Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) (7 page)

Abram’s hand on her arm told her she had spoken too loudly and said too much. She should have waited until they were alone in his tent to vent her feelings. Here the servants paused to listen, and no doubt gossip would spread among them until Melah heard a disjointed version of the truth. She didn’t need Melah’s meddling and had no desire to explain herself to her niece.

“I am sorry this has been so hard on you, dear one.” Abram’s voice drew her attention to his dark eyes, his uncertainty evident. He seemed at a loss for words. His chest lifted in a sigh, and he reached to put one arm around her, pulling her close. She leaned into him, feeling his strength, and suddenly wished she had kept her discontent to herself, wanting to comfort him.

“I will go with you, my lord, but please don’t stay so distant even if you are too weary for love. I can’t bear it.”

He squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “I will do my best.”

Eliezer approached the fire. “Excuse me, my lord, but we are ready to move when you are.” Abram released her and stood, leaving her side without another word. The loss pained her. Somewhere along the way, Abram had changed the rules of their relationship. Where once he had been playful, now he was nearly always serious, unresponsive to her banter. How was she supposed to treat him? She’d gotten her way by plying her charms, and he had won his way by confusing her efforts. The game was a trifle immature, but he had indulged her. Now he gave in without a fight, as though peace was worth any price.

What was wrong with him?

She snatched what was left of the flat bread from the plate and handed the empty dish to Lila to pack in the leather satchel. She had her own work to oversee. Call of God or not, she must get Abram to rethink what he was doing. Perhaps Harran would provide some answers and grant relief from her husband’s confusing choices.

Red clay walls and gates ringed the city of Harran but did not block the taller cone-shaped and round-roofed buildings housed within. Abram stood at the head of their company, speaking to the sentries that were posted as guards. What was taking so long?

A braying donkey sounded behind her. Sarai turned at the sense of movement and maneuvered her animal to the side to allow Melah to sidle up beside her.

“I cannot wait to get inside, to find a room, and to make a trip to the river. The grime and dust are so thick I can no longer see the color of my skin.” Melah made a futile attempt to brush some of the dust from her arm.

Sarai gave her niece a sidelong glance. “In this I will agree with you. I am glad we are stopping here to rest for a while.” She had done her best to keep her complaints from Melah, which would only fuel the woman’s critical spirit, but her own body ached from too many nights on hard ground and too many days riding on the back of an animal.

Melah drew closer, their donkeys almost touching. “Lot and I have been talking.” She paused, and Sarai turned to meet her gaze. “I think we should stay here.” Melah motioned toward the city, where Sarai glimpsed Abram still in deep conversation with one of the men at the gate. “And I don’t mean only Lot and myself.” She pulled closer still, too close, and Sarai dug her heels into the donkey’s side to move it forward a few steps.

“I think you should convince Abram to stay too, Sarai. Your father’s health isn’t good. The journey has aged him, and I think Abram would do well to settle here. At least for a time. You have Abram’s ear. He will listen if you insist on it.”

Sarai glimpsed her father’s cart up ahead, where a handful of servants propped cushions and covered him with another blanket, trying to keep him comfortable.

“You are just as discontented as the rest of us. Admit it.” Melah’s tone held uncharacteristic empathy, as though for once she really did care about someone other than herself.

Sarai craned her neck to see behind her, where Melah’s donkey had stopped a pace back, waiting with the rest of them to move into the city. She weighed the wisdom of trusting her niece with her true thoughts. A soft sigh lifted her chest. She was discontented, but her reasons were far more than the discomforts of the journey. She looked forward again, and Melah edged in beside her.

“God has called Abram to follow Him to Canaan, not Harran. Discontented or not, I have promised to do the same.” The direction they were to go had come to Abram after they set out, and she had no reason to doubt him. The caravan finally moved, slowly crossing past the guards toward the gates. “But,” she said, glancing once more at her niece, “I will speak to Abram. Perhaps a short stay will not be a problem.”

The red clay bricks grew close enough to touch now, and she saw Abram coming toward her. He caught the donkey’s bridle and pulled it to a stop. He leaned in but did not touch her.

“I have found us rooms to rent from a caravan merchant who is rarely at home. Father can rest there, and you can take care of him as a good daughter would.” His pointed look sent a stab of fear through her. “As my sister has already done so well.”

She swallowed, her senses grown suddenly dull, but not so faded that she did not miss his meaning. The look in his eye told her clearly what she had expected anywhere but here. Harran was a city like Ur, not a powerful kingdom whose kings held no regard for their subjects. Surely a man’s wife was safe in his keeping here, despite her beauty.

Abram fell into step at her side, his hand slowly guiding the donkey. “A city whose god was conceived through the ruin of his mother breeds a people of suspect morality, dear one. I cannot risk it.”

“Everyone knows Nannar was born of Enlil’s love for Ninlil. We have heard these stories since our youth. We had no fear of such things in Ur. Harran is Ur’s sister city. Why should it be any different?”

“Everyone in Ur believes that tale is one of love, yes. Not so in Harran. Here, the god Enlil forced Ninlil, who in turn birthed Sin. When a man forces a woman, there is no love bond there.”

Abram stopped the donkey again and gave Sarai a look. They had reached the gate, and he would speak no more of this with her now. Perhaps in the seclusion of the house he had secured, he would further explain himself. But it would not be said in the intimacy of the dark at his side. He would not risk sharing her bed here. Any hope she had possessed of making a home, of resting at length in this place and re-creating what they’d had in Ur, was gone.

Abram stepped around her to the guard’s side. “The woman is my sister and nursemaid to our father.”

The guard lifted a brow even as his eyes roamed her features, what little he could discern from her disheveled, dusty, veiled appearance. She lowered her head, her submission to Abram an outward obedience, knowing it was what he expected to keep her safe. She should be grateful. He was only doing what was best for both of them. But her grip tightened around the leather reins in a vain attempt to curb her rising anger, to squelch the poisoned seeds of bitterness settling in her heart.

5

Abram jabbed his walking stick onto the hard-packed earth of the overcrowded and confining streets of Harran’s marketplace. He passed a baker’s stall, his stomach rumbling with the mixed scents of yeast and cinnamon and honey, knowing that if he had any sense, he should take some to Sarai as a peace offering. He paused a moment to glance into the stall, but was in no mood to wait behind three cackling women with small children hanging onto their skirts.

He hurried on. Children scampered out of his way, his stick making an added
thwack
to every step but doing little to release his mounting aggravation. How was he supposed to care for his father and obey his God at the same time if his father was too frail to continue on? Why hadn’t the man stayed behind with Nahor? Hadn’t Adonai told Abram to leave his father’s household?

Guilt filled him. He came to an abrupt stop and lifted his gaze to the cloudy sky.
Am I doing the wrong thing?
He’d told the elders they planned to stay and live among the people for as long as it took until his father was well enough to travel. Their open acceptance should have warmed him, but mingled among the hospitality was a hint of greed, and Abram knew that these people would not accept his beliefs in Adonai Elohim. He almost told the truth about his marriage to Sarai, but decided they could live secretly as man and wife without the whole city having to know. She would remain his father’s daughter in their eyes. It was safer this way.

He blinked against the sun as it spilled from behind a cloud. His heart calmed, listening for some response, some relief from the guilt he now bore, but it found none. When he looked again at his surroundings, he recognized the house where they were staying, the place that had already become too familiar. Sarai stood in the courtyard talking over the brick wall with a neighbor, her friendly demeanor and beautiful smile dispelling his foul mood. At his approach, she turned, her smile fading behind a careful mask. She dipped her head, then walked swiftly toward him and kissed his cheek.

“Brother,” she said, her voice void of emotion, her mood obviously unchanged. “I trust your day was productive.”

He looked down at her, his heart constricting. Despite the head covering, her thin veil revealed a full mouth and dark blue eyes full of longing. He stifled a groan and turned her toward the house, his hand at the small of her back, gently urging her forward. “How is Father?” He glanced at the neighbor and nodded his greeting. The woman’s sharp eye worried him. The last thing he needed was a meddlesome gossip living beside them. Perhaps he could find a house closer to the city wall, a larger home, further from nosy neighbors.

“He seems better since we have settled, though I fear he is still too weak to travel, my lord.” She turned to face him the moment he closed the door. “What did the elders say?”

He placed a finger over her mouth to still her questions, then took her hand and tugged her toward his private quarters, shutting the door behind them. He closed the shutters over the windows, and the heat quickly rose in the stifling room.

“I trust you do not say much to our inquisitive neighbor?”

Sarai removed her veil, shaking the combs from her hair. “Of course not. I asked her for a recipe for lamb curry. I smelled it cooking in her courtyard the other day and she let me taste it. I wanted to make it for you.” She stepped closer and placed a hand on his chest, her soft fingers making his blood pump hot and fierce.

He released his grip on the walking stick and took her into his arms. She leaned into him, and he bent his head until his lips claimed hers. Her lips were honey and cinnamon, her love filling the longing ache in his heart.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered against her hair, pulling her down beside him on his bed. “But the time for secrecy has not passed.” His kiss silenced her response.

She rested against his chest, her even breathing a greater comfort than he could have thought possible. How had he denied her so long? And yet even amid the question, the fear of losing her returned.

“You did not tell the elders the truth about us, did you?” She rolled onto her side and rose up on one elbow, piercing him with those dark, seductive eyes.

He shook his head, feeling as though he had somehow failed her.