Sarah: Women of Genesis: 1 (Women of Genesis (Forge)) Read Free

condition of the wedding—that you never have to live in a tent. But this is the best marriage I will ever be able to arrange for you.”
     
    Qira was no fool. She might be bitterly disappointed, but she knew that Father would not lie about such a thing. “I will do my duty,” she said miserably.
     
    And so it was that she consented to this miserable wedding, wrecking all her hopes, discarding all her dreams.
     
    Ever since then, she had wondered: What god was it who hated her so much?
     
    Still, for days at a time she had been able to forget what lay in her future. Desert men were unreliable. They changed their minds. They broke their word. Or perhaps her future husband died in battle and would never come for her. Or starved to death out in the deep desert where not even grass could grow. She had all sorts of hopeful fantasies like that.
     
    But now the filthy uncle was here, and Father insisted on parading her forth as if he were selling a milk cow.
     
    “Wear the scarlet,” Father said.
     
    Her most precious gown. Well, she would not wear it, not for the mere uncle. What did desert men know of scarlets and other bright and precious colors? Everything was the yellow of grass and sand to them, everything smelled of the hair and dung of animals, and the only music that they knew was mooing and bleating. Scarlet would be wasted on him. If Father was unhappy that she disobeyed, what would he do? Beat her with a stick in front of the uncle? Father could insist on the marriage, but she would show her independence where she could. Qira was not one for submissive obedience, and Father had better remember it.
     
    So it was her blue and brown woollen dress that she pulled on over her linen shift, only one step up from what a tradesman’s wife might wear.
     
    “Qira, what are you doing?”
     
    Sarai stood in the door of her room, looking stricken.
     
    “Showing proper respect to my uncle-to-be,” said Qira, feigning innocence.
     
    “You mustn’t,” said Sarai.
     
    “He’s a desert man—what will he know?”
     
    “He will know,” said Sarai. “He’s not what you think. He doesn’t talk like an Amorite—his speech is as pure as ours, the speech of Ur the Great. And he’s a man of refined senses, I know it—he’ll understand what you mean by this coarse dress.”
     
    “It is a dress belonging to the daughter of a king,” said Qira. “All my clothing is far above his station.” Why she was bothering to argue with a ten-year-old was beyond her, anyway.
     
    Sarai stood in the doorway, contemplating her.
     
    “Yes, after all, I think you’re right,” said Sarai.
     
    Since Sarai never changed her mind easily, Qira grew suspicious. “What do you mean?”
     
    “It’s good to begin your marriage with honesty, not pretending,” said Sarai. “With this dress you’ll show him that you’re the daughter of a fallen, beggarly house that lives on the gifts of another king. The royal scarlet would be nothing but a sham.”
     
    “I hate you,” said Qira. “Asherah may never forgive Father for giving him such a nasty daughter.”
     
    “You don’t hate me,” said Sarai. “You love me because I remind you to do what you already know that you should.”
     
    “I don’t like doing what I should.”
     
    “Neither do I,” said Sarai. “But we both do what we must.”
     
    Qira burst into tears and embraced her sister, who also wept. But as they clung to each other, Sarai spoke softly. “If your bridegroom is like his uncle, you’ll not be cursed by this marriage, you’ll be blessed. The uncle is a handsome man, and he speaks like one who is born to rule.” She told Qira all about Abram, saying several times that since this was only the uncle, the husband was bound to be even better.
     
    But Qira saw the truth behind the words, and she was astonished. “You’ve fallen in love with the uncle!” she said.
     
    Sarai looked startled, then embarrassed. “I like him,” said