Rachel (32 page)

But as she led Joseph to their tent, a new thought crept into her mind. If her father thought all of his earthly blessings were wrapped up in those images, and if that blessing would pass to his heir, wouldn’t it be the perfect deception to give them to Jacob? None of her brothers were as deserving. And if they continued to choose to believe such lies about the idols, why not let them lose the very thing they hoped to gain?

But as quickly as the thought to steal them came, she passed it off. She would have no opportunity to do so without being found out. And Jacob might not appreciate her duplicity or her attempt to put her father in his place.

Morning dawned bright and clear, and Rachel roused before the children, before Leah, to draw water from the well. She loved the cool tingle of the dew on her feet and the peace that came with the earth’s waking. Normally she would wait for Leah or Bilhah or even Zilpah to join her, but today she needed to think, to pray. It had been six years since she’d borne Jacob a child, and she could not shake the longing for another. If Adonai were gracious, she could perhaps bear another son before Jacob deemed it time to pack up and leave. For though the idea of leaving had pleased her in the night during the heat of anger toward her brothers, morning had brought the contentment of the familiar. She could not go. Not yet.

Still, as she lowered the jar to the well’s depths and then turned toward home, her emotions again grew conflicted. Why did life have to be so difficult? So many struggles she had endured against Leah. So many struggles Jacob had endured against her father. And already she saw the signs of struggle in Jacob’s children. Few of his older sons looked on Joseph with favor. They resented his place in Jacob’s heart as his firstborn, and the looks they gave him when they thought Rachel did not see were less than kind, their words often harsh toward him.

If anything happened to Jacob, how would she protect her son from Jacob’s oldest, sometimes mean-spirited sons? She had seen the way Reuben eyed her son, and Simeon and Levi were not quiet in their teasing of him, until she quickly intervened. Judah was the only one of Jacob’s four oldest who seemed to hold a hint of kindness in him, but he was too young and often swayed by his brothers. Rachel did not exactly fear them—they were children, after all—but sometimes, when the night sounds lingered outside the tent and sleep would not come, she crept close to Joseph’s mat and slept at his feet to protect him.

She steadied the heavy jug on her shoulder with one hand and
took the path toward Jacob’s tents, but as she neared the camp, expecting most to still be abed, commotion made her heart grow still. She moved closer, her recent thoughts giving rise to fear.

Had something happened to her son? Surely not. But her heart beat faster just the same. She hurried and set the jug in its ground hole and peered inside the tent, heart pounding now, relieved to see Joseph still sleeping. She breathed a sigh, then turned to scan the camp.

“Rachel!” Jacob’s sharp voice from the direction of her father’s house gave her a start, and she whirled about and hurried toward him.

“What is it?” One look into his dark eyes made her stomach tighten with a sick feeling of dread. “Tell me.”

He touched her hand and pulled her along with him. “Your mother.” He swallowed, the effort strained. “Come.”

Rachel ran at his side as he led them to her father’s house, suddenly aware of her father’s servant running ahead of them. Distant keening filled her ears as they neared, and the sick feeling grew. Her knees suddenly felt weak. She forced herself to keep going, her breath coming hard, until at last they stopped outside her mother’s room. Farah greeted them.

“I’m so sorry, Rachel.” Moisture skimmed Farah’s lashes, and Rachel wondered if her tears were real.

“Let me see her.” Rachel pushed past her brothers’ wives into the small room her father had portioned for her mother and for her when she was a young girl. Dawn’s bright colors filtered through the small window, casting streams of light on the woven rug beside her mother’s bed, where her body lay still, devoid of even the thin color it had held the night before.

Rachel stared, disbelieving. Her mother had still breathed just last evening. This could not be!

The sound of the keening women coming from the direction of the courtyard drew closer. How had the professional mourners already heard when she had just been told? She felt a
sense of invasion and wished she could shut the door to weep for her mother in peace.

She knelt at her mother’s side and slowly, carefully touched her cheek. The lack of warmth took her aback, and she leaned away, stuffing a fist to her mouth, tears filling her throat. She covered her face with both hands and moaned. Jacob’s touch did not stay the tears when he knelt beside her. He pulled her into his arms and held her, letting her weep.

“How can I live without her?” she said, her voice hoarse against his robe.

“Hush, now. Everyone goes to the grave sometime, beloved. This was just your mother’s time.” His soft words did not soothe, but she nodded in feigned acceptance.

“I was not ready.”

“Death never asks permission, beloved.”

She had nothing to say to that, but his gentle touch on her back slowly calmed her. He was right, of course. Death came as the end of all life, and no one knew when it would snatch one from another. Hadn’t she known it was coming? Hadn’t she sensed it in her mother’s look the night before? In her mother’s parting words to Joseph?

“She knew.” She lifted her head and wiped the tears from her face, meeting Jacob’s gaze. “Last night she asked for me. I took Joseph to see her and she blessed him. She knew she would never see him again.”

His eyes misted at her words, and her heart beat with love for him. “She loved you.” He kissed the top of her head. “As do I.”

She looked from his dear face to her mother’s colorless one and sighed. “At least we still have each other.” She turned to him and took his offered hand, letting him help her to her feet.

He leaned close to her ear. “Yes, and that is all that matters.”

25

Jacob lay awake long into the night, going over the scenes from Suri’s burial and the mourning feast that followed. At first he thought Laban’s exclusion of him in carrying the bier and his subsequent scowls and distant looks were simply the result of grief, nothing more.

But as he sat with his brothers-in-law and Laban around the table that night, he could not help but notice the exclusion from conversations. Where Laban would normally have sought his advice on a particular problem with the sheep, he had turned to Tariq and Rustam and his other sons, not once even glancing Jacob’s way. The slight could not have been more obvious.

He shifted on his mat, unable to get comfortable, wishing now he had asked Rachel to share his bed. But she had nearly fallen asleep during the meal, as Joseph had done, and when he carried the boy back to his bed, she had curled up beside him, asleep within moments. If only he had been so fortunate.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the tent poles above him, suddenly restless and moody and unable to stay abed. He rose, donned his robe and sandals, and left the tent. Stars greeted him as he glanced at the night sky, their bright lights nearer tonight than he’d seen in months. A soft breeze lifted strands of his damp hair, cooling the sweat his restlessness had produced. He
moved past his tent and stopped but a moment at Rachel’s. All was quiet in the camp, the fire banked while they slept.

Jacob walked slowly on toward the fields, past the sheep pens where the servant boy lay sleeping at the gate, protecting the sheep against the night’s predators. Beyond the boy, the moon illuminated the white patches on the speckled and spotted sheep and goats, a portion of his hearty flock. God had blessed him in the six years he had worked for his wages, until his flocks outnumbered Laban’s both in size and in strength. Only Adonai could have granted such success with the whittled tree branches to produce so many speckled young. And he had no doubt his success was the reason Laban’s attitude toward him had changed.

He rubbed the back of his neck to forestall a headache he’d been fighting half the day. How could he stay where he was no longer appreciated or wanted? And yet how could he leave? His service to Laban had ended, but what if Laban tried to stop him? Laban’s nine sons and many adult grandsons along with his servants far outnumbered Jacob and his servants. Jacob’s sons were still children. No match for their wily grandfather and uncles.

He came to the rise of a hill and stood in a swath of moonlight, gazing up at the stars.
Oh, Adonai, what should I do?
He had not prayed so earnestly nor felt so compelled to do so since he had begged God to give Rachel a son. Not that he had forgotten his God, only that the urgency of his prayers had changed with the need.

Never had he felt so in need of guidance as now. He waited, listening, and sank down on the grass, aware of the night sounds, his ears attuned to the song of crickets and the whoosh of distant wings far above. Darkness shrouded him, and he sensed a thickening of the air as though a distinct presence rested above him. His breath grew labored, and he tried to open his eyes, but they would not lift.

“Go back to the land of your
fathers and to your relatives, and I will be with
you.”

The voice was a whisper, softly spoken to his heart, yet the source was unmistakable, the same voice he had heard the night he fled from his brother.

Is
it safe from Esau now?

The question went unanswered, but the presence seemed to hover. Perhaps God would speak again if he asked a different question. But no other question filled his mind like the sudden realization that he would be leaving the hostility of Laban to return to the hostility of Esau. And yet God had said, “Go.”

He had no choice but to obey.

Jacob rose before dawn the next morning, splashed tepid water over his face, and walked to Leah’s tent. He lifted the flap, surprising the servant girl who was just lifting the water jug in her arms, and moved toward the area where Leah’s oldest boys still slept.

“Jacob?” Leah rose from a corner of the dark sitting room.