Rachel (25 page)

“I have missed you too.” He touched her nose with his finger, then stroked the baby’s head.

“Will you come to my tent tonight?” She needed him near, away from the others.

He glanced at her, raising a brow. “Of course. If that is what you want.” His look told her she had only to ask.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so petulant since Leah gave you Zilpah.” She wasn’t really sorry, for she did not know how she could help such feelings, but perhaps saying so would ease her jealousy and make him believe her.

He took Naphtali from her and patted his back in a gentle rhythm. “It is not easy leaving your side to be with the others.” His admission quieted her spirit. “You know how I feel about you.”

She nodded, ashamed of her selfishness. “If only God would have seen fit to bless us together . . .” Her voice trailed off, the words too often said, nearly too painful to repeat.

He stopped, shifted the boy into one arm, and took her hand in his. “There is no need for more sons from the others, beloved. I would give you my time alone if you but ask.”

She searched his handsome face, undone by his kindness. She did not deserve his patience. “Why do you put up with me? I act no better than a spoiled child sometimes.”

He smiled. “Sometimes you do.” He touched her cheek. “But most of the time you are simply a woman whose desire has been too long denied. Thwarted desire makes the heart sick, beloved. My mother felt the same.”

“Your father prayed for her, though, and she had you.”

“And I have prayed for you over and over again. Do you doubt it?” His look was so earnest, so open and sincere.

“I do not doubt you.” A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed unshed tears. “Why does Adonai not hear our prayers then? Should we offer a sacrifice? How can we make Him see and hear us?” The desperation she always felt crept into her voice, and she hated her inability to be happy and content with what she had.

“I do not know, beloved.” He caught a stray tear from beneath her lashes. “We must wait and pray as my father Isaac did, and as my grandfather Abraham did as well. Do not fret over what we cannot control.”

Heat filling her cheeks, Rachel swallowed hard and glanced away from him, wishing she were stronger, wiser. “Do you love them?” Her stomach twisted, and she suddenly wished to hold Naphtali, a shield between Jacob’s words and her heart.

He shifted the child’s weight again and lifted a strand of her hair with his calloused fingers. “I love only you, Rachel. You know this.” A deep sigh escaped him, and his gaze shifted to the path in front of them and the tents beyond. She fell into step with him as he continued walking, fearing she had angered him by her repeated need for reassurance.

But as they neared Rachel’s tent and he handed the boy back to her, he held her gaze, his own full of love for her. “Come to me tonight.” He offered her a smile, then walked off to his own tent and shut himself in.

“How happy I am! The women will call me happy.” The words burst from Leah’s lips as she stepped out of her tent carrying the bundled son of Zilpah, whose travail had lasted throughout the night.

“Of course they will. And well you deserve it,” her mother said, glancing Leah’s way, her grandmotherly pride nearly as great for this child as it had been for Leah’s own.

Leah lifted her chin, scanning the camp for Jacob. Surely
he had not yet left for the fields without checking on Zilpah’s progress. But of course he could have. Rachel had managed to steal nearly all of his time since Naphtali’s birth, an action that had not gone unnoticed.

She stifled the hurt that always accompanied that thought, squinting against the bright rays of dawn’s early glow. There he was, sitting with Rachel beside the fire deep in conversation. She glanced at her mother, whose nod of approval gave her courage, and walked across the dew-drenched grasses to stop near Jacob’s seat.

“You have another son, my lord.” She waited, relieved when he met her gaze.

Jacob placed his clay plate on the ground, then shifted to face her, arms outstretched to accept the child. As she leaned down to place him in Jacob’s sturdy hands, their fingers touched, and Leah’s heart stirred with longing to feel his arms around her again. His smile, first at her, then at the babe, melted her heart.

“What will you name him?” Jacob touched the boy’s soft cheek and the crop of straight dark hair.

“Asher,” she said, crouching low to better see his face.

Jacob met her gaze. “You are happy then?” His earnest look searched hers. How she longed to tell him the truth. No. She would never be happy as long as Rachel kept him from her. She wanted her husband to be a husband to her again. But one glance at Rachel’s tight smile stayed her words.

She nodded, unable to speak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I am happy, Jacob. Happy in knowing you are pleased.” She held his gaze, hoping he could read the truth in what she didn’t say, wishing she could say it clearly.

But later, as she pondered Jacob’s question, she could not deny the truth of her unhappiness. She needed Jacob’s time and attention and, pray God, his affection. And she would find a way to have it. Soon. Whether Rachel liked it or not, Jacob could not be kept from her. She needed him. And she would see that he knew it.

Rachel spread the kneaded dough into a large, thin square, took the date filling from her mother and spooned the mixture over it, then sealed the edges and placed it above the hot embers. Heat from the ovens in her father’s cooking rooms drew sweat along Rachel’s brow, and she swiped at it with the back of her hand.

“I need some water. Do you want some?” Rachel handed the now empty bowl to her mother.

“You could bring me a cup.”

Rachel left the room and moved to the outer courtyard where the breeze cooled her skin and water stood in large urns near the door. She took a cupful and drank, looking toward the path the men would take when they returned. Leah’s son Reuben hurried toward her, clutching the wide green leaves of a plant, his gait swift and sure. He glanced at Rachel and moved to pass her, but Rachel stayed him with her hand.

“Are those mandrakes?” Rachel had seen the flowering green leaves when she walked the fields with the sheep but had forgotten their aphrodisiac uses.

Reuben pulled the plants close to his chest, his eyes wide. “They’re for Ima.”

“Of course they are. She is in the cooking room. Come. I will go with you.” She quickly dipped another cupful of water for her mother, then followed Reuben inside.

“Ima, look what I found!” The women in the room stopped their work to look in Leah’s direction. “Aunt Rachel says they’re mandrakes.”

Rachel glanced at Leah, who stooped to Reuben’s eye level and took the precious fruit from his hands. “They are beautiful, my son.” She touched his face, and his cheeks flushed pink despite his soft smile. “Where did you find them?”

He straightened, lifting his chin. “In the fields near the wheat where Abba is working. He said I could bring them to you.”

Rachel’s heart twisted, and she wondered what Jacob intended by saying such a thing. Did he know the fruit’s value? They could be the answer to her barrenness! If she could eat them and feed some to Jacob . . . and if the tales were true . . .

She stepped closer to Leah. “Please give me some of your son’s mandrakes.” She would beg and plead if she must. Leah certainly didn’t need them.

Leah stood up, her face flushed. Rachel felt the stares of everyone in the room and braced herself, feeling the anger in Leah’s look.

“Wasn’t it enough that you took away my husband? Will you take my son’s mandrakes too?”

Warmth crept up Rachel’s neck as she felt the censure of the women around her. She stiffened her back. She had done nothing wrong. “Very well,” she said, pushing back a rush of guilt, “he can sleep with you tonight in return for your son’s mandrakes.” The mandrakes would keep another day for Rachel to use them herself.

Leah smiled, her look triumphant. She glanced at Reuben, placed several mandrakes in Rachel’s hands, then turned to her son. “Lead me to the fields. I must speak to your father as soon as he is done working.”

Reuben smiled, a toothy grin. “Sure, Ima. Come on.”

Leah looked back at her mother, who shooed her off. “We can finish these. Go.” Leah went without a backward glance while Rachel took the mandrakes to her tent.

20

Jacob gave a parting nod to Bahaar as the man took the path toward the threshing floor where he would spend the night threshing and guarding the wheat with Suri’s other sons. Jacob’s turn would come on the morrow, but for tonight he intended to enjoy Laban’s feast and relax in his tent with Rachel at his side. He chuckled at the thought of her quick smile and how easily they had fallen into a comfortable family rhythm since he had finally learned to divide his time between his wives and children, saving the evenings when the stars hung low for Rachel alone.

His other wives seemed to accept the situation, he told himself, and Rachel seemed happier, which mattered most to him. He denied the little kick of guilt he felt when his gaze met Leah’s. Of the three other women, Leah missed him most, but he could not bring himself to visit her tent when Rachel waited so eagerly. Even on the nights when he could not touch her, she listened to him speak of his homeland, his mother and father, Deborah and Selima and Eliezer’s son Haviv, of Esau and his foolish wives and the competition that had always been between them. She was his friend, his confidante.

He quickened his pace over the rocky path, kicking up small stones with his sandals in his hurry to be with Rachel. She would serve him at the feast, of that he had little doubt, and tease him
with those large, beguiling eyes of hers, eyes that had captured his attention even from a distance from the moment he first met her. He would taste the pastries she had promised to make for him and watch her while he drank with her father and brothers, knowing that there could be no distance between them as there once was. She belonged to him now. No more working those many years to finally have her to himself, though the truth was he still had two years left to work to complete his contract with Laban. But then he would be free to return to his homeland. Though he would have little to show for it aside from his wives and children. All the wealth he had now still belonged to Laban.