Abraham and Sarah Read online

  © 1995, 2014 by

  ROBERTA KELLS DORR

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Edited by Barbara A. Lilland

  Interior design: Ragont Design

  Cover design: Brand Navigation, LLC

  Cover images: man © Fotolia/magann; man’s eyes © iStockphoto LP/Kemter; Horizontal Bar Pattern © iStockphoto LP/naeinabil; woman © iStockphoto LP/master2; Desert scene © iStockphoto LP/adamkaz; Red Head Scarf © Big Stock/belinda-bw

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Dorr, Roberta Kells.

  [Abraham & Sarah, the long journey]

  Abraham and Sarah / Roberta Kells Dorr.

  pages cm

  Originially published: Nashville, Tenn. ; Moorings, 1995 as Abraham & Sarah, the long journey.

  Summary: “A splendid exploration of faith against great odds and love that endures years of disappointment. Abraham and Sarah is a masterful historical drama from the moment that Abraham strides into the pagan temple to rescue Sarah. The couple set out in search of the blessings God had promised: abundant fertile land and decedents more plentiful than the stars. But years of wandering bring the couple to Egypt where once again Abraham convinces Sarah that as sister and brother surely they will pass safely through the territory. But Pharaoh takes Sarah into his harem where she befriends Pharaoh’s daughter, Hagar. Together the three are ordered to leave. Years of barrenness have embittered Sarah and she hatches a plan: Hagar must become the vessel for the child God has promised. Ishmael is born to Hagar and so is jealousy born in Sarah’s heart. But God had a plan and He was right all along. This miracle unfolds with historical authenticity leaving the reader with a better understanding of the ancient world and the life-changing faith of Abraham and Sarah”-- Provided by publisher.

  ISBN 978-0-8024-0957-7 (pbk.)

  1. Abraham (Biblical patriarch)—Fiction. 2. Sarah (Biblical matriarch)—Fiction. 3. Bible. Old Testament—History of Biblical events—Fiction. 4. Brothers and sisters—History—Fiction. 5. Religious fiction. I. Title.

  PS3554.O694A64 2014

  813’.54--dc23

  2013041485

  We hope you enjoy this book from River North Fiction by Moody Publishers. Our goal is to provide high-quality, thought-provoking books and products that connect truth to your real needs and challenges. For more information on other books and products written and produced from a biblical perspective, go to www.moodypublishers.com or write to:

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  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Printed in the United States of America

  To my grandmother, Emma Benham Sherman, who instilled in me a love for the people of the Bible

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Excerpt from David and Bathsheba

  Excerpt from Queen of Sheba

  Friend,

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  Obedience is the fruit of faith; patience is the bloom on the fruit.

  —Christina Rossetti

  Nahor cursed and spat. “It’s just one night in the temple of the goddess. That’s not going to hurt her saucy arrogance as far as I can see.” He stood with his brother Haran on the river landing. It was before sunrise, and the mist rose around them, making it difficult to spot the barge as it pulled away. The brothers had just tallied a shipment of copper and diorite that was to be sent on to Dilmun in the gulf. The great city wall of Ur rose behind them in the darkness. The door leading back into their family warehouse remained open, giving the only light.

  Haran didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t eager to face their father with the unwelcome news. He pushed his round felt hat back on his head, leaned against the railing, and pondered the dilemma. The water lapped softly against the steps leading down to the river. The odor of brine and rotting wood filled their nostrils. Somewhere in a distant courtyard a cock crowed, signaling the approaching dawn. At sunrise they had agreed to meet their father.

  “The rites are cruel and you know it. You just don’t want to face it,” Haran said without looking up.

  “Every virgin in the city has gone through this ritual, so why not our sister?”

  “I’ll tell you why,” said Haran, whirling around to face Nahor. “Neither our father nor Abram will allow it.”

  “Abram isn’t here and our father can be convinced.” Nahor spoke with smug assurance. “Once he hears that the temple priests will buy no more idols from his shop, he’ll have to give in.”

  Haran walked down a few steps and knelt to wash his hands in the swiftly flowing water. He lingered a moment. “The fresh water from the Zagros Mountains is beginning to flow,” he said. “I can almost feel it pushing the briny water back into the gulf.”

  “Already?” Nahor lunged down the steps, pulled up the skirt of his robe, and squatted beside his brother. He held his hand in the river and smiled. “It’s only been two days since the sacred rites were held on top of the ziggurat; just imagine, spring is already on its way.”

  “You believe all of that?”

  “Why not?” Nahor said. “There’s some kind of power there. A mystery man and the priestess coming together in a sacred marriage, and it seems to happen every time.”

  “But the mystery man disappears. I suspect he’s sacrificed to the goddess in place of the king. At least that’s what’s whispered.”

  “But spring comes. There’s fresh water to fill the irrigation ditches. The fields turn green and are filled with flowers.” Nahor stood, lifted his fringed skirt, and wiped his hands. “The sun’s up. It’s time to go talk to our father.”

  Haran frowned as he walked slowly to the top of the stairs. “It’s a miserable business. Our father dotes on her. Her mother’s death almost killed him.”

  “He spoils her and you know it.” Nahor stood at the bottom of the stairs, his dripping hands held out to his sides. He had never liked the new wife old Terah had taken after his own mother died. For no reason h
e could explain, her daughter, Sarai, was a constant irritation to him. He sneezed, rubbed his hands impatiently on his robe, and mounted the stairs. “Our mother gave him three healthy sons, and as far as I know, Father never grieved for her.”

  “Come now,” chided Haran. “None of this is our sister’s fault.”

  “If she doesn’t make the sacrifice, it’ll be her fault. We’ll not only lose business, but the people of Ur will have nothing to do with us.”

  “I understand,” said Haran. “I agree with you. It’s just that I see the difficulty with our father and with Abram.”

  “I always say, if we’re going to live in Ur, we have to do as the people here do. There’s no other way.”

  The two brothers stood silently watching the sky slowly brighten as the mist lifted and vanished. They could see flecks of light touch clumps of palms on the far side of the river. Behind them, the night watchman whistled as he made his way along the top of the wall, no doubt heading home. The stork that had a nest at the corner of the wall stretched her wings and landed on the platform beside them. The brothers looked at each other and Nahor nodded. It was time to inform their father of their decision.

  Nahor and Haran met their father as arranged in the reception room of the old warehouse. The room was plain, even austere, and had the odor of dried thyme and crushed coriander. The walls were thin, being made of sun-dried mud bricks and plastered over with mud, dung, and straw. The sagging shutters stood open as did the worn wooden door—a futile attempt to catch a little warmth from the sun. Large flies clustered around these openings and kept up a steady buzzing.

  Terah was sitting cross-legged on a slightly raised dais covered with several sheepskins, his gnarled hands hovering over the leaping flame of the brazier to get them warm. He wore a motley assortment of layers, all stained and patched. The purple cloth he had wrapped around his head also served as a wrapping for his neck. His eyes were hooded and his nose an astonishing size, seeming to jut out from under the white tangle of eyebrows.

  When Nahor and Haran stood before him, Terah spoke. His words shot out with a rare fierceness as he explained that as long as he had only sons there had been no problem. Now with his daughter, the very flower of his heart, he was being pressed into an impossible decision. “For Sarai,” he said, “the rites would be cruel and terrifying.”

  When Terah stopped speaking, he motioned for his sons to sit down. They quickly obeyed and glanced at each other, not quite knowing how to begin. Finally Nahor spoke. “Our business is flourishing. We’d be foolish to let anything stand in our way.” He looked from his father to Haran, challenging them to disagree. “I just hired some new artists who are clever with clay. We are in line for big profits,” Nahor pressed on.

  “Well,” Haran fumed impatiently, “I can tell you right now Sarai won’t go along with this if she knows what’s going to happen.”

  Terah coughed and cleared his throat. His sons were immediately attentive, waiting for his opinion. They could tell by the set of his jaw, the way his eyes challenged them, and how his hands clasped and unclasped his measuring stick, that he was more upset than he had ever been in the past. “I know. I know very well the problem.”

  Haran fidgeted and frowned. “Up to the present we have been loyal subjects. My daughter Milcah would have taken part in the mysteries if Nahor hadn’t married her.”

  Nahor raised his hand and interrupted. “It comes down to this. If we refuse, we can’t expect the idols we make to be blessed by the goddess. If they aren’t blessed, who will buy them?”

  Terah’s face clouded. “That’s just the problem. The high priestess is standing firm on her decision. No family who refuses to make the sacrifices can continue to make idols.”

  “She has forgotten,” Haran interjected, “we are not Sumerians, or black-headed ones, as they call themselves.”

  “That adds to our difficulty,” Nahor said. “We’re not part of them. If we want to be accepted, we must honor their customs.”

  Terah was impatiently jabbing at the hot coals in the brazier. “Such a strange custom. Why do they insist on it?”

  Nahor hesitated, and when he spoke, there was a tone of awe in his voice. “They say it gives strength to the goddess. They swear that if a young virgin doesn’t submit to the mysteries, she’ll never bear children.”

  Terah was visibly shaken. He had forgotten this aspect of the rituals. “Then …” he said, “even though my daughter is beautiful …”

  “Exactly. No Sumerian would marry her. They would have nothing to do with her, fearing she was cursed.”

  Terah’s shoulders sagged and he dabbed at his eyes. “Now you see,” he said, “it isn’t simple. Not simple at all.”

  Nahor saw his father was weakening, and he jumped in to make the final point. “If we don’t have Sarai there for the ceremony tonight, we’ll lose the temple’s business, and Sarai will never marry or have children.”

  “Then,” Terah said, looking intently at Nahor, “you believe what they say?”

  “Believe or not,” Nahor said, “this will affect our business.”

  Terah had heard enough. He waved his hands wildly, signaling Nahor to stop. He wanted to end the discussion. There was a whole day before them and maybe he would think of something. He struggled to stand, and Nahor jumped up to help him.

  “My father,” he said, “don’t worry. I have been to the temple and have chosen one of these women for a night. I couldn’t see that it hurt her.”

  “But Sarai is so frivolous and strong-willed.” Haran was now standing, and his face was twisted into a look of misery.

  “I’ll talk with the priestess … give her some silver. I’ll make sure Sarai is treated right,” Nahor said. “When this is over, Sarai will thank us. She can marry anyone in Ur, even a prince.”

  Terah had heard enough. Without another word he turned and walked out the door and headed in the direction of the temple and the market. The two brothers came to the doorway and watched him go. They stood in silence, thinking of all the complexities. Their sister Sarai was beautiful but headstrong, the darling of the entire family, and Terah—along with their older brother Abram—could refuse her nothing.

  Abram was not to know of the scheme. He would never approve of it. In fact, ever since an experience none of them had been able to understand, Abram had been opposed to the family’s business in idols. He wanted them to stick to trading. He’d gone back to the ways of the old religion.

  “It’s fortunate,” Nahor said now, “that Abram is safely off on a trading venture and won’t be back until the fertility festival is over. By that time Sarai will probably be happily married to a wealthy man in Ur.”

  To everyone’s relief, Sarai did not balk at the invitation. Her brothers told her that she was to take part in the temple mysteries. When she asked more questions, they were evasive. The temple mysteries were always referred to with raised eyebrows and blushes, but the secrets were never divulged so she knew nothing of the sacrifice. She tried on the fine linen robe with many fringes, the caplet of silver leaves, and the new sandals with golden thongs and then paraded back and forth before the serving girls.

  “The goddess will find you beautiful,” one of the young girls said, clapping her hands in delight.

  “Better that Abram were here to see me. He always treats me as a child.”

  A serving maid smirked and said, “He won’t think you a child after tonight.”

  Sarai stopped preening and frowned. “No one believes me when I say I love Abram.” She looked around and saw their unbelieving expressions. She felt put out and contrary. In a burst of frustration she countered, “Someday I intend to marry him.”

  An old woman cackled with amusement, “After tonight you won’t need Abram’s love. You can marry anyone in Ur.” Sarai fingered the fringes and brushed a strand of hair back under the caplet. “I don’t want anyone else.”

  “Even a prince?” the women chorused.

  Sarai laughed. “A prince
? A Sumerian prince?”

  “Why not?” the old woman said. “Every young virgin hopes to marry one of Ur’s princes.”

  Sarai made circles with her fingers around her eyes. “They have big eyes and ugly shaved heads, and they are all fat.”

  “And Abram …”

  “Oh, he’s handsome and strong. He isn’t afraid of anything or anyone.” Everyone laughed as though it was a good joke. Abram was ten years older than Sarai and her half-brother. Though he was exactly as Sarai described him, still each girl assumed, given the chance, Sarai would choose a prince.

  Once more she was the center of attention. Maids whirled around the room trying to grant her every wish, and she, giddy with excitement, joked and posed in the new garments until she was bored with the whole affair.

  Sarai dropped the elaborate headpiece on one little slave’s head and thrust the fine robe and fancy slippers into another’s lap. “I’ll be back to get ready, but I have other things to do now.” Laughing, she turned to leave and was surprised to see her favorite maid blinking back tears and the others turning away so she couldn’t see their expressions.

  “What’s wrong?” she chided as she stepped back into the room. “Why is everyone so sad?”

  When no one answered, she snatched up the small image that had no body but sported two large eyes. “See, no evil djinn can harm me as long as I carry the eyes of the goddess. She sees everything.” She whirled around so that the eyes seemed to look in all directions.

  The slaves and serving maids had to laugh. Impulsively they gathered around her, kissing her hands and the hem of her robe. “Surely only good will come to you tonight,” her maid whispered. “The goddess will be merciful. She will be pleased with your offering.”

  Sarai tore herself away from them, and tucking the image of the eyes in the fold of her fringed robe, she joked, “Enough, the eyes have seen enough if I am to be approved by the goddess.” With that she left them, and it was only later, much later, that she remembered their tears and understood.

  Sarai loved attention. When evening finally came and all the women gathered to see that she was dressed as befitted Terah’s daughter, she preened and paraded before them like one of the family’s peacocks.