A Lineage of Grace (9 page)

Her father’s eyes flickered. “If Judah meant to keep his word, he wouldn’t have sent you here. He sent you back because he wants to be rid of you. Everyone will know Judah thinks a daughter of my house is the cause of his ill fortune!”

How her father’s words stung! Her eyes burned hot with tears. “Give Judah time to grieve, Father. Give him time to think!”

“Time! All the advantages I gained with your marriage are lost to me! Do you think Judah will bring his flocks to my fields with you here? I’ll have to find other shepherds to bring their flocks and herds, or my land will go unnourished.” He glowered at her. “You’re useless! You’re a plague on my house! I have other daughters who need husbands! Will any man offer for the sister of an accursed woman like you? Judah would probably consider it a favor if I killed you!”

The cruel, thoughtless words rained down upon Tamar and hurt her far worse than blows. She quaked inwardly but dared not show weakness. “As you wish, Father. Strike me down. And when Judah sends for me so that his son can have sons, tell him, ‘I killed Tamar in a fit of rage!’”

“I’ll cast you out the same way he did.”

“He sent me home to my father for safekeeping. Will you tell Judah you rejected me? Will you tell this Hebrew warrior that his daughter-in-law was sent away to glean in other men’s fields, beg bread, and prostitute herself in order to survive? I’m certain Judah will understand. Hebrews are easily swayed, aren’t they? They’re given to mercy. They forgive a wrong done to them. My father-in-law will be as merciful to you as you are to me!”

He was listening. Tamar pressed her advantage. “If I’m ruined and made unfit for Shelah, what will happen to Judah’s household? I will always be Judah’s daughter-in-law. Shelah is Judah’s
last
son, Father. Is Judah the sort of man who will let his household die for want of children? He
chose
me!” She paused, giving him a thoughtful look. “Unless you wish to return the bride-price.”

Her father paled.

She softened her voice. “Judah has asked a simple thing of you, Father. Give me food, water, and shelter for a time and receive his blessing for it.”

“How much time?”

“A few years, perhaps. Whatever time Shelah needs to become man enough to be my husband.”

The root of fear had been deeply planted in her father. That fear must be the hedge of protection around her. “You want Judah as an ally, Father, not an enemy. You are not strong enough to stand against him.”

He sneered, his eyes cunning. “He is but one man and has but one son now.”

A chill washed over her. Had she jeopardized Judah’s household by reminding her father of their dwindling numbers? She could see what he was thinking. He had six sons. Her mind raced in Judah’s defense. “Judah has many brothers, many fierce brothers. And their father is Jacob, a man who speaks with the unseen, living God who destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. Don’t forget what Jacob’s sons did to Shechem. An entire town was destroyed because of the dishonor done one girl. Am I not Judah’s daughter now, wife of his firstborn, Er, wife of Onan, promised wife of his last son, Shelah? What will Judah’s God do to you if you attempt to destroy his household?”

Zimran paled. He wet his lips nervously. “You will work,” he said with bluster. “You won’t sit around growing fat and lazy on his promise. You will be a servant in my house until such time as he calls for you.”

She bowed her head so that he wouldn’t see her relief. “I am your humble servant, Father.”

“I had such hope you would build a bridge,” he said bitterly. “The stars did not foresee the trouble you would bring me.”

Her throat was tight with tears. She swallowed them and spoke with grave respect. “One day Judah will thank you.”

Zimran gave a bitter laugh. “I doubt it, but I’ll take no risks over a mere girl. You will sleep with the handmaidens. You’re unfit company for your sisters.”

Tamar knew he sought to hurt her because she’d failed him. She raised her head and looked at him. He frowned slightly and looked away. “You may go.”

She rose from the floor with dignity. “May the God of Judah bless you for your kindness toward me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Before you go, there’s something I want you to think about.” His eyes were hard. “You’re young. Soon your widow’s garb will chafe you. The years will pass, and you’ll see your chances of bearing children fade.”

“I will be faithful, Father.”

“You say that now, but a time will come when you’ll long to remove the sackcloth and ashes and your
tsaiph
of black. But I’m warning you: If you ever do, I’ll let Judah decide your fate. We both know what that will be.”

Her death, no doubt, followed by celebration.

“I will be faithful. Upon my life, I swear. If it’s the last thing I do, I will bring honor upon Judah’s house!” Despite the tears flooding her eyes, she lifted her chin and looked into his eyes before she left the room.

* * *

Judah would have forgotten all about Tamar if Bathshua hadn’t become obsessed with finding some way to take vengeance upon the wretched girl. Even after Tamar was gone, his wife gave him no peace.

“My sons must be avenged! As long as she lives, I’ll have no rest!”

And neither would he.

Bathshua ceased running the household, leaving her chores to a few lazy servants while she dedicated her days and nights to beseeching her gods for vengeance. She wanted Tamar dead and disaster to befall Zimran’s entire household.

“The girl is gone!” Judah shouted in frustration. “Give me some peace and forget about her.”

“As you’ve done!” Accusation reigned. “I have two sons in the grave because of her. If you were any kind of man, you would have killed her! I will never forget what she’s done to me! Never!” She returned to her idols, praying to them for vengeance.

Judah left her alone in her misery. Could stone idols hear? Could wood or clay teraphim change anything? Let her find whatever consolation she could.

Judah thought about taking another wife. Another woman might give him more sons, but the thought of another woman under his roof sickened him. He’d grown up in a household with four wives. He knew the trouble women could bring to a man, even women who believed in the same God he did. His father’s life had never been easy. Judah’s mother and Rachel, his father’s favorite wife, had constantly been at odds in their contest to produce sons. Matters only worsened when they both insisted that Jacob take their handmaidens as concubines, each thereby hoping to win the competition. Their sons had been weaned in bitter rivalry. And nothing had ever turned his father’s heart from Rachel. Jacob had loved her from the moment he’d first seen her, and her death in childbirth had nearly destroyed him. In truth, he loved her still. He’d loved Joseph and Benjamin more than all the rest of his sons because they had come from Rachel.

No, Judah wouldn’t bring more misery upon himself by taking another wife. One woman was enough trouble for any man. Two wives would be double the trouble. He reminded himself often that he’d loved Bathshua once. She was the wife of his youth, the mother of his sons. He wouldn’t set her aside for another, no matter how difficult she became.

Besides, he’d have to build another house for fear of what Bathshua would do to any woman he brought into this one. He’d seen her ill treatment of Tamar.

Judah escaped conflict with Bathshua by staying away from his stone house and tending his flocks. He had a justifiable reason for being away for weeks on end. Yet even out in the fields away from his wife, trouble hounded him.

His calves and lambs were cursed by disease or killed by predators. The sun scorched his pasturage. When he kept his animals protected in the wadies so that marauders wouldn’t take them, rains came upon the mountains, sending floodwaters through the wadies. Many animals were swept away by a flash flood, their bloated bodies a feast for vultures. When he returned home, he found blight had killed his grapevines. Beetles had devoured his palm tree. The garden had gone fallow for lack of loyal servants. The sky was bronze, the earth iron!

Even Bathshua sickened as the bitter rot of discontent spread poison through her thinning body. Her face sharpened. Her voice rasped. Her dark eyes became as hard as obsidian. She complained constantly of pain in her neck, her back, her stomach, her bowels. Judah summoned healers, who took his money and left useless potions behind.

Everything Judah had worked twenty years to build was turning to ashes before his eyes. And he knew why.

God is against me!

Lying on the hard ground in the opening of his sheepfold, a stone for a pillow, Judah stared up at the evening sky and remembered the promise God had given his father, Jacob, so many years ago—the same promise God had given to Jacob’s father, Abraham.
Land and descendants as numerous as the stars in the heavens!
The Lord had blessed Jacob-Israel with twelve sons.

Judah was haunted by nightmares about the fateful day in Dothan. His own words cursed him.
“What can we gain by killing our brother? Let’s sell Joseph to those Ishmaelite traders!”
The dry cistern yawned like a black hole in his dreams, and he could hear the cries of his helpless younger brother.

He knew it was because of what he and his brothers had done to Joseph that his life was now in ruins. There was no way to go back, no way to undo his part in it.

“Help me, brothers! Help me!”
Judah remembered the boy struggling against his shackles and sobbing for help from those who should have protected him.
“Help me!”
The boy’s sobs still echoed, the same way they had the day he was dragged away to Egypt as his brothers watched.

Judah had shown no mercy to Joseph then.

Judah expected no mercy from God now.

* * *

Though outwardly obedient, inwardly Tamar balked at fate, for it was not her destiny to grow old and die without having children. Four years passed, but Tamar clung tenaciously to hope. She was still young; there was still time.

She worked hard for her father’s household. She gave him no opportunity to complain. She made pottery. She wove baskets and cloth. She made tools for her brothers and sisters to use in the fields. Only when the shepherds had taken their flocks away did her father send her out into the fields to work. Though the work was grueling, she preferred the open spaces. Better a burden of rock than the burden of others’ contempt.

Her father prospered. The third year Zimran harvested twofold from his fields. “Where is the ill fortune you were sure I would bring you?” she said in challenge.

“Let’s wait and see what next year brings.”

By the fifth year her father’s household prospered so greatly that everyone forgave her presence. Her sisters married, and she was welcomed into the house. Her brother took a wife. Tamar became an object of pity. She would have welcomed their compassion, but she despised their charity. They looked down upon her and upon Judah’s household.

She held on to her hope. She clung to it. One day Judah would send for her! One day she would have children! Someday the house of Judah would be strong and held in high honor because of the sons she would give them. She wept, for she ached to take her rightful place as the childbearer in her husband’s clan. What greater dream could a woman have?

Yet sometimes in the night, when Tamar heard the soft mewling sounds of her brother’s firstborn son, she wept. Would she ever hold a child of her own?

Surely Judah had not forsaken her. Surely he would send for her. He had given his promise. Perhaps this year. Perhaps next. Oh, let it be soon!

When she was alone in the fields, Tamar lifted up her eyes to the heavens, tears streaking her face.
How long, O Lord, how long will I be abandoned? How long before justice is done? Oh, God of Judah, help me. When will this son of yours see that I can give his household the children he needs so that the name of Judah will not die? Change his heart, God. Change his heart.

Having prayed to Judah’s unseen God, Tamar did the only thing left to her.

She waited . . .

and waited . . .

and waited. . . .

FIVE

On market day, while her father and brothers sat in the city gate visiting with friends, Tamar remained in the goat-hair booth with her mother and sold cloth made from the flax. Sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued patrons never cowed Tamar, and the booth always showed a good profit when she managed it. Her mother was content to leave it in her hands.

Business had been brisk, and Tamar was kept very busy while her mother sat and stitched the sun, the moon, and the stars on a red gown she’d made for her daughter in Timnah. Every year Tamar’s sister received a new gown and veil. Zimran grumbled at the cost of the cloth and colored thread but never refused to allow his wife to purchase whatever she needed. Only the best would do for a temple priestess, and her father coveted the favor of the gods, any and all of them. Tamar’s mother spent hours working with her fine threads and tiny beads, trimming the gowns and exquisite veils she made from imported cloth of red and blue. She also made anklets with rows of tiny bells.

Though Tamar wore her mourning garments until they were threadbare, she never asked for more or wished for the finery her sister was given. Tamar was satisfied with her voluminous black
tsaiph
that covered her from head to foot. The garment didn’t chafe, but the barren wasteland of her life did. Despair wore upon her resolve.

She’d been born for more than this! She’d been brought up and trained to be a wife and mother of a household! Six years had come and gone, and still no summons from Judah!

Tamar rose and haggled with another customer. It was late in the day, and the man wanted quality textiles for bargain prices. She refused his price and sat down. He offered more. They haggled again. Finally, the man purchased the last of the cloth and left. With a sigh, Tamar sat inside the booth with her mother.

“I’m going to need more blue thread. I thought I had enough to finish this sash, but I still need more. Go and buy more for me, but be quick about it.”

Tamar walked past booths displaying baskets of figs and pomegranates, trays of grapes, jars of olive oil and honey, skins of wine, bowls of spices from Eastern caravans. Children played beside mothers hawking merchandise. Tamar saw other widows, all much older than she, sitting content while grown sons or daughters-in-law conducted the business.

Depressed, she purchased the blue thread her mother needed and headed back. She walked down a different aisle of booths displaying wood, clay, and stone teraphim; pottery; baskets; and weaponry. She was restless and dejected, when she noticed two men coming toward her. One looked vaguely familiar. She frowned, wondering if he was a friend of her brothers.

As he came closer, she realized it was
Shelah
! Shocked, she stared, for he was a full-grown man boasting a beard and broad shoulders! His companion was a young Canaanite, and both were armed with curved knives. Each had a wineskin draped over his shoulders, and they were both drunk! Shelah swaggered down the narrow lane. He bumped into a man, shoved him aside, and cursed him. Tamar couldn’t seem to move. She stood gawking at them, her heart racing.

“Well, look at her, Shelah.” His friend laughed. “The poor widow can’t take her eyes off of you. Perhaps she wants something from you.”

Shelah brushed her aside with scarcely a look and snarled, “Get out of my way.”

Heat poured into her face, for Judah’s son hadn’t even recognized her! He was just like Er, arrogant and contemptuous. He bumped into a counter, rattling the clay teraphim displayed there. The proprietor made a grab for his merchandise as Shelah and his friend laughed and strolled on.

“Get out of my way. . . .”

Tamar fought against the anger and despair filling her. Judah never meant to keep his promise!

What would become of her when her father died? Would she have to beg crumbs from her brothers’ tables or go out and glean in a stranger’s field? For the rest of her life, she would suffer the shame of abandonment and have to survive on others’ pity. All because Judah had forsaken her.
It was not just!
Judah had lied. She was left with nothing. No future! No hope!

Tamar returned to her father’s booth and gave the blue thread to her mother. Then she sat in the deepest shadows, her face turned away.

“You were gone a long time. What kept you?”

Hot tears burned Tamar’s eyes, but she refused to look at her mother. “The woman was stubborn about the price.” She would not expose her shame.

Her mother made no further reprimand, but Tamar felt her watchful eyes. “Is something wrong, Tamar?”

“I’m tired.” Tired of this endless waiting. Tired of hoping Judah would keep his promise. Tired of the barrenness of a useless life! She clenched her hands. She needed wise counsel, but whom could she trust? She couldn’t speak with her father, for he’d merely tell her he’d been right all along: Judah had cast her out and abandoned her. She couldn’t speak with her mother because she was content with things as they were. She was getting older and needed extra hands to help. Her father was wealthy enough now to have servants, but he preferred to sink his profits into a new stone storage house for surplus grain.

The market day ended, and the booths were dismantled. Her father and brothers came in time to load the donkey. It was a long walk home.

Tamar didn’t speak of Shelah until she was alone with Acsah.

“Did he speak to you?”

“Oh yes. He told me to get out of his way.” Tamar pressed a hand over her mouth, silencing the sob that choked her. She closed her eyes, struggling for control over her emotions. She shook her head.

Acsah embraced her and stroked her back. “I knew this day would come.”

“I stood right in front of him, Acsah, and he didn’t even know me.”

“You were a young girl when you entered Judah’s house. Now you’re a woman. It’s not surprising Shelah didn’t recognize you. I doubt even Judah would.”

“You don’t understand what this means!”

“Yes, I do. You’re the one who never understood.”

Tamar drew back. “I thought . . .”

Acsah shook her head. “You hoped. You were the only one who had faith in that man.” She touched her cheek tenderly. “He is the one who has been faithless.”

“I must do something, Acsah. I can’t leave things as they are.”

They talked far into the night but came up with no solutions. Finally, exhausted, Tamar fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Tamar was milking the goats when her mother came to her. It was clear something was terribly wrong. She rose. “What’s happened, Mother?”

“Judah’s wife is dead.” Tears slid down her mother’s wrinkled cheeks, but her eyes were like fire.

Tamar stepped back, her body going cold. “Who sent word?”

“No one sent word! Your father heard about it from a friend who has commerce with the Hebrews. Judah’s wife is already buried! You were not even summoned to mourn her.” Her eyes were fierce and black. “That my daughter should be so ill-treated by a Hebrew and nothing be done about it will bring me down to my grave!” She wept bitter tears.

Tamar turned her face away and closed her eyes. She wished she could sink into the earth and be spared this final humiliation.

Her mother came closer. “When will you see your situation for what it is? Your brother saw Shelah in the marketplace. He took pity on you and told me rather than your father! Shelah’s a grown man! Perhaps he’s left his father’s household. Perhaps he’ll choose his own wife and do whatever he pleases. Judah did!”

Tamar turned away. What she said was true. Judah had never had control over his sons. He’d never been able to rein in Er or Onan. Why should anything be different with Shelah? All the men of Judah’s household lived for the pleasure of the moment without thought of tomorrow! Shaking, Tamar paced. She had to do something or scream. She sat down and went back to milking the goats.

“How can you say nothing at such news? This despicable man has abandoned you!”

“Enough!” Tamar glared up at her mother. “I will not speak against Judah or his sons. I will remain loyal to the house of my husband, no matter how they—or you—treat me.” She wished she could control her thoughts as easily as her tongue!

“At least we give you bread.”

“Grudgingly. I earn every bite I take.”

“Your father says you should go to Kezib and shout at the gate for justice!”

So her father knew everything. Her humiliation was complete. Tamar put her forehead against the side of the goat; her anguish was too deep for tears.

“You should have cried out against Judah long ago.” Her mother was relentless. “It’s your right! Will you sit here for the rest of your life and do nothing? Who will provide for you when you grow old? What will happen to you when you can no longer work? What will happen to you when you’re too old to glean?” She knelt beside Tamar and grasped her arm. “Let the elders know how this Hebrew has treated you and brought shame upon us! Let everyone know that Judah breaks his vow!”

Tamar looked at her. “I know the man better than you, Mother. If I shame him before all Kezib and Adullam, he will not bless me for it! If I blacken the name of my father-in-law, will he show me kindness and mercy and give me Shelah?”

Her mother stood in disgust. “So you will go on waiting. You will accept what he’s done to you. You’ll let the years pass and grow old without children.” Tears came hot and heavy. “How many years will it be before your time of childbearing passes? You won’t be young forever! Who will take pity on you when your father dies?”

Tamar covered her face. “Please do not vex me so! I’m searching for a way . . .” She wept.

Her mother said nothing for a long moment. She put her hand gently on Tamar’s shoulder. “Life is hard for a woman, Tamar. But it’s impossible without a man.”

Tamar drew a shaky breath and raised her head. “I know that better than anyone.” Rubbing the tears away, she looked at her mother. “I will find a way.”

Her mother sighed and looked out toward the hills. “The man who spoke with your father said Judah’s wife was ill for a long time. Two years, at least. She must have died a slow, cruel death.” She hesitated, her brow furrowed. “Judah had only one wife, didn’t he?”

“Only Bathshua.”

“No concubines?”

“None.” Milk splashed into the earthen bowl as Tamar worked. Focusing on her task, she tried to ignore her mother’s gentle touch. It would be her undoing, and she’d cried enough to last a lifetime.

“The man said Judah was going to Timnah with his friend from Adullam,” her mother said and let the words hang in the air before adding, “The sheepshearing festival will begin soon.”

Tamar looked up at her. Her mother smiled faintly, eyes keen. She said nothing more. Brushing Tamar’s shoulder lightly with her fingertips, she left her alone to think.

And how her thoughts whirled as she worked. Judah might be unwilling to keep his promise, but she still had rights. According to the customs of her people, if Judah wouldn’t allow Shelah to sleep with her and give her a son, then Judah himself owed her one.

So Judah was going to the sheepshearing now that his wife was dead! Righteous indignation filled her. Timnah was a center of commerce and the worship of Astarte. She knew what her father-in-law would do there. There were common harlots by the dozens, who sold their bodies for a scrap of bread and a cup of wine! Such might be her own fate if her father cast her out.

She would no longer sit quietly by, waiting for Judah to honor a promise he’d never intended to keep. If she didn’t do something soon, Judah would be led by his lusts and carelessly give up his seed—what rightfully belonged to her—to the first woman in Timnah who tantalized him.

Biting her lip, Tamar considered her options. She could continue her chaste existence and wait upon Judah to do what was right, knowing now that he never would, or she could go after him. She could pretend to be a harlot by the roadside. Shelah hadn’t recognized her. Why should Judah?

She carried the earthen vessel into the house, where her mother was putting the last touches on her sister’s veil. Tamar set the bowl down and looked at the finery lying across her mother’s lap. What if she were to dress in her sister’s garments?

“This is the best veil I’ve ever made.” Her mother tied off and bit a thread. “There. It’s finished.” She held it up.

Tamar took the veil from her mother’s hand and ran it carefully through her own. “It’s very beautiful.”

“Look at the gown.” Her mother rose and took up the gown for Tamar to see. “I’ve made everything your sister needs: headband, veils, gown, sash, anklets, and sandals.” She turned toward Tamar. “The veil was the last piece.” She stretched out her arm, and Tamar laid the veil carefully over it. Tamar noticed that her mother’s hands were trembling as she carefully folded the veil and tucked it into the basket. “Your father plans to send these things to your sister in two days. She must have everything in time for the festival.”

Did her mother suspect the plan that was forming in her mind? “I’ll work in the fields tomorrow, Mother. I may not return to the house until very late.”

Her mother tied the basket closed but didn’t rise or look at her. “It’s a three-hour walk to the crossroads at Enaim. You will have to start out just before dawn.”