She closed her eyes, enjoying the pampering, drinking in the scents of the fire and the flat bread baking on it. The only thing she missed was Kammani settled asleep in her arms.
A sigh worked through her as male voices came closer, and she looked up to see Abram deep in conversation with Eliezer. They paused at the sight of her. Abram sat on the raised stone beside her while Eliezer excused himself.
“How did you fare on your first camel ride?” His smile held a mixture of concern and amusement while he took in her maids’ fawning over her as if she were a queen.
Lila’s fingers stilled, and she bent close to Sarai’s ear. “I will bring you some wine and bread.” She slipped away before Sarai could answer, the servant at her feet following suit.
“You have scared them away,” Sarai said, offering him a mock pout. “But I will forgive you for it just the same.” She smiled then, leaning into him as his arm came around her. “The ride was not one I will soon forget. Perhaps I will walk part of the way tomorrow.”
“The distance is long. But if you wish to walk part of the way, I will not stop you.” His gaze traveled beyond them to the opposite side of the fire, where Lot and Melah and Kammani broke bread. “You would have more time to talk with our niece or listen to the gossip of the servants. But whatever you like.”
She turned to him, playfully smacking his arm. “You make sport of me, husband.” She lowered her voice. “In truth, I think Melah is lonely. Lot does not treat her as well as you treat me.”
A scowl formed along his brow. “He is not harsh with her, is he? I will not tolerate a violent man among us.”
She shook her head. “No, no. But he does not seem to care when she is sick. I wonder if he resents the child.”
“I think he resents the wife more than the child, dear one.” Abram leaned close and kissed her nose. “I will talk with him.” His boyish smile caused her heart to skip a beat. His dark eyes flickered in the firelight, their meaning clear. She would not sleep alone tonight.
Lila returned with two clay mugs of spiced wine, a loaf of flat bread, and a bowl of lentil stew. Abram took the mugs from her hand and gave one to Sarai, while Lila placed the bread and bowl on a rock before them and retreated.
They ate in silence for a moment, the buzz of voices mingling with the lone melody of a reed flute. Sarai sipped her wine and glanced in the direction of the sound to find Eliezer sitting on a rock almost out of the circle of light from the fire, playing the flute.
“Eliezer is a man of many talents, is he not, my lord?” Sarai watched Abram closely as she ripped a piece of bread from the loaf, dipped it into the stew, and handed it to him. “A man whose father must be proud of him, if he had such a father.”
Abram took the offering from her hand and tossed it into his mouth, his gaze thoughtful. “Eliezer has no family. His parents died soon after he married, and I already told you what happened to his wife.”
“It is hard to forget such a thing,” she said, forcing her tone to remain even despite the bitterness the thought evoked. If not for Eliezer’s hardship, they would never have known the evil of foreign kings. Perhaps ignorance of the matter would have been better, but she could never say so. “It is too bad Eliezer has no family. Perhaps we should seek a wife for him.” She held the flat bread to her lips and nibbled slowly, her expression neutral as his gaze met hers.
“Eliezer is old enough to take a wife for himself, Sarai. He does not need a father’s permission.” Abram’s mouth held a grim line, but his eyes belied a hint of amusement. “Are you suggesting someone in particular, or do you just enjoy the women’s game of matchmaking?”
She turned her head, pretending offense. “How can you say such a thing? I do not engage in such foolishness.” Though if she’d had a handful of sons by now, she would have gladly helped choose their brides-to-be. But she hid that thought, smiling into his eyes. “I simply thought how much Eliezer looks up to you, how much like a father you must seem to him, and thought you might help him get over his loss by finding another wife for him.”
Abram glanced toward Eliezer, and she noticed his shoulders visibly relax at the gentle tune coming from his simple instrument. “If I were his father, I would do just that, dear one. But a master and a father are not the same. I can suggest, if that would please you, but nothing else.”
“Perhaps you should change his status and yours.” The whispered words seemed to echo between them.
He turned in his seat, one hand loosely gripping the mug, the other resting on her knee. “What are you suggesting, Sarai?”
“Isn’t it obvious, my lord? If something should happen to us along the way, Lot would inherit all you own. But would he care for the servants or the flocks as you do? Would he care where we were buried or say the blessing over us? I would not wish to see him made wealthy on your account.” It was no secret between them what she thought of Lot’s weaknesses or Melah’s complaints.
Abram ripped another piece of bread from the loaf and looked away, his mind obviously working as he popped it into his mouth and chewed. She sipped the spiced wine again, warmth spreading through her, relaxing the tight muscles and easing the aches from riding all day. There was nothing more to be done now but wait as he pondered what she had said.
He finished his meal, downed the last of the wine, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Standing, he offered her his hand. “Come, wife.”
She smiled at the twinkle in his eye, knowing their conversation about Eliezer was at an end. Their conversation of a different sort was just beginning.
8
The skies changed little and the days ran into each other, a blur of monotony from dawn until dusk. After a month of riding the camel, breaking at noon, then riding some more until the sun left little light by which to set up the tents, Sarai had almost become used to the routine. But the day finally came when they passed through to the land of Canaan, past the town of Shechem, and moved on to the large oak tree of Moreh, where Abram stopped the caravan and gave the command to pitch his tents.
Servants moved in a familiar pattern, unloading donkeys and camels and pulling tents and cooking utensils from wooden carts. Women guided children in small tasks and set about preparations for the evening meal. Sarai moved to join them when she caught sight of Abram and Eliezer talking a stone’s throw from where the servants were setting up Abram’s tent.
The sight was nothing unusual. Abram often consulted with his chief steward, but when Eliezer dropped to his knees and kissed the hem of Abram’s robes, Sarai’s curiosity propelled her to move closer. Abram extended a hand to Eliezer and helped him to stand again.
“Once the tent is set up and everything is unpacked, I will draw up the contract and place my seal over it. Until Adonai sees fit to give me a son of my own body, you will be my heir.” His arm drew an arc pointing toward the people and herds that spread out before them as far as they could see. “Adonai has promised to give me descendants, and I do not doubt His promise.” Sarai moved closer, and when Abram saw her, he beckoned her with his arm. “I do not doubt that Adonai will do all He has said. But I also do not know when that will be. It is wise in the eyes of the law to have an heir.” Abram looked at Eliezer, and Sarai breathed a sigh of relief at the man’s nod of agreement.
“I will be honored to be your heir, my lord. And I will be pleased to be second to any son you might have as well. I will do all in my power to protect what is yours, and if you should die, I will make sure you find a safe resting place. May Adonai bless you, and may His face be turned toward you, to bring His promises to pass.”
“Thank you, Eliezer.” Abram pulled the man to him and kissed each cheek, patting him on the back as he did so. “Come to my tent this evening. I will have witnesses there and give you the adoption seal.”
Eliezer bowed low, then stood. “It will be as you have said.”
Abram dismissed him then, and Sarai watched the man’s lithe gait as he moved among the busy servants, checking their progres
s as he went.
“Did I do the right thing?” Abram slipped his arm around her but kept his gaze straight ahead, his voice so low she knew only she had heard. “It’s not that I don’t believe the promises. Adonai said He would bless us.” He turned to face her then. “I know He will, Sarai. We cannot doubt.”
“Of course He will.” She patted his arm, hoping her smile reassured him. “But it is not wrong, as you said, to do the wise thing. We don’t want Lot and Melah taking control of what is ours. It’s not that I don’t care for our nephew, it’s just . . .”
“I know. I feel as you do.” Abram stroked his beard. His look grew thoughtful. “When Adonai gives us the promised child, there will be no need to worry about such things. But you are right. Eliezer is a better choice than our nephew. I was probably wrong to allow them to come with us in the first place.”
Sarai offered him a smile and slipped her arm in his. “You made the right decision, my lord.” She leaned closer and kissed his bearded face. “I will see to supper.” She moved away from him to oversee the work of her maids.
Later that night Sarai watched Abram unclasp the lapis lazuli cone-shaped seal from his wrist and press it into the clay adoption tablet. Most adoptions were handled with verbal agreements, but she knew Abram would take no chances that Lot would try to usurp Eliezer’s place.
Eliezer took the sealed document from Abram, slipped it inside a leather pouch, and tied its leather straps about his neck. “When Adonai keeps His promise to give you a son,” he said, his gaze fixed on Abram, “we shall together break this clay. I will gladly remain your trusted servant.”
Tears filled her eyes at Eliezer’s words. Words that were as valid as the sealed clay he now owned. They had made a wise choice, perhaps wiser than they knew.
The familiar female discomfort and cramping came upon her suddenly, and she hurried from Abram’s tent to her own. There would be no sleeping at Abram’s side this night, just as there would be no promised son anytime soon. Another month lost. One more proof of her barrenness. Were Abram’s hopes pinned on false promises? Had he truly heard Adonai say such things? Where was the sign of the child’s promised coming?
She lay down on her reed mat and accepted from Lila’s hand the herbed tea that would ease her discomfort. She tried desperately to console herself knowing that at least Abram now had an heir, albeit an adopted one. When her week of uncleanness passed, she would ask him if the adoption released her from her vow. Perhaps he would be kinder than her father had been and give her this grace. If he would not, she didn’t know what she would do.
Abram rose early the next morning, a sense of disquiet settling over him. He was glad to have given Eliezer the seal of adoption. The younger man had become like a son to him during their stay in Harran, and Abram was relieved to know he had someone to care for him and Sarai during the forthcoming years. But what of the child, the descendants promised to him? Did Adonai still intend to keep those promises? And what of the land where they had now pitched their tents? Canaanites, some as tall as small trees, roamed the cities they’d passed through. Some had been inviting and friendly enough, but others wore looks of malevolence, and the gossip Eliezer had heard in the camp had Abram’s trained men on alert. How long would he be able to keep Sarai safe?
The camp had yet to stir, wisps of sunlight brightening the sky. His sandals touched the dew-drenched earth as he strode from his tent up the rise to the hill where the oak of Moreh stood proudly, its branches like great arms stretching high above him. He came to a stop at the tree, his gaze taking in the plain beyond. A lone figure strode toward him as big as the giants of the land, his bearing straight and sure, his clothes golden and white, nearly blinding. When he drew near, his gaze pierced Abram’s soul.
The rush of fear cut deep, and Abram’s knees suddenly felt aged, too weak to hold him upright. His thoughts unfurled, his questions, his every doubt exposed. He sank to the earth, put his face to the ground.
My Lord and my God! The unspoken words filled the air between them, musical and glorious, unlike any Abram had ever spoken or thought before. His blood pumped hard and his breath came fast. How is it that my Lord honors me with His presence? Surely he would die for having seen God.
“To your offspring I will give this land.” The voice, both powerful and soothing, filled him with peace.
Strength returned to him, and he felt the man’s hand grasp his, pulling him to stand. The man’s eyes drew him, and he saw in a moment’s gaze such perfect love that he wondered if he had stopped breathing altogether. Warmth enveloped him, and joy so deep he could not help the smile or the laughter that followed. The man smiled in return, and Abram felt as though he never wanted to leave this person or this place.
But a moment later, the man disappeared from his view, his words lingering on the quiet morning air. To your offspring I will give this land.
Not to Eliezer. To Abram’s offspring. Children that would issue from his own body. Sarai’s own son.
Thoughts of Sarai reminded him of her quick retreat the night before, and he knew in the look that had passed between them that her time had come upon her again. Another week would pass before he could go to her to comfort her, to remind her of the promise.
In the meantime, he must build an altar to Adonai, to offer a sacrifice of praise to His name.
Sarai measured cumin, fennel, and coriander seeds and dumped them into a wide, three-pronged pot set over the embers of the dying fire. With a long-handled utensil, she moved them back and forth lest they burn, while a short distance away another pot of water sat over a fire, waiting to boil. She drew out some raw mustard from a pouch at her waist, then pulled a few cucumbers out of the basket near her feet. The smoke from Abram’s sacrifice still lingered on the breeze, but the meat would be in her hands soon enough to add to the broth.
She hummed a soft tune as she stirred the seeds, saw that they were done, and lifted the pot from the ashes to cool. She stretched to loosen the crick in her back, then grabbed a sharp flint knife to cut long, thin slices of cucumber.
“Do you need help with that, Sarai?”
She hadn’t heard Melah approach, and she started, causing the knife to slip. She nicked her finger and quickly put it in her mouth. “You can prepare the bread if you like.” She checked her finger, saw that the nick was small and not bleeding, then resumed slicing. Melah went to the bags of grain and scooped wheat kernels into a stone bowl. She picked up a pestle and worked the grain.
“I wonder how long we’ll stay this time. Lot is ready to settle here if Abram agrees.” Melah looked toward the distant hills. “It is beautiful here.”
Sarai lifted her gaze to the lush hills, the sun glinting off the grasses, making them shine like burnished gold. “It’s breathtaking.” They had lived near the terebinth of Moreh for nearly a year when Abram declared they must move on again. Now, here in the hills between Bethel and Ai, she felt at peace.
“I have no idea how long we will stay here.” Longing filled her to put down roots and have the promised child. She glanced at Melah, then moved closer to the boiling water and tossed in the raw mustard, stirring once.
The sound of stone against grain filled the silence between them. Servants’ voices drew closer as more women came to help with meal preparations, and children awoke from naps, then ran off to play in the nearby grasses where their mothers could keep watch over them.
Melah finished the grinding and stood as she lifted the grains through a sieve to let the chaff blow away. She stepped closer to Sarai, nearly touching her arm. “Now that we are here, and assuming we stay for a while, it might do you good to offer prayers and a sacrifice.” She paused, glanced before and behind, then leaned closer still. “If you want proof the goddess can help you, just look at Kammani and Ku-aya—two healthy daughters.” Her chin lifted. “The images are in my tent. If you change your mind—”
“I’m not going to change my mind.” Sarai took a step back, scowling, even as her heart gave a twinge,
betraying the truth. If only it were that easy. But an image could not bring about a child. Though Abram’s God had not brought one either in the three years since the promise. How long were they supposed to wait?
“I’m just saying, if you do . . . well, I won’t hold it against you for ignoring me all these years.” Melah gave her a pointed look, yet despite the suggestion, her gaze held kindness. “You know I only want your best. You do know that, don’t you, Sarai?”
Sarai turned back to the roasted seeds and stirred them, then moved to the pot with the boiling water and lifted the lid, watching the steam rise upward. Male voices drew near, and Sarai breathed a relieved sigh as she turned to see Abram and Eliezer bringing a portion of the sacrificed lamb.
“Ready for the meat?” Abram smiled down at her as he and Eliezer lowered the thick slab of lamb’s breast and thighs. “Do you want help cutting it up?”
She straightened while Eliezer positioned the lamb’s meat on a flat stone and took a sharp knife to chop it from the bone.
“Thank you, my lord, but the servants can tend to this.” She smiled into Abram’s appreciative eyes.
“You put such preparation into the meals. Thank you.” He gripped her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her forehead.
“It is nothing any wife wouldn’t do.”
He glanced beyond her to where Melah sat, then gave her a sly wink. “Not every wife,” he whispered in her ear.
She chuckled softly, knowing Lot had undoubtedly voiced his complaints long and loud about his wife when she was not within earshot. Had he also complained about the constant need to uproot and move on? Would Lot and Melah stay behind if Abram said it was time to go again? The thought almost pleased her, but Melah’s hinted offer made her pause. Should she take advantage of Melah’s gods while they were still together, while there was still time? Would it hurt to do so if Abram never knew?
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