“If we move your mat to that wall, there will be room for mine here.” She pointed to the opposite wall. “Our maids can sleep between us.” It left little room for movement, but he felt a measure of relief that they could work something out.
“We will trip over each other in the night, and where will we store the looms and other articles once we retrieve them from our father’s house?” Rachel crossed her arms, her mouth a grim line.
“We can make it work if we try.” Leah’s tone held a hint of condescension, reminding him too much of Esau.
“We can try all we like, but it is still too crowded.” Rachel’s petulant response made him turn from the women and walk out of the tent. He understood. She deserved better, but it would help if she made more of an effort.
He grabbed his staff from just inside the tent and headed for the sheep pens. Let them deal with the situation and argue without him. For his part, he would confront Laban with the problem this very night and borrow some of the tents they used in the fields with the sheep. He would not be forced to live with a houseful of bickering women! Laban had thrust this upon him. It was up to Laban to make it right.
Rachel stood at the door of her own tent a month later, shading her eyes against the glare of the setting sun. Bilhah stirred the stew over the open fire on the hearth just outside the tent’s door, while Leah’s maid Zilpah lifted the fresh bread from the clay oven. Leah had gone to visit her mother that afternoon, and Rachel had hoped her sister would remain, giving her one meal with Jacob alone. But one glance at the door to Leah’s tent told her that she would not be so fortunate. Leah stood in the door but a moment, then crossed in front of Jacob’s tent that separated them and joined her.
“Are you planning to keep him to yourself again tonight?” Her tone accused, and when Rachel met her gaze, the pale eyes flashed.
“He will eat with us, and you can speak with him if you must.” She turned away, looking to the hills for some sign of Jacob.
“As it has been since the day we wed. Surely you can spare him one night in a month.” The comment came out more pleading than angry, giving Rachel a twinge of guilt. Jacob had stayed away from Leah even when Rachel’s time had come upon her because Rachel had requested it. He hadn’t thought it fair but had listened to her argument. Hadn’t Leah deceived them both? Didn’t she deserve to pay for ruining their plans, their life’s happiness?
She whirled, facing Leah. “You are fortunate Jacob allows you to stay with us at all. You don’t belong here.”
“He is my husband as much as yours.” Leah held Rachel’s gaze but a moment, then glanced in the direction of the path Jacob would take. “And in case you have forgotten, I am the first wife here.”
“You are a usurper. You have no rights unless I allow them.” She turned then, shaking, and quickly walked away up the hill. Leah would surely complain to Jacob now and lay Rachel’s words before him. She must explain herself before Leah had the chance. She could not allow him to show favor to her sister.
As she crested the rise that overlooked the sheep pens, she saw him counting the sheep as they passed under his rod into the fold. She smoothed both hands on her skirts, her heart suddenly skipping a beat, uncertain. Jacob would not wish to be greeted with complaints. She must find a way to word her request without seeming to cause strife between them.
He looked up at her approach, a smile reaching his tired eyes.
“You are home,” she said, looping an arm through his and reaching one hand to pet one of the lambs.
“And glad to be here.” He pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “I had to rescue two lambs from a pit. One broke a leg in the fall.” He pointed to a lamb with a bandaged leg resting quietly in a secluded corner of the pen.
“Were they being chased?” Sheep would naturally flee a predator.
“They were chasing each other and paid no attention to my call. The pit came upon them unaware, and before I could reach the first, the other had gone in after it.”
“The one beneath, did it survive?”
He nodded, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Just barely. If I had not seen it happen and had to find them later, the younger one underneath would have suffered more than a broken leg. Of course, they fought to get out, and it took all of my strength to lift them to safety.”
“You must be exhausted.” She stroked a tendril of hair from his eyes. “Come and eat and rest yourself. The food is waiting.”
He smiled down at her and cupped her cheek. “I am hungry for more than food.” His lips brushed hers, the touch so gentle it sent shivers of delight up her spine.
She wrapped both arms about his neck. “Then you must take your rest in my tent and let me feed you sweet dates and apricots after the meal.”
He laughed. “My little shepherdess.” He glanced once more at the sheep, and she could tell he was silently finishing the count. “Your brother Bahaar is supposed to stand guard here tonight.” He looked toward her father’s house and then turned to scan the surrounding fields. “You have not seen him?”
She shook her head. “He is always a late one. He will come, though.”
He hesitated. Normally he did not leave the sheep alone with none to guard. “Perhaps I will wait for him.” The fold had no door but the shepherd, though he had blocked the way with stones set as pillars in an emergency.
“I will bring food to you here and we will wait together.”
He looked at her, relief and gratitude twin expressions in his dark eyes. “Thank you.”
She reached on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “If my brother does not come, I will get a blanket and we will spend the night together here under the stars.”
A smile lit his face, and she turned, hurrying back down the hill. He had made no mention of Leah, nor would he miss her. They would have their night together without her sister after all.
Leah stirred the stew and worried her lower lip, trying to decide whether or not to pull the pot from the fire. Rachel had gone over the rise to find Jacob and had been gone longer than she expected. Surely they were at the sheep pens and would soon return together to join the rest of them for the evening meal, as they often did. But when Rachel appeared running down the hill without him, then gathered up food and drink and walked again toward the sheep pens without a word to her, Leah’s spirits sank. Rachel would keep Jacob to herself no matter what lengths she must go to, and there was little Leah could do to change the situation.
“You must eat something, mistress.” Her maid Zilpah held out a platter with warm flatbread to dip into the stew. “If he returns, you don’t want him to find you pining for him. Eat, busy yourself. When he sees all of the good you do for him, he will soften his heart toward you.” She offered Leah a reassuring smile, but Leah found it impossible to return it.
“He will not return. Did you not see the blanket draped over Rachel’s arm?”
“Perhaps she wanted to soften the ground where they would eat.” Zilpah shrugged her round shoulders and lifted her pointed chin, her gaze looking beyond Leah to her father’s house. “Would you like me to fetch your mother, mistress? Or get you something else?”
Leah looked from the low hill where the sheep pens stood, where Jacob and Rachel would likely spend the night together under the stars, to her father’s house, where she could find comfort. But she had already spent the afternoon listening to the advice of her mother, who told her to be more forceful in handling Rachel, to speak to Jacob about her rights as his first wife. Rights Rachel insisted belonged to her and Leah had no strength to deny. One look at Jacob each day told her that her mother was wrong. The guilt of what she had done to Jacob and to Rachel grew with each passing day, and she was crushed by the realization that if Jacob did not come to her again, she would never bear a child and would die a barren widow in her husband’s house because he did not love her and, in fact, wanted nothing to do with her.
“No, Zilpah, thank you.” She stood, letting the wooden stirring stick rest against the
clay pot. “I’ll be in my tent.” She was not hungry, and it would do little good now to wait for Jacob to come striding over the rise with Rachel on his arm. If he did not spend the night with her in the field, he would spend the night with her in her tent, and Leah could not bear to think of what they might do there. If she had the strength, and if she thought it would not simply delight Rachel further, she would pick up her tent and move it far from Jacob’s and Rachel’s.
But she could not quite bring herself to deny the kick over her heart at the thought of losing him. And as she lifted the flap and slipped into the darkened interior of her tent, she heard again her mother’s words of that afternoon.
If you want him to notice you, you will have to speak to him. Remind him of his duty to you as your husband. If you do not, I will have your father remind him for you.
The words were no idle threat, and her mother would make good on them soon if Leah failed to act. But she quailed at every thought of getting past Rachel’s anger to Jacob. Jacob defended Rachel at every turn.
Then you must speak to him alone. But the only way to do so was to go out to the fields and find him while he was out with the sheep. And if she did so, she would have to be discreet, lest Rachel guess her motive. If she would have honesty with her husband, she would have to once again circumvent her sister.
Jacob kissed Rachel goodbye the next morning, picked up the lamb with the broken leg and draped it over his shoulder, then called the rest of the flock to follow him to greener pastures beyond Laban’s fields. How he loved that woman! She had a way of making him feel more than just good. He felt alive when he was with her. The stars seemed closer, the food tastier, the wine more satisfying. Life with Rachel was nearly perfect, if not for the shadow of Leah’s tent that rose with the sun across his path each morn.
Guilt nudged him at the thought of his other wife, then was swiftly replaced by anger and a profound sense of loss. If he had not allowed Laban to fill him with so much wine that night, if he had looked more closely into her eyes before taking her to his bed, perhaps he could have exposed Laban’s deceit and prevented the strife he lived with now.
He shifted the weight of the lamb on his shoulders and used the staff to keep his balance, his thoughts making him feel old and used. He could not change what was past. And he could not rid himself of Leah, despite Rachel’s attempts to keep them apart. He could not deny the woman forever. But Rachel would not make it easy for him.
He turned, taking a wider path through a dry wadi, then led the sheep to one of the low-rising valleys where the grasses still stood tall against the late summer breeze. Soon the winter rains would feed the wadis and give drink to the fields. But for now he moved farther and farther from home in search of untouched land.
He settled beneath a spreading oak tree and laid the crippled ewe beside him, feeding her from his own hand while the rest of the flock grazed nearby. The sun rose quickly as the hours passed, and he pulled the turban down to shade his eyes from its glare, glancing over the field to make sure none of the lambs had foolishly wandered off. He started at the sight of a woman coming toward him.
Rachel had made no mention of joining him today, but who else . . . ? He squinted as she drew closer, his heart sinking in recognition. Leah.
He stood at her approach, not wanting to face her, knowing he must.
“What are you doing here, Leah?” He studied her, reading determination and a hint of fear in her gaze. He gentled his tone. “Has something happened that you seek me?” He had just left Rachel a few hours ago. Had some harm come to her? Alarm filled him, but one glance at Leah calmed him. She would surely be agitated if she were forced to relay bad news.
“I must speak with you, my lord.” She held his gaze but a moment, then seemed to find fascination with her feet. “That is, I need to speak with you alone. Without Rachel.”
“It would seem you have managed to do that now.” He bristled at his own impatience and winced at the hurt he glimpsed as she glanced up at him again, her expression apologetic.
“I know we did not start out well . . .” She looked beyond him again. “That is, I know you would not have married me at all if not for our deception.” She drew in a long, slow breath, as if the words would come only one sentence at a time.
“What do you want from me, Leah?” He sensed her reasons without need of words, but she was here now. And he needed her to finish and be done with it.
“I want you to sleep with me.” She met his gaze, unflinching. “I will never bear you sons if you never share my bed.” Her cheeks flushed as she spoke, and he knew each word had cost her.
This time it was he who looked away. He’d known this was coming, but he hadn’t expected it today. Here. Now. And yet here she stood, her manner brooking no argument. And from her look, he knew he owed her what she asked. She had every right to seek her father and confess Jacob’s treatment of her. And if they involved Laban, there would be no end of trouble!
He glanced beyond her as if the thought of Laban might bring him forth at that moment, relieved when only the sheep stretched over the pasture before him. “I will come to you tonight,” he said at last.
She nodded, and a shy smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “Thank you, my lord.” She stood a moment more until the air grew uncomfortable.
“Is there anything else you needed?” He suddenly wanted her to leave, to give him time alone to think, to clear the air of her troubling presence.
She shook her head. “Only that it takes time for a woman to conceive. So perhaps you can come more than once in a month’s time.” Her pale eyes held such wistfulness, and the thought that she loved him pierced his already guilty conscience.
He nodded once. “I understand.”
She smiled fully this time and turned to go. “I will prepare your favorite pastries tonight.” She lifted her robe and picked her way over the rocky terrain without another word or backward glance.
Jacob watched her go, astounded by her boldness. Astounded and chagrined. Perhaps the woman was not so weak as she appeared. And in truth, he owed her the chance to bear sons. She was his wife, after all.
But as the day drifted on and the shadows lengthened, he could think of only one thing. How to explain to Rachel that he was spending the night with Leah.
10
“You can’t go to her.” Rachel stared at Jacob, her words choked, and she fought the urge to weep or cajole him into changing his mind. “I had hoped . . . that is . . .” She turned, unable to face him, the heat of shame creeping up her neck.
She felt his presence behind her, his gentle touch on her shoulders. He slowly coaxed her to face him. “What had you hoped, beloved? That we could pretend our life was as we had planned it? We cannot go back to those days. Our life includes your sister now, and we have to make the best of it.”
Her lower lip quivered, and she blinked against the tears stinging her eyes.
He lifted her chin until she met his gaze. “What had you hoped, Rachel?”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters to you. If there is something I can give you, you know that I would.” She searched his tortured gaze, realizing in that moment how much it pained him to leave her. “Please don’t make this harder than it is.”
“I wanted to be the first to conceive.” The words were a whisper, an embarrassment. She couldn’t blame him for not trying, as she had had his time exclusively since her wedding week, forcing Leah into a secondary role of more maid than wife. The power over her husband’s affections, over her sister, had soothed the hurt of betrayal but a little. If she could bear Jacob a son first, then she could allow Leah the consolation of Jacob’s time now and then.
“There is no reason to believe you still won’t.” He leaned close to her ear, his breath tickling, his kiss a gentle promise. “I will give her tonight, but tomorrow will be yours. She said herself that it can take a woman time to conceive.”
“She told you that?” She could not imagine Leah hav
ing such an open conversation with him.
“She wants to bear a child, beloved, as every woman longs for.”
“She can bear all she wants, just not first.” She knew the words were harsh, but she could not hide the jealousy that rose like a living thing within her, sometimes so strong that it threatened to choke all kindness from her.
“Who knows but perhaps you are not already carrying the seed of promise within you?”
She blushed at his frank words and the way his eyes roamed over her, assessing, loving her with a look. Her time was still a week away, so perhaps . . . it could be true.
“You will give her only tonight?”
He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I cannot avoid her forever, Rachel. I will give her tonight, and perhaps others now and then. But tomorrow will be yours.” He kissed her then, a kiss that did not linger, then cupped her cheek in a parting gesture.
She gripped his hand and squeezed. “I will be waiting,” she said, forcing more cheer into her voice than she felt, watching him slip from her tent into the night.
When he was gone, she sank onto her mat and gave in to the bitter tears. She could not bear to share him. Could not bear to think her sister might conceive ahead of her. And in the turmoil, she could not decide which was worse, competing with her sister for her husband or competing to be the first to bear Jacob a son.
Leah stood at the door of her tent the following morning, accepting Jacob’s parting kiss on the cheek, then watched him stop at Rachel’s tent and give her a lingering kiss full of promise. The familiar jealousy felt like a kick to her middle. She shouldn’t compare. It did no good and only caused her further pain. He loved Rachel. He only tolerated her. Perhaps worse.
Emotion made her chest tight, but she drew in a breath to steady herself. He had come to her last night, and though their time was nothing compared to the first night when he thought she was Rachel, still he was kind to her. But she could not make him love her. He was too kind to say so, but she knew he resented her.
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