Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (30 page)

Part
3

Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, had borne him no children. But she had an Egyptian maidservant named Hagar; so she said to Abram, “The L
ORD
has kept me from having children. Go, sleep with my maidservant; perhaps I can build a family through her.” Abram agreed to what Sarai said.

Genesis 16:1–2

So Hagar bore Abram a son, and Abram gave the name Ishmael to the son she had borne. Abram was eighty-six years old when Hagar bore him Ishmael.

Genesis 16:15–16

24

Sarai’s hands shook as she attempted to pour wine from a goatskin flask into the new silver chalice Abram had purchased on his return from rescuing Lot. To know Lot and Melah were safe brought her a measure of comfort, though her real comfort came in knowing Abram was home with her. She glanced at him where he sat across the fire. So handsome his features in the flickering firelight. Age had only distinguished the lines of his face, and the gray strands in his hair were few. How could she bear to share him?

She glanced at Hagar, who stood awaiting Sarai’s next order. What would she say when Sarai told her to go into her husband’s tent and give herself to him? The wine sloshed over the side of the chalice, and she nearly dropped the flask. Hagar hurried to her side.

“Let me help you, my lady.” The girl’s strong brown fingers curled around the base of the flask, steadying it.

Sarai’s defenses rose. She was not helpless yet! But she refrained from jerking the flask away from the girl. If she treated her poorly, she might not agree to her request.

“Thank you,” she said, realizing the awkward silence as she released the flask into Hagar’s hands. “I don’t know why I am so clumsy tonight.” She shrugged as if the problem was of no consequence.

“Perhaps you are just relieved to have the master safely home. If you would sit, I can serve both of you.” Hagar’s soft smile almost made her pretty. Abram would find her comely enough.

Sarai nodded. “Thank you, Hagar. I believe I will.” She picked up the goblets and carried them to Abram, then sat beside him. Hagar soon followed carrying a tray of meat and an assortment of roasted vegetables.

“How are you feeling, my love?” Abram’s deep timbre soothed Sarai’s frayed nerves. She must tell him her decision, but she couldn’t bring herself to put voice to her words.

“I am well now that you are home.” She slipped her arm through his and leaned against his shoulder. “Tell me you won’t leave me again.”

He chuckled. “Ah, Sarai, you know I cannot promise such a thing. But I am here now.” He laid one arm across her shoulders and squeezed.

Silence settled between them as Hagar served the meal. Sarai watched her move with lithe grace, glancing from the girl to Abram. Did he notice her? Yet he seemed unaware of the woman’s presence, his attention on the food. She sighed, the sound loud in her ears.

Abram looked up from his plate to search her face. He swallowed and wiped the sticky meat from his hands with a linen towel Hagar quickly handed to him. Observant, she was. A good quality for an inferior wife. If indeed Abram would agree to take her as such. But Sarai must make her plan carefully. He had only just returned. She must give him the idea in small amounts.

“Something troubles you, Sarai. Tell me.” He took a long swig from his cup.

She looked down at her own plate, stirring the food with a golden-pronged utensil. “I have something I must tell you. I fear you will not like it.” She looked up then and met wariness in his eyes.

“Whether I like it or not matters little. If it concerns you, I want to know.” He took her hand in his and patted it.

She drew in a shaky breath and looked from their clasped hands to the concern in his dark eyes. One quick glance around her told her the servants, Hagar included, were far enough from where they sat not to overhear. And Eliezer and Lila had already moved from the campfire to Eliezer’s tent. She looked again at Abram’s comforting gaze.

“While you were away . . .” She lowered her voice further and leaned in close to him. “I discovered . . . I am no longer . . . that is . . .” Her words came to a halt, and she choked on an unexpected sob.

He tipped her chin up with a gentle hand. “Tell me.” He stroked her cheek with a finger. The action made her lip quiver, and she feared she would weep.

She swallowed once, twice, then tried again. “The way of women no longer visits me, my lord. I will never bear the promised child.” The words came out rushed, and she released a sigh as she finished. The rest of her plan would wait. She must give him time to absorb this information.

He cupped his palm to her cheek, then drew her close to his heart. “And you are quite sure of this?” His question hung between them, and she wondered if he would jump ahead of her plan and suggest another wife before she had the chance.

“Yes, my lord.” Shame suddenly enveloped her. “I have failed you.”

He rubbed circles over her back in silence for more heartbeats than she could count until she realized she had dampened his tunic with her tears.

“Adonai has promised us a son, beloved. You must not think you have failed. His timing is just not ours.”

“His timing is past for me. How can a woman bear a child when there is no life left within her?” She leaned away from him, searching his face for something, anything to indicate his thoughts. But his clear gaze told her another wife was the furthest thing from his mind.

“Believe, dear one. Trust Adonai to keep His word. If He could create all of this”—his hand moved in an arc over the area now darkened with night, then pointed heavenward where the stars glowed down on them—“then He can do something so small as to give us a child, can He not?”

Could He? She wrestled with the thought, testing and discarding it. “I do not know. Perhaps He has a different plan in mind.”

He tilted his head to look into her eyes. “A different plan? What do you mean?”

She glanced beyond him, spotting Hagar, then quickly looked back at him. “Eliezer is our heir. He might be all we were ever meant to have.”

His gaze turned thoughtful, but a moment later he gave his head a stubborn shake. “No. I did not misunderstand the promise.” He stood and pulled her up with him. “Let us speak of this no more. When the time is right, you will bear a son, no matter how impossible that seems now.”

She slipped her hand into his as he led her toward his tent. She would not argue with him. Now was not the time, though she knew she must say something soon. If she was going to raise a slave woman’s son, she must give her husband a slave woman to bear the child.

Abram lay on the mat in his own tent several nights later, Sarai’s words still ringing in his ears. He sensed she had wanted to say more but was glad she held her tongue. He knew she carried the burden for the child far more than he did. It was a wife’s place to provide her husband an heir, and if she failed, it was also her place to offer him a maid as a wife to fulfill what she could not. Was Sarai contemplating such a thing? The thought carried a lack of faith, and he dismissed it as quickly as it came.

But as his eyes grew heavy, Sarai’s worried look floated in his thoughts. If only he could reassure her. And yet her words had sparked his own sense of fear, his faith wobbling like a calf on newborn legs. A sigh lifted his chest, and he breathed deeply the familiar scents of the campfire and listened to the soft breeze rustling the leaves in the oaks nearby, lulling him deeper into sleep.

Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield, your very great reward.

Abram heard the voice, but his limbs would not move, his eyelids weighted against an inescapable light. “O Sovereign Lord,” he said, though his voice sounded as if it came from a distance, “what can you give me since I remain childless, and the one who will inherit my estate is Eliezer of Damascus? You have given me no children, so a servant in my household will be my heir.”

This man will not be your heir, but a son coming from your own body will be your heir.

The light grew shadowed, and Abram awoke. Had he slept at all? The presence remained, and he stood up and wrapped his cloak about him, sensing an urging to step out of his tent. He obeyed, standing in moonlight.

Look up at the heavens and count the stars—if indeed you can count them.
There was a pause, as though the voice wanted to be sure he looked from one end of the heavens to another, taking in every star.
So shall your offspring be.

I believe You, Adonai.
His heart warmed to a sense of deep approval. He stepped further from the tent so his gaze of the heavens was unhindered by the trees.

I am Adonai, who brought you out of Ur of the Chaldeans to give you this land to take possession of it.

Thoughts of his foreign neighbors and their many fighting forces swept through him. “O Sovereign Adonai, how can I know that I will gain possession of it?”

Bring Me a heifer, a goat, and a ram, each three years old, along with a dove and a young pigeon.

Abram waited but a moment. “Yes, Lord. I will seek them at first light and bring them here to you.”

No words came, but his heart sensed affirmation. He waited, feeling the breeze caress his face and lift the hair from his forehead. He would visit the flocks and choose the choicest animals for the sacrifice. Then he would see what God would do.