Rachel (20 page)

Jacob trudged the path home alone, the sheep left in the field with one of Leah’s brothers, who had come to tell him of Levi’s birth. Leah’s third son. The thought pleased him more than it should, dampened as it was by the fact that the mother was not his beloved. But he lifted his gaze heavenward just the same and thanked God for the child. Perhaps Leah was getting her wish, as the boy’s name meant “attached,” and, in fact, Levi’s birth did spark feelings of fondness in him toward the mother.

Rachel would not be pleased if she knew. But how could he deny the warmth he felt in the presence of the sons Leah had given him? What man didn’t long to be a father? And already Leah had birthed three sons, more than his mother had given his father.

He quickened his step, anxious to see the newest child, his mind warring with how to respond to his wives when he arrived. He could not tell Leah she had pleased him. Somehow she would make Rachel feel worse if he did. No, the kind regard he found himself feeling for her would remain his own private affair. Rachel alone deserved his love and devotion.

He searched the blue skies at the cries of a hawk, and a steady breeze whipped the sides of his turban, lashing it in front of his face. His feet swirled bits of dust as he treaded the familiar path, and he wished just by this daily trek he could somehow stamp out the strife between the sisters. It should not matter that Rachel had no child to call her own. She had his love.

Why wasn’t that enough for her?

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the grit of the wilderness still in his beard. He should take time to wash in the stream before returning home. He paused midstep. A turn in the path would lead him to the stream not far from Laban’s property. The women could be there washing garments, but he could
remain unseen if he picked a spot farther down the stream’s path. Bushes grew in abundance along the banks, affording some privacy. And Rachel always appreciated the smell of him when he wasn’t gritty with many days’ sweat and dirt.

He smiled at the memory of her chiding him for coming to her tent with too much dust in his beard, insisting that he wash right away, then she changed her mind, took a cloth, and washed the dust away for him. Her kiss that followed had remained in his memory and often brought a smile to his lips.

Ah, Rachel! How beautiful and spontaneous she was! And if this would please her, he would stop and bathe. Then he would see to Leah and her son and try to keep his delight evident to Leah in some small way, yet hidden from Rachel in another.

Rachel knelt at the side of the stream, dipped her soiled cloths into the moving water, and let her tears flow with the stains she could not quite remove from her clothes or her heart. Beside her Bilhah scrubbed one of Jacob’s tunics, a job Rachel usually reserved for herself, but with the passing months since Levi’s birth she had allowed her maid more tasks related to her husband, all in an attempt to see if she could bear sharing him with yet another. She couldn’t. How could she? And yet what choice did she have?

Laughter came to her from upstream where Leah and Zilpah washed their own stack of soiled linens and wools. The youngest, Levi, now four months old, lay on a blanket nearby where Leah could stop to feed him when he awoke, while the older two children played with a household servant some distance from the water’s edge. Rachel’s heart warmed to hear their childish squeals of delight, unable to deny that she had grown fond of Leah’s sons. They were a distraction from the daily struggle with her sister. And yet they were also a reminder of all she did not have.

She glanced at Bilhah, trying to blot out the sounds of her sister and those with her. “I noticed a spot on the right sleeve of that
one. He dripped some of the stew on it the other night. Take care not to rip it as you scrub.” The tunic was one she had woven for him before their marriage, and though it was growing threadbare, she still favored it for the love that had gone into making it.

“I will be careful, mistress.” She held up the sleeve. “See? It is already gone.”

Rachel wrung one of her cloths and spread it on some tree branches to dry. “Good,” she said, relieved. Perhaps she should make him another to replace it and not fuss so.

“Is anything wrong today, mistress?” Bilhah pulled the tunic from the water and twisted it from one end to the other. Water dripped beneath her sturdy young arms.

“Nothing unusual.” She studied the girl, wondering what thoughts ran through her head. Bilhah had been little more than a child when she was given to Rachel at her marriage to Jacob, on the cusp of womanhood. Since then, she had grown into a woman. She was pretty in a plain sort of way, unremarkable yet loyal to Rachel in her struggle with her sister. She would understand if Rachel gave her to Jacob. Wouldn’t she?

She had turned the thoughts over in her head for six months, since the day her mother had suggested it. Until now she had cast the thoughts out as quickly as they came, though in recent weeks they had lingered on the fringes of her mind, never quite leaving her alone. Had she waited long enough? What if Leah conceived again?

Her stomach hurt at the thought. She had begged Jacob to stay away from Leah, but some misplaced loyalty to Leah or something had made him ignore Rachel’s plea. He had gone to her after her purification. And Rachel had waited, counting the days ever since.

She glanced Leah’s way, not wanting her to see that she watched her. Leah bent over the blanket and lifted Levi high, tilting her head back to look up at him. His delighted giggle pierced Rachel’s heart. She turned her attention to finish her task, then stood. She turned to walk along the banks to wait
while the garments dried, moving the opposite direction from her sister.

But an hour later, as she gathered the clothes and folded them into her basket to carry home, she saw Leah walking toward her, Levi on her hip, Zilpah guiding the other children up the path ahead of them.

“I thought you should know,” Leah said, her mouth tight. “Before I tell Jacob, that is.”

Rachel looked into Leah’s pale eyes, unable to miss the glint she saw there. “You are with child again, is that it?” She didn’t need Leah to tell her. One night with Jacob seemed to produce endless children, while Rachel could spend every night in his arms with nothing to show for it.

Leah nodded, a slight smile replacing the grim line. “I do not tell you to upset you.” Her voice gentled. “I wish it was you.”

The words surprised her. “No you don’t.” She held Leah’s gaze in challenge.

Leah glanced beyond Rachel, her normal lack of confidence showing clearly in her worried gaze. Rachel turned and started walking, not wanting to continue this conversation despite its surprising turn. But a moment later Leah shifted Levi and moved into step with Rachel along the path.

“All right. It is true that I am pleased to bear his children. But it is only because you have Jacob’s heart. If I could trade places with you . . .” She glanced at her son. “I almost would.”

Rachel huffed, unconvinced. “You and I both know it is not enough to have a man’s love.”

“I don’t know that.” Leah’s voice was soft, wistful, and Rachel stopped, looked at her.

She studied her sister, wishing for the hundredth time that she could send her away and be done with the competition between them. “Well, you could have known it if you had married someone else.”

Leah nodded too quickly. “I know that. If someone else would have had me, I would have. I know I am not lovely like you.”

The admission pricked Rachel’s conscience. “You shouldn’t compare yourself to me. You are pretty, especially so when you are with child.” Some foreign source within her urged kindness from her lips, though her heart felt little compassion to go with the words. “I am sure Jacob does not find you unattractive.”

“Did he say so?” Her eager question and the look of such hope in her expression softened Rachel’s own eagerness to wound where she had been wounded. She need not purposely hurt Leah. They were sisters, after all.

“Not in so many words.” At Leah’s dejected look, she amended, “But I can sense it. He does not say so to spare me, that is all.” She looked away and started walking again.

They strode in silence for a time, Rachel’s mind churning with Leah’s latest news. Four children in four years! She closed her eyes, stricken, nearly stumbling with the heavy load of the basket on her hip, wishing yet again that it was a child she carried there.
How long, Adonai?

As they neared the tents, she watched Leah walk ahead, taking Levi into her tent, no doubt to nurse him. Servants sat at the grindstone preparing the grain for the evening’s baking, and a stew slowly cooked over the fire pit. Bilhah deposited the linens in Rachel’s tent and hurried to help with the meal preparations, but Rachel stood looking on, feeling somehow detached from it all. Four children so quickly. And still she waited.

Well, she could wait no longer. She looked on her young maid once more, assured that the girl was no longer a girl. The outline of womanly curves showed along the profile of her garments. A shapely girl, well built to carry a son. A son that would belong to Rachel.

Jacob might not like her suggestion. But he must agree to it. She knew how to convince him. And she would use all of her womanly ways to do so. Though it would break her heart in the process.

16

The following week, Jacob dipped his bread into the bowl of red lentil stew he had made and handed it to Laban. Fire crackled in the pit nearby, casting shadows over the circle where Laban and his sons had joined him. The flocks rested in the pens a stone’s throw beyond. Night had fallen quickly on the banks of the stream, and the air was festive with the coming sheep shearing. Morning would find them working hard, but tonight they ate and drank in camaraderie.

Laban took the bread Jacob offered and ate, the signal that his sons could partake as well. Jacob soon joined them, the mood high-spirited, abundant with food and laughter.

“Good stew, Jacob,” Rachel’s brother Bahaar said between mouthfuls. “With skills such as these, who needs women?”

Laughter followed the remark. “Bahaar only says this because his woman feeds his belly and nothing more,” one of Rachel’s half brothers said between mouthfuls of stew.

Tariq, Leah’s oldest brother, tore a hunk of flatbread from the loaf Jacob handed to him. “Jacob has no lack where that is concerned.” He glanced at Jacob, his meaning clear.

Jacob ignored the comment and scooped his own bread into the steaming pot.

“I hear Leah is expecting again,” another brother said. “Rachel making your life miserable yet?”

“I hear Rachel is considering giving him her maid to wife.” Laban took a swig from the flask of beer at his side and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Jacob looked up, masking the surprise he felt and the sudden twist in his gut. “How would you know such a thing?” Rachel should be the one to tell him, not her father, if this was the truth. Was she considering this?

“Her mother told me.” Laban belched and patted his ample middle. “Though Suri suggested it six months ago. I’m surprised Rachel hasn’t told you by now.”

“Perhaps Rachel did not wish to take Suri’s suggestion.” He had barely noticed Rachel’s maid except when she placed food before him. Though now that he thought about it, Bilhah had placed food in front of him more often of late, and Rachel had encouraged her to sit with them at meals, if only for a few moments. Had she been preparing him for a change in their relationship?