Children of Eber (The Generations Book 4)

by Caryl McAdoo

  He snorted. “What do you know of evil?”

  Chapter Two

  The image of her father standing over Haran’s grave stayed with Sarai. What had the old man done? Why had he asked her dead brother to forgive him? More questions than her number of hair ribbons and beads roiled in her head, and hard as she tried, she couldn’t get close enough to Abram to get any answers.

  Then, like Haran’s death was the slave’s fault, Sarai’s father sold the woman! Lot’s and the twins’ mother! And they stayed.

  Why had he done that? It was horrible.

  No one would tell her anything even though she was the oldest daughter! Didn’t that mean something?

  Finally, an opportunity presented itself.

  While the babies played in the courtyard’s dirt under her supervision, from who knew where, her beloved brother suddenly sat next to her on the bench. “You’re looking extra radiant this fine day, beautiful one.”

  She glanced around. The mothers worked just inside preparing the evening meal. Nina sat a chair in the shade, more than likely snoozing. She faced her best brother. “Tell me quickly. What did Father do?”

  “When?”

  “To Haran! What did Father do to our brother?”

  His smile vanished, and his eyes hardened. “Do you ever forget anything?”

  “No!” Her volume surprised her. She softened her tone. “No, of course not. Now tell me why father asked for Haran’s forgiveness.”

  Abram filled his lungs then exhaled slowly, like he hunted just the right words. She hated his stalling. Someone might spot them together any minute, even though they weren’t in an enclosed room. The courtyard might count as being alone even with the babies there. Would they count? The time almost alone with him might end at any second.

  His near shoulder hiked a tittle. “For being banished.”

  The words pushed her away, as if he’d thrown a spring lamb in her lap. Banished? Haran had been exiled? But why? She recovered and leaned in close, careful not to touch him. “Your brother was banished? From where?”

  “No, not Haran. Our father. From the Valley of Eight.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Oh, Abram! You’re home.”

  Sarai jumped to her feet and faced Mother Judith, standing next to the suddenly wide-awake Nina, just past the shadows. Putting on her best I’m-not-doing-anything-wrong smile, Sarai didn’t speak. The beautiful lady only had eyes for her eldest son.

  “Yes, just now. Where’s Father? I have news.”

  Her future husband patted her head as he walked toward the house. Banished… her own father? And what was the Valley of Eight? She’d never heard of such a place. She hated it to the flood and back!

  Why couldn’t grownups just tell her what she wanted to know?

  After all, she was a big girl. Father had said so himself.

  At the mouth of the Valley of Eight, in the shadows of the date tree, the line of belled and tasseled dromedaries Eber had been watching neared. His grandson, closest and in their path, stepped forward then stood next to the pool.

  The caravan stopped short. The man who sat the lead camel touched his forehead then brought his hand toward the trough. “Our beasts have need of water. What’s your price?”

  “Freely given, freely receive.”

  “Blessings on you, and on your master’s house, young man.”

  His grandson glanced over his shoulder then faced the traveler and smiled. “I have no master save the Lord, sir.”

  Eber motioned for the others to return to work and stepped from the shadows of the palm grove. “Travelers. Welcome. From where have you come?”

  “The land of Ur.”

  “Ah, and is all well?”

  “Peace for now, but . . .” The man shook his head. “The season approaches when kings go to war.”

  With the wooden trough filled, and while the dromedaries slaked their thirst, the man told Eber and his grandson of raids, tribal clashes, and rumors of the same. Before he took his leave, he passed on a tidbit that propelled Eber up the hill to his home. The grand rock and brick palace came into view, and as always, its beauty struck him.

  A question popped into his mind. One for which he had no answer.

  How could anyone so privileged to add his suite to such a home choose to rebel against God’s ways and get himself banished?

  Wandering though the ancient domicile, Eber found the patriarch in the sunroom that used to be Father Noah’s. The elder worked on a painting of the brilliant colors arced across the blue sky, the token of God’s covenant; His promise never to destroy the world again by flood waters. On the canvas Father Noah lifted his hands to the heavens in worship with Lion and Lamb looking on.

  Breathtaking.

  Stepping inside, he waited until his double-great-grandfather took notice.

  “Eber. How is the date harvest coming?”

  “Great, Father. We’ll have all we need, plus plenty to trade.”

  “Excellent.”

  “A caravan traveled through today. The headman brought news of Ur.”

  “Do they still war with the Hamites?”

  “Yes, sir, some. But he bore sad news of Terah.”

  Shem dipped his brush in linseed oil, wrapped it in a cheese cloth, then faced the younger man. “Tell it.”

  “Haran is dead.”

  “How?”

  “Those who know are not talking. It appears the boy attended a new moon celebration the night before. Someone dumped him at Terah’s gate dressed only in his tunic, no purse or staff, and no marks or wounds on him.”

  “Terah’s sins have found him out.”

  “Yes, sir. My thought exactly.”

  He bowed his head and sought Adam’s God on the boy’s behalf. Not that he hadn’t kept all three of the boys in his daily prayers since news of the triplets’ birth. He finished then looked at his son. “If you see Mother Jemri, tell her to bring a bowl of dates in to me.” He grinned. “Guess someone should check their sweetness. And share the news with Arphaxad. He needs to record the boy’s death. Such a shame…so young.”

  “Yes, sir.” His son turned.

  “Did the man say for certain it was Haran?”

  Eber looked back and nodded. “I asked that he repeat it.”

  Once alone again, Shem resumed work on his painting, thinking of the newest deletion to his family. The first set of triplets this side of the flood…and now one had perished. He tired of daubing colored oil onto the canvas, cleaned his mother’s brushes, and put them away. Still no dates. He went to find his wife.

  If his nose didn’t lie, someone baked sweetbread.

  To his delight, Jemri drew a second loaf from the oven as he entered the kitchen. The first, already removed from the pan, cooled on a rack. Father Noah and Mother Hattimas certainly planned the hub of the dwelling well. Even with half a dozen daughters scurrying around, chopping, washing, grinding, mixing, and laughing, more than enough room remained for one dawdling old man.

  He smiled at himself.

  His beauty hadn’t detected him, so he slipped in behind her and kissed her neck.

  She spun. “Shem! What are you doing in here? I thought you’d be painting until dinner at least. Was that Eber I heard earlier?”

  “It was. I’d told him to tell you to bring a bowl of dates, but evidently he didn’t see you on his way out.”

  “Oh, my love, I’m sorry.”

  “No need.” Drawing her to himself, he held her close and rubbed her back. “The wonderful aroma you’ve created brought me instead to your domain.”

  “So here you are. Followed your nose as usual. I should have known. So, what did our grandson allow?”

  “He spoke of a traveler who brought news of Terah and Judith.”

  “Has she murdered the letch?”

  “No, but the youngest of their triplets is dead.”

  She backed away. “Oh, no! Haran? How?” Then she leaned in as if no one else should hear her speculation. “Was
he certain? What of Zillah’s child?”

  “Apparently, she is fine.”

  His wife closed her eyes, appeared to be praying, then shrugged. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  “Well said, but Terah brought this on. He chose the way of rebellion, to break from the customs of his fathers and take a second wife just as the heathen practice.”

  “Indeed. Oh, but I am so sorry. Poor Judith. So what do you think it means? Will the Lord require Zillah’s child also?”

  “Who can know or discern His will? Perhaps Abba has shown Eber. He may know.”

  “So it seems more and more apparent…will Salah’s son truly be the next patriarch?”

  “I’ve seen it in my dreams as though it had already happened. Put aside his relationship with the Almighty, Eber is more skilled than even Arphaxad. With God speaking less and less, I hesitate to discount dreams.”

  “I’m sure you’re correct.” She stepped in close and kissed him lightly. “But no one, my love, is more skilled than you.”

  He kissed her back amidst a twitter of his daughters’ giggles, then the sweetbread caught his eye. “Have we honey?”

  “Of course, and also cane sugar if you prefer.”

  After much too thinly carved slices sat on a napkin in front of him, he shared his heart with his wife. “What I want is for Terah to return from Ur and –”

  “And what?” She drew back, her eyes widened. “Put Zillah away? She’s innocent in his…his…I don’t even know what to call it besides sin.”

  “Are you sure the girl is so blameless? I’m not.”

  “Well, she is his wife now. No matter what part she might have played in his decision. He’s the one who took her to wed.” Her countenance fell from anger to sympathy. “Poor dear Judith. And Zillah. You know he can’t come home. Not after what he’s done.”

  Shem had to agree. But still, he longed for the boy’s return. He hated it when any of his line left or died, especially firstborns. They were special. But exactly why, he wasn’t sure.

  In the shadows of his dreams, though, the truth hid, waiting for the fullness of time.

  Chapter Three

  In all of Sarai’s thirteen years, she’d never hated her father’s rule more than on that day. Tears streamed down Abram’s cheeks as he leaned on his shovel. She loved him so, and the urge to hold him and comfort him, kiss the sadness away rose powerful in her. But obediently, she stood stone still between her mother and father.

  A blessing Nina called it, and Sarai agreed.

  Mother Judith had looked so peaceful in death.

  Yet her brothers, especially her betrothed, wept bitterly over her death.

  Her father stepped to the head of her grave and dropped the first handful of dirt on her shrouded body. He turned from the grave then held both arms out. Sarai took the left side while her mother snuggled in on the right. Wrapping his arm tight around her, he trudged back to the house.

  That night when her mother came to her room to trim her lamp, Sarai grabbed her hand as she kissed her forehead. “Tell me, Mother. Why?”

  She sat on the bed. “No one knows the mind of God, Daughter. He gives and He takes away.”

  “No, not that. I know why Mother Judith died. What I want to know is why you gave up everything to marry Father.”

  “My beautiful girl.” Her mother shook her head. “Do you ever tire of asking questions?”

  “No, Mother. I want to know all things and understand every action that goes on around me. Is that evil? I think not. Nina is the only one in this whole house who’ll tell me anything—and she’s told me so much—but she doesn’t know why you agreed to become Father’s second wife. I’m not a child anymore, so please. Tell me.”

  How she hated everyone treating her like a baby, especially her parents.

  “So, your nursemaid. She’s been telling you tales?”

  Sarai sat up, scooted back, and leaned against the headboard. What had she done?

  Her only confidant would hate her and never speak to her again, leaving her in the dark forever. “Mother, you cannot send Nina away. I love her. But…but…not as much as I love you, of course. She’s only told me some, very little actually. Not everything, barely anything now that I think of it. We did speak of Father Noah…was his home really grand?”

  “Sweetheart, you have no idea. Brick and stone, and huge gopher wood beams from the ark itself. That’s the only thing I regretted having to leave, but yes, it was grander than anything you could imagine. Even had running water straight into the sink in your Grandmother Hattimas’ kitchen. Nina only got to see parts of it. Judith and I explored every nook and cranny.”

  “I’d love to see it one day, how fabulous it is. So then, it is even grander than the king’s palace?”

  “Baby girl, the brute who calls himself the king of the Chaldeans abides in a hovel compared to the majestic home where I was born.”

  No matter how much she hated her mother’s infantile nickname, she’d hold her tongue and pray the deflection in conversation would keep the woman who bore her from any unkind thoughts against the one who loved and cared for her every day of her life. Still, the hunger to know the answer…. “So then, why did you leave it?”

  A wry smile crossed her mother’s lips. As though inspiration had landed on her heart in the manner of a butterfly lighting on one’s nose. “On the day of your wedding, I promise I will answer any and all of your questions—every single one. Until then, my dear, you need to remain as you are. Innocent of the world’s ways.”

  “But…”

  “No, Sarai, heed my words. The seven years until your brother is of age will pass like yesterday. Enjoy your maidenhood. Married life will.…” Her mother sighed and hiked her near shoulder.

  “What? Please don’t do that to me. Tell me. What will married life be like? I want to know everything.”

  “I know you do. You’re so much like me. Still, some things were never meant for tender ears, and you, my love, have the most tender of all.” She stood, blew her another kiss, then turned and marched out.

  In great contradictions, the new moons stacked on top of themselves so slowly. At times, Sarai counted the days by each tick of the waterwheel, but then, looking back, the years had sped by. With each one, her brothers spent more and more time away, while her father’s days at home increased.

  Exactly how, she wasn’t privy to, but his wealth increased by leaps and bounds.

  By then, Nina oversaw so many servants that Sarai had trouble keeping their names straight. She so longed for the leisurely, informative conversations she used to share with her nurse. But the occasion of being alone with her rarely presented itself. And speaking of being alone… there was one she desired more than all the rest.

  Her beloved.

  But other than at meals with the whole clan there, she hardly ever even saw Abram anymore. No need to ask, she understood the why, but nothing would happen. Since her destiny paired her with her favorite brother to wed…why couldn’t she have some time to be with him, in his presence, speak with him and hear his intimate whisperings?

  Chaperones could be near, watching her and her brother with the eyes of an eagle.

  With so much that needed to be decided, she should be involved. After all, the two become one. Isn’t that what the elders said? So then, it was her life, too. Yet, no matter how often she tried to bring the conversation around to convince anyone her plan carried logic, no one would sit still enough to listen or answer her questions about her impending nuptials.

  Eighty-three new moons waned without a word of her wedding, then one day—suddenly, as though it only just occurred to everyone—the celebration of the brothers’ thirtieth birth loomed only twenty-eight days away, and there couldn’t be enough waking hours in the day, not enough in the weeks either with a mere four to plan her wedding.

  Impossible.

  Then worse than a dagger to her heart, Nahor announced he, too, would marry. Seeing as there was no sister for him,
he’d wed his dead brother’s half-Hamite daughter! Milcah was barely thirteen years old, practically still a baby!

  It wasn’t fair.

  A major miracle ensued with so much accomplished in so few days, and the final preparations received their last touches on the day before Abram’s birth celebration—the one she’d waited for so long. If not for what lay ahead, she’d be giddy, but in spite of what Nina had whispered in her ear, dread overshadowed her joy.

  That morning, her mother would fulfill her vow. Otherwise, she might have stayed in bed. The mere prospect of getting all of her most pressing questions answered caused her to leave her warm covers. The attentions of all the women of the home would focus on her until even, preparing her bath, arranging her hair.

  Just like a princess. That’s what the name her father had given her meant. Sarai, princess. But how could that be? He was no king. He’d been banished, and she wanted to know every detail. At least all the telling might help pass the sun’s journey across the sky and for it to kiss the western horizon.

  For most of all—more than knowing anything, more than all the fussing over her—she wanted the sun to set, bringing in the new, blessed day in which she and her beloved would wed. Becoming one with him…she’d waited her whole life to be his, and regardless of all that her nurse insisted, the coming night…alone with Abram…promised to be the best of her life.

  And they’d never be parted again.

  After breaking her fast, she poured two mugs of tea, laced it with honey and mint, then invited her mother to the courtyard, patting the space next to her on the center bench. The mistress of the house took one sip then two.

  “You make the best tea, Daughter.”

  “Thank you.” She sucked her lungs full, held it too long then had to take a breath. “It’s the day of my wedding’s eve.”

  “Yes.” She turned sideways. “Did you hear? A troupe of Hamites came to Ur yesterday. They tout their dancing donkeys and trained monkeys. Would you want me to ask your father if he’ll hire them?”