Sarah: Women of Genesis: 1 (Women of Genesis (Forge)) by Orson Scott Card Page A

alone who hears the prayers of the righteous.” She meant what she said, but in a tiny corner of her mind she harbored the dread that Asherah had heard her.
     
    “No god has ever heard my prayers.”
     
    “Or you have never recognized God’s answers.”
     
    “Oh, his answers are familiar to me,” said Hagar heatedly. “To every favor I beg, the answer is no. To every plea for understanding, his answer is confusion.”
     
    Sarai laid her hand on the girl’s head, meaning only to stroke her hair. Hagar jerked her head away.
     
    “If I had beaten you with a stick,” said Sarai, “you would have borne it without flinching. But the hand of friendship . . .”
     
    “That was not the hand of friendship,” said Hagar. “That was the hand of pity.”
     
    Sarai took a deep breath, to hold back the sharp answer she wanted to give. “You already know that I am your friend,” said Sarai.
     
    “I do not.”
     
    “It’s obvious you trust me, or you wouldn’t dare speak so boldly to me.”
     
    Hagar almost blurted out a sharp answer, but Sarai’s words caught her, made her wait. “Why would I trust you?”
     
    “Because you know that I am like you at least in one way—I am in dire need of a friend, and in this place the only hope of one is you.”
     
    “How can a slave be a friend to a princess?”
     
    “I’m no princess,” said Sarai.
     
    “I’m supposed to trust you when you lie to me?”
     
    “How could you know whether it’s a lie or not?” demanded Sarai.
     
    “You gave away the truth when you spoke to Eshut, and then to me.”
     
    “But I spoke to you both exactly the same.”
     
    “Yes. That’s what gave you away.”
     
    Sarai tried to imagine what she had said or done. She spoke to both of them with respect, not condescending to them in any way that she was aware of.
     
    Hagar laughed at Sarai’s consternation. “You’re used to speaking to anyone, man or woman, as if they were your equal. That is an attitude that only those who are born of the noblest blood can have. Eshut must always put her inferiors in their place, because she is so keenly aware that there are people above her, so afraid that people will not give her the respect she wants. You know that no one is above you.”
     
    “Or I know that no one is beneath me.”
     
    Hagar shook her head. “Slaves must understand whose authority is greatest, so that we can know whose command takes precedence. You know from the start that you have authority. In this house, only Pharaoh’s queen and her daughters have such confidence.”
     
    “You compare me to Pharaoh’s wife?”
     
    “Actually, you’re more confident of your place than she is,” said Hagar.
     
    “I wish I were,” said Sarai. “I wish I knew from one moment to the next what would happen to me and my . . . brother.” She stammered in fear for Abram. She was going to give him away. Milcah would never act as Hagar had seen. Her disguise had not lasted a whole day in court. She began to cry, half-stifled sobs that racked her body but hardly made a sound.
     
    Hagar came to her, put an arm around her. “Mistress,” said Hagar. “You have nothing to fear from Pharaoh. He’s fascinated by the gods and kings of the east. He believes that the first Pharaohs who united Egypt were of the east, of the land between rivers. He believes that the blood of the Pharaohs runs thin and weak, and the gods have sent famine to the east in order to bring the strong blood of the desert peoples to reinvigorate Egypt. You are in no danger here. Pharaoh has brought you into his house so you might give him vigorous royal sons and daughters.”
     
    At those words, Sarai burst into tears in earnest.
     
    “Mistress, what did I say?”
     
    “Sons and daughters,” said Sarai bitterly. “What have I ever asked of God, except sons and daughters?”
     
    “But you’re not married, Mistress, how . . .” And then Hagar understood. “Abram is not your