“You are not a failure.” He stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You could never be so in my eyes, beloved.” He turned her to face him and cupped his hands around her face. “What did she say to you?”
Emotion swelled with the memory, and she would not meet his gaze. “She accused me of the same old things, of keeping you from her, and said that with another son surely you would love her now. As if producing a child was worthy of something far more than I have given you.” Tears came then, and he pulled her close. “Please tell me you will not give her what she asks. Please do not let her come between us. She has already stolen too much!”
“There, there. It’s all right, Rachel. You know that I love you. I could not bear to lose you! And I will never love Leah as I do you.” He kissed the top of her head and rubbed circles along her back. “Never doubt that.”
“I don’t.” She wrapped her arms around him and held him close, relieved at the feel of his strong arms encasing her. Fire crackled and night breezes fanned the air around them. “I know you love me.” She pulled back and looked into his earnest gaze. “It is just that she makes me so angry. She gives her children names that feel like arrows shot at me, and she says things to purposely make you feel guilty for neglecting her and me for asking you to.”
His look turned thoughtful as he stroked her cheek. “What did she name this one?”
“Simeon.” The word sounded bitter on her tongue.
“One who hears.”
“Yes. She said God had heard that she was not loved, so He gave her this one too. Then she blamed me for keeping you from her. How can she say that when it was she who snuck her way into your bed on my wedding day? She is not loved for a reason!” Her voice rose in pitch as she spoke, until she realized she could wake the sheep and dropped to a whisper. He looked almost startled by her outburst, and she knew she should have held her tongue. She backed away from him and hugged her arms to herself to still her trembling. “Forgive me. I am tired and overwrought.”
“Come here, Rachel.” His quiet voice held no reprimand, though she surely deserved it.
She turned and went to him again. He took her hand and pulled her down to lay beside him in front of the fire. His arm came around her, and she nestled her head into the crook of it, gazing up at the stars.
“Can you count them?” he asked, one hand pointing heavenward.
“I couldn’t begin to try,” she whispered against his chest.
“On a night like this, I am reminded of the Elohim of Abraham and the Elohim of my father, Isaac. Yahweh promised my grandfather that his offspring would be like the stars of the skies—more than he could count.” His grip tightened slightly on her arm. “That means there must be children, beloved. And God has seen fit to give me sons through Leah.”
He stopped as she stiffened and pulled slightly away.
“Let me finish,” he said, gently tugging her closer again. She relaxed against him. “I know you desperately want a child.” He paused as though he had to carefully choose each word. “But at least I still have you. There is a risk in childbirth, and if something happened to Leah, I could bear it.” He rose on one elbow to look into her face. “But not you, beloved. I cannot lose you.”
She searched the depths of his dark eyes, their gaze so earnest and his words so impassioned they hurt. She touched his bearded cheek. “But a woman is worthless without a child. You yourself would despise me someday if I go through life at your side childless.”
He shook his head. “That is not true. My mother was barren twenty years, my grandmother more than that, and God eventually gave them children. I cannot believe He would deny you.” He kissed her forehead. “But even if He did, I would love you.” He kissed her lips, his touch feather light. “Do you believe me?”
She nodded. “I know you love me, Jacob.” He had never given her any doubt, so why did she fear? “I just wish . . .”
“We cannot change what is past and done, beloved. We can only move on from here and live the life God has given us.” He rolled onto his back again and pulled her against him. “But please, it is late and I am tired. Let us speak of this another day.”
She did not want to put aside her feelings so easily, but she could hardly ask him to give up sleep when dawn would come too soon. She had already asked more than she should in keeping him from her sister.
“When will you return to bless your son?” Despite everything, he should acknowledge the child.
“Tomorrow.” His words were soft, and a few moments later his breathing changed and she knew he had fallen asleep. She curled closer against him, staring up at the stars, attempting in vain to count them.
14
The babe’s strident cries woke Jacob from a much-needed rest. He stirred among the cushions of his sitting room and rubbed the back of his neck. The cries did not lessen, though he glimpsed Leah pacing from her door into her own tent and back again, trying to soothe the boy. The action did little, and his cries were soon joined by that of his older brother. Was there never a moment’s peace?
He rolled over and tossed a pillow over his head, trying to blot out the sound, but the cries pierced like arrows through the cushions. He should have stayed in the fields with the sheep. Ought not a man be allowed one day to rest from his labors? He worked long hours on Laban’s behest, and his flocks were the strongest and most well mated of all Laban owned. But he had just come from a difficult birthing of twin lambs. He needed some respite!
The cries grew louder until other voices joined in, apparently trying to calm both of the children, to no avail. Was something wrong with them? Sudden fear mingled with his anger. He rose and donned his robe, then walked with purposeful strides to Leah’s door.
“Is there not something to be done to quiet them?” His booming voice seemed to startle Reuben, whose cries immediately ceased, and the boy ran quickly to Leah, who sat on a cushion trying to get Simeon to eat, tears streaming down her cheeks. Jacob’s conscience pricked him, and the fear returned at the sight of her tears. “What’s wrong with him?” He gentled his tone and stepped into the tent.
“I do not know.” Her words wobbled on the threat of more tears. “I have tried to feed him, but he will not take it. I have walked with him until my legs won’t hold me.” She pulled Simeon close and hid her face in his blanket.
The sight of her filled him with guilt. Except to bless Simeon on his knees, he had rarely visited her tent even to spend time with the children, in deference to Rachel’s wishes. He could not blame Rachel for wanting to keep him away from Leah for fear his love might be divided, but it was not fair to ignore the children because he did not love the mother. Why did women have to make life so complicated? If a man could have sons apart from them, he might just have wished for such a thing! But he knew in a heartbeat that he could not live a moment without Rachel. She was his life.
Still, the children were flesh of his flesh, and though they were babes in arms, they had not known enough of his touch. The image of his father’s favoritism to Esau surfaced, and he winced, seeing his own actions in his father’s.
“Perhaps I can help,” he said, before counting the cost to Rachel that might stop him. He moved closer. “May I?” He held out his arms to take Simeon from her.
She glanced at him. The babe still whimpered, and he feared his movement would cause the screams to come again, but even before he could take the boy, Simeon’s lips puckered and his cries ripped the air between them. Jacob stumbled backward and nearly left Leah and her maid to handle the children without him. Women were better with babes than men were. Give him a son when he was old enough to follow him into the fields. What did he know of infants in arms?
But at the look of relief in Leah’s eyes, he took the babe from her anyway.
“Hold him close and walk with him. Pat his back too. It might help.” She sat up, casting a wary eye on him. “If he senses your discomfort, he will cry harder.” She released a long-held sigh. “Thank you, my lord. I fear th
ere was too much garlic or too many onions in the stew last night. He has not been himself since I ate of it.”
Jacob heard her words through the haze of distraction, his focus shifting to Simeon squirming in his arms, his son’s cries louder than a cat’s piercing scream. He walked with Simeon out of the tent and took the boy toward the sheep pens. Either his cries would scare the sheep or the sheep would calm him. Please, Adonai, calm him. Did God care about such a prayer? What father ever prayed thus for his son? Surely a loving one would, wouldn’t he?
But Jacob’s conscience taunted him with that thought yet again. He looked down at Simeon, so perfect, so angry for one so small, and knew he did not love the child as he ought.
“There, there. You are a strong one, aren’t you? You will make a fine shepherd one day.” He patted the child’s back awkwardly at first, but as they continued to walk up the hill, he grew more comfortable with the task. The babe’s cries stopped suddenly as he turned his head. At four months, he was no longer the wobbly infant he was at birth, and Jacob laughed as the boy’s nose crinkled, seeming to pick up the scent of the sheep.
“A shepherd gets used to such smells, Simeon.” He shifted the boy as they neared the pens and turned him to see. When they neared one of the gentler lambs, Jacob lowered the boy to the ewe’s back and held him there.
Simeon dug both hands into the sheep’s wool and squealed, his cry no longer angry but filled with delight that made Jacob smile. “So this is what you wanted? To be a shepherd already, my son?” He marveled at the word on his tongue. Until now, he had rarely thought of Leah’s children as his sons, but of course they were.
When at last the babe tired and finally slept against Jacob’s shoulder, he walked back toward the tents. As he passed Rachel’s, he saw her standing in the doorway, arms crossed, her eyes red-rimmed and her smile uncertain. He knew by her look that her time had come on her again. The thought depressed him. For though he had hoped to spare her the threat of childbirth, he realized those concerns were unfounded, and he was wishing away a blessing for her that she wanted more than his love. If only he could give her what she asked!
He passed her, knowing he could not visit her tent this night, and carried the sleeping baby to Leah. Zilpah met him at the door.
“She is sleeping,” she whispered, opening her arms for the child. “I will place him beside her.”
Jacob studied the girl for a brief moment, reluctant to release the boy. “Let me,” he said, surprising himself. He could not rush back to Rachel in her state, so there was no hurry.
He walked past Zilpah and crossed into the sleeping chamber where he spotted Reuben on a mat near his mother, napping, and Leah resting peacefully on her own. He knelt at her side and carefully placed Simeon beside her, tucking a blanket around him lest he roll away from her.
She stirred and opened her eyes. “Jacob. You have come.” She blinked and brushed away long strands of silky hair, similar to Rachel’s yet woven with those strands of red like Esau’s, not quite as dark and lustrous as Rachel’s.
He placed a finger to his lips. “Go back to sleep. Rest while the children do.”
She shook herself, glanced at Simeon, and sat up. “Must you leave? There is plenty of room.” She motioned to the other side of her mat, offering him to stay with her. She looked at the sleeping children. “Zilpah could take them to her side of the tent.” She smoothed her tunic, unable to dispel the wrinkles. “We haven’t talked in so long.” Her earnest gaze held his, and he could not pull away. He so rarely gave in to her requests.
He glanced at the children. “Do not disturb them.” It had been too hard to get Simeon calmed to wake him now.
She looked so disappointed that he quickly offered a hand to pull her up. “It is quieter in my tent.” He smiled at the delight in her eyes as she hurried to don her robe and draped a scarf over her head. He led the way as the afternoon sun dipped toward evening shadows.
“Shall I bring food?” She stopped at her storage jars that held dates and nuts. There would be no cooking today on the seventh day, so they would eat the bread baked the night before along with fruits and nuts that needed no work to prepare.
“I have enough,” he said, motioning her ahead of him. Her look held uncertainty, but at his nod she moved past him toward his tent. She glanced toward Rachel’s, and he followed her gaze. Rachel stood in the door watching them.
He could not see Leah’s expression from behind, but he could see Rachel’s displeasure. He should go to her and explain himself. But he did not have the strength to handle her tears and still devote a listening ear to Leah. He nodded at Rachel as he lit the lamp, then entered his tent, closing the flap behind him.
Leah stood with her children near the central fire several paces from Rachel a few months later, waiting to bid Jacob farewell. She had wanted to share her news with him after the evening meal the night before, but Rachel had stolen him into her tent before the last dish was washed, leaving the nightly chores to her maid. Since the day Jacob had taken Simeon and calmed him and then surprisingly invited her to his tent, Leah had known. But she had waited, hoping for another moment alone with him.
Rachel had made certain that did not happen. Even during the weeks of her uncleanness, she managed to keep Jacob from spending time with Leah. And then, of course, Leah needed to be sure. A woman could hardly know for certain the moment she conceived, but somehow Leah did. The quickening inside of her was a blessed force, a stirring that she could not describe with mere words.
Heat filled her cheeks at the thought as Jacob finally emerged from his tent ready to go. He saw Rachel first and wrapped both arms around her, his kiss lingering. Even from a distance, Leah could see the look of triumph in Rachel’s shining eyes when he released her to turn to Leah. She stifled the urge to lift her chin and give her sister the condescending look she deserved. Not with Jacob so near. Guilt nudged her. Perhaps not at all.
She shook away the disturbing need as Reuben ran to greet him, and Jacob lifted the boy into his arms, rubbing his curly head. “Be good for your mother,” he said, setting the boy beside her. Reuben stuck two fingers in his mouth and nodded, wide-eyed, saying nothing.
Jacob stepped in front of her and placed a hand on Simeon’s head, smiling. He leaned close and kissed Leah’s cheek. “Take care of yourself,” he said. He turned, ready to walk away, but Leah touched his arm.
“May I speak with you just a moment, my lord?” He turned back, his expression a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. “I know you don’t have long.”
He faced her again. “What is it?” He glanced at the sky, and she sensed his impatience.
“I could walk with you to the pens, to speed things along,” she offered, though she knew it was a right Rachel always claimed.
“Just tell me now.” His knuckles whitened on the staff, but he gave her his full attention.
She lowered her gaze, suddenly shy to tell him yet knowing now she must, and quickly. She looked up, glanced beyond him to Rachel, who tapped her foot, her perfect brows knit in the tiniest of scowls. Let her be angry! Leah no longer cared what she thought.
“I wanted you to know,” she said, looking directly into his dark eyes, “that I am with child.” She spoke the words softly, reverently, her gaze full of love for him. “I hope it is another son for you, Jacob.”
He looked at her, his expression moving from surprise to concern to pleasure. She knew in a moment that the concern was not for her welfare but for Rachel’s reaction. The thought stung, but when he smiled at her a moment later, she felt only relief.
He touched her arm. “Thank you for telling me, Leah.” He leaned forward away from Simeon, whom Leah still held in one arm and kissed her cheek again. “Take care of yourself.”
He turned then and walked quickly toward Rachel, who followed him to the sheep pens. Leah stood watching them go, knowing he would tell her. Good. It would save her the trouble of her sister’s pouting response. And perhaps, pray God, keep Leah herself fro
m gloating, from purposely wounding her sister more. Why did she have the constant desire to do so? Shouldn’t they have come to some acceptance of one another by now? But Leah could not stop the jealousy or the guilt she felt toward her sister. Jealousy that Rachel was first wife despite the marriage order and their age difference, for Jacob had made her so and listened to everything Rachel said, giving in to her every whim. Guilt in knowing she would not have Jacob at all except for the hand of deceit that had led her here.
A lump formed in her throat as she saw the way Jacob laughed at something Rachel said, and the smile that he sent her way held such love it made Leah’s heart hurt. Despite their beginnings, was it too much to ask that he love her, or at the very least that he become attached to her because of the children? And now she would be giving him three.
She felt Reuben tug on her robe, still watching Rachel cling to Jacob’s arm and chat on about some trivial thing. Perhaps she would go with him to the fields today and Leah could be free of her sulking. For despite the smile Jacob had cast Leah’s way, she could not hide the disappointment she felt that he had not been more pleased with her news. Instead she had garnered only a peck on the cheek and the same words he always used: “Take care of yourself.”
If only he would take care of her as he did Rachel.
If only her heart did not constantly wish it so.
Jacob’s arm tightened, and Rachel could feel the muscle flex beneath her grip as they crested the rise and descended out of sight of the camp to the dip in the land where the sheep pens stood. She studied his profile, watching the way the morning sun angled against his cheek, and saw the changing expressions in his dark eyes.
“What did she say to you?” She forced the question through clenched teeth, knowing yet hating the answer that was sure to follow.
Rachel Page 11
