No Woman So Fair (19 page)

Terah did not wait long after this, only a few days, to confront Abram. “You see,” he cried, his eyes shining. “Your mother is better already.”

“And you think the moon god had something to do with it.”

“What else could it be?” Terah demanded. He was happy and had already made friends in Haran. He had found that he and Oliphaz had a great many things in common, and Abram had heard him talking about starting a trading venture based in Haran and sending craft downriver to the Euphrates. Terah was more excited about this prospect than his son had ever seen him, and Abram felt it necessary to warn him, “Father, don't get too involved here. We'll be moving on before long.”

“Not until your mother is well,” Terah insisted. “I've done my part. I've left my home, and we've come all this way with you. It would be cruel to drag your mother on a tiresome journey to nowhere.”

Abram argued long and finally said with exasperation, “Perhaps you may want to stay here, but I must press on.”

Terah grew incensed. “After all we've done, you would leave us! You're her favorite. You always have been. Would you leave her here to die?”

The words cut into Abram, and he could not answer. He sat beside his mother for long periods during the days that followed. He could see that she was still ill, although she had improved some. She clung to him, and his heart cried out at the choice that lay before him. Just the very thought of leaving her here to die and never seeing her again vexed and pained his heart.

He talked to Sarai about this, and she said, “I don't see how you could leave your mother, Abram. She may not live long. How would you feel if you left her alone, knowing she loved you more than anyone else?”

“But what about the Eternal One's command?”

Sarai said nothing, and his heart was heavy as he turned away.
I should never have allowed my parents to come!

****

Sarai was weary of the journey too, and to her Haran suddenly looked like a very restful place. The long months of travel and worry over her mother-in-law and the upcoming birth of Layona's baby had taken their toll on her, and she tried to soothe Abram, thinking,
If he just stays here awhile and settles down, maybe he'll forget about this journey he's on
. This left her feeling disloyal, for she knew how much the Eternal One meant to her husband. At times she was resentful of Abram's experience with this unseen God, thinking,
Why doesn't He ever speak to me?
But the Eternal One had not spoken to anyone other than Abram, as far as she knew, and she said no more about it. She knew Abram was engaged in a tremendous struggle, but deep in her heart she had no desire for going on to whatever lay ahead of them in the trackless desert.

****

“What's wrong, Sarai?”

Sarai was hurrying toward her tent when Abram stopped her. He had come in from keeping the herd and was covered with a fine dust.

“It's Layona. The child is coming.”

Abram blinked with surprise. “Why, it's too early!”

“It's coming anyway,” Sarai snapped.

Abram saw the strain in Sarai's face. There was some constraint between the two about this subject. He had found out by picking up on the gossip that many among his workers felt the child was his. He had waited for Sarai to ask him about it, but she never had. Now he stood there helplessly, as a man will at such times. He glanced over toward the city of Haran and thought of going there to find a midwife. When Sarai came out of the tent again, he asked her about this, but she said, “I doubt there is time, but you can try.”

Glad to have something to do, Abram went at once into Haran. He looked up Oliphaz, told him the problem, and Oliphaz said, “Why, yes, we have many fine midwives here. I'll choose the very finest.”

“Thank you, my friend—and I think you'd better hurry.”

Oliphaz did hurry, bringing Abram an older woman with white hair and sharp black eyes. Abram promised her a rich fee and then hurried her back to the camp. When he saw Sarai exiting the tent, he asked anxiously, “Has the child come?”

“No,” Sarai said, shaking her head sadly, “not yet, but I don't think Layona will live.”

An expression crossed Abram's face that Sarai could not read. She knew he was very fond of Layona, and she wondered at the pain she saw reflected in his eyes. “Who is this?” Sarai asked, nodding toward the old woman.

“This is the midwife.”

“You'd better come and see if you can do anything,” Sarai said sharply. The two women disappeared into the tent, and Abram stood outside helplessly. He bent down to get a drink of water from a clay jug on the ground and sat down with his legs crossed. Thoughts ran through his mind, and from time to time he jumped at the cries of pain issuing from the tent. It disturbed him so much, he got up and walked away out of hearing range.

“Come quickly,” Sarai called out to him many hours later. She had come to find Abram standing on the outskirts of the camp gazing out at the flocks.

“Is the child here?” he asked.

“Yes. It's a boy.” Sarai's voice cracked with brittleness, and she stared at Abram, waiting for him to speak.

“How is Layona?”

“Not good. She wants to see you.”

Abram stared at Sarai and saw that she was worn out by the long ordeal. Everyone in camp was nervous, aware of the difficulty of the birth and anxious for Layona's life.

“Come quickly. She's going fast,” Sarai urged.

Abram followed Sarai through the camp until they came to their tent. He stooped and went inside and saw the old midwife standing there wearily, her face tense. She gave Abram a sad look, then shook her head and left the tent.

Abram went at once to Layona, who lay still and gaunt on the sleeping mat. Her face was paler than any face he had ever seen, the long and painful ordeal having drained the life out of her. He reached out and put his hand on her forehead, aware that Sarai was watching from the door of the tent.

“Is it well with you, Layona?”

Layona did not answer. Fear gripped Abram, and he wondered if she was still alive.

“You have a fine son, Layona,” Abram said tenderly.

Layona's eyes opened slowly. Gazing up at Abram, she whispered, “I have a son?”

“Yes, a fine boy.”

“I'm dying, master.”

“No, no, you will be fine.”

“No.” The single word was all she had the strength for, and again Abram was seized with fear.

Abram turned to see Sarai watching, her face tense. Turning back to Layona, he touched the child that she held to her breast. “A fine boy,” he whispered.

Layona was dying—there was no question about it. She lay there for so long that both Abram and Sarai thought for a moment that she had already died, but he could still see her chest rising and falling gently. She stirred and in a burst of strength pulled the child closer to her lips and kissed his forehead. Then she looked up at Abram and said, “Will you take care of him?”

Abram said quickly, “Yes, of course I will.”

“Will you take care of him…as your own son?”

“Yes, Layona, I will.”

When Sarai heard these words, she stiffened as if she had been struck by a harsh blow. But it was an inward blow, and she did not move. She watched as Abram picked up the child and held him in his arms. Then he reached down and touched Layona's face once more, closing her eyes. He rose and stood before Sarai. Sorrow was written on his countenance, and he held the child tenderly. “She's gone, Sarai.” Hesitantly, he said, “We must care for the boy.”

Sarai reached for the child. “One of the slave women has a baby. She can nurse him. Give him to me.”

Abram extended the infant and watched as Sarai took him.

“Will you name him?” Sarai whispered as she gathered the baby to her. It was a poignant moment. Sarai could not tell what was taking place within her own spirit. She held the child tenderly, but the tenderness she felt was tinged with bitterness. This was not her son but another woman's. And from Layona's last request, she still did not know if the boy was Abram's. She looked at Abram and asked again, “Will you name him, Abram?”

Abram hesitated, then said, “I would like to call him Eliezer.”

“None of your kin are named that.”

“I know, but I like the name. It means ‘God has helped me.' Poor little fellow. He will need God's help!”

Sarai stared at Abram's face again before turning and saying, “I'll take him to the wet nurse.” She left the tent, and as she walked across the ground, conscious of the slight weight of the child and of the feelings that mingled in her breast, she wondered how she would ever reconcile her love for Abram with this new development.

****

Sarai's fears proved groundless. She grew very fond of the baby, and except for nursing him personally, she took care of him constantly. As the days passed and the child grew stronger, she searched his face every day for some sign of resemblance to Abram, but it was impossible to tell. Abram himself took great interest in the child, and more than once she almost demanded of him if he was Eliezer's father, but somehow she could not bring herself to do this.

Despite Sarai's uncertain feelings about Layona and Abram, the child proved to be a great comfort to both her and her husband in the loss of their beloved servant, who had been with them almost their entire married life. Except for her recent jealousy, Sarai had loved Layona, and she grieved over her loss, even in the midst of her confused feelings.

Abram loved the child as he loved all babies and always had. One day Sarai asked him, “Will we stay here for a long time, Abram?”

Abram was holding Eliezer on his lap, gazing at him fondly. He looked up and for a moment did not speak. It was as though he were weighing something in the balance. Sarai could not know that he was trying to settle in his mind whether it would be in the will of the Eternal One for him to go on and leave his parents here. He had struggled hard over this and had reached a decision.

“We'll stay here until my mother is well.”

Sarai was content. She had no desire to leave Haran, and she was taken up now with the care of the child. Her love of babies overcame her doubts and fears, and she looked ahead to a time of peace and quiet and of raising the son that was not her own.

A spirit of festivity filled the city of Haran with the jubilant sounds of singers and musicians in every street. The city was like an anthill swarming with men, women, and young people of every age. The air was filled with the scent of the harvest, especially the sharp, aromatic smell of grapes, which always pleased Abram.

Leaning back against the wall of his parents' house, he thought,
This is the tenth harvest I have watched in this place. It's hard to believe that Sarai and I left Ur ten years ago
.

The thought brought a frown to his face, disturbing the evenness of his features. He was sixty-five years old now, but he still felt like a young man. His limbs were strong, his face was relatively unlined, and if his wife were to be believed, he was more handsome than when she had taken him for her husband.

Ten years!

Despite the festivities surrounding him, Abram felt grief at the thought. He had waited for the Eternal One to speak to him, but there had been nothing all this time. The divine silence was profound, echoing in his heart more than the sound of singing that was coming from a group treading grapes.

Something rubbed against his bare calf, and he leaned down to see a strangely colored cat touching him tentatively with a paw. Leaning over, he picked up the loudly purring animal. Stroking the fur, he turned his attention to the crowd around him. Everywhere was shouting, and processions were coming in and out bringing harvest offerings to the city. The grapes had been plucked with singing, and now young men and young women were laughing and shouting, treading them with their naked feet into the stone winepress. Their legs were purple to the thighs, and a sweet juice flowed through a trough into the vat.

The seven-day feast would begin as soon as the wine was racked. There would be sacrifices of cattle and sheep, also of corn and oil, followed by much feasting and drinking. Abram's eyes narrowed as they brought the idol from his temple. Six strong young men, priests in training, carried Nanna, the moon god, on a platform, lifting it by two long poles. Musicians playing drums and cymbals lead the procession as the neophyte priests bore Nanna around to bless the city. He would then be carried out to the fields and the vineyards to give his blessing there.

Abram was unhappy as he stared at the idol, disgust rising in him when he watched people crowding forward to kneel down and kiss the idol as it passed.

“Kissing a block of stone and singing songs to it,” Abram muttered. “People should have better sense!” His eyes narrowed as he saw that Lot was in the way of the idol, waiting until it passed. Then he too reached out and kissed the stone block, raising his hand in worship.

“You ought to have more sense, Lot. That's a fool thing to do,” Abram grumbled. Leaning back against the wall, Abram thought of the possessions that had come to him throughout the ten years he had tarried at Haran. He had thousands of sheep now, not just hundreds, and thousands of cattle too. He had numerous household servants and more shepherds and drovers than he could count to tend all the animals. He lifted his eyes to the hills beyond the city and could see his tents in the distance. He wished he were there now. Haran was a fine city, and his father, Terah, had prospered in business here. But it held no charm for Abram. A persistent restlessness possessed him, urging him to move on from here. Shoving himself away from the wall, he began to walk among the crowds. He was greeted by name time and again and returned the greetings. It distressed him that he had become so settled in this place that no one thought of him any longer as a visitor but rather as a permanent member of the community.