A cheer erupted, and Abram laughed as Eliezer came forward. Abram released his hold on Hagar and Sarai and embraced his overseer as Eliezer kissed each of his cheeks.
“Wonderful news, Abram! May the child be blessed of Adonai.”
More men came forward, echoing Eliezer’s blessing, while the women rushed to congratulate Sarai, barely noticing Hagar. Her stomach twisted with more than hunger. She glanced around for a stone bench and sank down on it. She sensed movement and saw one of the Egyptian servants approach with a plate of flat bread, goat cheese, and thick dates.
“You did not come as usual to snatch the bread.” The woman smiled, handing Hagar the plate. “I know what it’s like during those first months. First you are sick. Then you feel as though you will never get enough to eat.”
Hagar took the food, grateful that someone had seen and cared for her plight. “Thank you.” She bit off a hunk of bread and chewed, her stomach slowly settling.
She had finished her food by the time the crowd dissipated, leaving Abram and Sarai alone again, the company going about their daily routine. They would know soon enough that Hagar carried Abram’s child, though she knew both Abram and Sarai would have told the well wishers. It was not her place as a lowly concubine to share their joy. Her son would, after all, be theirs by right.
A sense of loss filled her that she would never have a child that she could claim solely as hers.
“Thank you, Hagar.” Abram’s voice cut through her self-pity, and she looked up from where she sat, feeling his hand on her shoulder. “We owe you much.” He turned to Sarai, who stood staring down at her. Hagar met the older woman’s gaze, trying to read the myriad emotions flitting over her beautiful face. The woman never seemed to age, though her body obviously had or they would never have needed use of Hagar’s younger one.
“Yes,” Sarai said at last, her eyes suddenly filming with a thin sheen of tears. She visibly swallowed. “Thank you.” She turned quickly away and kissed Abram’s cheek. “I must see to the weaving. The little one will need many linens.” She moved away, but Abram stayed her with a touch on her arm. A look passed between them that Hagar could not read, but a moment later Sarai turned back to her. “You may join me, Hagar. It will take more than my skills to complete all that needs to be done by the time the babe is born.”
She whirled about as though the words scorched her and headed toward the tent of weaving. Hagar rose and brushed the crumbs from her robe. She nodded to Abram and moved to follow Sarai, though every part of her being screamed against the thought of spending the day in the woman’s company. Why couldn’t she be more civil? Hagar was doing her a great favor, yet Sarai acted as though she was animal dung.
Abram touched her shoulder, stopping her. His smiled warmed her, easing some of the tension Sarai’s presence had evoked. “She needs time,” he said, as though Hagar should understand perfectly.
“Yes, my lord. I suppose we all do.” She walked away, certain that given any conflict, Abram would side with Sarai over Hagar. She would have to be careful to watch her words. Her jaw clenched along with her fists as she trudged to do as Sarai had bid her.
The afternoon wore on, the sun heating the goat’s-hair tent above their heads where Sarai sat with Lila working the weaver’s loom, while Hagar turned the spindle, spinning the previously dyed wool into thread. Three months had passed since Abram’s announcement, each day showing a greater pile of material to be sewn into garments for the coming child.
The child. A tightness settled along Sarai’s shoulders, and she lifted them several times, trying to ease the tension. She glanced at Hagar, the source of her irritation. At first she had noticed only the tilt of her chin—beyond what was acceptable for a servant, as though she thought a concubine deserved some sort of respect. Then the looks had taken on an air of arrogance, though the words coming from her lips dripped with appeasement. Was the woman mocking her?
Sarai’s hand slipped on the lease rod, loosening the warp line. Lila held the slashing stick from pushing the weft into position until Sarai regained her grip. She nodded to Lila to continue, silently cursing herself and the anger bubbling inside her. She should send Hagar to work with the dyes. Let her bend over the hot liquid in the blazing heat.
But no. The woman should be protected—for the sake of the babe.
“Excuse me.” Hagar interrupted Sarai’s musings and stood. “Nature calls.”
The woman took more breaks than Lila ever did. Could it be she was trying to get out of her share of the work? Or did she prefer to be away from Sarai? As she left the tent, Sarai waited but a moment.
“Is it my imagination, or does she run off to relieve herself every hour?” Sarai stretched, rubbing her back where stiffness had set in. She looked at Lila, whose hands had stilled as she obviously waited for Sarai to continue.
“It is different for some women than for others.”
Lila’s smile seemed to hold too much pity. Sarai clenched and released her shoulder muscles, trying to ignore the ache in her middle. Would she never outlive the stigma of her barrenness? It would help if Hagar did not seem to flaunt the swell in her belly.
“Perhaps,” Sarai said, trying to mask the sudden disquiet that had settled over them. “But I don’t like the way she looks at me. She is a servant, yet her arrogance makes it seem like she is the master and I am the slave!” She lifted a hand to her mouth, realizing the words were louder than she intended. “Forgive me. I am simply out of sorts today.” She stood and walked to where the tent’s roof stopped and the open sun began.
Female laughter drifted toward her, and she moved away from the weaver’s tent to investigate the sound. She paused as she neared a group of Egyptian servants surrounding Hagar. She moved to the side, ducked behind the low-hanging branches of a willow tree, and strained to listen.
“Did you see the strut in Abram’s step when he left the campfire to work in the fields?” Hagar’s unmistakable foreign lilt carried to Sarai, cinching her already taut nerves. “I have given him what Sarai never could. In the end he will respect me for it. And when our son is grown and takes Abram’s place as head of the tribe, I will be held in great honor.” She laughed, and the Egyptian maids laughed with her. But the sound held scorn more than mirth, and Sarai could not stop the surge of anger rushing through her.
She gripped a branch for support. Her stomach clenched, and her heart beat like a thing gone wild. She drew in a breath, barely able to get it past her thickened throat. The nerve! She tried again, breathing deeper this time, and moved further behind the tree as Hagar and the maids passed. The maids moved on, depositing Hagar back at the weaver’s tent.
Sarai watched Hagar pick up the spindle and say something to Lila before she emerged from the tree’s shade and set out across the compound. Her feet crunched stones and small twigs, their sound hardly heard above the steady pumping of her heart. Abram. She would go to Abram and tell him everything. It was time the man decided just whose side he would take. The Egyptian’s or hers.
The heat of the midday sun drew beads of sweat beneath the head scarf she wore to protect her skin, but Sarai pressed on, shading her eyes against its glare. He had said he would be in the farthest pasture today, and she questioned her own good judgment at coming to him at this hour alone. What if a wild beast assaulted her? The area was safe enough as far as bandits were concerned. Abram’s men kept watch over each of the many fields where Abram’s flocks of sheep, goats, and cattle grazed. But they could not control the actions of lions and jackals and bears that prowled these hills.
A shiver passed through her, and she tightened the scarf at her neck as she quickened her pace. Hagar’s words singed her thoughts, spurring her anger. She curled her hands into fists. Wild beasts had nothing on her.
She paused for breath as she neared the rise overlooking a dip in the land that led to a meandering stream. Tall terebinth and willow trees dug deep roots beside its banks, where a line of sheep lowered their heads to drink. Others were spr
awled on the rich grasses, resting. She looked over the spot, searching. She found Abram under one of the trees, leaning against the bark, his eyes closed.
His posture did not surprise her. Most of the camp rested during the hottest part of the day. Hagar and Lila would set aside the weaving and spinning and return to their tents in short order, which was exactly where Sarai would be if not for that woman! She ground her teeth and hurried down the rise toward the spot where Abram slept.
He stirred as she approached. “Sarai? What are you doing here—and in this heat?”
She drew in a breath and released it, wishing she’d thought to bring a skin of water. She touched a hand to her forehead, feeling the dampness, then lowered herself to Abram’s side. She swallowed.
“Have you come all this way alone? Where are your servants and your water skin? Is something wrong? Is it the babe?” He rose, sat upright, and untied the goatskin at his side, offering it to her. “Drink and then tell me everything.”
She obeyed, though his instant concern for the child made her anger rise another notch. “The babe is fine,” she said after several deep swallows of water. “It is the mother you should be concerned with.”
She searched his face, watching his silver brows draw together. His strong jaw stiffened, and his dark eyes held an expression of confusion. “Explain yourself, Sarai.”
She rested a hand over the opening in the skin, then clamped it over the neck. “The Egyptian thinks she will be held in honor after her son is born. She sees the way you strut about, proud of your parenthood. She thinks to usurp my authority and my place.” She strengthened her grip on the skin to still the sudden trembling of her limbs. She should never have given Hagar into Abram’s arms, and he should not have accepted the gift! “May the wrong done to me be on you! I gave my servant to your embrace, and when she saw that she had conceived, she looked on me with contempt. May Adonai judge between you and me!” She held his gaze, daring him to contradict her but silently begging him to intervene, to do something to make Hagar remember who she was.
Abram stroked a hand over his beard, once dark, now woven in shades of gray. He studied her, but she did not falter, her anger never abating, even beneath the concern in his eyes. A sigh lifted his chest, and he glanced beyond her, then held her gaze once more. “Your servant is in your power. Do to her as you please.”
She startled, not expecting such a quick decision, and yet it was not a decision at all. “You will not speak to her?” She was his concubine. Yet no. In that one statement he had returned Hagar to Sarai’s possession.
“She is yours to deal with.” He leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes, the discussion at an end.
“Promise me you will not call her to your bed again.” If Abram would not touch her, Hagar would truly be Sarai’s servant alone.
“I will not bed her again.” Weariness held his tone, and she knew she could not press him further. He had given her what she asked. It was up to her now to make Hagar see that she was not so honorable after all. Her son would be Abram’s heir, but only if Sarai agreed to adopt him as hers. Hagar would remain as she had always been. A slave. Not a wife.
“Thank you, my lord.” She took another drink, then rose to return to camp.
“Stay until the sun moves from its high point.” Abram opened one arm, silently bidding her to rest against his chest. “I will have a servant return with you then.”
She lowered herself back to the earth and searched for a comfortable position beside him. Her racing heart slowed its pace as it kept time with Abram’s breathing. His arm came around her, and she tried to relax, but all she could think about was returning to camp and giving Hagar a severe tongue-lashing. Then they would see just how arrogant the girl would remain.
30
Hagar rose from her pallet, the afternoon shadows along her Egyptian linen tent telling her that she had slept far later than she planned. She had retired to rest after returning to the weaver’s tent to find Sarai gone. Lila had agreed that the heat was too great to continue to work, and since Sarai had undoubtedly done the same, sleep seemed a good choice.
But the babe had made her stay abed too long. She blinked twice and rubbed her eyes, careful not to smudge the kohl, then rose to a sitting position. A flutter in her middle made her pause. She placed a hand over the spot, but the feeling did not return. Had the babe moved? Three moons had passed since she had told Abram her news. Surely soon. She lay down again, willing the feeling to return, barely daring to breathe. Such confirmation would be a balm and a relief to the inadequate sense she carried with her every step in Sarai’s presence.
She waited, counting the rise and fall of her chest. There. Another flutter. And another. With gentle fingers she slid her hand over the spot again and felt her heart give a little kick when the movement came once more. Were these the first signs of her baby’s life? Tears pricked her eyes. Her babe. Hers and Abram’s. And someday the camp would realize the truth. She would see to it.
The flutters fell silent after a time, and Hagar rose slowly, a sense of satisfaction settling deep within. She donned her robe and cinched the belt, though not too tight, and stepped into the cooler warmth of the afternoon light.
“Just how long did you think it appropriate to rest, Hagar? A servant should be about her master’s work, and you have grown sorely lax in yours of late.” Sarai stood in the path, a long, thin branch from a willow tree flexing in her hand.
Hagar blinked, startled at the sight. “I . . . I don’t know what you mean, my lady. I took a rest at midday, as we all do—”
“The rest of us have been up for hours. Preparations for the evening meal began long ago. I should whip you for your tardiness.” A gleam in Sarai’s deep blue eyes told Hagar that Sarai meant her words. But why? What had she done?
“If not for that babe you carry . . .” Sarai let the words drift off, her gaze never leaving Hagar’s. “Don’t think I’m unaware of your interest in my husband. Don’t think I don’t know that you seek to take my place.”
“No! I never—”
“Ha! You never what, Hagar? I heard you talking with your Egyptian friends, those maids who have served you since my husband took you to his bed. Well, no more. You will serve me as you ought. You will not sleep with my husband again, and your son, if it is indeed a son, will be mine, not yours. Do you understand?” Heat spilled from Sarai, her bearing pure anger.
Hagar took an involuntary step back while raising her hands in supplication. “I meant no harm, mistress. I merely did as you asked of me.” She could not believe Abram would allow his wife to treat her this way. She carried his child! The child he had longed for all his life. The child Sarai could not give him. What was wrong with her?
“You are an ungrateful, selfish wretch.” Sarai lifted the branch as though to strike.
Hagar covered her face and crouched lower. “Please, don’t hurt me! I felt your babe move today.” She waited but a moment, peeking through half-closed eyes.
Sarai let the branch fall to her side. When she said nothing more, Hagar slowly stood.
“I thought you should know. About the babe, I mean.” Her heart beat fast, and she couldn’t stop the sudden thickening in her throat. She could not cry. Not here. Yet she could not seem to help herself.
Sarai still did not move or speak, and Hagar lowered her gaze, emotions warring within her. Sarai wanted a servant? All right then. She would be the servant even her mother had thought her to be. The thought brought with it seeds of despair, and she covered her face with her hands, looking away to hide her tears.
“Don’t cry about it. So the babe moved. Good. At least that means it lives. Too many do not.” She moved the dirt in her path with the toe of her sandal. “Now go. Help grind the grain for the evening meal.”
Hagar turned to obey, glancing back to see if Sarai watched her. When the woman moved in the other direction, Hagar let out a breath and hurried away, desperate to get hold of her racing emotions. Had Sarai truly overh
eard her comments to her Egyptian friends? She had not meant to sound superior to Sarai, had she? But a check in her spirit told her that was not the whole truth.
She needed Abram to come to her aid, to intervene, to give her back her rightful place that Sarai had so quickly stripped from her. But as the evening waned and she saw Abram with Sarai, saw the way he no longer looked in her direction, she knew she had lost him. He had given in to Sarai’s complaints without notice or thought to her feelings. She was nothing to him. As she had always been.
Tears filled her eyes, and her stomach turned to stone. She put a hand to her mouth and ran toward the trees. Grief won as she found a spot among them, bent to the ground, and lost what little her stomach had left in it.
Sarai stood at the entrance to her tent a week later, her ears attuned to the sounds of the bustling camp. Abram had long since headed for the fields, and the servants had cleared away the remnants of the morning repast. She had ordered the Egyptian maids dispersed throughout the camp, far from where they could mingle and plot ways to side with Hagar. The less strength Hagar derived from the outsiders, the better.
She crossed both arms over her chest as the breeze fanned her face, her stomach a mass of tangled knots. Why had it come to this? She had liked Hagar when they’d met in the pharaoh’s palace nine years before. And choosing her to carry the son she could not bear had made perfect sense back when she had made her decision. Hadn’t Adonai given her this woman to be their second chance at having an heir? But oh, she had not realized, had not imagined how hard it would be to share Abram with another. And she had not expected Hagar to lift her chin in such arrogance against her.
She walked from the tent’s opening, her jaw clenched as tight as her fists. She spotted Hagar talking with Lila, her head bent as though sharing some secret. Anger surged through her at the sight, her loathing for the woman a tangible force. Her feet carried her like wings.
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