Isaac stared into the jug and shifted his weight back and forth. His guest looked out the tent, apparently taking no notice of Isaac's discomfort. Isaac moved to see what had caught the trader's attention. They watched the merchant's retainers watering their camels and unloading the wares. The twelve men moved harmoniously, each action well rehearsed. Isaac studied their dance for minutes before noticing the trader's focus had shifted.

He coughed embarrassedly and refilled his guest's cup. "I apologize for the poor hospitality. I wish we could greet you in a manner more befitting your station, but..." He gestured futilely to his dirtied and torn garments.

The guest returned his gaze to the events outside. "Do you have any children?" He swiveled to watch Isaac's reaction.

"None."

"Ah. Those are mine, out there." The guest touched the cup to his lips, and then paused. Two young boys chattered at the merchant's sons. A third peeked shyly around a tent. "Those aren't yours?"

"Father's."

The stranger started briefly before regaining his composure. He shook his head and muttered into his cup, but when Isaac leaned closer he merely gestured for more wine. Their gaze returned to the activity outside.

The appearance of Isaac's wife broke the tableau. She presented a tray of fruits and breads which the guest accepted with a smile. Rebekah also dressed in rags, her normally bright hair dark with soot. "We can offer you a place to stay for the night, but we're leaving tomorrow morning." At that, she rested her hand on Isaac's shoulder and whispered a few words in his ear. He handed her the pitcher and prepared to leave.

"Where are you headed?" asked the merchant.

"Gerar," answered Rebekah.

"To bury..." He left the sentence open.

"His father."

The trader traced the rim of his cup and studied the pair. "You inherit?"

"The eldest usually does." An edge creeped into Rebekah's voice.

The man's eyes narrowed. "That's what he said? The eldest?"

"I'm not likely to forget it. Would you like us to summon the witnesses?"

"If you like." The trader stood. "I hereby claim my birthright. I am Ishmael, son of Abraham and Hagar, thirteen years your senior."

They paused a moment to assimilate this. "That's absurd!" Rebekah scoffed. Rebekah turned to Isaac and her tone gentled. "Have you ever heard of this?"

It was a long, anxious minute before Isaac answered. "No. I don't recall either name." Rebekah smiled smugly at Ishmael, daring him to contradict.

"Abraham exiled me when you were born. Ask the older slaves--they'll remember me."

Rebekah did, and several servants recalled the child Ishmael. Ishmael prodded them on various incidents, and soon Isaac and Rebekah were forced to acknowledge his identity. Keturah led Ishmael's sons away, leaving Rebekah and the brothers alone in the tent.

"Now that you believe me, what was Abraham's pledge?"

"Well, first he blessed Keturah--you met her, Father's second wife--and her sons." Isaac paused. "No, first he freed some of the servants, then he blessed..."

"All I want is your blessing." Ishmael's voice was harsh.

Isaac closed his eyes and tried to summon the words of last night. "'I give my greatest blessing to my eldest son. All my property... all that remains... goes to him. Bury me beside his mother. I loved her so much.'" Isaac shuddered a deep breath from the effort as Ishmael closed his eyes and smiled.

Rebekah went to her husband, who appeared drained. "Isaac, this has been a long day. Go and rest. I can take care of our guest." They embraced, and Isaac left the tent. Rebekah watched him shuffle off and sighed.

Once he was gone, she turned on Ishmael. "Why did you have to do that?"

"It's my right. He owed it to us."

"Isaac was as much a victim as you."

"Abraham acknowledged him as heir and discarded us with nothing."

"He granted your freedom."

"He left us to rot." The bitterness of his words shriveled Rebekah's arguments. Ishmael plucked a fig from the tray.

Rebekah watched him eat, filling his cup whenever it got low. "God has blessed you, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Look at your possessions, your sons, your standing. This must be the work of God."

"Perhaps."

"What else explains it? You say yourself how far you've come."

Ishmael stared into his cup. "That could well be."

"So if you've got God's blessings, why must you steal Isaac's as well?"

"Begone!" Ishmael hurled the cup at Rebekah, hitting the side of the tent. "I don't need your word games."

"But you do need flocks to follow your caravan." Rebekah picked up the cup and empty tray. "If you're going to accompany us, we'll be leaving early." And with that, she left Ishmael to his thoughts.

Rebekah found Isaac watching the flocks. She sat beside him and rubbed his back, saying nothing. Eventually, they returned to their tent. "Everything will turn out fine," she said as they prepared for bed.

"But what if he advances his claim?"

"He has that right. My brother Laban will take us in, if necessary."

"Will it come to that?"

"I hope not." Rebekah rested her head on Isaac's chest and sighed.

"This must be hard on you, too."

"Just frustrating." Isaac started to protest, but she continued. "Oh, it's not that. I just can't understand why God would bless someone like that with children, while we try and..." Isaac kissed and comforted her, stroking her hair and rocking her like a baby. Too disturbed to sleep, they talked for much of the night.

They awoke before dawn and began to take down the camp. Like the merchants unpacking, this was an oft-repeated routine. However, Isaac and his people were a lot slower. Ishmael and his sons watched impatiently, but did nothing to assist. By mid-morning, they were ready to leave.

"We had planned that the family would ride ahead with the body and the rest of the camp would follow with the flock."

Ishmael nodded. "That sounds fair."

The family mounted and began to ride eastward. They were a motley bunch, Ishmael and his sons led the way, riding high on their camels. Behind them came Isaac, Rebekah, Keturah and her children on assback. Several servants accompanied the family, some in mourning, others bearing Abraham's body.

As the day wore on, Isaac rode ahead to Ishmael. "How much farther is Hagar buried?"

"A ways. Why?"

"The body will not last long in this heat."

Ishmael glanced behind. Flies had begun to gather around the bier. "What do you suggest?"

Isaac stared at the ground before him. "Gerar is not far from here."

"With Sarah?"

"He did purchase a cave." Isaac avoided Ishmael's gaze. "It's not the public burial ground."

Ishmael stared at the sun. It would still get much hotter. He thought of Hagar, who was in the public burial grounds, still quite far. It wouldn't hurt to bury him with Sarah. "Very well. Lead on."

As they continued their journey, Isaac shared the lead with Ishmael. After a while, Isaac spoke again. "Shouldn't you send someone back?"

"What do you mean?"

"Tell the flocks we've changed course. Otherwise, they're sure to get lost."

"Well, do so. You know what to do. Why bother me?"

"Yes, but they're your flocks now."

"Just do it," Ishmael growled. Isaac returned to the ranks and sent Zimran off to meet the flock. From his position beside his wife, he watched Ishmael confer with his sons. The body had begun to smell, but he ignored it. They would reach the cave soon. Rebekah rode closer and squeezed his hand.

As they reached Gerar, Isaac again took the lead, directing the procession to Abraham's cave. They lay the body to rest, then retraced their steps to wait for the flock.

"They should be here soon," said Isaac for the twentieth time that night.

"How often do you have to wait like this?"

"Not too often. Usually you ride with the flock. Takes longer than straight riding, of course..."

"This is too much," declared Ishmael. "I'm a merchant--I can't wait around like this. Keep your stupid animals. I don't want them." Ishmael and his sons mounted their camels and rode off.

Without Ishmael's prescence, Keturah spoke. "Where are the flocks?"

Isaac smiled. "They're safe. Should be just beyond the next rise."

He hugged Rebekah tightly. "We set it up last night," she said. "Don't be shocked--he would've made a lousy shepherd anyway."

And Abraham breathed his last, dying at a good ripe age, old and contented; and he was gathered to his kin. His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite, facing Mamre, the field that Abraham had bought from the Hittites; there Abraham was buried, and Sarah his wife.

Genesis 25:8-10