when he took his rest. She waited until he had settled himself into a comfortable position on the ground, then knelt near him.

  “What troubles you, my lord? How may I help?” She clasped her hands in her lap and studied his dear face.

  He looked at her, his gaze tender. “There are rumors.”

  He paused, and she had to bite her lip to keep from trying to hurry him along. “What rumors, my lord?”

  He shook his head as though his thoughts had been elsewhere and finally came back around to focus on her again. “I’m sorry, my love. I am distracted by many things. I should not have dragged you away from your work, but Eliezer has just told me something . . . It concerns me, concerns you.” He paused again and reached for her hand. “I want you to promise me something.”

  “Anything, my lord.” Fear coiled inside of her at the look in his eyes.

  “Eliezer lost his wife to the king of Nineveh. He took her with him on a visit there and nearly lost his life when the king’s guards saw his wife’s beauty and snatched her from him.” His gaze grew intense, and Sarai’s fear grew with it. “I know you are a beautiful woman, fairer than any woman in Ur and beyond, and I fear that as we travel, we could suffer the same fate.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “What will we do? We must obey the Lord and leave this place. But how will we keep this from happening to us?” Her stomach plummeted at the thought of being snatched from him. He had always been her protector, her keeper. Even as a child, he had shown an older-brother protectiveness of her. Who would watch out for her if he were killed along the way? But surely not. Surely his God would be their rear guard.

  But the look in Abram’s eyes told her even he didn’t believe the matter would concern Adonai. They must take action themselves.

  “I’ve given this much thought, Sarai, and I see only one solution.” He squeezed her fingers, and she drew support from his strength. “This is your kindness that you should do for me: in every place, wherever we go, say of me, ‘He is my brother,’ that it may go well with me, that my life might be spared.”

  His words were barbs, wounding her, but as she read the fear in his gaze, she knew she could deny him nothing. Yet what would such a thing mean? She glanced down at their intertwined hands. If she must go back to the time when he truly was only her brother, they would not be free to share the intimacies they did now. Memories of those long-ago days when she’d tried so hard to get him to notice her, when she’d pined after him, despairing that he would ever consider taking her to be his wife—would they be forced to return to such an arrangement whenever they joined another caravan or visited a town or a foreign land? How could she bear it?

  His fingers touched her chin, gently coaxing her to look into his face once more. “I need your word, Sarai. I wouldn’t ask such a thing . . .” He glanced away. “It will mean, of course, that at times you cannot share my bed . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “How will I ever bear the promised child then, my lord? And what if he grows even now in my womb? I would be a woman scorned worse than I am now, to bear a child without a husband. How can you ask this of me?” Tears thickened her throat. But she knew by the disbelief in his eyes that he did not think her womb had quickened and did not worry that such a thing would confront them. Was he worried only for his own life then? What of hers? What if she was taken as Eliezer’s wife had been? A shudder passed through her.

  “You won’t be taken. If the promised child grows within you, I will protect you as any brother would. As I did before we married.”

  “You barely noticed me then.” Bitterness tinged her tone.

  “I saw everything about you, dearest Sarai. Since the time of your maturity, I’ve loved you.” He pulled her toward him until her head rested on his shoulder and she was encased in his arms. “It will only be for those times when we enter a large city where a king resides, where the danger would be the greatest. As your brother, my life would not be in danger, and I would be in a better position to protect you.”

  His words sounded so convincing, but how would he truly stop a king’s men should they come for her? And how long would she be forced to sleep alone during such an arrangement? She wasn’t getting any younger. If she didn’t conceive Adonai’s promised one soon, she might lose her chance. She shivered against Abram’s chest.

  His hand trailed along her arm, then drew circles along her back. “Please do me this kindness, beloved. Do not make me beg you.”

  She almost laughed at the thought of her strong husband begging her for anything. She pulled back to look at him again, seeing the hint of defeat in his eyes. If she pouted or pushed him, she could get him to change his mind, to put away this ridiculous plan. But she couldn’t bear to disappoint him, despite the sacrifice to their marriage.

  “I will do this,” she whispered, hating her beauty that put her at such risk, hating the need that spurred him to ask, hating the wickedness of foreign kings who would kill a man for his wife. “But I will not like it.” She frowned, making sure he noted her displeasure.

  He cupped her face with his hand and smiled. “Thank you, dear one. I will not like it any more than you will. But whether you think so or not, you have just given me back my life.” He kissed her then, as though he didn’t care who could see. Heat poured into her face at the sound of voices coming closer, but he did not pull back or shorten his kiss. When he released her, leaving both of them breathless, she smoothed her robe and glanced quickly behind her. Lot strode toward them, leading a group of men, obviously seeking Abram to speak with him.

  “I should go, my lord.” She touched her mouth with the back of her hand, her lips still trembling from his ardent kiss. Would she feel such a kiss on their journey, or would every day be fraught with danger too great, relegating her back to the role of sister instead of wife?

  Abram stood and helped her to her feet, then left her to meet his nephew. Sarai hurried in the opposite direction, away from the scrutiny of the other men, away from her own traitorous thoughts. Lot would have no such need to ask Melah to lie about their relationship. Melah lacked the beauty that men would want and Lot would fear. Besides, Melah had one child and carried another—if, God willing, it lived. Another reason why Lot would not worry that men would take her.

  On the other hand, Sarai not only had no child, but apparently, for at least part of their journey into the future, she would have no husband as well.

  4

  Sarai rose from the hard ground, her back aching and her limbs stiff and sore. The dark interior of the goat’s-hair tent let in little light, but the sounds of the stirring camp and the scent of flat bread baking told her it was time to rise and would soon be time to move on again. It had been only two weeks since they left their comfortable home in Ur, yet it felt as though they had been traveling forever.

  She stretched her arms overhead, surprised at the creak in her bones. She could not continue this ridiculous arrangement. At the very least, she must speak to Abram and insist upon a mat of feathers, not this prickly straw she’d been forced to lie upon. How to transport such a thing would be up to the servants to figure out. She simply could not sleep on the ground one more night!

  Voices grew louder outside the tent. Had she slept so long that the whole camp was already working without her? Feeling her way along the tent’s wall, she found the tunic and robe she had worn yesterday and the day before, and too many days to
count before that. The faded red and gold made her look like a peasant and had grown impossibly dust coated. Once they reached Harran, she would wash every dusty thing in her pack and not be so quick to change to fresh clothing. And she must insist Abram not push them so hard. Father was already showing signs of fatigue, and the servants had no time to rest or bathe in the Euphrates. What she wouldn’t give to feel clean again!

  She lifted the tent flap and stepped into the bright morning sunlight, squinting.

  “The meal is ready to break your fast, mistress. The master is asking for you.” Her maid, Lila, offered her a flask of water, then fell into step a pace behind her.

  “Why did you not wake me sooner then?” Irritation tinged her voice, and Sarai checked herself as she walked toward the circle of men. She would never get her way if she did not sweeten her requests with a pleasing tone.

  “I’m sorry, mistress. The master said to let you sleep.” Lila stepped to the side while Sarai walked with practiced grace toward the central fire, straightening her back.

  She tested a smile, sensing it more listless than eager to please, and finally settled for a mixed half smile that would convey to Abram her pleasure at seeing him and her displeasure at her circumstances.

  She spotted female servants pouring batter onto the surface of a camp oven to bake the quick flat bread, a poor substitute for the soft, yeasty, sweet dough she was so well-known for in Ur. She was weary of flat bread and stews and goat cheese. Sheep cheese had a better flavor, but their supply had been minimal from the start, making her parcel it out most carefully. How much longer would it take to get to the land Adonai wanted them to reach?

  Her smile widened just slightly at Abram’s approach. “My lord.” She gave a short bow, accepting the stone seat he offered her near the fire.

  Abram took her hand and kissed her cheek. “You look well today,” he said, giving her that charming smile she could never resist. He had a way of disarming her, distracting her from things that troubled her until she looked back on the matter and realized he had won the little game they played with hardly a contest. She must not let it happen this time. She could not keep up this pace.

  “If I look well, it is an illusion, my lord.” She kept her tone light and lowered her head, her expression reserved. “I cannot sleep another night on such hard ground. Send the servants to find feathers to fill between sheets of fine linen or shear one of the sheep and fill the linen cover with its wool. And make them pad it thick. I don’t want to feel a single clod of dirt or stone beneath me.”

  He squeezed her hand, bringing it to his lips. “Such a thing would be a burden, dear one. Wait until we reach Harran. Then you can have your bed of fine feathers and we will rest for a short time.” He released her hand as though the matter was settled.

  “I cannot wait that long. I could barely walk this morning.” It was an exaggeration of the aches she’d felt, but he didn’t need to know it. She accepted a plate of flat bread and cheese from Lila’s hand and nibbled the cheese, scrunching her nose at the sharp taste as she watched him. A hint of annoyance crossed his brow, causing her the slightest prickle of anxiety. She hadn’t meant to anger him, but still . . .

  He looked as though he were about to speak, but then appeared to discard his frustration, surprising her. He stroked the edges of his beard. “I will see what can be done to make your bed more comfortable.”

  She searched his face for some sign of weakening. He didn’t usually give in so easily. “My bed would be just fine if my husband shared it.” She was baiting him and she knew it, but she didn’t care.

  When his expression changed again to frustration, she wondered at her own good sense. But she wanted more than a bed of soft feathers. She wanted her husband to give her a child, and he couldn’t do that when they were living apart. Let him be angry then, if it got him to change their traveling arrangements.

  She lifted her face in challenge, meeting his scowl, but a moment later he gentled his look and cupped her cheek with one hand. “I miss having you at my side as well, Sarai. You know this.”

  She swallowed a bitter retort. He was making this harder than it should be. “If you miss me, then why do you avoid my bed?” She leaned in closer, her voice a mere whisper, embarrassed that she should even have to ask such a thing.

  “You know why, Sarai.”

  “There are no kings about, no foreign spies. What other reason is there?” His actions of late had confused her so. Killing their pet lambs to appease his God and taking off on this journey to who knew where because of a voice he said he heard? It made no sense, and she struggled to understand.

  “The journey is taxing, Sarai. I have little desire by day’s end but to sleep.”

  His admission stung in its stark reminder that her husband was no longer the passionate man of his youth. While he still possessed the vigor of men much younger than he, his stamina faded sooner than it used to. And where desire had once shown strong, it now carried the fading sense of age. How could he possibly believe Adonai would give them a son when his body was nearly too old to father one? Though at seventy-three, surely it was still possible.

  “Then we need to stop. If you are worn out, what of Father? Have you not noticed his fatigue? He is frail, my lord, yet you have pushed us to the limit every day without even a moment to wash in the river, until I can no longer bear the odor of my own flesh!”

  Abram’s hand on her arm told her she had spoken too loudly and said too much. She should have waited until they were alone in his tent to vent her feelings. Here the servants paused to listen, and no doubt gossip would spread among them until Melah heard a disjointed version of the truth. She didn’t need Melah’s meddling and had no desire to explain herself to her niece.

  “I am sorry this has been so hard on you, dear one.” Abram’s voice drew her attention to his dark eyes, his uncertainty evident. He seemed at a loss for words. His chest lifted in a sigh, and he reached to put one arm around her, pulling her close. She leaned into him, feeling his strength, and suddenly wished she had kept her discontent to herself, wanting to comfort him.

  “I will go with you, my lord, but please don’t stay so distant even if you are too weary for love. I can’t bear it.”

  He squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “I will do my best.”

  Eliezer approached the fire. “Excuse me, my lord, but we are ready to move when you are.” Abram released her and stood, leaving her side without another word. The loss pained her. Somewhere along the way, Abram had changed the rules of their relationship. Where once he had been playful, now he was nearly always serious, unresponsive to her banter. How was she supposed to treat him? She’d gotten her way by plying her charms, and he had won his way by confusing her efforts. The game was a trifle immature, but he had indulged her. Now he gave in without a fight, as though peace was worth any price.

  What was wrong with him?

  She snatched what was left of the flat bread from the plate and handed the empty dish to Lila to pack in the leather satchel. She had her own work to oversee. Call of God or not, she must get Abram to rethink what he was doing. Perhaps Harran would provide some answers and grant relief from her husband’s confusing choices.

  Red clay walls and gates ringed the city of Harran but did not block the taller cone-shaped and round-roofed buildings housed within. Abram stood at the head of their company, speaking to the sentries that were posted as guards. What was taking so long?

  A braying donkey sounded behind her. Sarai turned at the sense of movement and maneuvered her animal to the side to allow Melah to sidle up beside her.

  “I cannot wait to get inside, to find a room, and to make a trip to the river. The grime and dust are so thick I can no longer see the color of my skin.” Melah made a futile attempt to brush some of the dust from her arm.

  Sarai gave her niece a sidelong glance. “In this I will agree with you. I am glad we are stopping here to rest for a while.” She had done her best to keep her complai
nts from Melah, which would only fuel the woman’s critical spirit, but her own body ached from too many nights on hard ground and too many days riding on the back of an animal.

  Melah drew closer, their donkeys almost touching. “Lot and I have been talking.” She paused, and Sarai turned to meet her gaze. “I think we should stay here.” Melah motioned toward the city, where Sarai glimpsed Abram still in deep conversation with one of the men at the gate. “And I don’t mean only Lot and myself.” She pulled closer still, too close, and Sarai dug her heels into the donkey’s side to move it forward a few steps.

  “I think you should convince Abram to stay too, Sarai. Your father’s health isn’t good. The journey has aged him, and I think Abram would do well to settle here. At least for a time. You have Abram’s ear. He will listen if you insist on it.”

  Sarai glimpsed her father’s cart up ahead, where a handful of servants propped cushions and covered him with another blanket, trying to keep him comfortable.

  “You are just as discontented as the rest of us. Admit it.” Melah’s tone held uncharacteristic empathy, as though for once she really did care about someone other than herself.

  Sarai craned her neck to see behind her, where Melah’s donkey had stopped a pace back, waiting with the rest of them to move into the city. She weighed the wisdom of trusting her niece with her true thoughts. A soft sigh lifted her chest. She was discontented, but her reasons were far more than the discomforts of the journey. She looked forward again, and Melah edged in beside her.

  “God has called Abram to follow Him to Canaan, not Harran. Discontented or not, I have promised to do the same.” The direction they were to go had come to Abram after they set out, and she had no reason to doubt him. The caravan finally moved, slowly crossing past the guards toward the gates. “But,” she said, glancing once more at her niece, “I will speak to Abram. Perhaps a short stay will not be a problem.”