Rachel (27 page)

Jacob’s knife slit the throat of a year-old male goat, prime among Laban’s flock. The loss would come out of the pay counted toward the debt he owed the man, but it was a loss he must bear. If only God would hear and answer!

He searched his heart for words that could express his longing, Rachel’s longing, but found none. The goat’s body grew slick in his hands as blood spilled onto the stones of the altar he had painstakingly built. Fire burned in a torch held tight in the ground, waiting to consume the sacrifice. Laban appeased all gods on various occasions, but this was not a sacrifice he would think necessary. What did it matter if Rachel bore a son? Jacob already had nine sons, and Leah was carrying another, if her hints were true. And still Rachel waited.

How long, Adonai?

He had offered bulls and goats a few times in the recent past, but never with such a heavy burden upon his heart. Never with such a longing to see God answer his prayers. Could Adonai see the suffering of his beloved and feel the pain of his heart? Were his own sins the cause? To think so seemed far-fetched. God had blessed him with sons through three other women. To be denied a son with the woman he loved—would not the burden be hers alone to bear?

His great love for her told him otherwise. And as he cut up the goat and placed it on the altar, he felt the weight of his sins resting heavily on his shoulders. Surely he was sinful at birth!
One who grasps the
heel.
A deceiver. Was he paying the price for such practices?

The rustling of grasses near the altar made him turn, his heart yearning at the sight of her, his beloved. How small she looked, head bent and draped in a white head covering. No jewels adorned her neck or ears, and her feet were bare. Her robe was simple, unassuming, and her hands were clasped in front of her. She stepped closer, and he longed to go to her, but she knelt in the grasses, head bent to the earth.

He stared, his heart constricting at her humility and the pain he had glimpsed in her large, luminous eyes. He reached for the torch, turned back to the altar, and lit the pieces of flesh until they caught fire. Smoke lapped the blood and animal flesh and rose to the heavens. Jacob set the torch back in its spot and came to kneel at Rachel’s side.

Tears filled his throat, not from the smoke as much as from the sobs and soft prayers coming from his beloved’s lips. He faced forward as well, palms splayed before him, his own prayers offered heavenward.

Forgive us, Adonai Elohim. Please, remember Your maidservant, my beloved, and grant her heart’s
desire. You have blessed me with many sons, but of
this woman You have not given any. Look with favor
on us, Your undeserving servants, and give us a son, as You did for my father and my grandfather before
me. Remove the sting of her barrenness, I pray.
He swallowed the unshed tears.

Please, hear my prayer.

He waited, searching his heart for any last words that he might utter to convince the Almighty to act on Rachel’s behalf. As the last of the smoke died away and the sacrifice turned to ash on the scorched stones, Rachel rose slowly to her knees, and
Jacob took her in his arms. She rested her head on his chest, and he stroked her back, his silent tears falling softly now with her own, and he sensed that she still prayed, seeking God’s face.

The sun dipped to blazing pinks and oranges by the time they stood apart. Jacob grabbed the torch and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, retrieved his own sandals from the edge of the clearing, and led her to the path home, feeling as he did the night he had met the Holy One at Bethel on the way to Laban’s house. Truly God did not dwell only in Canaan’s lands. His reach was long, and He could see them even here.

Surely He had heard their prayers.

Rachel awoke with a start, a queasy feeling in her middle. She rose quickly from her pallet and hurried to the clay pot, heaved over it, and lost the remnants of last evening’s meal. She leaned back on shaking limbs and wiped her mouth with a linen cloth. Was she ill? She glanced at her sleeping mat, where Jacob had risen on one elbow, looking at her.

“Shall I send for your maid?” Concern etched his brow as he pushed to his feet and came to stand over her. “What can I do for you, beloved?” He placed both hands on her shoulders, and she leaned into his strength.

“I am all right now.” She turned. “Help me up.” He grasped her hand and tugged, holding her close.

“You are not ill?”

She shook her head. A sudden ravenous hunger came over her. “I am hungry enough to eat three loaves of bread and cheese and dates and—”

He placed a finger to her lips and laughed. “This is some strange illness you bear to be sick one moment and ravenous the next.”

She gave him a sheepish look, then pushed from his embrace to change out of her night tunic and quickly dress. The scent
of baking bread stayed her worry that she would have to wait until the flour was ground. She glanced up, catching his amused glance.

“What?”

“You are more beautiful than I ever thought possible.”

She blushed at the compliment, her senses heightened with overwhelming love for him. Walking toward him, she offered him a bright smile. “And you, my love, are too kind.” Her stomach growled loud enough for him to hear, and she placed a hand on her middle. “But you will have to excuse me. I must eat.” She turned toward the tent opening, but he caught her hand.

She looked back at him, lifting a brow.

“How long has it been since your time?” He studied her, his gaze intense.

Heat rose again to her cheeks. She thought back, assessing, eyes growing wide with the knowledge he seemed to already possess. How could a man know such a thing? It was the woman’s place to tell him.

She shook her head. “It isn’t possible.” Though on the second time through counting the days, she realized that well over a month had passed with no sign of her flow.

“Why not?” His smile warmed her from head to toe. He stepped forward and took both her hands in his. “Did we not pray? And have I not spent every night in your tent since that prayer?”

It was true. She felt suddenly weak with the realization. Another month would need to pass to confirm her suspicions, but her body already showed some of the signs—things Bilhah had told her to look for that she had also experienced. Leah had spared her the details, though her mother had given her some insight as well. She knew what to expect. And the gnawing hunger in her belly was only one of them.

“Oh, Jacob!” She was crying now, and his arms came around her in a gentle embrace. “I dare not believe it.”

He patted her back, then rubbed circles along it. She glanced up, seeing the glint of tears in his eyes as well. He kissed her softly and looked lovingly down at her. “There is no reason to doubt, beloved. Adonai has heard, and He has answered.”

Awe filled her at the thought, but in the next breath, she gripped his arms, fighting sudden fear. “We must not speak of it yet, Jacob,” she said, her voice low. “Wait until I can confirm it with my mother, in another month or so. If we are wrong . . .”

“We are not wrong.” His confidence boosted hers. “But we will wait, as you wish.” He pulled her close again. “Adonai has heard, Rachel. You will bear me a son.”

She sighed against him, her fears melting away with his words. Still, a sense of caution filled her. “I just want to be sure.”

“Then it will be our secret.” He released her then, and as her stomach growled again, he pointed toward the door. “Go!” He laughed. “Feed yourself . . . and the babe,” he added softly.

She smiled, joy filling her, knowing in the deep places in her heart that it was true. She left the tent, listening to Jacob’s joyful whistling behind her.

Months passed, and Rachel confirmed what Jacob had suspected. Joy became a constant spring within her every time she caught Jacob looking at her with awe, a secretive smile ghosting his lips. His attention to her heightened, and she basked in it. But at the same time, she found herself more aware of Leah and their maids. She had spoken privately to Jacob of her thoughts several nights before, and now as she sat with Leah spinning newly shorn wool into yarn, the words came back to her.

“I appreciate your nearness, Jacob.” She’d grasped his hands and leaned forward, kissing him soundly. “But I don’t want you to neglect the others on my account.” The words had surprised them both, but she did not retract them. She had seen Leah’s longing looks and felt a sense of gratitude that Adonai had
been so gracious to her at last. She dare not risk His disfavor by her selfishness. No. Whether she liked it or not, God had given Jacob four wives. She could not keep him only to herself.

“I would have only you. You know that.” He nuzzled her ear, and she sighed. He was not making this easy!

“I know,” she said, wrapping both arms around his neck. Such love she felt for him! “But Leah carries your child as well, and it would do well for your household if you spent a night with her now and then. Your children need to know you care for their mothers.” To say so reinforced her resolve.

“Your son shall be prince among his brothers,” he said, and his look held more conviction than it had the last time he had suggested such a thing.

“Though he will be the last among them and the youngest?”

“He will be
your
first; therefore, he is my firstborn.”

“Suppose it is a girl.” Would God do such a thing after she had waited so long?

“It is a boy.” His eyes blazed with fierce light, and she did not question him again.

Now as she sat with Leah, whose swollen belly indicated her time was near, she wondered how Leah’s children would accept her son, especially if Jacob favored him above all of his brothers. They would hate him! As she sensed at times they hated her. She must not let such a thing come to pass. She must mend the rift with her sister as best she could.

Rachel paused in her spinning to place a hand on her middle. “His kick is strong.” She smiled at Leah. “Your time draws near, my sister.”

Leah wiped sweat from her brow and blew out a breath. “Actually, the pains are in my back this time. I fear the birth will be as difficult as it was with Judah.” A wary look crossed her face, and the hint of fear filled her eyes. With Judah’s birth, Leah had taken many months to heal, far longer than she normally did.

“I will pray that it goes well with you.” Rachel’s own fear
rose at the thought. Would her time be difficult? “I must admit, I envy how easily you have given birth in the past. I shouldn’t worry . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she looked into the distance. Some women died in childbirth. Would God bring her this far to take her life? Would Jacob forfeit his love for her and be left with only her son? Or what if she carried the babe until the end and he died during the birth? She rubbed her middle, suddenly anxious to feel him move again.

“You must not fear,” Leah said, bringing her thoughts up short. She met her sister’s gaze. “Fear makes the pain worse. You must trust that Adonai will see you through it.” She picked up her distaff and attached another bundle of wool to it. “He would not go so far as to answer your prayers only to take your life.” Her gaze was fierce, protective even. “Or the babe’s.” She looked away as though suddenly embarrassed by her outburst. “I will pray for you as well.”

“Thank you.” Rachel found she meant every word. But a new thought struck her. “If something should happen to me . . .” She spoke haltingly, not wanting to speak but knowing she must.

“Nothing is going to happen to you. Don’t say such a thing!”

Rachel held up a hand. “Please, I must.”

Leah stared at her.

“I want you to raise him. If I should not make it.” A sob rose up, but she forced it down. Nothing would happen. Adonai would protect her, as Jacob had said many times in the past few months. But just in case . . . “Promise me.”

“You don’t want Bilhah? She is your maid. I am your usurper, Rachel. You have hated me for years.” Leah’s look told her that the feeling had been mutual.

“You are my sister. I want you.” Rachel’s throat grew thick again, and she looked away. “Of course, I am hoping it is I who am allowed to raise the child.” She laughed, the sound shaky to her ears.