He sighed and faced the bathroom mirror, intent on finishing his ablutions. Tilting his head, he shaved the side of his neck, but the final stroke nicked his skin. A few drops of blood spattered the sink. Abraham winced and jerked his hand involuntarily, causing the razor to clatter to the floor. Groaning at his own clumsiness, the old man stooped to retrieve it. As he bent down, his knees made a cracking sound in protest. He willed himself to stoop further despite an additional twinge of pain in his knee-cap. He was not about to give in to imaginary weaknesses. Especially not now. He would need all his strength for what lay ahead.
Abraham straightened back up, staunched the cut on his neck and appraised his haggard reflection in the glass. The cause of his sleeplessness was his last worrisome conversation with Hannah. She had opened his eyes to Satan’s insidious plan to destroy the Blessed Nephilim from within. The sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach told him that Daniel’s wives were only the beginning. Error always had a way of compounding itself so that what started with four might end with the corruption of all. If each of the women repeated the same story, rumors would spread that the scion was somehow deficient. This would inevitably lead to questions about the diviner’s own lack of judgment. A crisis of faith might erupt that could shake the foundation of the brotherhood to its core. Although Abraham was more than prepared to fight Satan on the battlefield of the Fallen Lands, he never expected to battle that same unseen foe within his own sanctuary.
The diviner had no idea what course of action to take. He peered earnestly into the depths of the mirror. “Help me, Lord. Tell me what to do.” He didn’t know why, but he repeated the words over and over until they became a mindless chant. Five times, ten times, twenty times. He lost count but kept on chanting anyway. “Help me, Lord. Tell me what to do.” The effect was hypnotic. On and on he went, growing hoarse from the effort until he heard a whisper bubble up from within his own consciousness. “You must save her soul.”
Abraham stopped chanting. He stared dazedly at himself.
“You must save her soul.”
He considered the instruction for a moment. The message must refer to Hannah. Daniel’s other wives were older and too far steeped in their own corruption to be saved. But Hannah was young, hardly more than a girl. Malleable clay that could be molded to suit any purpose. There was still hope that she might be redeemed if she could be separated from the influence of her sister-wives.
Abraham straightened up and took stock of his appearance. Not so very old as all that, he thought. A few lines around the eyes but that was to be expected from a man of wisdom and experience. In his youth, he had been considered handsome. He turned sideways to regard himself in profile. Surely any woman of the congregation would count herself fortunate to be chosen by him. Any grown woman perhaps but would a girl think so too? The question made him drop his eyes briefly. He scowled and censored the thought. A patriarch of the Bible would have had no such qualms before taking a new wife.
He walked into the bedroom to dress. Carrying his tie back into the bathroom, he knotted it before the mirror. As he ran a comb through his thick silver mane, he noted with satisfaction that many men of his age worried about baldness. That condition would never trouble him.
“You must save her soul.”
What better way to save her and set her feet on the right path than to marry her himself? It was true that she was currently wed to his son, but his son was often away from home doing God’s work. Without Daniel to guide her behavior, she had already become an easy target for the devil. There was no telling what other trouble she might cause if left to her own devices. A beauty like hers could be dangerous—a sure occasion of sin. Better that such a temptation should be safely locked away in his keeping. He wasn’t so very old as all that. His youngest wife was in her thirties. Not much more than Hannah’s age.
Abraham warmed to the idea. The girl’s future was bright indeed. To be elevated to the rank of diviner’s wife at the age of fourteen. Rachel, his principal wife, had produced ten children. Given Hannah’s youth, she could easily supplant Rachel by producing more and ascend to her title. The girl would surely be overwhelmed with gratitude once she understood the earthly benefits Abraham was about to bestow upon her.
The diviner switched off the bathroom light and crossed into the bedroom. He picked up his suit coat and dusted it meticulously with a lint brush. Inspecting the black fabric, he nodded with satisfaction and donned the jacket. It was settled. He would inform the girl this morning and make the announcement to the congregation in the afternoon.
Turning to leave the bedroom, he caught a final glimpse of himself in the cheval mirror and allowed himself to smile for the first time in days. This was the ideal solution. Abraham knew it was divinely inspired. Through his righteous influence, Hannah would become worthy in the eyes of the Lord. Satan would no longer attempt to cloud her thinking once she was the wife of the diviner and any further rumors about Daniel would be decisively quashed. Let her find fault with the outcome of her next wedding night if she dared.
He closed his eyes and whispered a final prayer. “Lord, I am ever yours to command. I shall wed this girl as you have directed that I might shape her into a consecrated bride worthy to enter your kingdom.”
Abraham waited in silence for the reply which he knew would come
