Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (9 page)

Music continued as the king declared his love for the priestess, then she spoke of her love for him in return. The words were poetic, their meaning erotic, as the flute and harp accompanied the spoken song. The crowds hushed, taking in the passion of their declaration, until at last the king pulled the priestess into his arms and kissed her. The crowd cheered as the king lifted the priestess and carried her into the temple, and the great double doors swung shut behind them.

Melah sighed, drawn to the romance of such symbolic love, her heart yearning for more. Lot had treated her that way once. Back before they had wed, when he glimpsed her at Ur’s New Year’s Festival dancing in the streets with the other virgin daughters of the city. He had thought her a priestess at first, but when he realized she was free to marry, he had charmed her to the bank of the river, where the moon god’s glow bathed the waters in ethereal light. He tempted and wooed her there, night after night, coaxing her from her father’s house until at last she had succumbed to his desire. If only marriage had not changed him.

She looked back at the closed doors of the ziggurat, imagining the passion that was now missing from her own marriage, then shrugged the depressing thoughts aside. The parade continued with singing and dancing in the streets. A banquet would follow, and they should head to the palace grounds if they wanted a good seat.

She turned to face Terah. “Are you ready to head to the banquet, Sabba?”

Terah leaned against the parapet, but his face had gone gray, and a look of fear filled his expression. He slumped forward, his chest catching on the bricks, which stopped him from tumbling over the roof to the street below.

“Sabba!” She dove toward him, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him back, but the action made him lose his grip, and he crumpled to the ground. She looked around, frantic. “Someone help me!”

But the crowd on the roof had already headed down the stairs to join the celebration in the streets, and the sound of the drumbeat and the loud singing and chanting of the crowd smothered her insistent cries. Terah lay ashen and still. She leaned over him, listening for his breath, watching for the rise and fall of his chest, but he remained in his crumpled position, unmoving. She slipped her arms beneath him, grunting and groaning as she dragged him to the back of the roof near the stairs. She could not carry him home. She must get help.

Her pulse keeping time with her racing thoughts, Melah hurried down the steps and ran through the streets, silently thanking Nannar for the empty back alleys as she hurried home to find Lot and Abram.

Sarai sat limp and cold, unable to get warm despite the summer heat. Abram paced the length of the sitting room, his brows drawn low, his scowl hiding the worry she knew he felt. The door to their father’s bedchamber opened, and a wiry, shriveled man emerged, the only physician not feasting and celebrating with the rest of the city.

“How is he?” Abram stood a head taller than the physician and looked twice as fierce. Sarai placed a hand on his arm in comfort.

“Very frail,” the man said, craning his neck to meet Abram’s gaze. “In truth, my lord, he hasn’t much time. By all the gods, it is surprising he still lives at all. How old did you say he is?”

“A hundred twice and five years.”

“Ah, that explains many things. By the look of him, I would have thought him a younger man.”

“We are blessed to carry age well.” Abram appeared to at last notice Sarai’s hand on his arm and reached to tuck it closer, bringing her alongside him. “There is no hope for him then?”

The man shook his head. “His breathing—very shallow. And his life pulse beats so slow I can count to three before I feel the next.” He adjusted the pouch holding his instruments and straightened his bent back, though it seemed to make little difference. “I will come again tomorrow, but you will be calling the mourners before I get here if my guess is right.” He moved past them before Abram said a word in response.

Sarai looked at her husband, the shock she felt keenly evident in his dark eyes. “He seemed well this morning,” she whispered, again wondering what had happened during the parade to bring such a thing upon him. Only Melah could tell them, and she, for once, wasn’t talking.

Abram nodded. “We should go to him.” He spoke to the room more than to her, and when he moved forward, he did not let go of her arm but coaxed her to follow.

They entered the room, where dark stuffiness greeted them. “Is that man trying to make things better or worse?” She quickly crossed to the window and threw open the dark shutters to let in the afternoon light. Her father would be in the depths of Sheol soon enough; he didn’t need the darkness to take him there.

When she turned back from her task, she found Abram kneeling at their father’s side, his large hand encasing Terah’s equally large but thinner, veined one. “Father, can you hear me?”

She crept close, kneeling beside Abram, searching their father’s weathered face for some sign of movement. Not even his eyes fluttered, and when she looked at the thin sheet covering his chest, she saw no movement. Was he already gone? A lump settled in her throat, and she swallowed hard against the threat of tears.
Not yet. Oh, please, not yet.

As if he could read her thoughts, Terah’s lips moved. Sarai leaned close until her ear nearly touched his mouth. His chest barely lifted, his breath too shallow against her cheek.

“Promise.” His voice faded, and Sarai struggled to understand his meaning.

“Father, you must save your strength—”

“Keep.”

She lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were open now, his gaze firm, taking her in. But in a heartbeat they closed again, the moment of intensity gone.

Abram’s hand moved to touch Terah’s throat, searching for the life pulse. He waited, bending low to listen for a breath. At last he leaned back and shook his head.

Sarai stared at Terah’s face, waiting, watching to see if Abram’s assessment proved true. What had he meant? That she must keep her promise to Abram, the promise she had made to Terah when he agreed to the marriage? Or to trust El Echad’s promise to bring about what she could not? She stood, meeting Abram’s gaze, certain he had not heard their father’s final words.

“He never gave you the blessing.” She wished Terah’s thoughts had been directed to his son rather than to her failures.

“Adonai has already blessed me, dear one. Father could have added nothing to such promises as His.” He rested a hand on her back.

She gave him a brief look, unconvinced. Turning once more to her father, she touched his face with her palm but did not linger. Life had gone out of him, and the feel of his skin made her shiver.

Never again would she listen to him give Abram sage advice or look on him with pride, bolstered by his endearing smile. Never again would she look into his eyes, hear his laughter, or touch his dear face.

She could not swallow past the lump in her throat.

How much she would miss him!

She felt Abram’s arms drawing her close, turning her into his comforting embrace. She slumped into him, weeping.

7

Mourners’ cries mingled with the joyous shouts of singing and dance from the remaining days of the New Year’s celebration, and the steady beat of the drums caused a headache to form along Abram’s brow. The rituals and worship of foreign gods had grown wearying, and Abram feared his household was being drawn away to follow after the ways of Ur and Harran rather than remaining true to Adonai.

The procession to the public cemetery on the outskirts of Harran stopped before a deep burial chamber cut into the ground. Stone circular stairs led downward into darkness, making him shudder. When the time came, he would find a cave for himself and Sarai rather than a pit, but his choices here were limited.

Four strong Arameans lifted the stone sarcophagus to the edge of a chamber and descended with Terah’s body to place it in a crevice in the depths of the earth. The sounds of weeping swirled around him, and Abram’s own tears flowed freely. Scents of dirt and the press of unwashed bodies stirred the gentle breeze coming down from the north and rustling the terebinth trees standing guard over the place.

“He lived a good life,” Sarai whispered, her voice calmer than it had been a few days before, the day of their father’s death. “He was a good man.”

Abram nodded, but words would not come past the emotion in his throat. Gregarious in life, his father was well loved by everyone who met him. A careful businessman, shrewd yet giving, compassionate and understanding, yet not overly introspective. Unlike his thirdborn, whose introspective thoughts questioned where his father was now. What fate befell a man who worshiped many gods, adding El Echad to his plethora of choices rather than turning his devotion to Him alone? Did God judge a man for having a divided heart?

A ram’s horn sounded, its lingering notes melancholy and haunting. Articles of pottery, clothing, furniture, and coins would have normally accompanied Terah into his tomb to keep him company in his rest, but Abram would have none of it. A man came into this life with nothing and could take nothing with him. Of that he was certain, whether Terah had believed it or not. When the last note died away, Abram released Sarai’s hand and faced the crowd.

“We commit the body of Terah ben Nahor to his Creator this day, to return it to the dust from which it came. May he rest in Sheol in peace.”

If only he knew that for certain.

What he did know was that the time had come to leave this place, to get his people away from the influences of other gods, to go as God had said to the place He would show him. Abram had waited in Harran long enough. It was time he obeyed and set things right.

Sarai stood at the side of the kneeling camel, not at all certain the animal could be trusted. Abram had acquired more of the long-necked beasts during their stay in Harran to help carry the added provisions and servants that were going with them to Canaan. And he expected her to ride on one of them, assuring her the journey would be pleasant, the ride one of relaxed ease. Looking at the beast’s large eyes and deceptive smile, she didn’t believe a word of it, and she was certain there was no way she could mount it, in any case.