Sarai

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “It is also within my right and power to give my husband a maid, to procure sons through her. The child would be mine, but the maid would give him birth.” Sarai cleared her throat and leveled a look at Hagar. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

  Hagar clasped her hands tighter until she could feel her nails dig into her palms. “I think so, my lady.” Was she suggesting Hagar bear Abram’s son? The thought chilled and warmed her, at once repulsive and enticing.

  “You are the maid I have chosen for this privilege. I am taking you from the status of slave to concubine of my master Abram. When you bear him a son, you will do so on my knees. I will raise the child as my own, giving Abram his son of promise.” A deep sigh lifted her chest, but no more words came from her lips.

  Hagar sat in stunned silence, staring at Sarai, her thoughts tumbling within her like chaff in a windstorm. She was to be married, but not married? Would Sarai truly share her husband so easily? Yet by the look on the woman’s face, Hagar could see her decision had not come to her lightly. Even now the pain of her words etched twin lines across her brow. Age had done little to mar Sarai’s beauty, but this decision had surely cost her.

  But thoughts of Sarai quickly dissipated as she let the woman’s words register in her heart. This night? Her pulse quickened, and a flutter of unease settled in her middle. She had never been with a man. But she could hardly tell that to Sarai, who sat looking at her now as though she expected some response.

  Hagar shifted among the cushions, longing to stand but afraid to move without permission. “I don’t know what to say, my lady. You do me great honor.” The words tasted like dust on her tongue. She had dreamed of marriage once, but never as a secondary wife or a concubine. Her dreams had been far grander back when she was Pharaoh’s daughter and dreams seemed possible.

  She looked at her feet, uncertainty warring within. Abram was an old man. What if she went to him and no son came about? Would she be put out of the house then? Would they banish her from Canaan, return her to Egypt? She would have nowhere to go if they did.

  But what if she did give Abram a son? Despite Sarai’s claims that the child would be hers, Hagar would never let her son forget who it was who had borne him. A seed of pride sprouted within her. She lifted her chin but masked her true thoughts.

  “I will do as you say, my lady. Only . . . I do not know what is required of me.” She swallowed her embarrassment, knowing the comment was only half true. She had heard the women as they drew water at the well or ground grain together. There were few secrets of what to expect when a man took a woman to his bed. Still, she didn’t know from experience.

  “Abram will make it clear enough. Now come. You will go to the river to bathe and dress in the robes I have chosen for you. Then Lila will take you to Abram’s tent.” Sarai stood, her back straight, her bearing stiff. She marched to the tent’s door and lifted the flap without waiting to see if Hagar followed.

  Hagar rose slowly, the impact of what had been said making her teeter on unsteady feet. She stood still, drawing in a breath, then another, until at last she could move without stumbling. She hurried after Sarai, heart pounding with anticipation and dread.

  26

  The sun dipped low into the west, taking Hagar’s courage with it. As the light fully faded, replaced by torches at the camp’s perimeter and a fire in the central pit, Lila slipped her arm through Hagar’s and guided her toward Abram’s tent.

  “It will be all right,” Lila whispered, patting Hagar’s arm in a gesture that was surely meant to reassure. “Abram is a kind man.”

  Was he? But of course that was true. Though he had never paid her any mind, Hagar had seen the way he acted with Sarai and Eliezer. But Abram loved Sarai and set great store by Eliezer. She was nothing more than a slave. Would he talk to her? A moment of panic came over her that she would have nothing to say to him. Did men care if a woman spoke or did they just do what was required and send them away?

  She stopped at the door, her heart skipping several beats. He sat beneath the awning of the tent. Was he waiting for her? He stood, stepping aside, and nodded once to Lila.

  Lila gave a quick bow, then ushered Hagar inside. Clay lamps illumined Abram’s sleeping quarters, where a thick wool mat topped with soft linen sheets took up most of the area. Near the pillows at the head sat a lidded chest, probably housing Abram’s extra robes and tunics or maybe even some of his gold, though Hagar did not know where Abram’s wealth was stored.

  Her gaze moved quickly from the ornately carved chest to focus on the rest of the room. Cushions for sitting lined one corner, and a small table sat nearby. The room was awash in rare blues and purples, a sign of Abram’s great wealth—and Sarai’s handiwork, no doubt.

  Another wave of fear washed over her. She was an intruder here, a woman who had no place in the private quarters of such a man. Her throat grew dry, and her feet would not cross the threshold into that part of the tent.

  “You must come, Hagar,” Lila whispered. “You must prepare to meet your husband.”

  Husband? The word seemed disconnected from the truth. Abram was Sarai’s husband, not hers. She didn’t belong here.

  “I can’t.” The words came out choked, and she looked at Lila, knowing the other woman could see the fear she could not hide. “The master . . . he is Sarai’s, not mine.”

  “And Sarai has given him to you to give her a son. You must do this.”

  Of course she must.

  “Perhaps if you leave us, Lila, I can be of some encouragement.” Abram’s voice from behind took her breath. She placed a hand to her middle to still the uneasiness and looked to Lila for support, begging her with a look not to leave.

  “Yes, my lord.” Lila glanced at Hagar, offering her a reassuring smile. “It will be all right,” she said again, then turned and hurried from the tent.

  Hagar stood still, unable to move, though Abram remained at her back. She felt him draw closer, the scent of rare spikenard wafting from his clothes. Had he bathed and perfumed himself just for her? She slowly turned but could not bring herself to meet his gaze.

  “Won’t you come and sit among the cushions, Hagar?” He motioned to the corner where the embroidered pillows made up a seating area.

  She reluctantly obeyed, sinking into them, suddenly wishing she had such plush comfort in her own tent. But of course, such things belonged to princes, not to slave girls.

  “Would you like some wine?” He moved to an area just out of her line of sight and bent to retrieve a flask from the ground. He lifted the lid on the chest and removed two silver goblets, then proceeded to pour the wine, though she had yet to respond to his question. He stepped closer and offered it to her. When she took it, their fingers touched, and she instinctively pulled back before realizing his touch was not something she should want to avoid.

  “It’s all right, Hagar.” His tone was meant to soothe, and he smiled as he sat opposite her, his gaze penetrating and frank in its perusal. “So Sarai has chosen you to bear our son.”

  She nodded, her cheeks heating.

  “Do you know how to speak, or am I to expect only gestures from you?”

  She lifted her gaze at his unexpected words and released a breath when she saw only kindness in his eyes. “I can speak, my lord. It is just . . . I am nervous.”

  “Understandable,” he said, sipping from his cup. “And do you approve of Sarai’s choice? Can you give your body, your life, to this old man in the hopes of giving him a son?” His wistful tone made her heart constrict, and when she looked at him this time, she did not turn away.

  She searched his face, reading hope in his eyes, suddenly wanting to please him, to give him what Sarai could not. “I can,” she said at last, clutching the cup with both hands. “But I do not—”

  “I will teach you what you need to know.”

  Sarai met Lila as she emerged from Abram’s tent, tears clogging her throat. “It is done then,” she said.

  Lila clutched her arm, and the
two walked the perimeter of the camp, picking their way along the rocky ground.

  “Yes. At least she is with him. Time will tell if she conceives.” Lila led them toward the cooking fires, empty now with the heavy darkness.

  “How many days should I give them?” She choked on the words, and Lila bade her sit on one of the stone benches.

  “Several weeks at least. A month before we can know anything.”

  “Of course.” She knew that. Had counted the cycles of the moon for nearly all her life. Please, Adonai, do not let the girl take long. I cannot bear this to last for months.

  “If it takes her more than two months, I will find a different maid.” Hagar could go back to Egypt.

  She checked herself. How could she allow such feelings against the woman she had carefully chosen for this task?

  “That is your right, of course.”

  She looked into Lila’s eyes, barely visible in the firelight. “You think me impatient.”

  Lila shook her head. “No. Just . . . I know it must be hard to share him. But you must accept the fact that Hagar could be the mother of Abram’s child before the year is out—your adopted son.”

  A tremor swept through her, bringing with it a strange mixture of pain and hope. “Abram would be pleased to have a son.”

  “Yes, he would. And you would have the pleasure of raising him.” She smiled, her look thoughtful. “Though raising children is not always so easy a task.”

  Sarai turned her hands over in her lap, trying to imagine what Abram’s son would be like. “A son will be a good thing.” She had to believe it.

  Lila draped an arm over Sarai’s shoulders. “Yes, and you will be a good mother.”

  27

  Hagar let her hips sway as she moved from delivering Abram a plate of flat bread and cheese and a mug of spiced wine, a favorite of her people. She tossed a glance over her shoulder to see his reaction to her, and hid a smile that his gaze followed her with obvious interest. Though far older than she, the man looked twenty years younger than his actual age. His skin was not mottled or thin as some of the ancient ones in Egypt had been. His step held vigor, and in the short week sharing his bed, she had come to care for him.

  She moved to the campfire, her shoulders straight, a lightness to her walk she had not felt in years. Tonight she would show Abram an Egyptian dance she’d been perfecting in the privacy of her tent, to perhaps endear herself to him in ways Sarai could not.

  She smiled as she bent to stir the fire. Sarai had not shown her face at the morning meal, and though the first week of Hagar’s new marriage was over, she knew Abram would not so easily set her aside until she had conceived. If Abram’s God smiled on her, she could remain the favored wife for months to come.

  She looked up at the sound of voices, spotting Sarai and Lila talking together. She tensed at sight of her mistress. But no. Sarai was no longer her mistress. In giving her to Abram, Sarai had forfeited her right to rule over her. Abram was her master now, as well as her husband. The thought lifted her chin, though it did little to ease the tension as Sarai moved gracefully toward Abram and settled on a rough-hewn bench beside him.

  Sarai’s head bent toward Abram’s, and the two were caught up in a familiar camaraderie Hagar had witnessed many times during her years with them in Canaan. She looked away, feeling like a jealous wretch and an unwanted intruder.

  “You can’t expect to take her place.” Hagar’s hand jerked at the sound of Lila’s voice, causing the fire stick to send burning embers out of the protective stone circle. She hurried to stomp them out with a sandaled foot before turning to see Lila watching her.

  “I would never expect such a thing.” That she’d had those same thoughts only irritated her more. Her expressions were surely not so easy to read. She’d spent years masking her true thoughts.

  Lila shrugged. “You’re in a difficult place. Once you conceive, he won’t need you anymore. Sarai will make sure of it.” Lila’s smile was less than reassuring. “I just wanted to warn you not to let yourself grow proud around here. Jealousy is a cruel thing.” She turned and walked away before Hagar could offer a word of protest.

  She watched Lila leave, then glanced across the fire to Abram and Sarai once more. He stood, offered Sarai his hand, and tucked it beneath his arm as they walked away from the tents toward the fields. His head tipped back, and he laughed at something Sarai said, the two of them lost in each other’s company.

  Hagar’s gaze followed them until they disappeared beyond the trees, a sinking feeling settling deep within her. She could not join them. She was not welcome near Abram when Sarai was at his side, and it went without saying that Sarai was not happy with her decision to send Hagar into Abram’s arms.

  But hadn’t that been her decision in the first place? How could she now shun Hagar when she was the one giving herself to save their future?

  Anger rose within her, swift and hot as the fire fanning her face. She tossed the stick to the side and grabbed her skirt in both hands, lifting it as she stormed off. She walked on toward the open spaces past Abram’s tent, where the altar of God stood. Abram had offered many lambs on this spot, to what purpose she could not imagine. If he had done everything as his God intended, why did they need her? Sarai should have already borne his child.

  Her long legs led her past the altar toward the cliffs looking down over the valley below, toward Sodom, where Lot and his family and servants had gone. Would she have been better off with them?

  Wind tugged at her scarf and cooled the heat still pouring into her face. She brushed the hair from her mouth, surprised at the hint of moisture on her cheeks. But she could not deny the emotion that surged through her, even admitting to a handful of tears.

  Life was so completely unjust. And the gods of her people had long since failed her. Did Abram’s God care that Sarai had put her in this situation? Did Abram care for her at all? Or was she just an object, a tool for them both to get what they wanted?

  She tilted her gaze toward the blue expanse of sky, wishing she knew how to entreat the Creator to give her a home with a husband as well as a son. Was that too much for a daughter of Pharaoh to wish for? But no, she was a daughter no longer.

  She brushed the drying dampness from her cheeks and turned back toward the camp, her anger only slightly appeased. She would practice the dance of her people until she had perfected it, and tonight, if Abram called for her, she would make him want her for herself, not just what she could do for him. If she could endear herself to him, she could wedge herself between him and Sarai and ensure a place for herself and her child in the future.

  Abram kissed Sarai good night, defeat settling in on him like a sodden cloak. He did not look back as he slipped from her tent, all too aware that she would spend the night in misery, probably weeping into her pillow. He should never have agreed to her plan to take another wife, even a secondary one. But the deed was done now, and he couldn’t just send Hagar away. Not without giving the woman a chance to conceive.

  The thought caused a slight quickening of his step, but his heart still carried the weight of Sarai’s pain. He’d spent the day trying to console her, and the action had wearied him. Now she expected him to take Hagar to his tent without thought of Sarai’s emotions or the frustration such actions caused? He was a man, not a god.

  He kicked a stone a short distance from Sarai’s tent, bruising his toe, and cursed softly. Hagar’s tent had not been moved from the servants’ quarters, a situation he should remedy but had no strength to tackle. In truth, he had no desire to walk in that direction, but Sarai would question him on the morrow, and dealing with her frustration would stretch the limits of his patience, which was already too thin.

  He spotted Eliezer and Lila across the compound. Eliezer had their youngest daughter perched against his shoulder, fast asleep, while Lila had hold of the hand of the other girl, their two sons racing circles around them. Something akin to heartache pierced him. Such a contented man Eliezer was—such a family
to be proud of.

  Abram turned about quickly, unable to bear the scene despite the fact that he had watched the man with his wife and children every night for years. What had changed?

  He drew in a deep sigh and set out for Hagar’s tent. Perhaps Sarai was right. Maybe Hagar could give them the son they craved. Unless . . . what if he was somehow to blame? Could his body be as dead as Sarai’s womb? He had never taken another wife to prove otherwise. Doubt filled him, slowing his step. If Hagar did not conceive soon, it would make the promise completely impossible.

  Quickening his pace, he crossed the compound to the servants’ quarters. He needed Hagar tonight. Not only for the promise but for his own vindication. Otherwise, fatherhood for him was truly too late.

  28

  Hagar bent over a clay pot in her tent and emptied what little remained within her from the night before. Sweat beaded her brow and her stomach rumbled, though how she could feel hunger after repeated mornings of illness, she did not know. She sat back and collapsed against the cushions, plush replacements of the type she was used to—gifts from Abram. She’d been more than grateful for his kindness to her, and half certain she had begun to win his affection, if not away from Sarai, at least in part toward her. Would that favor increase when she told him about the babe?

  She had yet to confirm her suspicions with the camp midwife, but she knew as every woman knows deep within her. There had been no need to sleep apart from him the first month, and now as her cycle should have approached again, the morning sickness had come upon her. She would have no need of separation this month either.

  Sounds of the women calling to their children amid the normal daily chatter filtered to her through the thick curtains of her new tent, another gift from Abram. She no longer slept in the servants’ area but had her tent pitched not many paces down the row from Sarai’s—enough to show Sarai’s status as first wife, yet affording her a measure of respect just the same.