Artificial Intelligence and Sarah

I’ve started a new series, The Matriarchs, about the Matriarchs of our faith: Sarah, Rebekah, and Leah/Rachel. The first book is about Sarah, and not only am I using the Bible for source material, I’m also using the ancient Book of Jasher, which is actually mentioned in the Bible–twice.

There’s not a lot of historical material on Abraham and Sarah, other than the Bible, and I’ve found that few people agrees on the dates they lived. But the Book of Jasher has given me lots of fodder, especially about those years not discussed in the Bible.

I’ve also been using AI to help me visualize my characters–I’ve included some images of Sarah as a young woman, in Pharaoh’s harem, and as the mother of Isaac.

So here is my first scene (but it’s only a third draft, so it’s not final). What do you think? What questions arise in your mind after reading this? Enjoy!

My empty stomach twisted as Milcah’s hands tightened on mine. “The time has come,” she whispered, her eyes bright. “Soon we will both be married women.”

I exhaled a trembling breath. “I cannot believe it is finally happening. I was beginning to think I would have to live with my father and brother forever.” 

“No longer! Now that Abram has come, you will discover the joys of married life.” 

“I hope it is as joyful as you say.” 

“Of course it is. What could possibly stand in the way of your happiness?” 

A thousand things, I wanted to answer, but my sister would not understand the reason for my anxiety. She had grown up with Nahor, her husband, who was also our uncle. My future husband was also a kinsman to us, but long ago he had been sent away for reasons I never fully understood . . . and no one wanted to explain.

I was better acquainted with the neighborhood butcher than with my betrothed.

I sighed as Milcah released my hands and reached for my embroidered veil. Amthelo, my grandfather’s wife, had spent years adorning the linen square with delicate stitches depicting butterflies, flowers, and birds. The veil, now nearly covered with embroidery, had become something of a joke between me and my sister. 

“Finally, Amthelo’s work is finished . . . and there is still space enough for you to see through it,” Milcah said, draping the fabric over my braided hair. She stepped back and clasped her hands. “Unbelievable,” she whispered. “Despite all that adornment, your beauty shines through the veil. Abram will be speechless when he sees you.” 

“You are being silly,” I chided, “and I need you to be serious. I may be coming to you for advice in the days ahead.” 

“What advice could you possibly need? In your thirty-nine years, surely you have heard women talking about marriage.”

“I have, but—” I bit my lip.

“What?” 

“I do not know the man, so I do not know what he expects of me.”

Milcah chuckled. “You will find out within a few hours.” 

I released an exasperated sigh. “Do not mock me. I know what is expected on the wedding night, but I do not know Abram. I saw him for the first time yesterday, long enough to realize he is different. What if he does not like me? What if he decides that waiting for me was a waste of his time?” 

My sister raised a finger. “I cannot deny that he seems odd compared to the men of Ur. But the men in our family have always been good husbands. You will not be sorry you married him.” 

“I hope you are right.” I stepped back and braced for the future. “So? Have you any advice for an older bride?” 

She crossed her arms, ran a critical eye over me, and nodded. “You will not disappoint him. But here is one suggestion—if I were you, I would have a baby as soon as possible. Even with the blessing of the gods, older women find it more difficult to conceive.” 

And you are an older woman. The unspoken words dangled in the space between us. 

I sighed as she went to the door and peeked out, allowing a flood of voices to swirl into the room. As the king’s vizier, my grandfather knew nearly every man in the city. Dozens of guests had come to witness the marriage of his kinsman, the mysterious Abram who had come from the north to marry Terah’s granddaughter.

“No sign of Father yet,” Milcah said, closing the door. “We will have to wait.” 

Frustrated by yet more waiting, I dropped to a stool, careless of my new silk tunic. “Perhaps Abram has changed his mind. Perhaps he has gone back to his home in the north. He might have a woman there, someone he did not want to leave behind.”

“Grandfather signed a betrothal contract, did he not? Abram would be breaking the king’s law if he does not fulfill his responsibility.” 

“A betrothal arranged before I was weaned. He might not have known he had a wife waiting for him in Ur.” 

“Grandfather would have made certain Abram knew. He would have sent one of the king’s messengers with the news.” 

Her mention of the king only heightened my anxiety. Nimrod, ruler of the Chaldeans, was well-acquainted with our grandfather, but my father had always taken pains to keep me hidden from the king’s gaze, reasoning that the king did not need a woman from our family in his harem. Grandfather had received many gifts from the ruler, including this fine house, but I had never been allowed to visit the palace or even walk the streets of Ur without wearing a heavy veil . . . 

I understood why, of course. Our king—any king, for that matter—had the right to take any unmarried woman he found appealing, and both my father and grandfather were afraid I might appeal to the king. I found it hard to believe a king would covet an older woman, but even my sister advised me to wear a veil whenever I left the house. 

I sighed. If only my life had been as normal as Milcah’s. At forty-two, she had eight sons and two daughters who kept her busy and gave her a sense of purpose. My purpose? To keep my father’s house tidy while I waited for my absent groom. 

Waiting had never been easy for me. Yet like a good daughter, I had waited patiently for Abram . . . and for my life to begin. 

I shivered as an unbidden thought sent a ghost spider scurrying up my spine. “You do not think the king would come to the wedding, do you?” 

Milcah laughed. “The king, in his vizier’s house?” 

“He respects our grandfather. And he sent a gift to your wedding.” 

“He will probably send a gift to yours as well, but he will not come. A king does not concern himself with the private lives of his servants.” 

We stilled at the sound of voices outside the door, and I rose as my father stepped into the room and caught my gaze. “Are you ready? Your bridegroom has arrived.” 

Milcah squeezed my hand. “Iscah has been waiting for years,” she told him. “Your daughter is more than ready to become a wife.” 

Father stepped forward, placed his hands on my shoulders, and drew me close. “I know you  were often frustrated because I forbade you from marrying at a younger age,” he murmured. “I know other women mocked your status as a virgin.”

Other men mocked you, I wanted to say. For holding me in reserve as if I were some priceless treasure.

 But I held my tongue out of respect. 

“Soon you will understand why I kept you for Abram.” Father’s smile flashed in his beard. “My brother will prove himself worth the wait.” 

“I hope so,” I whispered. 

He released me, Milcah squeezed my hand, and I walked toward my future on legs that felt as unsteady as a baby’s. 

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Angela Hunt

Christy-Award winner Angela Hunt writes for readers who expect the unexpected in novels. With over five million copies of her books sold worldwide, she is the best-selling author of more than 165 works ranging from picture books (The Tale of Three Trees) to non-fiction books, to novels.

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