Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (41 page)

Melah lifted her face from the cool tiles of the temple to Ningal and rose from her knees, feeling every aching joint. When had her body betrayed her so? She was older now, nearly seventy, but the years since the loss of her son felt like they had passed times ten. No children had followed his death, and her daughters were now grown and soon to marry. Her future sons-in-law were good men—as good as any that could be found in Sodom. So why did the future seem so dark?

She glanced at the shimmering idol, her offering of fruit and nutmeats sitting untouched in a golden bowl at its feet. Ningal had abandoned her long ago, but she could not bring herself to walk away.

Heaviness settled over her as she backed from the sanctuary and turned at the door to step into the sunlight. The temple courtyard buzzed with the chanting of priests, and cones of incense tainted the air with sickening sweetness. In the paved street in front of the gated court, donkeys pulling well-laden carts trudged past, and young children raced by, shouting curses and scooping up stones to throw at some unfortunate person who had angered them.

Melah glanced at the Egyptian slave Lot had secured for her and nodded once. She pulled her cloak over her head, clutching the folds tighter at the neck, and made her way toward the merchants’ stalls. Cries of anguish pierced the air, an all-too-familiar sound. The boys’ stones must have found their mark. She hurried on, ducking to the side of a cart, keeping close to the buildings. She did not wish to see a child beaten to death. When had the city become so violent? Would her son—had he lived—have been part of the crowd casting stones or the one destroyed by the hatred of bullies?

A shiver worked through her as the sounds of anguish died away. Where were the city guards at such a time as this? Why didn’t the magistrate or the king do something to quell the cruelty? If things were this bad in daylight, she couldn’t imagine what atrocities took place after nightfall.

She glanced behind her again at the Egyptian, relieved to see he kept up with her hurried pace. His size alone would scare any who might approach her, and he was useful for carrying her wares back home. If her daughters could have been roused from their beds, she would have brought them as well. But they had spent the night with friends who stayed too late and drank too much, and Melah had left her maids behind to clean up the mess they had made.

A few more turns and she at last reached the market district. The bartering over fresh fruits and vegetables never took long, but the haggling over fabric and a new water urn took longer, and sweat dotted Melah’s forehead by the time she finished. She ended up filling her arms, along with those of her slave, and hurried home before the midday meal.

Flower stalls caught her attention as they moved toward home. She would need baskets filled with some of the cultivated lilies for Kammani’s wedding next spring. Surely Pirhum, her future son-in-law, would have the house finished by then. She clucked her tongue, wishing she could use a goad on both young men to get them to hurry so her daughters could be safely married.

The thought made her pause mid-step. She glanced ahead to where the pinnacle of Ningal’s ziggurat could easily be seen, like a beacon guiding her home. And yet she knew Ningal had not been the one pushing Lot to secure men to wed their daughters. If not for Melah, the girls would never leave home, never breed and give her grandchildren to love. Though at times, she wondered if they might not have found better husbands in a town outside of Sodom. If the rumors were true . . .

She shuddered, hurrying on. At least Lot was faithful to her. His faith in Abram’s God would not allow him to be like the other men around him. Regret filled her. She wished she could have shared that faith.

Thundering hooves suddenly shook the hot pavement, startling her. The Egyptian shoved her to the side, barely in time to escape the prince’s chariot as it rattled past, followed by another reckless sea of horses and chariots filled with shouting and laughing young men.

Screams pierced above the racket, and she turned toward the sound, her stomach roiling at the sight of a young child run over by the flying wheels. The driver did not bother to stop or take notice. Why must they race through the city during the busiest part of the day, with no warning to clear the streets to protect the people?

“Are you all right, mistress?” The Egyptian touched her arm, snapping her thoughts from the horrid sight.

As the dust settled, she looked warily down the street, relieved to see no more sign of the brash young men, only normal early-morning travelers and merchants. “I am well. Thank you.”

She glanced at the child lying in the street, his cries gone silent. Someone should go to him, find his mother. She waited a moment, relieved when a young woman raced to the boy, screaming his name. At least someone would care enough to bury him.

Shaken, she turned away and hurried on. Lot had been right. Sodom was not a safe place for a woman alone. Or for children. Her feet flew past the temple, the priests’ chanting somehow louder this time.

Up ahead, her house came into focus, but she did not stop until she entered the courtyard and the Egyptian shut the gate behind them. Stepping into the house, she set her basket of vegetables on a long table, grabbed a sharp knife, and set about chopping, her fear and horror pouring out through the rhythm and strength of the blade on wood. She was through going to market, and her girls would never set foot there without ten guards to watch them. It wasn’t safe. No. Safe was inside the house where she could shut out the noise of the city, and with it the brutality she could not bear to witness ever again.

Abraham closed his eyes, listening to the leaves brush against one another in the welcome breeze, cooling the heat on his skin. The awning of his black goat’s-hair tent cast him in shadow, though his spot here near the great oaks of Mamre afforded him a wide view of the valley below. Birds chirped merry songs, no doubt enjoying the breeze as much as he did. A dove’s mournful call rose above them all.

He moved gingerly, still healing from the rite of circumcision he’d performed on himself and his household the week before. Ishmael and the younger men had recovered days ago, but he still moved with measured steps. The reminder never ceased to bring a sense of humility to his heart. God would keep His promise after all. If only he had waited and not succumbed to a loss of faith.

He glanced beyond his tent toward his family, spotting Ishmael, bow slung over his shoulder, headed with a friend toward the hills where they would hunt small game. A surge of pride rushed through him. His faith had not been perfect, but he would never regret fathering his firstborn. God Himself had said He would bless Ishmael. Abraham took comfort in that fact.

He courted a smile as the two young men disappeared from sight, then turned his gaze toward the entrance to his campsite, where the great oaks stood guard like towering sentinels. The breeze flickered, then suddenly died like flames blown out. Birds grew silent as if anxious, holding their breath. Abraham blinked, shading his eyes from the sun’s overpowering glare.

But it was not the sun causing the ethereal glow, as it stood behind him now, to the west. His eyes quickly adjusted to the brightness, and in its midst he saw three men standing near the oaks. He pushed to his feet and grabbed his walking stick, his heart thudding hard and fast in his chest. Anticipation mingled with recognition, and he hurried closer to his guests and bowed low, his face to the ground. A thrill raced through him, and suddenly every part of his body tingled with life. Joy filled him as he lifted his gaze to theirs.

“If I have found favor in your eyes, my lord, do not pass your servant by. Let a little water be brought, and then you may all wash your feet and rest under this tree. Let me get you something to eat, so you can be refreshed and then go on your way, now that you have come to your servant.”

The glow dissipated like water into mist, and Abraham felt himself lifted without a touch to stand before them.

“Very well.” They seemed to all speak at once yet with one voice. “Do as you say.”

Abraham quickly found a servant to bring water to wash the feet of the men, then whirled about, the walking stick left behind, and ran as a youth to Sarah’s tent. He burst through the door without announcing himself and found Sarah nestled among the cushions, mending something. She startled, dropping the garment.

“Quick! Get three seahs of fine flour and knead it and bake some bread.”

He rushed out of the tent without waiting for a reply. She would do as he asked without question. Would the visitors stay as they had said? His heart beat the rhythm of a joyous dance as he lifted his robe, tucked it into his girdle, and ran unhindered to the hills outside of camp, where his herds of cattle grazed. One of the herdsmen met him and led him to the choice calves kept especially for guests or sacrifices. The meat would be young and tender, a savory offering to present the three men.

“Kill it and prepare the meat over an open fire in the camp. Do not delay.”

“Yes, my lord.” The man signaled another servant to help him and led the calf toward the place of slaughter.

Abraham hurried toward the women’s area of the camp and roused Lila from her midday rest. “Milk one of the goats and prepare some fresh curds for my visitors. Quickly.”

She gave him a brief nod. “Yes, my lord.” She hurried off.

As Abraham left Lila’s tent, he spotted Sarah near the ovens, kneading dough to set to rise. In a few hours, all should be ready, but he chafed like an old woman, half fearing his guests would not wait. Yet even as the worry came, it disappeared, as though his visitors had somehow silently reassured him.

Abraham glanced toward the trees near his tent where they still waited. They sat in a circle conversing among themselves, the two listening intently to the one who stood out as the leader. The one who Abraham knew in a place deep within him was Adonai come in the flesh. How God could become man was beyond his ability to comprehend. But he did not doubt. God could do anything.

The thought lingered with him as he hurried back to the fire pit, where chief cuts of the calf now roasted. He carried a heavy wooden platter to a nearby rock, waiting. Would God speak to him of the promised child? The one He had said would come through Sarah’s womb? He laughed as he pictured Sarah with a small babe on her hip. A spirit of adventure filled him, much as he’d felt the day God had told him to pack his things and move away from Ur. Change was upon him again, and he was not afraid. He would embrace whatever God had for him.

He turned at the chatter of women’s voices, clearly hearing Sarah’s in their midst. A servant turned the meat and checked for any remaining blood, then stuck a two-pronged fork into the thick slabs and pulled them from the fire onto Abraham’s wooden plate. Sarah approached with Lila at her side.

“Here is the bread you requested, along with the milk and curds, my lord.” She handed him a basket and a skin of milk. “Would you like me to go with you?”

Abraham shook his head. “No. Not yet. Go to your tent and wait until I summon you.”

She bowed slightly in acknowledgment, then turned with Lila and walked back toward the camp. Abraham scooped up the basket, skin, and platter and headed toward the trees. He breathed a sigh at the sight of the men, wondering at his foolishness for worrying they would not keep their word. He set the food on the ground before them, then stood nearby.

“Where is your wife Sarah?” they asked him.

“There in the tent.” He pointed to the large goat’s-hair tent closest to his.

“I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife will have a son.” The one Abraham sensed was Adonai spoke, making the hair on Abraham’s arms tingle.

Abraham glanced behind him in the direction of the tent, catching a glimpse of Sarah in the entryway. A hand covered her mouth, though no sound came out.

“Why did Sarah laugh and say, ‘Will I really have a child, now that I am old?’ Is anything too hard for the Lord?” Adonai looked at Abraham, His gaze holding mild reproach. “I will return to you at the appointed time next year, and Sarah will have a son.”

Sarah stepped from the shadows, and Abraham glimpsed fear in her eyes. “I did not laugh,” she said, though Abraham noticed the way she avoided the man’s searching gaze.

“Yes, you did laugh.” The voice of the Lord held rebuke, and Sarah’s cheeks colored in shame. She had lied, and Adonai knew it. Had she so little faith then?

Sarah lowered her head and stepped backward into her tent again, as though she could not bear to remain in Adonai’s company. Could she not hear the kindness in His words? Such a lie might have brought a slap from their father, justly deserved. If her faith was so weak as to lie to Adonai, perhaps she needed time to think over His rebuke and her response to the promise she had so long been denied.

He watched her but a moment, then turned as the men stood, their meal complete. The Lord gave Abraham a steady look, then broke contact as the group directed their gazes toward Sodom. They moved forward, and Abraham fell into step beside Adonai, every part of his being yearning for them to stay, to fellowship, yet knowing they must go.