Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (28 page)

Lot turned a corner, taking another corridor in this labyrinth of caves, praying he would be able to find his way out again. Darkness settled around him, dispelled only by tiny slits of moonlight seeping through cracks in the cave’s ceiling above him. Oppressive silence heightened his labored breathing. At least he was hidden from the watchful eyes of Chedorlaomer’s men. He paused, dragging in stale air, feeling the weight of his lifeless son pressed in his arms. Grief pierced him, and he stumbled to his knees against the uneven rock wall.

He would not build the altar Melah had suggested. A troubled sigh escaped at the thought. Where did she get such an idea? Even in death he would never think to offer a child in sacrifice. Adonai would not be pleased with such a thing. She could only have gotten the notion from the foreign goddesses she worshiped.

Sweat broke out on his brow. Distant voices carried faintly to him. He paused to listen, then satisfied that they were not growing closer, he set the boy gently against the wall. He crawled on hands and knees, feeling for rocks of any size, gathering a pile large enough to cover the boy’s small body. When at last the pile would suffice to keep animals from discovering his remains, Lot looked one last time at his son’s ashen face, then wrapped the blanket securely around any exposed skin and tucked him beneath the stones to take his final rest.

The job done, Lot leaned back on his heels, overcome, his hands pressed against his knees. He had little strength to stand or the will to return to Melah and the future that awaited them as captives to Chedorlaomer. How could he protect her or his daughters from such a large army of unscrupulous men? He should never have brought them to Sodom.

Uneasiness mingled with sudden, overpowering grief as he stared at the mound he could barely see. Tears filled his throat not only for his son but for his own ineptness and foolish choices.

Adonai, if You will see fit to rescue us, I will do all in my power to obey You as Abram does.

The prayer surged from a place deep within him, but even as the words left his heart, he wondered if he could keep them. He had never been strong like Abram. If Adonai asked the things of him that He had asked of Abram, could he obey?

He searched his heart, found it wanting. Abruptly casting the thoughts aside, he stood on shaky legs and brushed the dirt from his robe. Somehow they had to get away from their captors and return to the life they knew. If that meant leaving Sodom and living in tents again to please Adonai, despite Melah’s protests, he would do it.

Abram stood at the crest of the hill looking down on the valley just north of Damascus, where tents spread out like a sea of black locusts. Torches dotted the camp, but Chedorlaomer’s men did not appear to move. At the crunch of stones, he turned, spotting Eliezer in the moon’s dim glow.

“The men are ready at your command, my lord.” Eliezer stopped at Abram’s side, his haggard gaze matching Abram’s own. The trek from Hebron had taken longer than they expected, though he could be thankful they had yet to come upon the rainy season. They were able to avoid floods in the wadis and cross the unpredictable streambeds on dry ground.

“We will divide the men into two groups. One will go this way,” Abram said, waving a hand to indicate they should circle around behind the camp. “The other will attack from the front. I will take the lead group.” With Adonai’s help, they would see victory long before morning light.

“What signal shall I give when we are in place?” Eliezer looked from Abram to the sleeping camp below.

“Flash your torch once, then hide it behind a shield. Flash it a second and third time. On the third flash, attack from behind, and we will attack from before. May Adonai give us quick success.”

“It will be as you have said.” Eliezer dipped his head, then turned and crept down the hill.

Abram waited until Eliezer’s footsteps faded, then studied the outline of the camp once more. He lowered himself to his knees and put his face to the rocky earth.

In You, Adonai, I put my trust. Give us command over these people that have kidnapped Lot, and help us to rescue all.

He lay there a moment, his heart attuned to the night sounds of insects and wind rustling in the trees dotting the hills. No voice responded to his prayer, no inner sense of guidance, only a quiet assurance and a measured peace. He stood and descended the hill, his staff keeping time with his determined feet, and went to lead his men to victory.

Battle cries woke Melah from a restless sleep. She startled, her heart thudding swift and sharp as the memory, the fear of Sodom’s invasion, surfaced. She blinked twice, her eyes adjusting to the cave’s dark walls. The sounds came clearer now, swords clanging and men screaming, guttural wails and angry outcries. She sat up, fully awake, and disentangled herself from her daughters’ sleeping arms. Lot stood nearby and turned, offering her a hand to help her rise.

“What is it?”

“A battle.”

“Of course it’s a battle. But whose?” She drew close into his embrace and breathed in his earthy scent. None of them had bathed in days, weeks even, but the smell reminded her of his years in the fields with the sheep. The thought was somehow comforting.

“If I knew that, I would have already told you.”

“Have you tried to get close to the entrance to see?” If he wouldn’t do so, she would.

“I thought protecting you and the girls might be a better choice. I have no weapon, so what good would it do to venture into the fray?” He released her and moved forward several paces. “Never mind. Don’t bother to answer. I’ll go.”

She lifted a hand toward him to stop him, but he had already slipped into darkness. She wrapped both arms over her chest. A touch on her arm made her jump, and the sounds of others in their group rousing brought her fear to the surface once more.

“What is it, Mama?” Kammani slid her hand into the crook of Melah’s arms. “Where is Abi going? And what is all that noise?”

Melah glanced at the corner where Ku-aya still lay sleeping. “Keep your voice down. I don’t know. Your father went to go see.”

“It sounds like men fighting.” Her voice sounded small. “Will they hurt us?”

Melah put an arm around her and squeezed, wishing with the pain of loss that she was still holding her son.

“We will not let them hurt us.” Melah hoped her tone held more conviction than she felt. “We will fight them with all of our strength.”

“But if we fight them, won’t they hurt us?”

Melah’s stomach tightened, and the dread she had known since the moment of their capture quickly returned. She had used Assam as a shield to protect herself from the men who eyed her, and Lot had thus far been able to keep the barbarians from touching the girls. But what if something happened to Lot? Assam was gone, and she had only herself to offer in her daughters’ place. A shiver worked through her, and she pulled Kammani close, resting her chin on the girl’s head.

“We will stay away from them and we will pray.” She turned, taking Kammani’s chin into her hand. “We will give them whatever we must to stay alive so we can go back home again.” She wondered if Kammani knew what she was suggesting, praying to whatever god was listening that her daughter did not understand the implications. She would wash the feet of their lowest slave before giving her daughters to those men.

The battle sounds grew distant and faint as she stood there watching her neighbors crowd near the cave’s entrance, still waiting for Lot to return with news. Kammani left her side and settled against her sister. As dawn broke a path through the cracks in the cave’s ceiling, Lot returned with several men following behind. Melah squinted, her heart squeezing in recognition.

“Abram.” She rushed forward and fell at his feet. “You are a prisoner too? Oh, how can this be?”

At his touch on her head, she looked up. “Rise, Melah.” He offered his hand. “Come out of the cave. We are going home.”

She placed her hand in his, disbelieving. Then all at once, her limbs quivered, weak as a newborn lamb’s. Lot caught her as she stumbled.

“We’re going home?” She choked on a breath. “Truly?”

“We’re going home.”

As the men gathered her daughters, Melah wept in her husband’s arms.

23

Sarai lay among the cushions in her tent, refusing to rise. The sun had already found its path toward midday, but she did not care. She had already turned several servants away, unwilling to share her pain.

The tent flap rustled, light from the day disturbing her self-imposed darkness. She closed her eyes, praying whoever stood in the entry would think her asleep and leave. She did not want their sympathy. Her body had betrayed her, had dried up and shriveled, and nothing anyone could say would restore what had been lost. Even Adonai could not give her body life. All chance of bearing the promised seed of Abram had disappeared with the proof of a dead womb.

“Sarai?” Lila’s voice cut into her thoughts, only adding to her pain. Tears stung unbidden, and she rolled onto her back once more, flinging her arm over her eyes.

“Go away.” The words were choked, filling her with dismay. She didn’t want Lila to see her like this. The woman had everything Sarai wanted, and yet Sarai could not fault her for it. She loved Lila like a daughter, more than she had ever expected possible.

Footsteps drew closer, and Sarai sensed Lila had knelt at her side. “Please, Sarai, tell me what is wrong. Everyone is worried about you.”

“Why should they worry? I am of no consequence to them.” How bitter she sounded! And yet she could not bring herself to care what Lila thought of her.

“Of course you are! Everyone loves you.” She touched Sarai’s arm. “Please, tell me what has happened. What if Abram returns this day and finds you curled on your mat? He will worry you are ill.” She paused, and Sarai pulled her arm from her face. “Are you ill?”

Sarai forced her weary limbs into a sitting position and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I am ill. I am weary of life. There, I have told you, now go.” Though she prayed she wouldn’t.

“Can I get you some herbs, some broth?” Lila placed both hands on her knees, her round face wreathed in concern.

“You cannot help me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she looked away, unwilling to see the pity in Lila’s gaze. “I have discovered . . . the way of women has left me. There will be no promised son from me.” She swallowed hard but could not stop the thin stream of tears from spilling down her cheeks. She swiped them away, angry at their intrusion.