“We had some things to say to each other,” I say, crossing my arms and staring at her right back, bold. “Trust me, Rachel, you have nothing to be insecure about. Did you not hear his speech, all about how he can’t wait to marry you next week?”
“Hmm, true,” she agrees, tilting her head and flashing a faint smile. She parts her lips to speak again, but I take her by surprise by cutting her off before she can.
“Still,” I say, “now that we must share Jacob, is it not better if he and I become friends? You know, rather than giving Father the satisfaction of making us all miserable? Let’s show him by making the best of the situation he’s put us in.”
Rachel takes a step forward, and her gaze narrows at me again. “Oh, he’s put us in? You’re the one who went to him behind my back and begged him to allow you to marry first, so don’t forget that you shoulder a large portion of the blame yourself.”
“I know that,” I bite out. Twisting a lock of hair between my fingers, I glance down and consider my next words. “But don’t you understand that I couldn’t take the risk that Father would give me to Esau, Jacob’s brother? You’ve heard how horrible he is. Now, you and I both figured Father would try to pull some deception with this wedding, so it must have occurred to you, too, that it might involve marrying me off to Esau before he’d let you marry Jacob?”
Rachel shakes her head, and her gaze turns withering. “Of course I figured Father had some scheme planned––not that I needed any further proof after I caught him whispering with his manservant the other night about gaining some sort of advantage from the match he’d made.”
She stomps her dainty, sandaled foot in a fit of ire. As she continues speaking, accusation laces her voice.
“You were always so naïve, Leah. Jacob wanted to return home. He’s too good a worker for Father to lose, and I warned you Father would use any leverage he could to keep Jacob around longer. Father wanted to control everything by keeping us all here. You fell right into his trap.”
I sigh and resist the urge to lean against the wall, not wanting to smudge my beautiful wedding gown with dirt or dust. “You could have told me, you know, that Jacob wanted to go home. The two of you have shut me out for years, ever since he came, so how was I to know that’s what you meant? If you’d told me, I might’ve suspected Father’s true plans, too, instead of guessing in the dark.”
Rachel blanches, like she finally understands that she shares some of the blame for our situation, too. “Fine,” she says, twisting a lock of her long brown curls. “I suppose you’re right. Anyway, we should get back to our guests. I’ve monopolized too much of your time and kept you away from them too long.”
She speaks formally, as though to a stranger, and she turns from me and strides back into the great hall without waiting for me to accompany her. I take a moment to collect myself before returning to the music and dancing. Once inside, I fake a festive mood.
I spend the rest of the day and into the evening dancing until my feet and back ache. The time passes by much faster than I’d expected. Jacob doesn’t approach me again until the end, as guests are beginning to leave for their homes. We all need a good night’s rest to continue with the festivities tomorrow.
“I’m going to turn in,” he says, stifling a yawn by pressing his lips together. “I wanted to tell you that I plan to stay in my own room, so you don’t expect––”
I hold up a hand to stall this awkward moment. Relief flickers in his eyes, and I nod. “I understand,” I say.
“Well, then,” he says, shifting from foot to foot again. “Good night.”
“Good night,” I echo, and let the girls draw me back into the dance when all I want to do is sit down again. Unfortunately, the distraction doesn’t work because I see Jacob stop on his way out to have a long, intimate moment with Rachel, complete with them gazing into each other’s eyes and leaning in almost close enough to touch, almost to the limit of what is appropriate.
Finally, I retreat to my room where Zilpah helps me dress for bed. I hate to take off this beautiful dress, but a large part of me is ready to forget about what it symbolizes. I remove the jewels, the gifts from Jacob, and place them back in their box. I collapse onto my bed and no sooner do I lay my head on my pillow than a knock on my door rouses me.
“Come in,” I call, because I can’t get be bothered to stand. My muscles ache too much after all that dancing.
“Spending your first wedding night alone?” Rachel asks, leaning against my door frame.
So, she came to gloat, or maybe to make sure Jacob didn’t come in here with me. I groan, too tired to care.
“Is this how it’s going to be with us from now on?” I ask, an edge to my voice that takes me by surprise.
“My, my,” Rachel says. “You do have a bite to you.”
I push myself up until I’m sitting and leaning back against my pillows. “Really, Rachel?” I shake my head, weary of faking happiness throughout the festivities, weary from dancing, and weary of all the sniping with my sister today. My heavy eyelids long to close, but I force them to stay open. “I’m exhausted right now, so if all you wanted to do was confirm Jacob’s not here, well … he’s not, so––”
“I can see that,” Rachel says, plopping onto the bed, uninvited. “I came to talk to you, actually.”
“It’s so urgent that it can’t wait until morning?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
“Well, well. When did you learn to stand up for yourself?” Rachel pauses to flash me an annoying smirk. “I’ve been trying for years to teach you.”
“Perhaps it took getting pushed beyond all my limits,” I reply with a shrug, flexing my aching feet to massage the muscles there. Resigned, I add, “What did you want to talk about?”
“The way things will change come next week. Jacob has to pretend to be all festive and happy with you for now but, once I become his wife, things will change. Oh, he’ll do his duty by you; take care of you and all that. He’s a good man that way. Just don’t ever expect to come first.”
This really could have waited until morning. I do not have the patience or energy to deal with this right now. “It’s all about competition with you, isn’t it, Rachel? Well, guess what? This is not a competition. This is our lives, our lives, and I refuse to allow you, or Jacob, or Father, to make mine miserable.”
“Good, then, just so you understand.” Rachel flashes me that annoying smirk of hers, and I decide right then and there that I won’t let her get the last word, not this time.
“No, Rachel, you’re the one who doesn’t understand. Everything does not revolve around you. Now, please, leave me alone so I can get some sleep.”
I turn over on my side, away from her, and take a small measure of satisfaction in dismissing her the way she so often dismisses me. I close my eyes, neck tingling at the sense that she still stands there, watching me. I fall asleep without having any idea when she leaves my room.
Morning light streams through my window, stinging my eyes. I slowly emerge from the realms of unconsciousness and pull the covers up over my head, reluctant to leave the blissful oblivion of slumber.
The door creaks as it opens and Zilpah’s voice, far too cheery, singsongs, “Wake up, sleepyhead. I’ve let you sleep too long this morning, but I figured you’d want your beauty rest.”
Does she have to be so cheerful?
“Why?” I mutter, remaining in my cocoon of quilts until Zilpah pulls them down with an iron grip that I can’t fight.
“We must get you ready for the festivities. Everyone’s already gathered, and they’re waiting for you.”
She drags me out of bed, and I give myself a quick washing with soap and rag. Clean and refreshed, I throw on my best morning dress of vibrant purple with pink embroidery. Zilpah starts to work on my hair, but I tell her, “No, thank you. I’d like to leave it down in waves again today.”
“A good choice, miss. Leaving your hair free suits you.”
Once I’m dressed and ready, Zilpah hustles me out the door and outside. Before I stray too far, Zilpah places the myrtle crown atop my head, and I’m not sure whether this is tradition or whether it’s her small show of support for me, to remind everyone that I am the bride. Either way, I appreciate the gesture.
Music again fills the air, and people congregate on the lawn in family groups. Overhead, a clear blue sky allows sun to pour down on us from above.
I feel silly for doing this kind of foolish, girly thing, but I search out Jacob in the crowd and find him sitting with several other young men our age. Good, I think, as I see Rachel sitting among her friends. At least they’re not together. Jacob meets my gaze and gives a polite nod to acknowledge my presence, a gesture above and beyond what I’d expected. I nod in return as I pass him by.
Shara races over to me, dark curls bouncing as her little yellow dress billows around her in the spring breeze. “There you are!” she exclaims, grabbing my hand and pulling me over to some of the younger girls, where they sit by the lake. There, no trees cast their shadows to keep the sun off of us. “We’ve been waiting all morning for you.”
“I just woke up,” I manage a laugh, letting her lead me along. “How do you have this much energy?”
We plop down onto the bright, purple sheet spread out on the grass and play hand games, sing songs, and the girls beg a few stories out of me. We eat our fill of breads, meats, and cheeses, and drink water, juices, and wine, until my stomach gets so full I couldn’t eat another bite.
And, even though my feet still ache from last night, the girls pull me up to dance with them in a circle, and I don’t resist. If I focus on the steps, I forget to focus on my troubles.
When I manage to break away from them and sit down again, I spot my best friend, Avery, with his shaggy, gleaming hair and his piercing green eyes like Rachel’s, making his way along the stony lakeshore toward me. He manages a small smile but there’s something sad about it. Why, though? Who else but myself, Jacob, and Rachel would have reason to be miserable today?
“Hello,” he says, ruffling the back of his hair with one hand, his gaze downcast.
“Hello, Avery,” I reply, standing up to meet him. “Something troubling you?”
He scuffs his sandal against grass and dirt, and I regret my too-direct question. “I—I just wanted to congratulate you,” he says. “I wish you and Jacob every happiness.”
I fight the automatic grimace that wants to twist my lips sour. Behind us, the girls continue dancing, but I catch them sneaking peeks at us when I turn my head to check on them. Returning my attention to Avery, I force a smile, however feeble.
He and I grew up playing games together, singing songs and telling stories, and tending the community livestock whenever an illness or birth occurred. Over the years, we developed a deep friendship and affection, and I’d secretly harbored a wish that Father would choose him for me to marry. When I’d told Father the kind of man I dreamed of marrying—God-fearing, kind-hearted, someone who loves animals—I’d described Avery. It didn’t work out as I’d hoped, but I still want to be real with him now.
“It’s not going to be a happy marriage. He doesn’t want me, not in the least, which is humiliating enough. You heard him at the feast last night. He loves Rachel, and Father’s giving her to him, too. And you know how they shut me out when they’re together, so even in this strange, shared … farce of a marriage … I’m going to be alone.”
Something beyond words passes between us, and his gaze turns regretful, almost like he feels he let me down. He reaches out his hand toward mine, but thinks better of it. He swallows hard and sits down on a rock, and I join him on a nearby one, keeping an appropriate distance. “Even though it’s too late, I—I wanted you to know that I had hoped to win your hand in marriage,” he admits, his voice quiet, and now I understand the reason for his sadness. “Your father even seemed receptive to the idea, though he didn’t make an official promise—”
This revelation stuns me to the core. He wanted me? He even went to Father to seek my hand? Why, oh, why didn’t Father agree? He could have given both his daughters the greatest happiness instead of the worst bitterness. Then Rachel’s words play in my mind, “Jacob is too good a worker to lose. Father will use whatever leverage he can to keep Jacob around.”
“I wish Father had agreed,” I confess. My gaze drifts up the hill to a spot beneath the shade of a fig tree, where Rachel and Jacob stand close together, talking earnestly, an aura of love radiating from them. Jacob hasn’t bothered to spend any time with me today, an action,—or rather, inaction—that speaks volumes.
This is how it will be, I finally understand deep in my soul. Though I will go with them wherever they go once Jacob frees himself from Father, the two of them will keep me forever apart, forever alone. Sudden tears sting my eyes, and I swallow back a painful lump in my throat. Jacob catches me looking their way, and I turn from them, blinking fast to hide my sorrow.
“As do I,” Avery replies and stands. His gaze strays behind me, toward Rachel and Jacob, and he clears his throat. “I should go, before I cause any further problems. I can see that telling you all this has only caused you further pain.”
“No, it—it gives me something to hold onto. I can think of the life we might have had together, imagine the happiness that could have been ours, and carry that with me. Thank you,” I whisper the last words of heartfelt reassurance, and he nods, blinking back tears of his own.
“Take care of yourself.”
“You, too,” I choke out before he makes his way along the pebbled lakeshore with his back to me, skimming stones. My heart clenches. Once upon a time, we did that together. I still remember his hand on mine, warm and strong, as he taught me, guiding my throws so the stones skipped over water.
Father has taken this love from me. Rachel will happily take Jacob from me. Jacob will happily see only her, though he’s wedded to me, too.
Now, as I lift my gaze to the heavens, I place my trust in God alone and pray He will sustain me through the lonely years to come.
EMMACULATE
Christina Raus
PROVERBS 12:22, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION
The Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy.
EMMACULATE
Christina Raus
I wasn’t a murderer, only an adulterer.
The Ten Commandments are pretty straightforward. Killing? Bad. Lying? Nope. Adultery? Don’t even think about it. But is real life really that straightforward? If you tell your boyfriend that you’re going golfing, when really you’re going out to cheat on him, is the lying or the adultery worse? What if you stab the guy you’re having an affair with? Isn’t being a murderer worse than being a cheater? I think the stabbing is worse than the lying and the cheating combined. So, it was kind of unfair for God to group killing, lying, and cheating all together under one umbrella. They all seemed really different.
I was an adulterer. I couldn’t deny that. I was also a liar. A very, very good liar. But I wasn’t a murderer.
I pondered this as I dressed myself in Gabe Albright’s bedroom. My head was lost somewhere inside my sweater as my arms struggled to work their way into the sleeves. Finally, all of my extremities were in the right places.
“Your hair’s all static-y,” Gabe told me, laughing. He looked up at me from his bed, still naked.
I rubbed my hands all over my scalp, trying to tame my mussy blond mane.
“Put some clothes on,” I told him.
I did not really want Gabe Albright to put clothes on. He was beautiful. He had a buzz cut and blue eyes and pecks sculpted by two years of varsity football. He looked like he walked straight off of a magazine cover. He was perfect, aside from the fact that he was not my boyfriend. In fact, Gabe was my boyfriend’s ex-best friend. That was really his only flaw. My boyfriend, Jared Carpenter, was across town at practice for our youth group’s worship band. Jared was the band’s b
ass guitarist. Jared loved me. Jared thought I was a virgin.
“Get dressed,” I insisted when Gabe didn’t move. He rested on his back, his arms folded behind his head. I bent down, picked one of his wrinkly t-shirts up off the ground, and chucked it at him. “I’m supposed to go out for ice cream with Molly and Jared when they get out of practice. I have to meet them in twenty minutes.”
“I know,” he groaned, pulling the shirt over his head. “I actually kinda miss ice cream night.”
“Maybe if you knew how to keep your mouth shut, you could still come to ice cream night.”
Gabe, Jared, Molly, and I were six when we first met at our church’s summer bible camp. Together, we navigated from first grade to tenth and graduated from children’s bible study to teen youth group. We spent almost every day together until last summer, when Gabe told us that he didn’t believe in God anymore. We were all in a booth at Bonnie’s Ice Cream Shop after Molly and Jared’s worship practice when Gabe asked, “Do you guys ever, you know, doubt God and stuff?”
I did doubt God. All the time. The idea of God was nice, but some aspects of the religion, like virgin births, and miracles, and heaven, didn’t seem rational to me. It was a relief when Gabe, someone I had known and trusted all my life, had the same doubts that I did. I wanted to nod my head in agreement, but I stopped myself when Jared, who I had just started dating, scoffed at him.
“You’re joking right?” Jared asked. “Don’t even tell me you’re turning into some kind of atheist.”
“What if I am?” Gabe asked. Their solid friendship crumbled.
“I can’t be friends with an atheist,” Jared said. Molly shook her head in agreement. I kept my mouth shut. Gabe was already outnumbered, so I stuck with the majority.
“Okay, then,” Gabe said. He stood from his seat and walked out of Bonnie’s without finishing his sundae. That was the last time the four of us were together.
In the Beginning (Anthology) Page 19
