Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (11 page)

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 progress 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.