“Come, my love,” the man says, lifting my hand to kiss it. Together we blow out the candle and are shrouded in a warm, wonderful darkness. He called me his love! My heart swells with joy at those simple words, words that let me know that he will cherish me all our lives. Truly, my father has chosen well. Father has given me a man who offers pure, unconditional love and acceptance. I blink back tears and beam beneath the veil, unseen.
“I am yours, my lord.”
I wake to morning sun streaming through the tent flap. It falls warm on my hand, the same one my husband kissed just last night. His arms surround me and hold me close against him, and I smile. Not a dream, then. Last night far exceeded any of my most wonderful fantasies.
“Good morning,” My husband says, his breath warm against my cheek even through the veil. For a moment, his voice sounds so familiar, but I can’t place it. My heart thrums, hard, against my chest. Maybe I do know this man.
“Good morning,” I murmur, and together we sigh in contentment.
“Was last night everything you desired? It was for me.” With a gentle touch, he strokes my face, his finger skimming the veil, caressing me, treasuring me.
“That, and more, my love.” Surges of joy and boldness wells within me as I dare to say this, dare to call him my love. I lean into his touch and reach up to tangle my fingers into his hair.
“Let me see you,” he whispers. “Let me truly see you.”
I swallow down the fear this moment brings, the anxiety that once he does see me, he will no longer accept me. No, I must stop thinking this way. My husband is not like Jacob, dazzled by the superficial beauty of my sister. My husband, my love, will see me.
Taking courage from this, I let out a shaky laugh as he helps me stand. I long to see him, too.
“All right,” I say.
He lifts my veil, his deft fingers moving slow, relishing the anticipation of this moment. At last, he lifts the linen over my face and lets it slip to the floor behind me. We stare at each other, stock still, in stunned silence.
It was Jacob.
“You?” He steps back from me, eyeing me with disbelief tinged with revulsion. “Where is Rachel? Did she—did she change her mind about marrying me and get you to do it instead?”
I shake my head and sink to the floor, my heart shattering into a million pieces. “It seems my father has played a cruel trick on us all,” I say when I finally recover my voice. “He arranged for me to wed first.”
“Then, last night, that was you?” He confirms.
I can only nod and stare at the hand he once kissed. He storms from the tent, leaving me alone in grief and misery, muttering something about having a word with my father.
I wrap my arms around myself and heave a sob. I have done this to us, just as much as my father has. Pride and foolish ambition have led me to destroy all our happiness. I stole the man intended for my sister. I robbed myself of the opportunity to marry a man I could love, and who could love me. I have destroyed the three of us.
As if in mocking of our misery, cheers, and laughter greet Jacob as he emerges from the tent, my veil thrown over his shoulder. The noise of the crowd gathered to celebrate our joyous union falls into hushed whispers and murmured speculation when I do not follow.
I take a deep breath and steel my resolve. God has chosen the situation to work out according to His will, and His will can only be good. So, I must trust in Him. The thought calms me. I rise and turn to face the tent opening when my handmaid, Zilpah, pushes her way through its flaps. I sniffle and wipe away my tears, too late to hide them.
She spares me a pitying glance and wordlessly picks up the marriage sheet stained with my blood, proof of my virginity. I trail her out the door, and bright sunshine stings my eyes, its cheerfulness belying my mood.
Oh, if only I didn’t have to go to the feast … but not attending is out of the question. If I tried to sequester myself in my room all day—or better yet, the rest of the week—Father would only come drag me to our great hall. So, I lift my chin and fake a smile as I trail Zilpah through the crowd toward the feast.
Inside, strains of music greet me. I picture our guests seated at the tables, waiting for me and Jacob to begin the feast. But before I can enter the great hall, my sister intercepts me, gripping me hard by the elbow and tugging me down the corridor and out of earshot.
“Was it a matter of some small thought to you that you stole the man I was to marry?” Rachel asks, her words oozing venom. She crosses her arms and glares at me with a fury beyond anything I can fathom, or summon myself.
I lean against the wall for support, crossing my own arms in front of myself in defense. I bite my lip. “Rachel, I—I didn’t know what Father would do. I trusted him to choose a good man for me, not to choose the man you were supposed to marry,” I choke out. Tears prick my eyes, burning, scalding, and my cheeks flame.
Rachel’s gaze sears into mine, seeking any weakness, any lies. She takes one step toward me, slow, predatory, as though she intends to wrap her slender, perfect fingers around my neck and choke the life out of me. “Admit it,” she hisses. “You’re infatuated with Jacob, always trailing him around and spying on us whenever he and I spend time in each other’s company. You asked Father to betroth him to you.”
I meet her gaze with unguarded anguish. “No, Rachel! I would never do that to you. You’re my sister, and I would never hurt you like that. If I’d known he what he meant to do, I’d have done anything to ensure you ended up under that veil and in the tent with Jacob, not me.” An understanding clicks in my mind, and I clap a hand to my forehead.
“Oh! It all makes sense now. That’s why Zilpah said you wouldn’t see me last night. She meant to keep us apart so we wouldn’t foil Father’s ruse—”
Rachel softens only slightly, but it gives me enough of an opening. She heaves a heavy sigh. “Well,” she says, “it’s too late to fix this now.” Her voice breaks over the words like rough stones interrupting the flow of a rushing river.
I swallow down a hard, painful lump in my throat. Rachel’s right. We have no way to fix this. Oh, I wish I knew what to say, but Rachel’s the socially adept one, the one who always says and does the right things, while I hang back, clumsy and awkward. Ruining lives. “Rachel, I—I’m so sorry about how this turned out.”
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry?” She hurls the words at me like a slap, frost glazing over her green eyes. “I trusted you, even showed you the hand signals Jacob and I worked out in case Father pulled something like this, and you betrayed us. You’ve ruined everything!”
The hand signals! I’d almost forgotten—their right palms resting together, then the number three against the heart for the children they want to have, and then lifting that hand from the heart to the lips and blowing a kiss.
I cover my mouth with one hand, stunned. “He … he didn’t do the hand signals.” I’d waited for them, but they didn’t come. For that reason, I never suspected Father had placed Jacob in the tent.
“You lie! Don’t you dare think you can drive a wedge between us. You can’t, no matter what you do!”
In that moment I knew I’d forever lost my little sister, the girl whose hair I used to braid and decorate with flowers we’d picked together. We had such a close relationship, once. We told each other all our secrets and dreams, supported each other when Father’s stern treatment of us scared us. Then Jacob came, and admired her beauty, and Rachel ditched me for him and for the friendship of other girls who understood her far better than I ever could.
She looks as though she’s about to continue her tirade—she draws a breath and parts her lips to speak—but she falls silent when we hear other voices raised from somewhere down the arched hallway.
“Laban, have I not served you for seven years to secure Rachel’s hand?”
Rachel’s eyes widen with something like hope, and she turns away from me, already forgetting me. She trails along the hall, approaching a closed door wi
th silent footsteps. I follow, anxiety twisting my gut as I ponder what this conversation might mean.
“Yes, yes, so you have, and you have served me well.” My father’s oily voice comes from inside the room beyond, his study. “Fulfill Leah’s week, and I will give you Rachel, but you must serve me for another seven years.”
Jacob growls. “Agreed.” And with that, my heart sinks. Rachel flashes me a smirk of triumph, and I die a little inside. Rachel will be the loved one, the wanted one, while I will be excluded, unwanted. To avoid that, I have no other choice but to work my hardest to earn Jacob’s love. To earn his love, even though I must share him with Rachel.
The door bursts open and Jacob emerges. Father follows him. “Ah, Leah. How adorable you look today—so much like your mother, may her soul rest in peace,” he says, embracing me. If he notices me stiffen in response to his unwanted affection, he pretends not to. “You’re angry with me. But, you’ll see, this will all work out for the best.”
That’s overstating things a bit—all right, considerably—but I hold my tongue.
Jacob’s gaze goes straight to Rachel, and he whispers to her words of promise and reassurance. She nods, and with a delicate sniffle, she steps back from him. He takes that as his cue to turn to me, reluctant and frowning.
“Let us greet our guests,” he says with all the enthusiasm of someone facing a stoning, his features slipping into a mask of pleasantness.
“As you wish,” I say, and bite back the sharp retort I long to give Father about what I think of his scheme—and his definition of “for the best.”
The great hall glitters with flickering candlelight, and flowers adorn every table. The fragrance of roses and the delicious aroma of roasted meats permeates the air. To the right of the head table, in the corner of the room, a small group of musicians plays, creating ethereal harmonies of flute and harp that enrapture all the guests. The tune ends at our arrival, and everyone turns to watch me and Jacob lead the way into the feast. Shocked gasps erupt from some of the crowd, those who had not heard about what transpired. Others stare at me with suspicion in their eyes. Another knife twists in my gut, and then I know. The whole community thought this was to be my wedding to Esau—or at least my wedding to not-Jacob. Now they believe I tricked Jacob into marrying me, that I plotted to steal him from Rachel.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin, and proceed with Jacob to the head table with what little dignity I can summon. Halfway there, my gaze falls on a familiar mane of shaggy hair in the crowd to my left. Avery, my best friend, locks his eyes with mine. My heart clenches and I falter mid-step, at the pain in their green depths.
Oh, no. He probably thinks I’m an awful person now. Worse, he’ll never know how much I love him. How much I wanted—
Jacob tugs on my elbow, propelling me forward. If only I could wrench my arm free, kneel before Avery, and tell him the truth about everything, but it’s too late now that I’m married to someone else. Avery glances down at the floor, like he can no longer stomach the sight of me. Trembling, I allow Jacob to lead me up the aisle.
Once at the head table, Jacob turns to greet our guests. They rise to their feet and stare at us expectantly, and I force myself not to engage in my unattractive habit of squinting to make out the details of their faces. One thing I can tell for certain, though—they are all smirking and whispering to each other, doing everything but pointing at me in accusation. I want to shrivel up and die, or turn and run away as far as my legs will carry me and never look back, anything to get away from them. But I don’t do any of that. I stand beside Jacob, stiff, stoic, and level my gaze on them. It doesn’t hold the same power Rachel’s does to capture a room and make all within hang on her every word, but a few people glance down uncomfortably.
“Honored guests,” Jacob begins. He manages a smile and does a remarkable job of pretending he actually wants to play the host at this disaster of a wedding feast. “Welcome to the feast, the beginning of the week when Leah and I celebrate our marriage. I’m certain this comes as a shock to all of you. I must confess it did to me as well.” Here, he chuckles, and shifts from foot to foot, and a few in the crowd do the same.
Oh, please, end this misery now, Lord.
“However,” Jacob continues, “Next week, we invite you to celebrate another marriage feast, that of myself and Rachel, as originally planned. After seven years of waiting for this moment, we can wait just a little longer to celebrate our union, our love.” He glances over at Rachel, who sits next to Father, and she gives a gracious nod. “So, let us doubly rejoice.”
I sink into my chair, lightheaded, as all the blood seems to rush from my head down to my toes. Jacob said so little of our wedding; he obviously doesn’t consider it a week of merriment. I want to rail at him for admitting it so bluntly in public, in front of everyone, yet I sit, stone-faced and silent. Fixing my gaze on my plate, I seethe. Even if he wants nothing to do with me, he didn’t have to disgrace me like that. He might as well have admitted everything and said, “Oh, Laban tricked me into marrying the ugly daughter. Sorry for the confusion.”
I glance up just in time to catch Rachel and Jacob sharing a little smirk. That alone tempts me to stand up and say every foul thought coursing through my mind right now. But I don’t. I won’t lower myself and dishonor Jacob so publicly the way he has me, not in front of everyone, at any rate. No, I mustn’t play the game, mustn’t play the part they want to cast me into of the bitter, jealous girl. I won’t do that.
So, I take a deep, steadying breath, close my eyes, and give thanks to God for this meal and ask for the strength to do this, to live this life He has set before me.
“That was quite a speech you gave, Jacob,” I say, keeping my voice light and conversational, as if none of this fazes me. “I appreciate your effort to make the best of a difficult situation.” As I say this, I lean in and keep my voice low so that only the two of us may hear. I offer a small smile and, to my surprise, he rewards me with a tentative smile of his own.
“You surprise me,” he says. “I never would’ve figured you had the strength to handle a situation like this with as much grace as you’ve shown.”
“I’m sure you’ll discover many surprising things about me in the years to come,” I reply, the same small smile still tugging at my lips.
“Duly noted,” he says, and surveys me with a thoughtful expression, eyes wide and curious. An energy, calm and refreshing like an ocean breeze, swirls between us. It feels like the budding of a connection, a connection I hope to build and grow over time. “I want you to know that I don’t blame you. I know your father planned it all and kept it a secret from the three of us.”
A surge of gratitude wells up within me, and one heavy burden I’ve carried around with me today seems to lift from my shoulders. He believes me. And, if he believes me, maybe someday Rachel will believe, too. Strange as this sharing marriage is going to be, maybe it will work out.
“I wish Rachel would realize that,” I reply, and take a bite of roasted chicken. I avoid the lamb, as I can’t bear to eat any of it. “She does blame me. Of course I understand, but it’s hard, you know? I feel like I’m losing my sister.”
He places a warm hand over mine, and I lift my gaze to his in astonishment at this simple act of affection.
“Once we have our week, she’ll come around,” he says.
I nod and pick at my food, trying to distract myself from that thought. I glance up and catch Rachel staring at us, her lips pursed in annoyance. Really, what does she have to worry about? She has Jacob’s love, so why should she care whether he and I become friends? That would at least make the situation a little better for all of us.
Soon, the meal ends, and the dancing begins. It comes as a relief to separate from Jacob and surround myself with the company of other girls. The musicians strike up lively tunes, tunes that make me want to dance and lose myself in fun. For a little while, I need to forget all about what father has done to us. Rachel
and her friends don’t deign to approach, but little Shara runs right up to me.
“You’re so pretty today,” she exclaims, throwing her arms around my waist. She tilts her head up to view my face, and I laugh and ruffle her soft brown curls.
“Thank you, sweetie,” I say.
Shara releases me and takes my hands. We twirl and sway to the music, keeping a fast beat that makes my heart pound in time with the rhythm. Soon Ephraim joins us, until his father steers him back to where the boys and men gather on the other side of the room. Other girls come over, though, and we form a circle to include them.
“What an odd day this is,” one girl observes, her voice perfectly snotty and cruel. “We expect one bride, and get her sister instead.” I wonder if her disagreeable attitude comes from having her braids pinned too tight and too high on her overlarge head. A strange confidence builds in me, and I try to act as Rachel would in a situation like this.
“Isn’t it, though?” I paste a smile on my face and continue dancing as though her comment has flown away on a breeze and missed its mark. “But I trust father’s choice.”
“If you say so,” the girl shrugs. The rest of her group arrives, including Rachel, to my surprise. All of them offer congratulations, but I’m sure it is with insincerity even if they mask their true thoughts well.
“Leah, may I speak with you for a moment?” Rachel asks, eyes narrowed and lips pursed as they’d been during dinner when she watched me interact with Jacob.
“Of course,” I say, uncertain why she’s willing to speak with me, but I decide to play along if there’s any hope of salvaging the sisterly bond we used to have. She grabs me by my elbow and leads me through the back door and out into another hallway.
“What was that cozy little conversation with Jacob about?” Rachel asks, hands on hips. She taps her foot when I take a moment to gather my thoughts before speaking.
In the Beginning (Anthology) Page 18
