A Lineage of Grace (3 page)

Zimran laughed. “Of course, she is young, but so much the better. A young girl is more moldable than an older one. Is that not so? Your son will be her
baal
. He will be her teacher.”

“What of children?”

Zimran laughed again; the sound grated Judah’s nerves. “I assure you, Judah my friend, Tamar is old enough to bear sons and has been old enough since last harvest, when Er noticed her. We have proof of it.”

The girl’s eyes flickered in her father’s direction. She was blushing and clearly embarrassed. Judah felt oddly touched by her modesty and studied her openly. “Come closer, girl,” he said, beckoning. He wanted to look into her eyes. Perhaps he would glean better understanding of why he’d thought of her at all when the subject of marriage had come to mind.

“Don’t be shy, Tamar.” Zimran’s mouth flattened. “Let Judah see how pretty you are.” When she raised her head, Zimran nodded. “That’s it. Smile and show Judah what fine teeth you have.”

Judah didn’t care about her smile or her teeth, though both were good. He cared about her fertility. Of course, there was no way of knowing whether she could produce sons for his clan until she was wed to his son. Life held no guarantees. However, the girl came from good breeding stock. Her mother had produced six sons and five daughters. She must also be strong, for he had watched her in the fields hoeing the hard ground and carrying rocks to the wall. A weak girl would have been kept inside the house, making pottery or weaving.

“Tamar.” Her father gestured. “Kneel before Judah. Let him have a closer look.”

She obeyed without hesitation. Her eyes were dark but not hard, her skin ruddy and glowing with health. Such a girl might stir his son’s hardened heart and make him repent of his wild ways. Judah wondered if she had the courage needed to gain Er’s respect. Her father was a coward. Was she? Er had brought nothing but grief since he’d been old enough to walk, and he was likely to bring this girl trouble as well. She would have to be strong and resilient.

Judah knew the blame for Er’s waywardness could be laid at his feet. He should never have given his wife a free hand in rearing his sons. He’d thought complete freedom would allow them to grow up happy and strong. Oh, they were happy as long as they got their way and were strong enough to abuse others if they didn’t. They were proud and arrogant for lack of discipline. They would have turned out better had the rod been used more often!

Would this girl soften Er? Or would he harden and break her?

When she looked into his eyes, he saw innocence and intelligence. He felt a disquieting despair. Er was his firstborn, the first show of the strength of his loins. He’d felt such pride and joy when the boy was born, such hope.
Ah,
he’d thought,
here is flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone!
How he’d laughed when the young sprout had stood in red-faced fury, refusing to obey his mother. He’d been amused by his son’s passionate rebellion, foolishly proud of it.
This boy will be a strong man,
he’d said to himself. No woman would tell Er how to live.

Judah had never expected his son to defy
him
as well.

Onan, his second son, was becoming as difficult as Er. He’d grown up threatened by his older brother’s white-hot jealousy and had learned to protect himself by cunning and deception. Judah didn’t know which son was worse. Both were treacherous. Neither could be trusted.

The third son, Shelah, was following the ways of his brothers. Confronted with a wrong, Judah’s sons lied or blamed others. When pressed hard enough to get the truth, they appealed to their mother, who defended them no matter how offensive their crimes. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to see their faults. They were her sons, after all, and they were Canaanite through and through.

Something had to be done, or Er would bring Judah’s head down to the ground in shame. Judah almost regretted having sons, for they wreaked havoc in his household and his life! There were moments when his rage was so intense, it was all he could do not to pick up a spear and hurl it at one of them.

Judah often thought about his father, Jacob, and the trouble
he’d
endured at the hands of
his
sons. Judah had caused his father as much trouble as the rest of them. Er and Onan reminded Judah of his brothers Simeon and Levi. Thinking of his brothers brought back the black memories of the grievous sin he himself had committed—the sin that haunted him, the sin that had driven him from his father’s household because he couldn’t bear to see the grief he’d caused or be in the company of the brothers who had shared in what he’d done.

His father, Jacob, didn’t even know the full truth of what had happened at Dothan.

Judah tried to console himself. He’d kept Simeon and Levi from murdering their brother Joseph, hadn’t he? But he also remembered that he was the one who’d led them into selling the boy to the Ishmaelite traders on their way to Egypt. He’d made a profit from the lad’s misery—profits shared by his brothers as well. Only God knew if Joseph had survived the long, hard journey to Egypt. It was more than possible he’d died in the desert. If not, he was now a slave for some Egyptian.

Sometimes in the darkest hour of night, Judah would lie awake upon his pallet, filled with an agony of remorse, thinking about Joseph. How many years would it be before he could put the past behind him and forget what he’d done? How many years before he could close his eyes and not see Joseph’s hands shackled, his neck noosed, as he was led forcefully away by the Ishmaelite traders? The boy’s screams for help still echoed in Judah’s mind.

He had the rest of his life to regret his sins, years to live with them. Sometimes Judah swore he could feel the hand of God squeezing the life from him for plotting the destruction of his own brother.

Zimran cleared his throat. Judah reminded himself where he was and why he’d come to the home of this Canaanite. He mustn’t let his mind wander, mustn’t allow the past to intrude on what he had to do about the future. His son needed a wife—a young, comely, strong wife who might distract him from his wicked schemes and devices. Judah’s mouth tightened as he studied the Canaanite girl kneeling before him. Was he making another mistake? He’d married a Canaanite and lived to regret it. Now he was bringing another one into his household. Yet this Canaanite girl appealed to him. Why?

Judah tipped the girl’s chin. He knew she must be afraid, but she hid it well. That would be a useful skill where Er was concerned. She looked so young and guileless. Would his son destroy her innocence and corrupt her as he was so eager to do to others?

Hardening himself, Judah withdrew his hand and leaned back. He had no intention of allowing Er to make the same mistakes he had. Lust had driven him to marry the boy’s mother. Beauty was a snare that captured a man, while unrestrained passion burned away reason. A woman’s character mattered greatly in a marriage. Judah would have done better to follow custom and allow his father to choose a wife for him. Instead, he’d been stubborn and hasty and now suffered for his folly.

It wasn’t enough that a woman stirred a man’s passion. She also had to be strong, yet willing to bend. A stubborn woman was a curse upon a man. He’d been laughable in his youthful confidence, so certain he could bend a woman to his ways. Instead, he’d bent to Bathshua’s. He’d fooled himself into thinking there was no harm in giving his wife freedom to worship as she wished. Now, he found himself reaping a whirlwind with his idol-worshiping sons!

Tamar was of calmer disposition than Bathshua. Tamar had courage. She appeared intelligent. He knew she was strong, for he’d watched how hard she worked. His wife, Bathshua, would be happy about that. No doubt she would dump her chores upon the girl as soon as possible. The quality that mattered most was her fertility, and only time would tell about that. The qualities he could see were more than enough. Yet there was something more about this girl that Judah couldn’t define—something rare and wonderful that made him determined to have her in his family. It was as though a quiet voice was telling him to choose her.

“She pleases me.”

Zimran exhaled. “You are a wise man!” He nodded to his daughter. Thus dismissed, Tamar rose. The Canaanite was clearly eager to begin negotiations. Judah watched the girl leave the room with her mother. Zimran clapped his hands; two servants hurried in, one with a tray of pomegranates and grapes, another with roasted lamb. “Eat, my brother, and then we will talk.”

Judah would not be so easily manipulated. Before touching the food, he made an offer for the girl. Eyes glowing, Zimran plunged in and began haggling over the bride-price.

Judah decided to be generous. Marriage, though far from bringing happiness to him, had brought some stability and direction. Perhaps Er would be similarly diverted from riotous living. Besides, Judah wanted to spend as little time with Zimran as possible. The man’s ingratiating manner irritated him.

Tamar.
Her name meant “date palm.” It was a name given to one who would become beautiful and graceful. A date palm survives the desert and bears sweet, nourishing fruit, and the girl came from a fertile family. A date palm sways in the desert winds without breaking or being uprooted, and this girl would have to face Er’s quick, irascible temper. A date palm could survive a hostile environment, and Judah knew Bathshua would see this young girl as her rival. Judah knew his wife would pit herself against this young bride because Bathshua was vain and jealous of her son’s affections.

Tamar.

Judah hoped the girl held all the promise her name implied.

* * *

Tamar waited while her fate was settled. When her mother stood in the doorway, she knew the matter of her future was decided. “Come, Tamar. Judah has gifts for you.”

She rose, numb inside. It was a time for rejoicing, not tears. Her father need not fear any longer.

“Ah, Daughter.” Her father smiled broadly. Obviously, he’d fetched a high bride-price for her, for he had never before embraced her with so much affection. He even kissed her cheek! She lifted her chin and looked into his eyes, wanting him to know what he’d done to her in giving her to such a man as Er. Perhaps he would feel some shame for using her to protect himself.

He didn’t. “Greet your father-in-law.”

Resigned to her fate, Tamar prostrated herself before Judah. The Hebrew put his hand upon her head and blessed her and bid her rise. As she did so, he took gold earrings and bracelets from a pouch at his waist and placed them upon her. Her father’s eyes glowed, but her heart sank.

“Be ready to leave in the morning,” Judah told her.

Shocked, she spoke without thinking. “In the morning?” She looked at her father. “What of the betrothal—?”

Her father’s expression warned her to silence. “Judah and I celebrate tonight, my daughter. Acsah will pack your things and go with you tomorrow. Everything is settled. Your husband is eager for you.”

Was her father so afraid that he didn’t require the customary ten-month betrothal period to prepare for the wedding? She would not even have a week to adjust to her impending marriage!

“You may go, Tamar. Make ready to leave in the morning.”

When she entered the women’s chamber, she found her mother and sisters already packing for her. Unable to contain her feelings any longer, Tamar burst into tears. Inconsolable, she wept all night, even after her sisters whined and pleaded for her to stop. “You will have your day,” she told them angrily. “Someday you will understand!”

Acsah held and rocked her, and Tamar clung to her childhood for one last night.

When the sun rose, she washed her face and donned her bridal veils.

Her mother came to her. “Be content, beloved one. Judah paid dearly for you.” Her voice was tear-choked and faintly bitter. “That Hebrew came with a donkey laden with gifts. He returns home with only his seal ring and staff.”

“And me,” Tamar said softly.

Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “Take good care of her, Acsah.”

“I will, my lady.”

Her mother took Tamar in her arms and kissed her. “May your husband love you and give you many sons,” she whispered against her hair. Tamar clung to her tightly, pressing herself close, soaking in the warmth and softness of her mother one last time. “It’s time,” her mother said softly, and Tamar drew back. Her mother touched her cheek before turning away.

Tamar went out into the morning sunlight. Acsah walked with her as she headed toward her father and Judah, who were standing some distance away. She had cried herself out last night. She would shed no more childish tears, though it was hard not to do so with Acsah weeping softly behind her.

“Perhaps all we’ve heard isn’t true,” Acsah said. “Perhaps Er is not as bad as some say he is.”

“What does it matter now?”

“You must try to make him love you, Tamar. A man in love is clay in a woman’s hands. May the gods have mercy on us!”

“Have mercy upon me and be quiet!”

When she reached the two men, her father kissed her. “Be fruitful and multiply the household of Judah.” He was eager for their departure.

Judah walked ahead, Tamar and Acsah following. He was a tall man with long strides, and Tamar had to walk quickly to keep up with him. Acsah muttered complaints under her breath, but Tamar paid her no attention. Instead, she set her mind on what lay ahead. She would work hard. She would be a good wife. She would do everything within her power to bring honor to her husband. She knew how to plant a garden, tend a herd, cook, weave, and make pottery. She could read and write enough to keep proper lists and records of household goods. She knew how to conserve food and water when times were bad and how to be generous when times were good. She knew how to make soap, baskets, cloth, and tools, as well as how to organize servants. But children would be the greatest blessing she could give her husband—children to build the household.

It was Judah’s second son, Onan, who came out to meet them. “Er is gone,” he said to his father while staring at her.

Judah slammed the end of his staff into the ground. “Gone where?”