The Gate of Heaven (16 page)

“Rachel?”

“Yes, Jacob?” She turned to him trustingly, and when he reached out and took her hand, her eyes opened wide. “What is it?” she whispered.

“You are the loveliest woman I have ever seen, Rachel.”

The compliment caused Rachel's lips to part, and she flushed. She could not speak but waited for him to say more.

“I've come to care for you,” Jacob said. And even as he spoke, a certainty was growing in him. He had been uncertain about so many things and had made so many mistakes, but now it all seemed to come together in a way that brought great joy to him. “I want you for my wife, Rachel,” he said. “Could you ever come to love me?”

Rachel dropped her eyes for a moment, and when she lifted them, he saw the warmth he had longed for. “I've loved you since the first day you came, Jacob,” she said simply.

“Then shall I speak to your father?”

“Yes!”

Jacob reached out, lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed it. She leaned forward and lifted her face. He kissed her on the lips and felt the fullness of them. When he lifted his head, he smiled. “I kissed you the first time I saw you.”

“Yes, but you thought I was a little girl then.”

“Well, I know better now. Come. I must speak to your father.”

Laban glared at Jacob. “You want my daughter Rachel? Is that what you're saying?”

Jacob had braced himself for the old man's greed. He knew it well. “She loves me, and I love her. I want to marry her, Uncle.”

Laban argued for a time, but finally he said, “Very well. You serve me for seven years, and you may have her.”

Jacob shook his head. “Seven years! That's far too long. She might be dead in seven years—or I might be. I'll tell you what. I'll give you two years.”

The argument went on for some time, as Jacob had known it would. Finally Laban began to plead. “I have so little. I'm a poor man,” he said, “and she's such a treasure.”

Jacob shook his head. “I will accept seven years, but you must give me a dowry. I will not accept her without it.”

Laban had been prompted by Ziva, who had said, “Don't be a fool. You know how smart the man is. He'll make us rich, but you must tie him to us for a long time. Make him agree to work seven years.”

Finally Laban threw Bilhah in almost as an afterthought. “It'll be like having a concubine,” he said.

“I'm not interested in that, but she'll be a help to Rachel. I agree to the terms.”

And so the bargain was made. Rachel was ecstatic, but Leah threw a magnificent fit of rage. She screamed and spat and would have used her fingernails on Rachel for stealing her husband, as she put it. Jacob had to step in between the two, and it ended most unhappily. Leah glared at Jacob and said, “You'll be sorry for this, Jacob! You don't care for Rachel. You crave me, don't you? You can't deny it!”

With Rachel standing there Jacob
had
to deny it, but he knew he was not speaking the exact truth. “I don't care anything about you in that way, Leah. I love Rachel.”

After the scene was over, Jacob and Rachel went to what had become their secret place, in the shade of the trees by the bend in the river. They sat there holding each other, and Rachel said, “It'll be such a long time before we can be married.”

“But it'll be a good time. I'll court you. I'll sing songs to you, make up love songs for you, and I'll steal a kiss every chance I get.”

Rachel laughed. “I'll be hard to get,” she said. Then she asked quietly, “Do you really love me, Jacob?”

“You know I do.”

“What about Leah?”

“No. It's you I love.” Jacob put his arms around her and held her and thought of the seven long years that lay ahead. But he was still glad.

“Just think, mistress, in another week you will be a married woman!”

Bilhah drew the brush over Rachel's gleaming black hair and caressed it lovingly. The hair now came down below Rachel's waist and was, in Bilhah's opinion, the most beautiful hair any woman had ever worn. “Aren't you a little bit afraid?”

“Afraid? Of course not.” Rachel was sitting up straight, staring out of the opening of the tent while Bilhah brushed her hair. The camp was especially busy, for the celebration of Rachel and Jacob's wedding had brought many visitors. She had been surprised that her father had been willing to spend so lavishly, but she suspected that Ziva had been behind that.

“It's been a long time, hasn't it, mistress? I never knew a man to wait so long for his bride. Seven years!”

“It has been a long time,” Rachel whispered. She was turning a ring around and around her finger, conscious of how Jacob had given it to her only recently. During their long courtship he had given her other gifts, none of them particularly valuable, but this one had been brought by a traveling trader all the way from Beersheba. The ring had belonged to Jacob's mother, Rebekah, and to his grandmother Sarah before that. With it had come a message from Jacob's parents, delivered aloud by the trader. Jacob had later repeated the words to Rachel as he gave her the ring.
“May your bride be as beautiful as the moon,”
the message had gone,
“and may she bear you many sons.”
The entire message had been quite long, but Esau was never mentioned, which did not surprise Jacob in the least.

Twisting the ring on her finger, Rachel suppressed a sigh. It had indeed been a long seven years. There had been times when Jacob was so consumed with passion for her she did not think he could restrain himself for that long. But the seven years had proven Jacob's love for her. He had never wavered in his devotion, and now, at last, she was about to be his.

Leah had made life difficult for Rachel. She had never given up on trying to win Jacob's love for herself, and Rachel, at times, was consumed with jealousy whenever she saw Leah anywhere near Jacob. Once she had exploded with anger, accusing Jacob of dallying with her sister, but he had convinced her there was nothing between the two of them.

Jacob had survived Leah's attempted seductions, for he was more in love with Rachel than he could possibly express. Rachel thought about the tenderness he had shown her, the poems and songs he had made up celebrating their love, and she grew warm at the thought of the wedding to come—and what was to follow.

“This time next year you may have a baby,” Bilhah said. She was a mature woman now but was still shy with everyone except Rachel. She adored Jacob, however, and thought that he was the only man fit to be the husband of her mistress. She spoke of him now as she continued brushing Rachel's lustrous black hair. “He's been able to make the herds so large over these years,” she said. “Your father's a rich man now.”

“Yes, and he doesn't give Jacob anything.” Rachel's tone was bitter, for her father continued to display his customary stinginess despite Jacob's success in managing the flocks. Laban had refused to raise Jacob's wages, giving him only what pitiful few coins he deigned to spare. “I'm going to have Ziva speak to him,” Rachel went on. “Jacob deserves more honor. He's worked like a slave these seven years! Those two brothers of mine are nothing but drunken louts, and my father's no better. They all stay drunk in the village while Jacob works night and day. It's not fair!”

“No, it's not. Has he ever thought about leaving here?”

“He would if it weren't for me, I know.” Rachel softened then. “He's told me so.”

“Maybe when you're married you can take some of the herd and we can go away and begin all over again. Jacob's so good with animals. He would be a success anywhere.”

Rachel nodded. “Maybe so. We've talked about it.”

Bilhah stopped brushing the hair and moved around to where she could look into Rachel's face. There was no one more beautiful than her mistress! She ran her hand over the smooth cheek. “You're so pretty,” she whispered. “Jacob is a lucky man!”

The wedding feast had begun, and the camp was filled with visitors. Ziva and Leah worked steadily along with the servants to keep the food cooked. The wedding ceremony was the next day, and Leah's face was stony. More than once she had thought about leaving, for she could not bear to see her sister's happiness, and especially not Jacob's.

Now she turned the spit that held the roasting lamb and, from time to time, sprinkled some spices on it. She remained there, ignoring the shouts and laughter and music that were going on all about her. She knew she was the only miserable person in the place and resisted an impulse to kick the lamb into the fire.

“Leah…”

Leah turned to see her mother approaching. “What is it?” she said.

“Leave that thing to the slave girl. I've got to talk to you.”

Leah shrugged, then reached over and pulled the hair of the slave girl who had been hired. “Watch this lamb. Don't let it burn!” she snapped. Getting up, she moved away to follow her mother. She had no idea what Ziva wanted, thinking she probably had more work for her to do.

Ziva, however, went toward the tent where she lived with Laban. Glancing about as she followed her mother, Leah spotted her father groping after a plump young woman who was laughing at him. “The old goat!” she muttered. “Look at him, Mother.”

“I know. I gave up on him a long time ago. The man is worthless!” Ziva ducked into the tent, and as soon as Leah stepped inside, she turned to face her daughter.

Leah was shocked at the intensity of her mother's expression. She knew her mother was totally immersed in the worship of her idols, and now when she saw the statuettes displayed in the tent, covered with flower petals and surrounded by burning lamps, she surmised that Ziva had been fasting and praying to them. Her mother normally kept her gods well hidden. “What is it, Mother?” she asked curiously.

“My gods have given me a word.” Ziva's face was stark, and her eyes glowed fiercely in the lamplight. Her lips were drawn into a tight line, and when she spoke they barely moved—as if another being was speaking for her. This had happened several times in Leah's memory, and she grew very still.

“What is it, Mother?”

“You must have Jacob. There's no other man for you.”

“Do you think I don't know that! I've tried every trick to get him to love me,” she said bitterly.

“There is a way. My gods have told me.”

Leah blinked with surprise. “There is no way!” she snapped. “What are you talking about, Mother? Have you lost your mind?”

“No. My gods have told me,” she repeated in a rhythmic manner. “You must take Rachel's place.”

“Take Rachel's place? What are you talking about? How can I do that?”

“Listen, daughter. Just before the wedding ceremony, you and I will be with Rachel. We will be dressing her. She will be wearing her bridal dress and a veil—but she will not wear it for the ceremony.
You
will wear it.”

Leah's eyes narrowed. There was something different about her mother. Leah really believed in her mother's gods, although not to the extent that Ziva did. “What are you talking about? How can I do that?”

“I will give her a drugged drink. She will go to sleep almost at once. You will put on the bridal outfit, and it will be you whom I lead out to meet Jacob to become his wife.”

“Jacob's not a fool. I'm taller than she is. Jacob would know instantly I'm not Rachel.”

“Not if we make him drunk enough, and I'll see to that. And you can stoop down a little bit. Everybody will be so drunk by that time, nobody will notice.”

Leah listened as her mother spoke rapidly, and slowly she began to see that the plan was possible. “What will Jacob do when he finds out?”

“He won't know until it's too late. He'll take you to his tent, believing you're Rachel. It'll be dark. You'll love him there. He had feelings for you once before, and you can win him back.” Ziva's eyes glowed. “I know you can please a man.”