Then Hagar glanced toward Sarah’s tent and saw her. At once the smile left her face. “Ishmael,” she called sternly. “Come here.”

  At first Ishmael simply ignored her, laughing as Isaac tried to free himself by pulling the scarf from Ishmael’s grip. But when he glanced at her and saw her nod her head toward Sarah’s tent, it was Ishmael’s turn to notice Sarah standing there. For now she had the door fully open and stood there in plain sight.

  At once Ishmael started to untie the scarf around Isaac’s mouth. But all of Isaac’s pulling had made the knot too tight to undo easily.

  “Let go of my son,” said Sarah.

  “I’m just untying the—”

  “Let go of him now,” said Sarah.

  Ishmael, apparently realizing how bad this looked to Isaac’s mother, finally obeyed. At once Isaac ran to Sarah and clung to her leg, sobbing, his voice still muffled by the scarf. When he inhaled, his breath was a labored gasp, for crying had plugged up his nose, so that the only breath he could get was whatever air he could draw through the gag. And since it was now soaked in saliva, there wasn’t much air getting through at all.

  Sarah tried to get a finger between Isaac’s cheek and the cloth of the scarf, to open a passage for air to pass. But it was so tight that she could not do it.

  “I was trying to keep him quiet so you could sleep,” said Ishmael.

  “Go to your mother,” said Sarah. “She thinks it’s clever for you to torture a baby.” She couldn’t undo the knot either.

  “I was just teasing him,” said Ishmael. “I didn’t hurt him.”

  Sarah pulled the knife from the sheath at her waist.

  Ishmael gasped. She looked at him, saw the horror on his face as he backed away from her. Stupid boy, to think she would take after him with a knife at her age. Carefully she worked the blade between the scarf and Isaac’s cheek, then carefully sawed at the wet fabric, careful to keep the edge from touching Isaac’s tender skin. Soon the scarf came apart, and Isaac gasped and sobbed and fell into her arms as she lowered herself to the ground to hold him close. She did not even bother to look to see where Ishmael was, beyond noticing that he was gone.

  Finally one of the servants noticed her in the doorway and came to her. “Oh, is he crying again? Did he wake you?”

  “Go get my husband,” said Sarah.

  “Let me take the baby and you go back to bed,” said the servant.

  “Go get my husband,” said Sarah again. Perhaps because her intonation was exactly the same both times, flat and brooking no discussion, the servant realized that something quite serious must be going on. So she ran down the slope to where Abraham was regaling the company with some story or other. Soon he came up the hill, with far too many of the company coming with him, to see what was so urgent that Sarah would summon her husband, instead of going to him herself.

  Well, let them wonder. They would see Isaac crying. They would see the stern look on Sarah’s face. No doubt Hagar would be spreading the story through the camp that Ishmael was just teasing the baby as boys will do, and Sarah was making something out of nothing. Let her say what she would. It was Hagar’s indulgent smile more than Ishmael’s cruel teasing that condemned them both. Hagar had shown that rather than being a restraint on Ishmael’s worst impulses toward Isaac, she would be an encouragement to him. Today she allowed petty cruelties and mocking contempt. What would she allow in a year or two? What would she allow when Sarah and Abraham were dead?

  I have kept still for the first years of Isaac’s life, because Abraham asked me to be patient and see how things turned out between Hagar’s son and my own. But now I will be patient no longer. I saw this from before the baby’s birth, and my husband did not hear me. He will hear me now.

  Abraham looked puzzled and, perhaps, a little annoyed as he approached her. Sarah rose up, parting Isaac from his grip on her. “Your father will carry you inside the tent,” she said.

  Isaac turned his tear-streaked, saliva-soaked face toward Abraham and reached up his arms. Abraham lifted him as Sarah bent over and picked up the scarf. She led the way inside the tent, and when Abraham had also entered with Isaac at his shoulder, she closed the door behind her. She knew that Eliezer would soon have would-be eavesdroppers dispersed from around the tent.

  She held up the scarf. “This was tied around Isaac’s mouth so tightly that I could only get it off by cutting it. He could hardly breathe.”

  Abraham looked properly horrified. “Who did it, do you know?”

  “The other end of the scarf was held by Hagar’s son. Isaac was screaming for me and trying to run to my tent. He could have broken his neck when he outran the tether and flipped over on his back. Ishmael laughed at his screams and his fear and his rage.”

  “Surely he meant no harm by it,” said Abraham.

  “His mother stood at her tent door and smiled at him while he did it.”

  “Perhaps you’re making too much of this.”

  “No, Abraham. You’re making too little of it. I saw Ishmael’s face, and Hagar’s. You did not. There was no pity in them. Only malicious delight.”

  “You’ve been so sure that they would hate Isaac,” said Abraham. “How can you be an impartial judge?”

  “You’ve been so sure that your Ishmael could not do any wrong,” said Sarah, “how can you claim to be impartial? I saw. You did not. Here is the scarf. It happened.”

  “The baby is not harmed.”

  “When will you die, Abraham? Has the Lord promised that you will outlive Ishmael? Because if he hasn’t, the day will come when it won’t be childish pranks. If Ishmael has no mercy now, when Isaac is a baby, and if Hagar has no pity when you and I are both alive to protect our son, what will happen when we’re dead?”

  “What do you want me to do?” said Abraham. “In all those family histories of yours, the only solution that seemed to work was to kill the rival son. Is that what you want? For me to sacrifice Ishmael for your son?”

  “What do you want, to sacrifice my son for Hagar’s? Because that is the choice you face, as God is my witness.”

  “Do you claim that God tells you this?” demanded Abraham.

  “I didn’t need God to tell me this, because I saw with my eyes what is obvious to anyone with any wisdom. But you have blinded yourself, so you can’t see it. Look at how the scarf chafed against Isaac’s cheeks!”

  Abraham looked. Isaac’s face showed two bands of red.

  “He could hardly breathe,” said Sarah. “He could have suffocated. His neck could have been broken. And Ishmael had the gall to tell me he did this so that Isaac wouldn’t wake me. He’s a liar as well as a tormentor. That’s your precious firstborn. Well, Abraham, it’s not really your choice. Isaac will not dwell with Ishmael, nor I with Hagar. They will not inherit together—that is not possible, no matter how you delude yourself. One will inherit, or the other. They will share nothing. They will not grow up to be friends. They will grow up to be enemies. So if you choose to keep Hagar and her son here with you, then I will take Isaac somewhere else with me, and if you try to stop me, I will sneak away in the night. And don’t imagine that you can get your servants to stop me. They are not blind to the truth. They will help me save Isaac’s life.”

  “Save your threats,” said Abraham. “I can hear you without your having to bludgeon me.”

  “No, you can’t hear me, or we wouldn’t have reached this day.”

  “But we have reached it, haven’t we?” said Abraham. He turned from her and headed toward the tent door.

  Sarah ran toward him at once, ignoring the pain in her hips, though the bone ground painfully on bone with each bound. She blocked the door. “Where are you taking my son?”

  “I’m keeping him with me, of course,” said Abraham. “You just threatened to run away with him.”

  “So you’ll steal him from me? You, the one who sees no danger, will steal him from me, the one who would keep him alive? That makes you a murderer.”

  Abraham was even more horrified by Sarah’s words than she was. “You say this to me? After all these years together, you believe I could kill my own son?”

  “I believe you can blind yourself to the truth and leave him exposed so that others will kill him, yes.”

  “And you say this in front of the boy.”

  “What choice do I have, since you’re about to steal him from me. I gave you a choice. You merely take him. You who have two sons, when I have only one.”

  Grimly Abraham lowered Isaac to the ground. “Stay with your mother,” he said.

  Isaac, comforted at last, wandered toward the cushions that he loved to play on.

  “I will never forget the terrible things you said to me,” said Abraham.

  “Nor will I forget that you valued Ishmael more than Isaac, and Hagar more than me.”

  “Put it in words, Sarah. What would you have me do? Kill them because of a boyish prank that went too far?”

  “Send them away,” said Sarah. “I wanted to give Hagar her freedom years ago. Free her and send her away. Give her a tent and put herds and herdsmen under her control. Let her raise Ishmael in plenty, but give him his inheritance now, and make it plain that he will have no more at your hands. And you will never see him again, you will never visit them, or he’ll start to think himself the equal of Isaac, and seek to take what Isaac has out of his hands when you’re dead.”

  “You would cut off a son from his father, and a father from his son?”

  “You keep blaming me,” said Sarah. “But I’m not the one who gagged and tethered your son Isaac, and then mocked his screams of terror. I will see that sight in my nightmares for the rest of my life, if you don’t send them away. I did not cause this. And if you loved Isaac, you would see that I am the one who is wise, and you’re the one who lets love for one son kill another.”

  “If you ever say again, to me or anyone, that I would consent to the killing of my son, you will never see my face again, woman.”

  “Ah. I see. I have become nothing but some ‘woman’ to you. This is how you hear wise counsel. Abraham, the father of multitudes. You condemn me out of your own pride. You accuse me of malice yet refuse to believe in the malice of those who have actually shown it.” Sarah flung the wet, knotted scarf across his chest and shoulder. “Wear it with pride,” she said. “Your precious Ishmael made it for you.”

  Sarah stepped aside and opened the tent flap so he could leave.

  Abraham’s face was terrible with anger as he left the tent. Perversely, Sarah stood in the door and watched how the crowd looked at him. She knew how the story would be told. Whatever came of this, the tales would make Sarah look bad. So be it, as long as Isaac lived.

  Sarah stayed in her tent, playing with Isaac. And even though Isaac tried several more times to suckle, thinking perhaps that his mother would now relent, she remained firm with him. As firm as she had been with Abraham. What my child needs, I will do. And foolish is the father who thinks he can stop his wife from protecting their baby—even from him. God gave us this child by a miracle. But in a world where Cain slew Abel, how dimwitted did Abraham have to be to deny that God’s miracle could be undone because Abraham didn’t have the courage to hear his wife’s warning?

  As for the crowds at the feast, let them chatter among themselves. Eliezer would see to it that food continued to be served until it ran out, and then he would send them all home with the blessings of the household. This quarrel between Abraham and Sarah would be the talk of Hebron . . . for a day. Let them have their entertainment.

  An hour later, someone clapped outside her tent. Thinking it was a servant inquiring about her needs, she called out, “Please bring food for Isaac, but none for me.”

  She assumed that she was being obeyed when no one answered her. But then, a few moments later, someone clapped again.

  “What is it? Come in.”

  It was not a servant at all. It was Abraham.

  Wordlessly he came and sat down on the rug before her.

  If he expected her to speak first, perhaps with an apology, he would have a long, long wait.

  “I told someone to bring food for Isaac,” he finally said.

  “Thank you,” she answered.

  Isaac toddled over and began playing with his father’s beard.

  “I went to the Lord and complained about you,” Abraham said. “I asked him what I should do to get you to stop being so angry and fearful and suspicious and jealous.”

  She bit back the stinging reply that came to her lips. Instead she tried to turn it into a wry joke at her own expense. “You aren’t the first to utter such a prayer to one god or another.”

  “Yes, well, God hears our prayers,” said Abraham, “but he answers more wisely than we ask.”

  “What did God tell you?” asked Sarah.

  “He told me not to grieve because of Ishmael or Hagar. Because I should have hearkened to everything you told me. The Lord’s promise is to come through Isaac, and the only way that can happen is if Ishmael and Hagar leave us now and never come near us again.”

  All Sarah’s fear and anger disappeared in a rush of gratitude and relief. She put her face in her hands and wept. Isaac came to her at once and patted her arm and her ear. “Don’t cry, Mama,” he said. “It’s all right, Mama. You’ll feel better soon.”

  “He’s right,” said Abraham. “We’ll all feel better soon. The Lord promised that Ishmael will thrive. That because he is of my seed, he will also become a great nation. But the covenant is with Isaac. Isaac must remain with me and you. Just as you said. Everything as you said.”

  And then, to Sarah’s surprise, Abraham also wept.

  Isaac turned to his father, then looked back and forth between his parents. “Papa,” he said. “Mama was crying first.”

  “Yes, Abraham,” said Sarah. “You must wait your turn.”

  Abraham laughed through his tears and reached for his little son and held him close. “I wanted to hold both my sons to my heart all the days I have left to me,” said Abraham. “I wanted it too much, I refused to see that it could not happen. That to hold them both would mean that, in the end, I would lose them both. I will not let my one son destroy his soul by harming my other son. I will send him away as much to save his life as to save Isaac’s.”

  “When will you do it?” asked Sarah.

  “In the morning,” said Abraham. “But now let’s dry our eyes and wash our faces and come out to celebrate with our friends and our household. Today my son was weaned from his mother’s breast, and now comes under the protection of his father.”

  He leaned forward to kiss her. She also leaned toward him, but her back could not take the strain, and she ended up having to catch herself on her hands and her forehead bumped his lips.

  “Ow,” he said. “You’ve lost your aim, old woman.”

  Laughing, they finally kissed.

  “Good!” cried Isaac, clapping his hands. “All better now!”

  They washed and dried their faces, then walked from the tent, each holding one of Isaac’s hands, bound together by the son between them. The feast continued, and even though Sarah knew perfectly well that everyone was gossiping madly behind their backs, and that Sarah would get the worst of it, she was at peace. When it was out of her power to protect her son, God had intervened and wakened Abraham from his complacency. That assured her more than if Abraham had simply agreed with her from the start. For this day’s events showed that God was truly watching over Isaac. He would continue even after Sarah died, and Abraham as well. Other mothers had to live with the dread that their children might die before them. But Sarah had no such fear now. God had shown his hand in her son’s life.

  In the morning, Sarah rose early. She refused to hide in her tent, pretending that what was happening today had nothing to do with her. The gossip would blame her for it no matter what she did, but she would show no shame. She would stand there openly and let it be seen that she knew that she was acting justly.

  Hagar made a terrible scene, hurling accusations at Sarah, saying that she lied, then that she exaggerated, then that Ishmael was innocent of malice, and finally that Isaac was such a brat that someone needed to teach him a lesson because his parents were too old and feeble to raise him properly. By the end, it was obvious that she had years of malice pent up in her heart, and if Abraham had still harbored doubts about this course of action, Hagar’s vituperation must have settled the last of them. This woman could never be allowed near Isaac again, nor could the son she had poisoned with her resentments.

  “I’m a man now,” Ishmael said to Abraham. “I don’t need you or anyone.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Abraham, “I will provide you with herds and servants.”

  “I’m good with a bow,” said Ishmael. “I’ll live by hunting. I don’t need so much as a lamb from you.”

  “You are my son,” said Abraham, “and I’ll provide for you.”

  “If I were your son,” said Ishmael, “you would not let that old woman poison your heart against me and send me away. What is that stupid baby to me? I would never bother to harm him.”

  And those words condemned him, too, as Hagar’s had condemned her, without Ishmael even understanding how much he had confessed by saying them.

  Abraham longed to embrace his son and reassure him, Sarah knew that, but Ishmael’s and Hagar’s rage had made that impossible. Instead he stood with his arm around Sarah, holding Isaac with his other hand, and watched silently as Ishmael and Hagar were mounted on sturdy donkeys for the journey.

  Eliezer and three trusted men rode with Hagar and Ishmael, leading pack animals that held a tent and supplies to last them for weeks. Once the new camp was established, far to the south, they would return and lead the herds and servants of Ishmael’s inheritance to join them.