Till Shiloh Comes

by Gilbert, Morris

  Asenath watched Joseph enter, and she puzzled over the strange look on his face.

  “This is the man I am commanding you to marry, Asenath,” Pharaoh bellowed. “There are thousands of women who would be overjoyed at such an opportunity. He is far above you. He is the second in the land of Egypt. I command you to love him!” The Pharaoh turned and said, “Joseph, come here.”

  Asenath stood stunned as Joseph approached the throne. Pharaoh took his hand and then hers. “Hold her hand, Joseph. I command you to love her.”

  Joseph smiled. “I willingly obey my king, and I will love you, Asenath.”

  Asenath whispered, “The king must be obeyed.” Joseph’s hand was warm, and she remembered how thrilled she was before when he had held her hand. She looked up at him and saw that he was smiling at her. He winked, as he had winked after shoving Lostris into the mud, and Asenath felt a sudden gladness that somehow Joseph was behind this! She knew it with all her heart, and as he held her hand, neither of them listened to what the pharaoh was saying. Finally they heard him declare, “Your marriage is arranged by a god, so it will be good. Go and love each other. I have commanded it.”

  Asenath felt herself led out of the throne room into the outdoor atrium. As soon as they were outside, Joseph turned her around and said, “I must tell you something, Asenath.”

  “What is it, Joseph?”

  “I must tell you that I loved you long before the king commanded me. Perhaps you don’t love me, and I know you cannot love simply because Pharaoh commands it, but I will make you love me.”

  Asenath was no longer crying when he put his arms around her and kissed her. She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with an emotion so strong she could hardly contain it. It was the feeling she’d had as a child when she had run to her father and he had put his arms around her. But now she knew she had found far more than a father. In their embrace they entered into the same mystery other men and women face when they marry. None can ever know for sure what good or tragedy will come of it. As he held her tightly, she said, “I am looking forward, Joseph, to your art of making me love you.”

  Joseph laughed and lifted her completely off the stone floor. He made several turns while she squealed and clung to him. Finally he put her down and put his hand on her cheek, which was smooth as silk. “I believe the pharaoh was right.”

  “About what, my beloved?”

  Her words struck deep in Joseph. “Your beloved! That’s what I am, and you are mine. I believe the pharaoh spoke truly when he said a god arranged our love—but it is not the god-king of Egypt. It is the true God, El Shaddai, the Lord of all the earth.” He kissed her again and held her close, and she clung to him. “He made the first marriage, and I believe he will bless this one.”

  Chapter 24

  Joseph reached out and took the red-faced screaming baby from the midwife. He held him up to the light and smiled as he studied the face. Then he knelt beside Asenath, who was weak and pale after her ordeal.

  “You have given me another son, and he is as beautiful as his brother, Ephraim.”

  “Let me see him,” Asenath whispered. She took the squalling infant and cuddled him next to her breast. “He is beautiful, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he’s red and wrinkled and hasn’t got a tooth in his head,” Joseph said with a smile. He stroked her hair, which was damp with sweat. “And he is as beautiful as you, my dear.”

  Joseph turned and said, “Come, Ephraim, and see your brother, Manasseh.”

  The three-year-old came quickly. He was a strong boy and already had the look of Joseph about him. He stared at his new brother and wrinkled his nose. “He’s so red!”

  “So were you the first time I held you in my arms.”

  Joseph reached out and put his arm around Asenath. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “You fill my life, my dear, and you’ve given me two fine sons.”

  “And you have been my true husband.” Even after the pain of her labor, a light danced faintly in her eyes. “The pharaoh commanded you to love me, and you promised to practice the art of making me love you.”

  It is a matter they had teased each other about throughout the early years of their marriage.

  “And have I made you love me?”

  Asenath reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. “You are my true love,” she whispered.

  They looked at the infant and then Joseph said, “The good years are gone, and we will now have the lean, terrible years of famine.”

  “I know,” Asenath said, “but you have labored so hard, and you, my dear, will save Egypt.”

  Part Five

  The Blessing

  Chapter 25

  The smoke rising from the small fire drifted into Tamar’s face, blinding her for a moment and causing her to turn away and cough violently. Her eyes watered, and she wiped them with the sleeve of her dress; then she turned back to look down into the pot. “I’ve boiled you for half a day and you’re still tough as a sandal,” she muttered. Tamar picked up a knife and probed the meat, muttering, “Soften up, you stupid bird! I don’t know what things are coming to when the master has to eat a thing like this.”

  Tamar had killed the bird earlier with a stick and had wrung its neck, plucked it, and dressed it. The animal had been weak and starving and was therefore an easy target, but it did not promise to make an appetizing meal. She sighed heavily as she poked the boiling fowl again with her knife.

  Tamar had made a place for herself in the camp and had become closer to Jacob than any of his many daughters-in-law. She had pitched her tent close to his, where she could attend to the old man’s needs, and he had become quite fond of her and her twin boys. Judah stayed as far away from her and his two sons as possible. Tamar knew he was still ashamed of himself for having sired two sons with his own daughter-in-law, and she expected no attention from him. It was not a husband in her bed she wanted—only Judah’s seed to carry on the line of the Redeemer.

  She glanced around the camp and noticed how lackadaisical everyone seemed. There was really no danger of them starving in the near future, for they had goats, sheep, and cattle, but they had lost a great many of them during the long drought. Many of the animals had died for lack of water and others were so skinny they were hardly worth dressing. The crops they had planted had failed, and the grass had dried out to dusty strands that the herds and flocks could barely subsist on.

  The sound of laughter and children’s voices floated by, and Tamar looked up to see her boys, Perez and Zerah, playing a game. They already bore signs of looking like their father, Judah, with the same dark curly hair and soulful eyes—though, thankfully, they had not inherited the red-rimmed lids passed down from Leah.

  Tamar tended the bird for another half an hour before it was soft enough to eat. She took it out of the water, cut the meat from the bone, put it on a plate, then rose and took it to Jacob’s tent. The sides of the tent were tied up to catch every bit of the breeze, and she found Jacob sitting on the thick carpet, staring out into space. “I’ve got you a nice dinner here, master.” She smiled and put the plate down before him. “And I’ve saved some sour goat milk that you like so much.”

  Jacob looked up, and although the hard times had further aged his lean, leathery face, he still had a smile for the woman. “What is it, daughter?” he asked.

  “It’s a bird I knocked down. I’m not sure what kind it is, but it will be a change for you.” Tamar smiled and knelt down beside him. She opened the leather bag of sour goat’s milk and poured some into a cup for him. “Eat up, now. You need to gain some weight.”

  Jacob picked up a morsel of the meat and tasted it. “It’s good,” he said. “You always know how to cook different things.”

  “I know you get tired of the same foods all the time.”

  “I think we all do,” Jacob said. He took a sip of the sour milk, smacked his lips, and wiped his mustache with the back of his hand. Wistfully he said, “What I wouldn’t give for some fresh gre
en onions or leeks.”

  “Maybe the rains will come soon, and then you’ll see the kind of meals I can cook for you.”

  “You’ve done wonderfully well, daughter,” Jacob murmured. He continued to eat, and as he did, the two boys came running by. Perez was chasing Zerah and shouting at the top of his lungs. Jacob had lifted a bit of meat to his mouth, but he paused, and Tamar saw his eyes go to the boys. She had become adept at reading the old man’s moods, for he made little attempt to hide his emotions. She watched him as he kept his eyes on the two youngsters, and she thought, He hasn’t accepted my boys as his own blood yet, but he will one day.

  “How are things with the people?” Jacob asked as he slowly chewed with his weak teeth.

  “Hungry.” She shrugged. “We were all hoping for a harvest of grain this year, but there was no rain at all. Most of the grain didn’t even come up, and that which did was taken by the wild things.”

  “I just don’t know what we’re going to do. How much longer can this drought last?” Jacob whispered.

  Tamar glanced up into his old, wrinkled face. She knew as much of the history of this man as anyone did, for it was to her that he spoke most often of his youth. The others may have been there for part of his life, but Tamar know how to elicit his many memories, even those from his childhood. Others were too busy or didn’t care. His sons were always out trying to find food, but Tamar was always there by his side, and now she reached over and put her hand on his. “You must not worry.”

  “How can I help it? Still, we’re better off than some. Those who don’t have flocks are starving.”

  “God isn’t going to let us starve.”

  Jacob blinked his eyes and stared at her strong face. Tamar had large, well-shaped eyes, a strong mouth, and a determined chin. The desert had dried out her complexion, but there was a strength in her that most women lacked. “You have more faith than most,” Jacob murmured.

  Tamar squeezed his hand and smiled. “God will not let us die.”

  “Why are you so sure of that?”

  “Because of you, master.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Yes, of course. You’ve been telling me for years now about how El Shaddai met you and actually spoke with you.”

  “You’ve always loved my stories.” Jacob smiled and put his hand on her head. “You’ve been a blessing to me, Tamar.”

  “I trust I will always be your handmaiden.”

  As usual, she was able to cheer Jacob up, and finally he sighed and shook his head. “You have more family feelings than any of my sons.”

  “I have learned of your family from you. It’s a wonderful story, master,” Tamar said with enthusiasm. “Tell me some more.”

  Jacob laughed and sipped the last of his milk. He smacked his lips, and she refilled the cup. “I think I’ve told you everything that’s ever happened to me.”

  “But there must be more about your father or your grandfather or about the beginnings of your people. Tell me about that.”

  As always, Jacob was impressed with this woman. He was not sure how much the rest of his family knew about the hope that was in his own heart. Somehow Jacob had received from his father and his grandfather the absolute certainty that their people, above all others in the world, had been favored by El Shaddai. His face grew sober and his eyes dreamy as he spoke, and Tamar leaned forward to catch every word.

  “Back in the beginning there was only Adam and Eve, the first man and the first woman, and they had two sons. One was Cain and one was Abel….” He went on to relate the story of how Cain killed Abel, and he shook his head. “Cain became a vagabond, and his children and his grandchildren forgot about the God who had made them.”

  “What about the other sons?” Tamar asked when he paused. “Not Abel, but the other children.”

  “God gave them another son whose name was Seth. He was a man who loved God, and his children loved God. That was the beginning of two lines of people in the world—those of Seth and of Cain, those who love God and those who do not. But the sons of Cain far outnumber the sons of Seth, I’m afraid.”

  “And who was Seth’s son?”

  The two sat there in the tent, the woman kneeling and listening intently, and Jacob going over the traditions that were burned into his memory. He did not know everything about the dark, cloudy past, but he spoke words he had learned from others. Finally he stared at her and laughed shortly. “You’ve heard this from me a hundred times, daughter. Why do you want to hear it again?”

  “Because,” Tamar said, her voice steely and determined, “out of all the peoples in the earth, all of the tribes in the nation, God is doing a great thing with you, master. From you will come Shiloh.”

  Jacob was always amazed at the strength and power and intensity that flowed out of Tamar as she spoke about this. He stared at her now and shook his head in wonder. “You are right, but I do not even know which one of my sons will be in the line.”

  Tamar smiled slightly. Her lips curved upward, and she wanted to say, I know. But she felt it would not be wise. “Eat some more,” she said. “And tell me about meeting God. What does He look like?”

  Jacob was slightly amused. “I’ve told you many times, He doesn’t look like anything, daughter. God is not a man, and He does not look like a man. All I saw when God spoke to me was a light of some kind. God somehow is light.”

  Tamar tried to get him to speak more, but the old man got to his feet, picked up his staff, and walked outside. Tamar followed him, and Jacob said, “You boys, come here!”

  Perez and Zerah had been rolling in the dust wrestling. They came at once but went to their mother and tried to hide behind her.

  “Come out from behind your mother there. I want to look at you.”

  Reluctantly the two boys came out with a little help from Tamar, and Jacob stared at them. “What were you boys doing? Fighting?”

  “No, sir, playing,” Perez said, looking up at his grandfather.

  The boy smiled, and Jacob realized that the child had more of Judah in him than the other. He looked at Zerah and saw his mother’s features in the lad’s face. “Why don’t you walk with me, and I’ll tell you a story.”

  Zerah looked up at his mother and clung to her. Perez’s eyes danced. “Yes, Grandfather!”

  Tamar watched as the three went off, Perez holding to Jacob’s hand, and Zerah keeping his distance. “That’s right,” she whispered. “Get to know those boys, for one of them is in the line of Shiloh!”

  ****

  None of the four Sons of the Maids were happy as they sat cross-legged on the ground, gnawing the meat off the bones of the sheep they had butchered that morning. “This meat is so tough I can’t chew it,” Gad complained.

  Asher, his brother, was still heavyset, despite the scarcity of food. He licked the bone, trying to suck the marrow out of it, then shook his head as he tossed the bone over his shoulder. “At least we’ve got something to eat.”

  “We won’t have if this keeps up.”

  Dan and Naphtali, Bilhah’s sons, were seated across from Gad and Asher. Naphtali’s face was badly scarred from being attacked by a wolf as a small child, and his twisted visage made him look constantly angry. Dan had a lean, intelligent face and was crafty, though he was no longer as wild and headstrong as when he was young. Now he stared with disdain at the remnants of the bones and exclaimed, “We’re all going to starve to death if something’s not done! Naphtali, what did you find when you went to the tribe over to the west?”

  “I didn’t find anything good,” he said. He took a drink of tepid water from a leather bottle and spat it out. “They’re as hungry as we are. I talked to the head of the clan. He said they’re going to move south.”

  “I was there last week and things weren’t any better,” Gad said with a shrug.

  The four sat there, drawn together by the circumstances of their births. They were merely the sons of Jacob’s concubines, not the sons of one of his wives. This had set them apart al
l their lives and given them feelings of inferiority. No one spelled it out, but it was understood that the sons of Leah and the sons of Rachel somehow had a higher status. This had not sweetened the disposition of the Sons of the Maids, and they sat there complaining.

  Finally Naphtali said, “There’s always Egypt. Plenty of grain there.”

  Staring at his brother sourly, Dan shook his head. “A lot of good that does us.”

  “We could go there and buy some,” Naphtali replied.

  “No, we’ll never be able to do that. Anyway, things are going to get better.”

  Asher had picked up another bone and was trying to nibble a morsel of meat that still clung to it. He was always hungry, and it was a mystery how he could stay fat while the rest of them were gaunt with hunger. “We’re going to have to do something,” he said. “The animals are going to starve. We’re all going to starve if something isn’t done!”

  ****

  At the same time the sons of Leah were having their meal in their own part of the camp. The six of them were as discontented as the Sons of the Maids. Simeon, the second-born, was a lean man and had, perhaps, the hottest temper of any of the brothers. He cursed now and stared at the small portion of stew in his bowl. “Is this all I get?”

  Levi, the third in order, was as short and muscular as Simeon was lean. He had black hair, dark eyes, and his temper was a match for Simeon’s. “I’m sick of hearing you complain!” he shouted. “Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you!”

  Simeon came right back, and the two leaped to their feet and faced each other, ready for a fight. They were both good fighters, having spent much of their youth learning those skills.

  Issachar and his brother Zebulun were the youngest of Leah’s son’s. Reuben, Simeon, Levi, and Judah had all been born in a brief period; then their mother had stopped bearing children. That was when she had given her handmaiden to Jacob to produce more children. But later Leah’s womb had opened to bear Issachar and Zebulun. They were younger and did not have the fiery tempers of their older brothers.