Read Online Sarah: Women of Genesis: 1 (Women of Genesis (Forge)) by Orson Scott Card - Free Book Online Page A

beyond Jordan, I always return within a year. This is the land God has given me.”
     
    “Does he plan to let anyone else know this?” asked Sarai. “Or will they take your word for it?”
     
    “With the Lord, things don’t happen all at once,” said Abram. “It might be my children or my children’s children who inherit the land—I’m content having the Lord’s promise.” He put his fingers to her lips to stop her from mentioning that his grandchildren could not inherit anything unless she first bore him a child or two to get things started. “Sarai, I’m explaining something.”
     
    “And I’m listening.”
     
    “For just a moment, my love, listen with your ears, and leave your lips out of it.”
     
    His grin almost kept his words from stinging.
     
    “Sarai, the Lord today affirmed his promise. He said that he would bless those that bless me, and curse those that curse me.”
     
    “Did he mention rain?”
     
    Abram looked heavenward in supplication.
     
    “Sorry,” said Sarai.
     
    “The Lord mentioned, ” said Abram, “a journey.”
     
    “Your life is a journey,” said Sarai. Then she clamped her hand over her mouth and between her fingers mumbled, “Sorry.”
     
    “To Egypt.”
     
    She sat in silence.
     
    “Well, don’t you have anything to say to that?” he demanded.
     
    She rolled her eyes and made a great show of trying, and failing, to pry her mouth open.
     
    “Egypt!” said Abram. “So much wisdom there, I’ve heard.”
     
    She made a face and rocked her head back and forth derisively.
     
    “Just because you didn’t like the Egyptians who came to Ur-of-the-North doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with Egypt itself,” said Abram. “Only lowborn and ambitious Egyptians, or the highborn without ambition, end up so far from the Nile. The best of them remain in Egypt, because it’s not just the oldest kingdom in the world, to them it’s the only kingdom.”
     
    Sarai mimed falling asleep.
     
    “They have water in Egypt, Sarai,” said Abram. “The Nile is low, but it still flows, and the flood comes every spring.”
     
    “Why would they give any to us?” she said.
     
    “Ha! I knew you couldn’t keep that silence going forever!”
     
    “Why should I bother to speak, when you don’t answer my words?” asked Sarai.
     
    “They will give us water and food and fodder because they value knowledge. They will tell me what they know, and I will tell them what I know.”
     
    “Or they’ll kill you and steal your books and read for themselves.”
     
    Abram laughed. “That would be silly. They can’t read it!”
     
    “Make sure to tell them that very quickly,” said Sarai, “because they might be disappointed to discover it later, but you’ll be dead.”
     
    “What kinds of stories do they tell about Egypt, there in Ur-of-the-North?” asked Abram. “They don’t kill every stranger who comes.”
     
    “But strangers who come from the desert with vast herds and a mighty host—how will they know, from the look of us, whether we’re supplicants or invaders?”
     
    “When I explain who I am—”
     
    “The last time you explained to an Egyptian who you were,” said Sarai, “he tried to sacrifice you.”
     
    Abram shrugged. “If the Lord chooses to let them kill me in Egypt, then that’s where I’ll die.”
     
    “That’s well for you,” said Sarai. “God knows your name, you’re old friends. What happens to the rest of us?”
     
    “He knows your name, too,” said Abram.
     
    She smiled. But inwardly she argued: Does he? Does he know that I exist? I’d rather think he didn’t, that he simply hasn’t noticed me, and when he does he’ll say, Oh, Sarai! How could I forget a good woman like that! She needs some babies! Who was supposed to remind me of that? While if he does remember me, then my barrenness is not by chance. He must hate me.
     
    A little voice, deep inside, said, It isn’t the God of Abram who hates you. It’s