The Gate of Heaven (15 page)

Jacob lay flat on his back and heard the delightful sound of water tinkling from a large vessel into a smaller one, and then her hand was behind his head.

“Try not to move,” she said. “Just lift your head.”

Obeying her, Jacob felt the cup against his lips. He guzzled at the water, spilling some of it so that it ran down the sides of his lips and onto his chest. He enjoyed the wonderful coolness along his tongue and in his throat. “That's good!” he said.

Rachel moved to fill the glass again, and as she did, Jacob's memory returned. “I…I thought he was going to kill me.”

“I think he would have if Leah hadn't stopped him. You're going to be all right, though. You won't feel as much pain after a while.”

Jacob tried unsuccessfully to smile. “Good. I'd hate to feel this bad for the rest of my life.” She had moved to one side now, and he could see her face more clearly. Her features were outlined by the yellow halo of light from the candle, and she reached out and touched the side of his wounded head. “You were unconscious all the time Ziva was sewing you up. She's very good at such things. You're going to have a scar, though.”

Jacob sighed deeply. “I've made a fine mess of things, haven't I?”

“It wasn't your fault,” Rachel insisted. “It's that Mehor! I wish somebody would kill him!”

Surprised at the vehemence of her tone, Jacob stared at her face. She had a little girl's eagerness about her, though her feelings were constantly changing, coloring every expression her face revealed. She leaned over then, and he felt the warmth of her eyes and managed a smile. “Have you been taking care of me all this time?”

“Leah and I have. She's sleeping now.”

Jacob lay still for a moment; then his lips twisted with a sour expression. “I think she's going to get me killed.”

“Mehor once killed a man who took a woman he wanted.”

A silence fell between them, and finally Rachel said, “You'll have to stay away from her, Jacob.”

“I will,” Jacob said fervently. “I'm no hero, Rachel.”

“But you love her, don't you?”

Jacob stared at the girl's face. She seemed very young, but at the same time there was the promise of maturity in her expression and features. A few years would bring her to full womanhood, and he could easily imagine the beauty that would emerge. “I don't think so,” he said.

“I saw the way you looked at her,” Rachel said. “You looked at her like a man who wants a woman.”

“I suppose many men have looked at her like that. But I can't risk getting killed over her.” He saw that the remark pleased Rachel for some reason. “What's the matter? You don't want me for a brother-in-law?”

“I think whoever marries Leah will have to kill Mehor, and even then I think there would be trouble.”

“Trouble? What sort of trouble?”

“Leah draws men to her. Have you ever noticed how moths are drawn to a candle flame? They burn themselves up in it, but they can't seem to help it. Some women are like that, and I think Leah is one of them.”

Jacob was amazed at the girl's wisdom. He had thought the same thing about Leah but had not formulated it as Rachel had. He studied her. His mother had a bracelet made of lapis lazuli, a valuable stone used by the Egyptians, and Rachel's eyes, at the moment, seemed that same shade of lovely blue. Her hair, however, was as black as the obsidian arrowheads he had seen his brother Esau use. Black as a raven's wings that reflected a blue-black sheen when the sun struck it.

“I'm glad you came, Jacob,” Rachel said shyly.

“I don't know why. I've been nothing but trouble to you.”

“You could never be that,” she whispered.

Jacob felt a sudden rush of affection for the young woman, but he was depressed. “I know where I've been, but I don't know where I'm going, Rachel.” He sighed, and the sigh hurt his chest. “I guess I'm like a man in the middle of a bridge. I know where the ends are, but I can't go back, and I don't know what's ahead of me. So I'm just standing there leaning over and looking out over the waters flowing under my feet.”

Rachel put her hand on Jacob's head. It was as gentle as a touch could be, and it comforted him. “You'll find your way,” she said. “I know you will.”

As the two sat there, Rachel began to speak of everyday things. Finally she saw that the pain was getting worse. “Ziva has made up some medicine for you. It's from a desert flower. She crushes it and puts it into water. It'll help the pain.”

Jacob was indeed struggling with the waves of pain that rose and rushed through his body. She lifted his head, and he drank the mixture and shuddered. “It tastes terrible.”

“But it'll make you sleep.” She carefully placed his head down and then stood over him. “You're not going to be able to do much for a while, but I'll come sing to you and tell you stories.”

“Will you, Rachel?”

“Yes.” She reached out and touched the end of his nose with one forefinger, and her eyes danced. “I've got you in my power.”

Jacob smiled. “What are you going to do with me, then?”

“I haven't decided yet. As soon as you get well enough, we'll go to my secret place, and then I can sing some more and tell you some more stories.”

Jacob quickly felt the effects of the drug. It was like a tide starting at his feet and rising up. When it reached his eyes, he closed them and knew no more.

When Jacob woke again, someone was washing his face with a cool, damp cloth. His eyes flew open, and he asked, “Is it you, Leah?”

“Yes. I need to clean you up.”

Jacob was aware that his robe was gone and that he was naked from the waist up. He looked down, and the sunlight revealed the terrible bruises on his body. “He nearly killed me, didn't he, Leah?”

“Yes.”

“He would have if you hadn't stopped him.” He reached out and took her hand. “I guess I owe you my life.”

“I never had anyone owe me their life.”

Leah continued washing him with the damp cloth, and finally she stepped back and put the cloth away. “You're going to be fine.”

“Rachel tells me Mehor will kill any man who gets close to you.”

Leah's face changed instantly. She ceased to smile, and unhappiness came into her eyes as if he had stirred some old memory. He saw her lips flatten into a straight line, and she stared down at him in silence. “I will never marry him. I hate him.”

Jacob did not know what to say.

Her voice rustled like rubbed paper as she said, “I wish he were dead.”

Jacob was shocked at the words, even though he felt much the same way. The pain in his body reminded him of the man's cruelty, yet he saw that Leah's hatred exceeded his own. She had a rocky, drawn expression that made the feminine contours of her face appear almost masculine.

Jacob did not know what to say, but finally he managed, “I'll have to stay far away from you, Leah. You understand that. He'll kill me the next time.”

“You feel something for me, Jacob,” Leah said, and her breathing grew more rapid. She leaned forward and put her hand on his bare chest.

He felt the heat of the woman and saw the intensity of her eyes. “Maybe so, Leah, but a dead man can't feel anything.”

Leah did not remove her hand. She leaned forward and said in a whisper so faint he was not sure he heard it at first, “Mehor will have to be…” She did not finish the sentence, but she may as well have, for Jacob knew what she was intimating. He saw something in her eyes he had never seen before in a woman, and even in the heat of the tent, a cold wave passed over him. He knew he had to end this at once.

“I don't want to hear about murder,” he said hurriedly. “I may not even stay here, Leah, but if I do, I'll have to stay away from you.”

Leah then leaned forward and kissed Jacob on the lips. “Yes, you will stay,” she said. “And I will have you, Jacob. You know it and I know it.” She rose at once, turned, and left the tent. Jacob lay there wondering what sort of woman this was, but a resolve rose in him, and he declared aloud, “I can't have anything to do with her. She'll have to understand that.”

Jacob took a deep breath rather cautiously and then expelled the air. He twisted his torso to the right and to the left and was relieved to find that the pain was minimal. Six weeks had passed since he had been beaten by Mehor, and the healing had been slow. Ziva had told him that only time would heal his ribs.

“You're better, aren't you, Jacob?”

Jacob turned and looked at Rachel, who was seated beside him underneath the shade of the trees. She was smiling, and the sun had left its bloom on her fair skin. “Yes, I am,” he said. “It took a long time. I don't know what I would have done without you.”

“I didn't do much.”

“Yes you did. You cooked for me, and you even gave me a bath when I couldn't move. And you talked to me. That helped more than you'll ever know.”

Indeed, it had been Rachel who had made Jacob's inactivity bearable. Leah was there a great deal of the time, but Jacob never responded to her overtures. He saw the resentment in her eyes but knew that whatever he had felt for her—and whatever he still might feel—had to be put away. Mehor was a killer. Since the attack, Jacob had heard more stories about the man's brutality, and there was no question in his mind that Mehor would kill any man who reached out for Leah.

But Rachel had filled in the gaps. She had brought cheer into his tent and fixed him special delicacies, and delighted him with her special stories. As he had healed, it had been Rachel who had encouraged him to exercise and had taken short walks with him at first, and longer ones as he got stronger.

Now as he sat beside the young woman, he felt a warm gratitude. Turning to her, he said, “You know, Rachel, I think you saved my life.”

“That was Leah, not me.”

“Yes. She saved me from Mehor all right, but I've never had to lie still for six weeks and do nothing. I think I would have lost my mind, gone stark, staring crazy if you hadn't come to me and brightened those hours.”

“I didn't mind.” Rachel smiled at him shyly. “I never had anyone to listen to me before.”

Jacob reflected that this was true. The girl's mother had died years ago, and Leah was so strange that the two had little in common. Leah was very practical, and it was due to her that much of the work was organized and done. She knew about the household affairs as much as her own mother, but was not of an imaginative turn of mind.

Rachel, on the other hand, was full of the love of life, always singing, with a keen sense of humor and playful imagination—sometimes almost wild. She had so amused Jacob at times during the early part of his infirmed condition that he had laughed until his ribs hurt him greatly. He had to plead, “Stop it, Rachel! Don't make me laugh anymore!”

Now as he sat beside Rachel, feelings that had been growing in him for a long time seemed to suddenly blossom. He could not explain it to himself, but he knew it had to do with the loveliness of this young woman and her kindness and her spirit, which was unlike that of any woman he had ever seen. She was childlike, and yet she was blossoming into a woman before his eyes. The thought had been in the back of his mind, and now, sitting in the shade watching the light filter through the trees and brighten her features and her dark eyes, he knew that this was what he wanted.

She was in the middle of telling a story, and a small dimple came and went winking at him, so it seemed, and he realized that there was a hint of will and pride in the corners of her lips and her eyes. The light was kind to her, showing the full, soft lines of her body, the womanliness beginning to develop, and the fragrance of her clothes came powerfully to him as he seemed to inhale the warm tone of her personality. She had a way of laughing that was very attractive, her chin tilting up and her lips curving in pretty lines. At that moment he knew she was not a child anymore but a woman with a mystery and feminine softness.