Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) by Jill Smith Page A

and the household servants and their children at peace.
    “The festival. Of course. I had almost forgotten.” Though by the slight scowl along his brow, Sarai wondered if he spoke the truth. “I will leave you two to your plans then.” He offered her a curt nod, not even a hint of his once-charming smile poking at the edges of his close-cropped beard. He strode through the courtyard into the street, turned a corner, and disappeared from sight.
    Did Lot plan to allow his household to participate in the gaiety, to watch the act of sacred marriage or pretend the moon god had died and somehow come to life again? She knew too well the horrors of the sacrifice that accompanied the festival, of life lost because of such beliefs. Their brother Haran had lost his son to such a sacrifice in the years before Sarai was old enough to understand its significance. She shuddered at the thought.
    “Are you ready?” Melah appeared at her side, her face barely a handbreadth from Sarai’s.
    Sarai took a step back. “I’m ready.” She pointed toward the gate, allowing Melah to move ahead of her. They maneuvered the crowded streets, and Sarai could not help but note the festive atmosphere already present, as though the people were anxious to start the celebration. Men whistled as they passed, and as they stepped beneath the merchants’ tents, smiles greeted them.
    “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Sarai fingered a miniature table with its accompanying stool, bed, and doll, then snuck a glance at Melah. “Why was Lot so upset?”
    Melah stood close, her hand grazing a selection of tiny animals—sheep, goats, birds, bears, and lions. “Kammani would love these.” She picked up a lamb and turned it over. The wooden craftsmanship was superb, down to the fine lines depicting the wool.
    “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.” Sarai chose several tops and balls and small ships for the boys, along with some dolls and furniture for the girls. She enjoyed spoiling the children of her servants. It didn’t quite fill the void of her empty arms, but the temporary joy it brought to the children and parents alike helped.
    “We argued about the festival. He doesn’t want me to go.” She lifted her chin, a defiant gleam in her eyes. “But we’ve been here a year, and we missed it last time. I told him I was going whether he liked it or not.” She met Sarai’s gaze, her own challenging. “And I don’t want to hear any lectures against the evils of watching the parade or listening to the stories of the gods. If it isn’t real, there’s no harm. And if it is, then it’s good to keep the gods happy.”
    Sarai’s stomach tightened and a shiver worked through her, as it always did whenever she and Melah got into a discussion about the gods. “I won’t argue with you, Melah. Obviously Lot already tried that.” She stepped toward the merchant with her purchases, exchanged a few words to barter the price, paid the man, then followed Melah to the next tent. She was in no mood to argue with Melah today, and by her tone, there would be no reasoning with her anyway.
    “What are we looking for here?” Sarai glanced around the black goat’s-hair walls, where multicolored tapestries hung with pictures of erotic art. Tables were spread with amulets and idols of gods she had seen in Ur all her life. She turned to leave, but Melah caught her arm.
    “I need an amulet to keep the demons from stealing my baby.” She laid a hand over the place where a child would lay.
    “Kammani is to have a brother or sister?” Sarai could not stop the swift pang of jealousy, but she smoothed her expression and stuffed the pain away. She smiled. “How wonderful for you.”
    Melah lost her defiant look, her gaze suddenly troubled. She moved to one of the tables holding various stone pendants strung with leather strings to wear about the neck. “If the gods are kind to me. You know how many I have lost.” Melah had miscarried several