“Ah, Leah, my daughter, what fine treats you make for your poor father.” Laban glanced behind him and waved his arm to draw her close once more. “My Leah is a marvel with dough and spices, and her weaving rivals your own mother’s.” He smiled, and Jacob felt suddenly uncomfortable with his perusal. “You will find no worker more dedicated than this girl.” She bent closer at his insistence, and he kissed her cheek. “What say you, my boy? Are her baked goods not most appealing?”
Jacob took a bite of the sweet pastry and nodded his appreciation. They were good. But he caught the subtle undertone in Laban’s words. He did not wish to take Leah to wife. He glanced at Leah, who looked beyond him, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze. The girl had no confidence, and though one might consider her pretty, she was not beautiful like her sister. What man would want a wife who wouldn’t look him in the eye or glance at him with something more than wistfulness?
“Your daughter is quite skilled in her work. The sweets are most appreciated.” He glanced her way again and caught the slight smile she seemed reluctant to give.
“Thank you,” she said, her words strained as though something were stuck in her throat. She backed quickly away and stood once more in the shadows.
Jacob tilted his head. Curious girl. He turned his attention back to his uncle.
“You have been with me a month now, my son.”
Was Laban rethinking his hospitality? Custom demanded a host offer to house a man three days before that man should no longer infringe on the host’s kindness but offer his services, to work for his food and a place to sleep at night. But Jacob had worked for his uncle since the first day.
“Yes, my lord. The time has passed quickly.” What more did his uncle want from him?
“Just because you are a relative of mine, should you work for me for nothing? Tell me what your wages should be,” Laban said, helping himself to another of Leah’s treats, his look pointed and assuming. Laban knew Jacob wanted to marry his daughter Rachel. He was offering a way for him to pay the bride-price for her. But by his actions this night, Laban clearly wanted him to seek Leah’s hand in marriage.
Jacob glanced across the room where Rachel stood some distance apart from her older sister. Lamplight bathed her face in a soft glow. Her robe was of the softest wool, and he imagined her skin was far softer. Longing filled him. How beautiful she was! And how much he wanted to spend his life at her side, listening to her words, her laughter.
He slowly pulled his gaze from her, a gaze she willingly returned with the confidence Leah lacked, a hint of mischief in her dark, alluring eyes. He looked again at his uncle. “I’ll work for you seven years in return for your younger daughter Rachel.”
The room grew still, and Jacob felt the gazes of all resting on him. It was a slight against Laban, who had clearly tried to place Leah before him. Yet Laban knew it was Rachel Jacob wanted from the first day. Surely he would not deny him! Seven years would seem like nothing if it were but Rachel who waited for him in the end.
Laban’s expression clouded for the slightest moment, but as the air grew heavy around them with anticipated dread, Laban smiled. “It’s better that I give her to you than to some other man. Stay here with me.” He lifted his silver cup and Jacob did the same, their cups meeting in the middle of the table. “Seven years,” he said.
“For Rachel,” Jacob said, wanting to be sure everyone understood to what it was he had agreed.
“For Rachel,” Laban agreed.
It was a trust. A betrothal. A contract between them. Rachel now belonged to him, as long as he kept his part of the bargain. In three and a half years he could pay the bride-price with the amount Laban would pay to shepherd a flock of sheep. He had offered seven, double the amount. To be sure Laban would give him his desire. To be sure he was not cheated.
4
SEVEN YEARS LATER
Rachel stood at the gate as she did every night, waiting for Jacob to return from the fields, her heart beating with fresh anticipation. This day marked the end of Jacob’s seven-year agreement with her father, which meant . . . he would ask for her soon. He had said as much as he left for the fields that very morning.
“Soon, beloved.” His words were soft, a caress against her ear as he bent low, close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath on her cheek. They had kissed several times in the seven years of waiting, but rarely, for fear of her father’s censure. The betrothal meant she belonged to Jacob in every legal sense, but still, they could not come together as man and wife until her father escorted her, veiled, to the marriage tent where Jacob would unveil his bride and they would be one.
She longed for that day with every fiber of her being. And now the day had arrived at last. Jacob would speak to her father after the evening meal, and her father would plan a feast by week’s end. Her pulse quickened at the thought of all she had left to do. She would enlist Bilhah’s help to bake the sweetmeats Jacob loved, and perhaps even Leah would be generous enough to offer her help. Surely the bitterness of Jacob’s refusal had passed. It was her father who should never have encouraged Leah’s hopes or put her in such a plight to suffer Jacob’s rejection.
She stood on tiptoe and raised a hand to her brow, shading her eyes from the angle of the late afternoon sun. There! He crested the hill and hurried toward her. She burst through the gate and ran to him but stopped short at his side. How she longed for him to catch her and swing her about in his strong arms! Another week, she told herself. Just one more week.
“How beautiful you are, my bride!” Jacob winked, his lazy smile making her insides melt. He took her hand and rubbed soft circles along her palm. “Soon we will be together at last.” His dark eyes held the fire of passion she had glimpsed on these rare moments alone, before a servant or sibling somehow appeared from some unseen hideaway, watching. Always watching. As if Jacob could not be trusted. But she knew he would never take her until the proper time.
He released her hand and led her toward the gate. “I will speak with your father this night.” He glanced at her as if gauging her reaction. “Does this please you?”
She smiled, then glanced away, suddenly shy to speak of it. “Yes, my lord.”
His fingers gently grazed her arm. “I love you, Rachel.”
She looked up at that. “I love you, Jacob.” Her heart did another flip at the look in his eyes. “Will you take us back to Canaan right away?” She had told him how willing she was to return to his father’s house, how she longed to move away from her father, from Leah.
He stopped at the gate and turned to face her, but she didn’t miss the shadow that crossed his face. “I do not know . . . that is, I hope so. Surely my brother’s anger has passed. I will send word to my father to see if the time is right.” He leaned in yet kept a safe distance. “I would be most happy to take you with me, just the two of us.”
“But with provisions and servants.” She smiled. He could not possibly mean to travel alone without aid. They could never manage. And they could not return to his father empty-handed.
“Of course,” he said. But he didn’t look convinced. “Go now and prepare the meal for your father. After we partake, I will speak to him.”
She nodded, smiling. “Yes, my lord.” And she hurried to do his bidding.
Jacob reclined at the table with Laban and his sons an hour later, sipping the last of the wine, full and anxious to speak. At last the women returned from the cooking rooms and stood along the walls. Jacob reached for the flask of wine and poured Laban a drink, then filled his cup as well. He met Laban’s gaze, his heart thumping hard. In the seven years he had worked for the man, he had found Laban to be less than honest in his dealings. If not for the fact that the family had witnessed the betrothal, he would have expected the man to change the terms of that agreement as well. He seemed to have little respect for keeping his word.
But with the family in attendance, Jacob spoke with confidence. “Give me my wife. My time is completed, and I want to lie with her.”
Laban looked at him, but his face was unreadable. He glanced toward his oldest son, Tariq. “Seven years is completed already?”
Jacob held his breath. What game was this? Laban knew very well the time had reached completion.
“Seven years to the day, my father,” Tariq said, easing Jacob’s anxious thoughts.
“Very well then. It is time we held a feast and brought this man his bride!” Laban lifted the cup Jacob had poured for him, suddenly smiling. Jacob did the same, his confidence slowly returning. “By week’s end, you shall have your bride, my son.”
Jacob lifted his cup and both drank freely. Laughter bubbled from a place deep within him. Soon Rachel would at last be his!
Leah paced her spacious bedchamber, her heart beating fast with each weighted footfall. Already runners had been sent throughout the town announcing the wedding feast that would take place at week’s end. How could her father have allowed it to come to this? She was the firstborn! She was the one who truly loved Jacob. Rachel was too childish and flippant to really care about the man’s heart. Rachel wanted someone to rescue her from their father’s house, and to live like a princess over her own domain.
But Rachel didn’t love Jacob like Leah did. How could she? The girl was far too vain and self-important to care about another.
Leah paused at the sound of footsteps and glanced quickly at the bronze mirror so often neglected on her cosmetic table. Lately she had found more use for the kohl and ointments, but still Jacob did not notice. She leaned close to the mirror, noting her flushed cheeks, and touched one, hoping the action would cool them. A knock sounded at her door. She jumped. Her nerves were frayed and fragile, her emotions too close to the surface. She would not weep. She would not give Rachel such satisfaction!
Dragging in a ragged breath, she smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her pristine robe and opened the door. “Ima.”
Her mother, Farah, stood in the archway, her brows drawn close, heavy storm clouds brewing, her mouth pulled into a familiar frown. She moved past Leah and closed the door behind her. She faced Leah, arms crossed. “Your father is a fool.” No welcoming embrace to allow Leah to weep over her loss.
“My father made a promise.” She choked on a sob. “Oh, Ima, how can he do this? Rachel doesn’t love Jacob! And how can he let her wed before I do? Am I such poor fruit on the vine that he can find no man worthy of me?” She covered her face, ashamed of her honest words.
“You are not poor fruit. The fault is your father’s, not yours.” Farah touched Leah’s shoulder, her tone suddenly softening. “Whether Rachel loves the man or not, the truth is Jacob loves her. No man works for a maid as long as he has done without love. Lust alone would be too impatient.” She stepped closer then and wrapped Leah in her sturdy arms. “You mustn’t fret, my girl. There might yet be something we can do.”
Leah stilled at her mother’s words, leaning away to look at her, to assess her meaning. “What can we possibly do, Ima? Everyone is invited, and the wedding is in two days. Even if my father found a man this night, we could not possibly wed before Rachel. I will be a laughingstock!”
Farah pulled her close again and patted her back. “Hush now. It is not so difficult as you think.” She held Leah at arm’s length again. “Does not the bride go to her husband fully veiled?”
Leah stared wide-eyed, her mother’s meaning suddenly clear, and yet she could not voice the thought. It was both too exciting and too terrible to utter. “What are you saying, Ima?”
“Only that your father owes you a husband. You are ten years Rachel’s senior, and she, the daughter of a lesser wife!” Farah’s words came through clenched teeth, the tone a fierce whisper. “I will not stand by as my husband gives that haughty, spoiled child everything she wants while you are denied.” She touched Leah’s cheek. “No, my daughter. This will not be.” She glanced toward the door and leaned close. “I will speak to your father. You will go to Jacob under the wedding veils. You will take your sister’s place and reign as first wife in Jacob’s household. I only ask one thing, my daughter.”
Leah’s mind whirled with the thoughts, unable to take it all in. She swallowed past a suddenly dry throat, her pulse quickened with longing. To become Jacob’s wife? His first wife before Rachel? And yet he would still take Rachel. That, her father could not deny the man.
Farah’s fingers tipped Leah’s chin to force her to meet her mother’s gaze. Leah glanced beyond her first, then at last looked into her mother’s dark eyes. “Can you share this man with your sister? You will be first, but you will not be his only. And he loves your sister. You know this. Can you marry a man who may never love you?” Her mother’s gaze probed hers, searching.
Leah looked away, her thoughts churning, uncomfortable, and her mother released her hold. Could she? The words sent a pang to her heart. She had loved Jacob in silence for seven years. Surely once he took her to wife she would make him see how much she could do for him, how blessed he would be to have her. She would add to his household and feed him from the finest storehouses. She would give him sons. Pray God that were true.
Though the truth stood that Rachel could do every one of these things. There was no denying it. Rachel had grown and matured since the first days of Jacob’s arrival. She was ready to wed the man, no matter how much Leah tried to pretend otherwise.
“Can you do this, Leah? Can you marry a man who will not share your love? I warn you, my daughter, it is a bitter herb to swallow to share a man.” She touched Leah’s cheek again, but Leah could not meet her gaze. “When your father married me, I was young. He was handsome and charming, and I begged my father to give me to him. But we were not married long, soon after your brother Tariq was born, before your father’s eyes roamed and he took Refiqa as his concubine. She died before you were born. He married Suri soon after.” She released a deep sigh. “Your house will be one of turmoil, and strife will not end between you and your sister if you do this. You must choose now, my Leah. If you would have Jacob, I will go at once to your father and demand he protect your honor and do as I say. He will listen to me. But I will not act unless you tell me you are willing.” She brushed loose strands of hair away from Leah’s forehead and waited.
Leah stood still, her gaze flitting from her mother to the bedchamber and its contents. She would forfeit this home and its comforts to live in tents with Jacob and Rachel in one of her father’s fields just outside of the town. They would still be near her father’s family, even part of his household, until Jacob returned them to Canaan.
Canaan. Rachel had talked of it often, and Jacob assured them he wanted to return there one day. Could she leave all she loved to travel there? Oh, but if only she could be the one to go with Jacob alone! She and Jacob and their children. But the overarching truth remained. Wherever Jacob went, Rachel would follow. Leah might be first wife, if they could follow through with this ruse and not be discovered. But she would not be the one he loved. And if Jacob should discover that it was Leah in his bed before she could get him to sleep with her, she would be worse than a laughingstock. She would be ruined!
And yet . . . if she did not take the risk, she would lose Jacob for good. For once he left for Canaan, she could not follow. No man would marry her once Rachel was wed, for they would see her as undesirable, the older sister, quickly forgotten.
She swallowed the bitter taste of it all and drew in a long, slow breath. At last she met her mother’s gaze and forced herself to hold it. “I will do it. If my father will agree, I will wear the veils and marry Jacob in my sister’s place.”
Laban strode in from the fields, bone weary and longing for his clay pipe and some of the aged wine he’d been saving for the coming feast. He would lose Jacob by month’s end. For once he wed Rachel, he would be free to leave Laban’s employ and return to his father. While his sons might not miss the man, Laban had seen with his own eyes the difference in his flocks since Jacob took over as primary shepherd in charge of their care. Few lambs had miscarried and the
stock was heartier, stronger, increasing Laban’s wealth. If Jacob were to leave . . . He left the thought unfinished. Jacob couldn’t leave. Not yet. But he had no way to hold him, to keep him in Paddan-Aram, especially when he talked so frequently of Canaan.
He rubbed the back of his neck to forestall a headache, with little relief. As he drew closer to the city gates, he squinted, seeing a lone figure rushing toward him. Farah. He braced himself, already sensing what was to come, the truth he had avoided for far too long.
She approached, her frown deepening as she drew near, and stopped short in front of him, hands on her ample hips. “How can you possibly allow that foolish child of a lesser wife to wed before our daughter?”
“Is that any way to greet your husband after he has worked a long day?” Why couldn’t she sweeten her words as Suri did with honeyed tone and gentle smile? Even the scent of Farah’s sweet perfume, usually meant to entice him, did nothing to soften his sudden ire. “Have you not nagged me about this often enough? What good does it do to remind me of my failures now? Do you think I want to see Jacob take my daughter and return to his father? But there is nothing to be done. I have given my word.”
Farah huffed. “Since when does your word stand for anything?”
He bristled at the insinuation. He kept his word. He only shaded the meaning when the need arose. But no matter which way he looked at this situation with Jacob, he could not find a way to change the meaning of their agreement. “What would you have me do?” There were no men lining up to wed his oldest daughter. He had waited too long, had thought to gain a higher price than she could command, and now there were few her age left in Harran who were not already wed. He could consider the widower Sohrad, but Leah had already scorned the man.
“Give Leah to Jacob instead of Rachel. With her fully veiled and led to his tent, he will not know the difference until it is too late.”
Laban blinked, not sure he had heard correctly. “You want me to give Leah to Jacob instead of Rachel.” By her look he knew she thought him daft. Her bitter spirit had poisoned him so much over the years that he often forgot how well she understood him. How much alike they were in thought, in craftiness.
Rachel Page 3
