Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) by Jill Smith

say such a thing? I do not engage in such foolishness.” Though if she’d had a handful of sons by now, she would have gladly helped choose their brides-to-be. But she hid that thought, smiling into his eyes. “I simply thought how much Eliezer looks up to you, how much like a father you must seem to him, and thought you might help him get over his loss by finding another wife for him.”
    Abram glanced toward Eliezer, and she noticed his shoulders visibly relax at the gentle tune coming from his simple instrument. “If I were his father, I would do just that, dear one. But a master and a father are not the same. I can suggest, if that would please you, but nothing else.”
    “Perhaps you should change his status and yours.” The whispered words seemed to echo between them.
    He turned in his seat, one hand loosely gripping the mug, the other resting on her knee. “What are you suggesting, Sarai?”
    “Isn’t it obvious, my lord? If something should happen to us along the way, Lot would inherit all you own. But would he care for the servants or the flocks as you do? Would he care where we were buried or say the blessing over us? I would not wish to see him made wealthy on your account.” It was no secret between them what she thought of Lot’s weaknesses or Melah’s complaints.
    Abram ripped another piece of bread from the loaf and looked away, his mind obviously working as he popped it into his mouth and chewed. She sipped the spiced wine again, warmth spreading through her, relaxing the tight muscles and easing the aches from riding all day. There was nothing more to be done now but wait as he pondered what she had said.
    He finished his meal, downed the last of the wine, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Standing, he offered her his hand. “Come, wife.”
    She smiled at the twinkle in his eye, knowing their conversation about Eliezer was at an end. Their conversation of a different sort was just beginning.

8
    The skies changed little and the days ran into each other, a blur of monotony from dawn until dusk. After a month of riding the camel, breaking at noon, then riding some more until the sun left little light by which to set up the tents, Sarai had almost become used to the routine. But the day finally came when they passed through to the land of Canaan, past the town of Shechem, and moved on to the large oak tree of Moreh, where Abram stopped the caravan and gave the command to pitch his tents.
    Servants moved in a familiar pattern, unloading donkeys and camels and pulling tents and cooking utensils from wooden carts. Women guided children in small tasks and set about preparations for the evening meal. Sarai moved to join them when she caught sight of Abram and Eliezer talking a stone’s throw from where the servants were setting up Abram’s tent.
    The sight was nothing unusual. Abram often consulted with his chief steward, but when Eliezer dropped to his knees and kissed the hem of Abram’s robes, Sarai’s curiosity propelled her to move closer. Abram extended a hand to Eliezer and helped him to stand again.
    “Once the tent is set up and everything is unpacked, I will draw up the contract and place my seal over it. Until Adonai sees fit to give me a son of my own body, you will be my heir.” His arm drew an arc pointing toward the people and herds that spread out before them as far as they could see. “Adonai has promised to give me descendants, and I do not doubt His promise.” Sarai moved closer, and when Abram saw her, he beckoned her with his arm. “I do not doubt that Adonai will do all He has said. But I also do not know when that will be. It is wise in the eyes of the law to have an heir.” Abram looked at Eliezer, and Sarai breathed a sigh of relief at the man’s nod of agreement.
    “I will be honored to be your heir, my lord. And I will be pleased to be second to any son you might have as well. I will do all in my power to protect what is yours, and if you should die, I