Most men would welcome the diversity of many women.
Jacob was not one of them.
He turned at the approach of a servant boy who would sleep with the flock this night. Memories of his own youth surfaced as he studied the boy’s awkward gait, the carefree way his arms swung at his sides as he whistled, mimicking the mournful cry of a dove. How quickly the freedom of childhood passed. His son Reuben was not yet three years old and already weaned. Soon his sons would be grown like olive plants sprung up. Would Rachel still be barren then?
The thought turned his stomach as he nodded to the servant boy and moved slowly toward his tent. He approached the fire where Rachel and Bilhah waited for him. He sat, accepting the food Rachel placed before him, and ate in silence. Rachel refilled his cup several times, while Bilhah stood unmoving behind one of the smooth stone seats placed about the fire. When he finished, he stood. Rachel stepped forward with Bilhah beside her.
“You’re really going to do this?” He looked at Rachel until her gaze at last met his.
“Yes.” She took Bilhah’s hand and placed it in Jacob’s. “Here is your wife.”
Bilhah’s hand felt cold in his. He glanced at the girl, seeing fear in her eyes. His gaze did not linger as he sought Rachel’s again. “You are my wife.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes as she looked at him. “Yes, one of three.”
He would argue she was the only wife of his heart, but it would do nothing to change the misery and pain mingling in her expression. He glanced down again at Bilhah’s small hand in his and shook himself. Such a marriage required no formal feast. This was a slave wife, a concubine, and Rachel had sealed the bond with a word.
He glanced at Bilhah, wanting to send her to his tent to wait for him, but one more look at Rachel told him waiting would make it harder for her.
“Just go, Jacob.” The words were a whisper, choked out through clenched teeth. “Do this for me.”
He nodded, defeat settling over him. “For you,” he said, knowing he could not deny her.
He gripped Bilhah’s hand. “Come,” he said, though he knew she would do so without a word from him. She had obeyed every command given her since she was a small child. Her need for daily bread had assured her quick obedience.
He led her into the tent, knowing he should speak to her, should help her to understand what he was about to do. But the words would not come past the pain in his heart.
The next day Rachel met Bilhah already working the millstone, her expression unreadable. There would be no bridal week for her, and Rachel felt a stab of guilt and a certain sense of compassion that she was a wife now, yet so denied. She had thought to consult Jacob on the matter, to suggest he give Bilhah more than was required, but he had already left his tent and gone to the fields before she had arisen. Did he resent this new wife so much then?
She sat beside Bilhah and scooped up the pile of flour already ground, mixed oil from a flask she carried, and worked the dough with her hands. “Did Jacob say when he would return?” she asked after a lengthy silence.
Bilhah glanced up, her face flushed beyond the normal color brought on by hard work. “He did not speak much to me, mis—that is, he got up and left before dawn.”
Birds chirped in the uncomfortable silence, mingling with the voices of Leah’s children in the distance. Rachel studied her maid—no, no longer her maid—wishing she could read the girl’s thoughts. But it would do no good to pry. Better to leave these things be.
“You will go to him again tonight,” Rachel said, hating the necessity, wanting to pull Jacob into her arms instead and listen to all that was on his heart. But Bilhah would never conceive if she was not given the chance. Few were as fertile as Leah, and Rachel could not wait for Leah to give birth and conceive again before her maid bore a child. The thought stung. How used Jacob must feel! And yet did a man really care about such things?
“He would rather have you, mistress.” Bilhah’s comment, spoken so softly yet earnestly, brought Rachel’s thoughts up sharp.
“Of course he would. But I cannot bear him children.” And she was weary of this great struggle with her sister.
“Perhaps you may. In time.”
Rachel looked toward Leah’s tent as the commotion grew louder and the children’s young voices clamored for Leah’s attention. What would it be like to be surrounded by young ones and divide her time thus?
“I pray you are right, but for now we must do things another way.” She searched the girl’s plain features, saw a flicker of pain in her light brown eyes, but it was replaced quickly by acceptance.
“I will do as you ask, mistress.” She tossed more wheat kernels onto the stone, grabbed the handle, and turned.
“Call me Rachel. You are no longer my maid in the same way.” She slapped the dough onto a board and smoothed it with the palm of her hand.
“Yes, mistress.”
Rachel sighed and shook her head. She would deal with such trivial matters another day.
Spring harvest saw abundant crops of wheat and barley, greater than her father had ever seen before, and the flocks birthed new young, all healthy and strong. Bilhah had conceived, lightening Rachel’s mood. She fussed daily, weekly over her maid, praying, hoping that the birth would be as fruitful and healthy as the flocks in Jacob’s care.
In the meantime, Leah’s pains came upon her with her fourth child, but this birth was difficult, not at all as she had experienced the first three times. Rachel rubbed Leah’s back as Suri tried to turn the child, and Farah draped cool cloths over Leah’s sweating brow.
“Don’t push yet, child. Breathe a little longer.” Suri’s soothing tone did little to ease Leah’s suffering. “I see it is another son.”
“There, see, Leah. Another son. All will be well as soon as you birth him.” Fear snaked its way through Rachel, and she wondered if she would be able to endure such agony. “Breathe, dear sister.” Despite their struggles, she could not imagine losing Leah. Not yet. Not with so many young sons to tend. Her envy did not extend to meanness. “You must try, Leah.”
A guttural cry came from Leah’s parched lips, and Rachel startled at the stark pain of it. She sounded more like a wounded animal than a woman.
“He is turned now. There. See!” Suri’s triumphant voice broke through Rachel’s fears. “Push now, Leah. With all of your strength.”
Rachel helped Leah to sit up on the birthing stool and rubbed her shoulders as she bore down on the child. At last a lusty cry emerged from the boy, and Leah laughed and cried at his entrance into the world.
“A beautiful son!” Suri held up the baby, and Rachel’s heart yearned at the sight of him. Of all of Leah’s children, he looked the most like Jacob, despite the blood and fluids covering him. He had a head of dark hair just like his father and squirmed for attention.
Leah laughed and the others joined her. Rachel left her side to attend the babe, then brought him to Leah.
“A son,” Leah said, her voice soft, exhausted, and yet reverent with awe. “This time I will praise the Lord.” She closed her eyes and gave a contented sigh as the baby nursed.
“What name will you give this one?” Farah asked, stroking the child’s soft head.
Leah opened her eyes and smiled. “Judah.”
Praise. Rachel looked on at the pair they made, relieved that her sister had survived such a difficult birth. And strangely, despite the jealousy she could not quite release, she found gratitude in her own heart for this one. Judah. The name sounded like praise, the kind only Adonai deserved. And praise Him she did.
18
Leah sat in the shade of her tent nursing Judah, watching Zilpah play with Reuben and Simeon a short distance away. Levi napped just inside the tent, close enough that Leah could see him through the tent’s open sides. She closed her eyes, grateful for the good health of the child in her arms. Birthing him had taken all of her strength, and she still had not regained it forty days later. The thought troubled her, but even more the fear th
at Jacob would have no more use for her if she could not bear him more children.
And yet why this great need to prove herself to him? Hadn’t she already given him four fine sons? She looked down with affection on Judah’s serene face and stroked the soft curls from his smooth brow. So contented. So guileless and free of the worries life would one day bring to him. What would this child face? Please, Adonai, let this child be obedient to Your ways.
She had not thought to pray such a thing with the first three sons and now realized she should entrust each of them to Yahweh’s care. But her prayers, even her praise over Judah’s birth, could not ease the desire for more children. For more of Jacob’s attention.
Female voices came to her, and she glanced up, shading her eyes against the sun’s angled glare to see who approached. But it was only Rachel and her maid returning from a visit to Laban’s house. A visit Leah had no strength to make even yet.
“There you are,” Rachel said as they drew near.
“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?” She hadn’t meant to snap but realized by Rachel’s raised brows that she had spoken harsher than she intended. “Forgive me. I am weary today.”
Rachel looked like she would offer a response but then seemed to think better of it. “Your mother sent these to you.” She placed some of Leah’s favorite pomegranates in a basket at Leah’s side. “Do you want me to take one of the children for you?” She glanced at Judah, her look telling, the longing evident in her large dark eyes.
“I can manage.” She tightened her grip on Judah ever so slightly. “Levi is napping, and Zilpah is with me.”
Rachel shrugged as though it mattered little to her, though Leah knew the truth. Rachel glanced at her maid and lifted her chin. “Come, Bilhah. I want to cut these pomegranates and fix them the way Jacob likes them.” She cast Leah a parting glance, then moved gracefully past Jacob’s tent to her own.
Leah’s stomach twisted, and she struggled against the inadequacy Rachel always managed to make her feel, the uselessness of her position in Jacob’s household. It wasn’t true. Jacob had even indicated stronger affection for her, especially since Judah’s birth, of which he seemed doubly pleased over any of the other sons. But she felt it in Rachel’s look just the same.
She watched Rachel’s retreating back and Bilhah’s slightly bulging middle evident now beneath her robe, the cause of Rachel’s recent haughty spirit. She swallowed, surprised by the sudden anger and the unexpected sting of tears. She could not possibly be jealous. She had four healthy, beautiful sons! But as she examined her heart, she knew she could not deny it. She was jealous of Rachel’s beauty and the coming child of Rachel’s maid.
It was too soon for her to conceive again anyway, she told herself yet again. And in truth, she had no strength for the task. Her body needed time to recover, and soon she must tell Jacob that he could not come to her until she had healed, something that she expected would take much longer than she hoped.
Laughter coming from Rachel’s tent set her teeth on edge. She glanced once more toward Rachel and Bilhah discussing some private sentiment they shared, keeping her out, as Rachel always did. And keeping Jacob to themselves far too often.
Anger fought its way to the surface of her heart, and she knew she could not quash the emotion. She glanced at Zilpah still sitting on the ground making pictures in the dirt with her sons. Two could play at Rachel’s game. And she was already ahead with four sons to show her worth. If Rachel could give Bilhah to Jacob, she could give him Zilpah.
Then they would see just how haughty Rachel would remain.
Jacob lifted the cup of barley beer to his lips and sipped the lukewarm, frothy brew. The fire turned to glowing embers, clustered sparks like the stars above. Rachel had left his side some time ago not feeling well, and Bilhah slept in her own tent, more tired now that the babe had grown larger within her. The voices of Leah’s children grew silent as Leah and Zilpah put them to bed. He should go to his own tent and rest, but he could not seem to gather the energy needed to rise. He took another drink instead and briefly closed his eyes.
Footsteps rustling the grasses outside the fire’s circle drew his attention. He looked up to see Leah coming toward him. He stiffened, knowing by her look that she wanted something from him. He had little left to give, but he smiled at Leah’s approach just the same, masking his impatience as he beckoned her to sit beside him.
“What do you need?” he asked, not wanting to belabor the point. Were her cheeks paler than normal? It struck him that she had not seemed as well and strong as she normally did in quite some time. “Are you ill?” The thought troubled him.
She shook her head. “Not ill exactly.” She glanced beyond him. “That is, Judah’s birth was not easy on me, Jacob.” She looked at him then, imploring, her pale eyes filled with a sense of sadness he had never seen in her before. “I am afraid I have still not recovered. To bear more children now would likely injure my health further.”
He studied her, understanding dawning. She could not risk another pregnancy until she was strong again. Would she be strong again? Perhaps she would have no more sons than the four she now had.
“But you will recover?” Despite their beginning and the fact that he did not love her in the way he loved Rachel, he did hold some affection for her. He could not imagine his life now without her in it.
She nodded. “Surely in time. Yes.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Until then—”
“I understand,” he said, wanting to spare her the embarrassment of stating it. He placed a hand on her knee, then reached for her hand and squeezed.
She looked up at him, tears skimming her lashes. Was she so fearful of losing her time with him? But one look into her eyes told him what he had spent countless hours trying to deny.
“I would like you to sleep with my maid Zilpah in my place, so that I may procure sons by her.” She swallowed and made a valiant effort to keep the tears at bay. She had never cried in front of him, and he was moved to pity.
“You already have four sons, Leah. You need not bear me more.” He meant the words to comfort her, but her startled look made him realize too late that she did not take the comfort he intended. “That does not mean you will live as a widow.” He released her hand and placed an arm around her shoulders instead, pulling her head against his chest. “I will still care for you.” He spoke softly against her ear, discomfited by her tears. “It’s all right, Leah.”
He hadn’t meant to sound impatient and chided himself for not keeping his tone gentle. “That is, there is nothing to fear. You will be well and have more children in time.” Though he knew his mother had never borne another after he and his brother were born. Perhaps that was all God had intended. How was a man to know such things?
“Will you take my maid then? Please?” She sniffed and dried her tears with her sleeve. She sat up to look at him. “It is my right, Jacob.” He could not tell if the sudden glint in her eyes was her determination or the remnant of her tears.
“I do not see the need.” But still, he felt pulled between the two sisters, until he wondered how long he could survive their jealousies and competition.
“If Rachel can give you her maid, then so can I. I want this, Jacob.” She held his gaze, unrelenting, with a look that told him he would not win an argument with her.
He nodded, defeat settling over him, as though clouds had blotted out the stars, and yet they remained transfixed in the heavens, winking down on him. “When?” But he knew the answer.
“She can come to you this night. Or tomorrow.” She touched his arm. “Please do not make me wait.”
He stared at her. “Do you think me some kind of animal that you can call to come at your beckoning?” Both Leah and Rachel had treated him thus, and he had had enough. He stood abruptly, and she stood with him, alarm in her expression.
“No, of course not. Forgive me, my lord.” She took a step back and hugged herself as though chilled. She truly did not look well, and he sudde
nly regretted his anger.
“I’m sorry, Leah.” He pulled her close again and patted her back. “Send your maid to my tent. I will do as you ask.” He was a victim of his love for Rachel and trapped by the yearnings of his beloved and her sister.
He released Leah and watched her walk back to her tent to call Zilpah to him. She would place Zilpah’s hand in his, as Rachel had done with Bilhah, and they would be man and wife. He glanced at the heavens, the stars too numerous to count, and wondered just how many sons he must produce to no longer be able to count them.
Rachel awoke with a start several months later to the sound of Bilhah’s moans. She had insisted her former maid stay with her in her tent until the babe’s birth and had worried and fretted over her like she would a small child. She hurried to the young woman’s side and, at her anguished nod, woke a servant girl and sent her scurrying to her father’s house to bring her mother.
“What can I get you? Some water? Does it help to walk?” Rachel’s nerves tingled and her words rushed from her.
“I am fine.” Bilhah drew in a long, slow breath just as Rachel’s mother had taught her days earlier. She rubbed her lower back and paced the sitting area. “Some water, perhaps.”
Rachel flew from the tent and retrieved some of the water from the jug still left from last night’s visit to the well. They would need more, but she would send Zilpah or some other maid to get it. She caught herself at the thought of Leah’s maid, no longer a maid but another of Jacob’s wives and already carrying his child.
How could Jacob have done such a thing? He had told her that he could no more refuse Leah than he had her. It was a wife’s right. But Leah had no reason!
Rachel Page 14
