Rachel

by Jill Eileen Smith

  He glanced at her but said nothing, continuing on until they reached the pens. She released her grip, and he nodded to the servant boy who had been awaiting Jacob’s arrival. The boy took off running, hurrying back to her father’s house for the morning meal, his gait gangly and awkward in its youth. Jacob looked away from her toward the sheep.

  “Is she with child? Is that what she told you?” She knew she should wait for him to reveal it to her, but she could not bear his silence. “Please, Jacob, do not keep this from me.”

  He looked at her then and nodded. “Yes.” He glanced beyond her. “I’m sorry, beloved.”

  She watched him a moment, but he would not meet her gaze. “Does this please you?”

  An impatient sigh escaped him. “But of course it does. What man doesn’t want many sons?”

  She turned then and hugged both arms to herself. The morning breeze lifted the scarf slightly away from her face, its gentle warmth mocking her in its kindness.

  “Please don’t do this.” He touched her shoulder and turned her to face him. “Do you not think I wish it were you?” He dipped his head until his gaze met her lowered one. “I would give a year’s wages to have the son be yours, Rachel. You know this.” He traced a finger along her jaw. “Please do not take away my joy.”

  His joy? How could he think such a thing could bring joy? Tears born of anger she could not release sprang to her eyes. “I’m sorry. I cannot think that a son of my sister could bring you joy.”

  He tilted his head, looking heavenward, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Rachel, please.” He closed his eyes as though trying to rein in his impatience, then met her gaze once more. “Try to see this from more than your perspective. Try to be happy for me too.”

  She blinked and wiped the tears away, willing the anger to abate, longing to give in to the rage and the hurt. To flail her arms and beat against his chest with her fists . . . But he would not understand. To react in such a way, despite her feelings, would only stir his wrath and perhaps drive him once more into Leah’s arms. She could not risk such a thing.

  She swallowed and took a deep breath, offering him a conciliatory smile. “I am pleased for you, Jacob. I . . .” She looked beyond him, unable to continue.

  He stepped closer and pulled her against him. “I know.” He kissed the top of her head and held her, but she would not allow herself to weep. The bleating of the sheep beside them reminded her that he would never get the sheep to the fields if he did not start soon.

  “You must go if you are to find pasture before the sun reaches its glaring point.” She stepped back from his embrace, and this time her smile was genuine. “You will have our neighbors stealing the best spots if I keep you here much longer.”

  He released a long-held breath and gave her a relieved smile. “Come with me.” He grasped her hand, intertwining their fingers for a brief moment. “It will do you good to be away from Leah for the day.”

  Emotion swelled again at his thoughtfulness. She did not appreciate this man the way she should. Hadn’t he worked for her seven years, patiently waiting? And now he was working seven more for Leah, all the while waiting for Rachel to give him a son, never angry with her or disappointed that she had failed again and again. How was it that she could not see his love? Had jealousy over her sister blinded her so greatly?

  “I would love to come with you,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Thank you.”

  He smiled then and released her, turning to lead the sheep out of the pen to the path that led to distant fields and the well where they had met so many years ago. She waited until the last lamb trotted through the gate, then followed him.

  15

  Rachel hurried along the path to her father’s house, heedless of Leah’s calls to her from her tent, anxious to get away. She would die if she had to spend one more day with her sister, working at her side while the woman’s belly swelled and she cast that constant look of pity in Rachel’s direction. She had become the brunt of Leah’s scorn since the day Leah told Jacob the news of this third child. The thought of Leah being so blessed tormented Rachel’s every waking moment, and she could not bear another day. She must do something . . . Surely there must be something she could do.

  Her heart pounded as she neared her father’s courtyard, her feet scuffing the loose stones and then stopping abruptly when a stone caught between her foot and leather sandal. She lifted her foot and flipped the offending piece to the path, then rushed past the servants in the courtyard to search out her mother. She found her with Farah in the weaving room.

  “Rachel! What is wrong?” Her mother set the shuttle aside and rose, hurrying to Rachel’s side.

  “Has something happened to Leah?” Farah’s question caught Rachel up short, feeding the anger and hurt growing within her.

  “Your daughter is fine.” She managed the words through clenched teeth. “Though you might tell her to keep her pity to herself. She may carry Jacob’s child, but it will be the last she carries if she keeps flaunting herself at me.” She faced her mother then, turning purposefully away from Farah. “Can we take a walk?” She lowered her voice, though Farah could still hear. She did not need Farah telling Leah all that was in her heart.

  “Of course, my child.” Suri took Rachel’s elbow, tossing an apologetic look Farah’s way, then led her from the room.

  “You didn’t need to act so congenial to her,” Rachel hissed.

  “Yes, I did.” Her mother’s look held censure.

  “She should make her daughter curb her tongue!”

  “No mother has ever been able to do such a thing.” Concern crossed her mother’s face as she guided Rachel through the halls to the outer courtyard and beyond, the opposite direction of Jacob’s tents. “What is this about, Rachel?”

  Tears threatened and she looked away. Her mother’s arms came around her shoulders, then turned her into a full embrace. “Oh, my child. Jealousy is such a terrible taskmaster.” She patted Rachel’s back. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I can’t bear it anymore, Ima. She sits there at the grinding wheel, stretching her belly until it sticks straight out in front of her, patting it incessantly, and glancing my way with that pitiful look she has, but I just know she is laughing inside. She mocks me, Ima. As if it is my fault that I am barren.” The word barren on her tongue tasted sour, and she felt suddenly sick. She placed a hand to her mouth and pulled away. She waited, drawing in slow breaths, until at last the queasy feeling passed.

  Her mother’s touch on her shoulder made her turn. “Come. Walk with me.” Suri pointed to the tree line some distance away, and Rachel obediently followed. “First off, dear child, you must understand that when a woman carries a child and sits long hours at the grinding stone, her back grows stiff. The bigger her belly swells, the harder it is for her arms to reach the handle to turn the stone. So she stretches. So what? You arch your back when you stretch and your belly sticks out. It is natural. You will have the same trouble someday.” She rubbed her work-worn hands over Rachel’s younger ones.

  “But she flaunts herself at me.”

  “And you know this because she looks at you with pity? How do you know it is pity? Perhaps it is gas and she is grimacing. You do not know what is in a person’s heart.” Her mother’s tone held too much accusation, her excuses for Leah unconscionable.

  “You mock me as well. I thought you would understand.” Rachel was used to her mother’s straightforwardness, but she did not expect it today. Did not appreciate it today.

  “I do not mock you, my child. But you have been married nearly three years and still you are fighting with your sister. You must stop this foolishness. You will destroy Jacob’s house if you don’t.” They were halfway to the tree line now, but Suri stopped and placed both hands on Rachel’s shoulders. “You must stop thinking so much of yourself. Think of Jacob, of his children. Be a good aunt to them and Jacob will love you for it. And if that is too hard for you, find another way to accept your state.”

 
“But what can I do?” She heard the petulance in her tone as she searched her mother’s dark exotic eyes so like her own. “You shared my father, but at least you had sons of your own. Why does God keep them from me?”

  Suri crossed her arms over her chest. “Who am I that I should know the mind of God? Perhaps He makes you wait to teach you to trust Him. Is that not what Jacob would tell you?”

  She squirmed under her mother’s scrutiny, not liking the direction of the conversation. Her mother had come to believe in the One God after listening to Jacob speak so often of Him. Laban did not care what his wives believed, as he embraced all gods, including the Creator. Leah had been the first to accept the singular teaching, and Rachel had soon followed. But she did not understand Him. And she did not like His ways, not if they meant she would bear no sons.

  “Jacob would tell me he does not know why I must wait.” She looked away. “What should I do, Ima?”

  Her mother cupped her cheek and sighed. “Give Jacob your maid. Then whatever child is born to her can be born on your knees. The child will belong to you.”

  She startled at the words, searching her mother’s face. “Why would I do such a thing? It is already impossible to share him!”

  “Do you want a child or not?”

  “Of course I do!”

  “Well then, since you have had plenty of Jacob’s time and your sister’s fertility to prove the problem lies with you, there is only one way for you to have sons. Give the man your maid.”

  Rachel stepped back, stung.

  “Or you could keep waiting.”

  No, she couldn’t. Could she?

  “But I can’t . . .” She put a fist to her mouth and turned away, walking ahead of her mother to the trees. Oh, God, why is this so hard? Was she being too hard on Leah? At least Jacob was having the sons God promised him. Did it matter whether those sons came from her?

  But she wanted children! She wanted to suckle a babe at her breast, to kiss a cheek so soft and pure, to gaze into eyes like Jacob’s and know the babe was the product of their love. Surely she could wait for that. Hadn’t Jacob’s own mother waited twenty years? She would just find other ways to deal with Leah in the meantime.

  She stood a moment, composing herself, then turned back and met her mother coming toward her. “I can’t do it, Ima. Not yet.”

  Suri nodded, her look holding far more compassion than it had held when Rachel arrived in the weaving room. “Dear, dear child. How hard it is to love a man as you do. How hard to hold the strength of a love such as his.”

  The words brought tears again, but she merely nodded and brushed them away. If not for Jacob’s love, she would be lost. But if not for Jacob’s love, she would not want so badly to please him. Love cost more than she had ever imagined.

  Jacob trudged the path home alone, the sheep left in the field with one of Leah’s brothers, who had come to tell him of Levi’s birth. Leah’s third son. The thought pleased him more than it should, dampened as it was by the fact that the mother was not his beloved. But he lifted his gaze heavenward just the same and thanked God for the child. Perhaps Leah was getting her wish, as the boy’s name meant “attached,” and, in fact, Levi’s birth did spark feelings of fondness in him toward the mother.

  Rachel would not be pleased if she knew. But how could he deny the warmth he felt in the presence of the sons Leah had given him? What man didn’t long to be a father? And already Leah had birthed three sons, more than his mother had given his father.

  He quickened his step, anxious to see the newest child, his mind warring with how to respond to his wives when he arrived. He could not tell Leah she had pleased him. Somehow she would make Rachel feel worse if he did. No, the kind regard he found himself feeling for her would remain his own private affair. Rachel alone deserved his love and devotion.

  He searched the blue skies at the cries of a hawk, and a steady breeze whipped the sides of his turban, lashing it in front of his face. His feet swirled bits of dust as he treaded the familiar path, and he wished just by this daily trek he could somehow stamp out the strife between the sisters. It should not matter that Rachel had no child to call her own. She had his love.

  Why wasn’t that enough for her?

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the grit of the wilderness still in his beard. He should take time to wash in the stream before returning home. He paused midstep. A turn in the path would lead him to the stream not far from Laban’s property. The women could be there washing garments, but he could remain unseen if he picked a spot farther down the stream’s path. Bushes grew in abundance along the banks, affording some privacy. And Rachel always appreciated the smell of him when he wasn’t gritty with many days’ sweat and dirt.

  He smiled at the memory of her chiding him for coming to her tent with too much dust in his beard, insisting that he wash right away, then she changed her mind, took a cloth, and washed the dust away for him. Her kiss that followed had remained in his memory and often brought a smile to his lips.

  Ah, Rachel! How beautiful and spontaneous she was! And if this would please her, he would stop and bathe. Then he would see to Leah and her son and try to keep his delight evident to Leah in some small way, yet hidden from Rachel in another.

  Rachel knelt at the side of the stream, dipped her soiled cloths into the moving water, and let her tears flow with the stains she could not quite remove from her clothes or her heart. Beside her Bilhah scrubbed one of Jacob’s tunics, a job Rachel usually reserved for herself, but with the passing months since Levi’s birth she had allowed her maid more tasks related to her husband, all in an attempt to see if she could bear sharing him with yet another. She couldn’t. How could she? And yet what choice did she have?

  Laughter came to her from upstream where Leah and Zilpah washed their own stack of soiled linens and wools. The youngest, Levi, now four months old, lay on a blanket nearby where Leah could stop to feed him when he awoke, while the older two children played with a household servant some distance from the water’s edge. Rachel’s heart warmed to hear their childish squeals of delight, unable to deny that she had grown fond of Leah’s sons. They were a distraction from the daily struggle with her sister. And yet they were also a reminder of all she did not have.

  She glanced at Bilhah, trying to blot out the sounds of her sister and those with her. “I noticed a spot on the right sleeve of that one. He dripped some of the stew on it the other night. Take care not to rip it as you scrub.” The tunic was one she had woven for him before their marriage, and though it was growing threadbare, she still favored it for the love that had gone into making it.

  “I will be careful, mistress.” She held up the sleeve. “See? It is already gone.”

  Rachel wrung one of her cloths and spread it on some tree branches to dry. “Good,” she said, relieved. Perhaps she should make him another to replace it and not fuss so.

  “Is anything wrong today, mistress?” Bilhah pulled the tunic from the water and twisted it from one end to the other. Water dripped beneath her sturdy young arms.

  “Nothing unusual.” She studied the girl, wondering what thoughts ran through her head. Bilhah had been little more than a child when she was given to Rachel at her marriage to Jacob, on the cusp of womanhood. Since then, she had grown into a woman. She was pretty in a plain sort of way, unremarkable yet loyal to Rachel in her struggle with her sister. She would understand if Rachel gave her to Jacob. Wouldn’t she?

  She had turned the thoughts over in her head for six months, since the day her mother had suggested it. Until now she had cast the thoughts out as quickly as they came, though in recent weeks they had lingered on the fringes of her mind, never quite leaving her alone. Had she waited long enough? What if Leah conceived again?

  Her stomach hurt at the thought. She had begged Jacob to stay away from Leah, but some misplaced loyalty to Leah or something had made him ignore Rachel’s plea. He had gone to her after her purification. And Rachel had waited, counting the days ever since.r />
  She glanced Leah’s way, not wanting her to see that she watched her. Leah bent over the blanket and lifted Levi high, tilting her head back to look up at him. His delighted giggle pierced Rachel’s heart. She turned her attention to finish her task, then stood. She turned to walk along the banks to wait while the garments dried, moving the opposite direction from her sister.

  But an hour later, as she gathered the clothes and folded them into her basket to carry home, she saw Leah walking toward her, Levi on her hip, Zilpah guiding the other children up the path ahead of them.

  “I thought you should know,” Leah said, her mouth tight. “Before I tell Jacob, that is.”

  Rachel looked into Leah’s pale eyes, unable to miss the glint she saw there. “You are with child again, is that it?” She didn’t need Leah to tell her. One night with Jacob seemed to produce endless children, while Rachel could spend every night in his arms with nothing to show for it.

  Leah nodded, a slight smile replacing the grim line. “I do not tell you to upset you.” Her voice gentled. “I wish it was you.”

  The words surprised her. “No you don’t.” She held Leah’s gaze in challenge.

  Leah glanced beyond Rachel, her normal lack of confidence showing clearly in her worried gaze. Rachel turned and started walking, not wanting to continue this conversation despite its surprising turn. But a moment later Leah shifted Levi and moved into step with Rachel along the path.

  “All right. It is true that I am pleased to bear his children. But it is only because you have Jacob’s heart. If I could trade places with you . . .” She glanced at her son. “I almost would.”

  Rachel huffed, unconvinced. “You and I both know it is not enough to have a man’s love.”

  “I don’t know that.” Leah’s voice was soft, wistful, and Rachel stopped, looked at her.

  She studied her sister, wishing for the hundredth time that she could send her away and be done with the competition between them. “Well, you could have known it if you had married someone else.”