Rachel (13 page)

“I hope I am not intruding.” Rachel’s dark eyes were large, her lips parted, inviting.

“No.” He looked at her, uncertain. He had spent the past several nights in the fields, moving farther in search of green pastures. “But it is not safe for you to have come here alone.”

She shrugged. “I know where I am going.” And he had to admit, she knew well the land surrounding her father’s home.

“That does not mean someone might not come upon you unaware.” Fear for her safety suddenly hit him full force. “You should not come alone.”

“I know how to use a sling, Jacob.” She touched the pouch at her side that held the stones she could grab in an instant, the sling hooked to its strings. “I’ve got pretty good aim too.” She smiled at him again, her eyes alluring. “What I can’t understand is why my husband prefers the company of the sheep”—she glanced purposely around her—“to me.”

She stepped closer until he could feel her breath on his beard.

He held her upturned gaze and lowered his head, his lips grazing hers. “Perhaps because it is quieter here.” He leaned away from her, gauging her reaction.

She lowered her eyes, her look apologetic. “I am sorry to have caused you such strife, my husband.” She rested a hand along the collar of his robe. “My sister’s pregnancy came as a shock, since you spend so little time with her.” She glanced beyond him.

He touched her cheek, and she met his gaze. “Your child, whenever he is born, will be firstborn of my heart. Even if Leah should give me ten sons, yours will be first. The blessing will be his.”

The promise came from a place deep within him, and he knew he meant it with every word. Rachel was his heart. Her children would be his heirs. And while he would not neglect Leah’s children, he would not make his parents’ mistake of confusing the issue of which son would rule after him. One wife and her firstborn son would have preeminence.

“Will you come home tonight?” She looked so small and fragile now, and he suddenly wished he had not stayed away.

He nodded. “Do you want to come with me to the well? We could make music as we walk, though your flute sounds better than mine.”

She laughed. “I’ve practiced more.” She pulled the flute from her pouch again and lifted it to her lips, played a merry tune, and then strode on ahead of him toward the well where he had first laid eyes on her.

He followed like one of the dumb sheep, struck by her beauty, her talent, and the way she could make him promise her the world. Would to God that she had been the first one to conceive. Would to God that He would look down on her even now and fill her empty arms.

Part
2

When the LORD saw that Leah was not loved, he enabled her to conceive, but Rachel remained childless.

Genesis 29:31

When Rachel saw that she was not bearing Jacob any children, she became jealous of her sister. So she said to Jacob, “Give me children, or I’ll die!”

Genesis 30:1

11

The pains came upon Leah before dawn six months later. Winter rains had long since passed, and the promise of spring was in the song of the mourning doves and the whisper of gentle breezes in the gaily flowered fields. At first the constricting muscles across her belly had seemed insignificant, but as the day progressed, she sent Zilpah to summon her mother. Farah swept into Leah’s tent and looked around as though trying to decide how best to proceed.

“How far apart are they?” She waved away a cup of water offered by Zilpah, her gaze on Leah.

“The rests between them are short. Sometimes barely a few breaths.” Leah panted, pacing back and forth in her small sitting room.

“Do you still have your waters?” Her mother walked to her bedchamber and peered inside.

“Yes.” Leah stopped, sudden fear gripping her. “Is that normal?”

Her mother nodded. “Yes, of course it’s normal. But if the pains are coming so quickly, the waters will break soon. Then you will need the birthing stool. Where is it?”

Leah pointed to the half-circular wooden stool resting against the partition between the two rooms. Farah retrieved it and set it in the bedchamber, then fluffed the pillows on Leah’s bed. “Did you lay a clean sheet down?”

“Zilpah did . . . earlier.” Her breaths came in short puffs, and she placed both hands on her middle, cradling the child. “Come, sweet baby. Make your way into the world.”

“Why is your sister not here?” Her mother glanced around again at the sparse room and frowned.

“I did not invite her. She would not have come.” The thought accompanied another wave of contracting pain, as though the agony of her relationship with Rachel over Jacob could be drawn into her body and brought forth with the child.

“How long will the two of you fight over the man?” Her mother’s tone carried disbelief and exasperation. She turned to Zilpah. “Go and fetch Suri. Tell her Leah is near to giving birth.”

Leah stopped again and faced her mother. “I do not want Rachel’s mother here either.” She bit back the sting of tears, hating the emotion. “Why can’t you deliver me?”

“Suri is a better midwife.” Farah shrugged. “She attended your brother’s wives and did a better job than I could do. Her hands are smaller but sturdy, and if the baby should need to be turned, you will be glad of it.” She glanced beyond Leah to the tent door. “It does no good to be at odds with your sister or her mother, Leah. Women must come together and aid each other. Jealousy will destroy you both.”

Leah started pacing again, wincing with another breath-stopping pain.

“Breathe, daughter. Short breaths if you must. But it is worse to hold it in.”

“I still do not want Rachel to attend me. She has stolen my husband. She cannot have my son or place him on her knees. The babe is mine. No one else’s.” Though she hoped Jacob would claim the child, if it was a son, as his firstborn and heir. The words, the worries left her shaken, and she did not resist when her mother took her arm and led her to her bedchamber.

“Sit down and let me see how far along you have come.”

Leah obeyed as hurried footsteps and the sound of voices filled her sitting room, Suri among them. She gripped her mother’s arm and pulled her closer. “Promise me you will not allow Rachel to attend me.”

“Leah, I don’t see why you continue to hold such feelings inside of you. You are the first wife. You will bear the first son. Rachel would not think to try to claim him from you.” Her mother carefully pried Leah’s fingers from her arm, then patted her shoulder. “You are overwrought, my daughter. I warned you when you married Jacob how hard this would be, yet you agreed. But forget all of that now. You are about to become a mother.” She lifted Leah’s tunic and examined her progress.

“Promise me, Ima. Please. She has already taken my husband.” Another pain accompanied the whispered words, swift and harsh like her life.

Her mother rearranged Leah’s skirts as Suri and Zilpah burst into the room.

“Promise, Ima?” she begged through clenched teeth.

“Very well. I promise.”

“Promise what?” Suri asked as she squatted at Leah’s side. She placed a hand on Leah’s middle, gently massaging.

“It does not concern you.” Farah took her place at Leah’s back and rubbed her shoulders.

Leah caught Suri’s curious look but then closed her eyes as another contraction overtook her, thankful that she would not be expected to answer.

Rachel worked the spindle and distaff in the door of her tent, trying to blot out the sounds of Leah’s moaning, then of the baby’s first cries. Jacob should be here, pacing by the fire, but he had not come home from the fields the night before, and Rachel had chosen not to send someone to find him.

She closed her eyes, fighting the familiar guilt that heated
her skin like unwanted wool. Why did she feel such a need to keep Leah in her place, to remind her of her past sins? Jacob did not love Leah, and Rachel did nothing to help change those feelings. And now God had given Leah a child. How could He, after what she’d done to them?

The spindle and distaff grew heavy in her hands, like the bitterness that felt like a weight in her heart. She pressed a hand to her middle to quell the uneasiness, the fear. Nearly a year had passed since her wedding night, and Jacob had been more than attentive to her. Leah rarely spent a night alone with him, yet it was Leah who was blessed and Rachel who suffered from what could only be a barren womb.

Was she barren? Tears stung her eyes. What other explanation could there be?

Why? Oh, Adonai, why have You blessed her and not me?

Did Jacob’s God even hear her? Did the same God Jacob had met at Bethel in his dream of the angels hear prayer? Perhaps the God of Jacob did not hear the longings of a woman’s heart.

Or perhaps He did.

God had surely heard Leah’s prayers. The babe’s lusty cries a few moments before were proof enough of that. Then why not hers?

She stood at the sound of voices and looked toward Leah’s tent to see her mother emerge, looking haggard and relieved. She met her halfway, in front of Jacob’s tent.

“How is she?” It was the polite thing to ask.

“Leah is resting. She gave birth quickly once I arrived. Quicker than most.” Her mother walked to the fire pit and lifted a handful of ashes to scrub the blood from her hands.

Rachel turned and hurried to her tent to retrieve the jar of water she had drawn at the well that morning and poured it over her mother’s hands.

“A boy,” her mother said. “Perfect and strong.”

“How nice.” Though Rachel did not find the news the least
bit satisfying. “What will she name him?” She spoke, though the words did not seem like her own.