11

The pains came upon Leah before dawn six months later. Winter rains had long since passed, and the promise of spring was in the song of the mourning doves and the whisper of gentle breezes in the gaily flowered fields. At first the constricting muscles across her belly had seemed insignificant, but as the day progressed, she sent Zilpah to summon her mother. Farah swept into Leah’s tent and looked around as though trying to decide how best to proceed.

“How far apart are they?” She waved away a cup of water offered by Zilpah, her gaze on Leah.

“The rests between them are short. Sometimes barely a few breaths.” Leah panted, pacing back and forth in her small sitting room.

“Do you still have your waters?” Her mother walked to her bedchamber and peered inside.

“Yes.” Leah stopped, sudden fear gripping her. “Is that normal?”

Her mother nodded. “Yes, of course it’s normal. But if the pains are coming so quickly, the waters will break soon. Then you will need the birthing stool. Where is it?”

Leah pointed to the half-circular wooden stool resting against the partition between the two rooms. Farah retrieved it and set it in the bedchamber, then fluffed the pillows on Leah’s bed. “Did you lay a clean sheet down?”

“Zilpah did . . . earlier.” Her breaths came in short puffs, and she placed both hands on her middle, cradling the child. “Come, sweet baby. Make your way into the world.”

“Why is your sister not here?” Her mother glanced around again at the sparse room and frowned.

“I did not invite her. She would not have come.” The thought accompanied another wave of contracting pain, as though the agony of her relationship with Rachel over Jacob could be drawn into her body and brought forth with the child.

“How long will the two of you fight over the man?” Her mother’s tone carried disbelief and exasperation. She turned to Zilpah. “Go and fetch Suri. Tell her Leah is near to giving birth.”

Leah stopped again and faced her mother. “I do not want Rachel’s mother here either.” She bit back the sting of tears, hating the emotion. “Why can’t you deliver me?”

“Suri is a better midwife.” Farah shrugged. “She attended your brother’s wives and did a better job than I could do. Her hands are smaller but sturdy, and if the baby should need to be turned, you will be glad of it.” She glanced beyond Leah to the tent door. “It does no good to be at odds with your sister or her mother, Leah. Women must come together and aid each other. Jealousy will destroy you both.”

Leah started pacing again, wincing with another breath-stopping pain.

“Breathe, daughter. Short breaths if you must. But it is worse to hold it in.”

“I still do not want Rachel to attend me. She has stolen my husband. She cannot have my son or place him on her knees. The babe is mine. No one else’s.” Though she hoped Jacob would claim the child, if it was a son, as his firstborn and heir. The words, the worries left her shaken, and she did not resist when her mother took her arm and led her to her bedchamber.

“Sit down and let me see how far along you have come.”

Leah obeyed as hurried footsteps and the sound of voices filled her sitting room, Suri among them. She gripped her mother’s arm and pulled her closer. “Promise me you will not allow Rachel to attend me.”

“Leah, I don’t see why you continue to hold such feelings inside of you. You are the first wife. You will bear the first son. Rachel would not think to try to claim him from you.” Her mother carefully pried Leah’s fingers from her arm, then patted her shoulder. “You are overwrought, my daughter. I warned you when you married Jacob how hard this would be, yet you agreed. But forget all of that now. You are about to become a mother.” She lifted Leah’s tunic and examined her progress.

“Promise me, Ima. Please. She has already taken my husband.” Another pain accompanied the whispered words, swift and harsh like her life.

Her mother rearranged Leah’s skirts as Suri and Zilpah burst into the room.

“Promise, Ima?” she begged through clenched teeth.

“Very well. I promise.”

“Promise what?” Suri asked as she squatted at Leah’s side. She placed a hand on Leah’s middle, gently massaging.

“It does not concern you.” Farah took her place at Leah’s back and rubbed her shoulders.

Leah caught Suri’s curious look but then closed her eyes as another contraction overtook her, thankful that she would not be expected to answer.

Rachel worked the spindle and distaff in the door of her tent, trying to blot out the sounds of Leah’s moaning, then of the baby’s first cries. Jacob should be here, pacing by the fire, but he had not come home from the fields the night before, and Rachel had chosen not to send someone to find him.

She closed her eyes, fighting the familiar guilt that heated her skin like unwanted wool. Why did she feel such a need to keep Leah in her place, to remind her of her past sins? Jacob did not love Leah, and Rachel did nothing to help change those feelings. And now God had given Leah a child. How could He, after what she’d done to them?

The spindle and distaff grew heavy in her hands, like the bitterness that felt like a weight in her heart. She pressed a hand to her middle to quell the uneasiness, the fear. Nearly a year had passed since her wedding night, and Jacob had been more than attentive to her. Leah rarely spent a night alone with him, yet it was Leah who was blessed and Rachel who suffered from what could only be a barren womb.

Was she barren? Tears stung her eyes. What other explanation could there be?

Why? Oh, Adonai, why have You blessed her and not me?

Did Jacob’s God even hear her? Did the same God Jacob had met at Bethel in his dream of the angels hear prayer? Perhaps the God of Jacob did not hear the longings of a woman’s heart.

Or perhaps He did.

God had surely heard Leah’s prayers. The babe’s lusty cries a few moments before were proof enough of that. Then why not hers?

She stood at the sound of voices and looked toward Leah’s tent to see her mother emerge, looking haggard and relieved. She met her halfway, in front of Jacob’s tent.

“How is she?” It was the polite thing to ask.

“Leah is resting. She gave birth quickly once I arrived. Quicker than most.” Her mother walked to the fire pit and lifted a handful of ashes to scrub the blood from her hands.

Rachel turned and hurried to her tent to retrieve the jar of water she had drawn at the well that morning and poured it over her mother’s hands.

“A boy,” her mother said. “Perfect and strong.”

“How nice.” Though Rachel did not find the news the least bit satisfying. “What will she name him?” She spoke, though the words did not seem like her own.

Her mother straightened, her dark eyes so similar to Rachel’s, though her once beautiful black hair was now streaked with thick strands of silver. She touched Rachel’s shoulder. “She named him Reuben.”

Rachel winced at the name. “‘He has seen my misery.’” So God really had blessed Leah instead of her.

“When she named him, Leah also said, ‘Surely my husband will love me now.’”

Would he? Rachel looked away from her mother’s searching gaze. To name him thus would be a constant reminder to Jacob of how Leah felt. He could not call his son’s name without realizing that the son’s mother was miserable, that she wanted his love. Would he give it now, leaving Rachel with nothing? Jacob’s love was all she had.

“Jacob will be pleased,” she said, wishing the words weren’t true.

“Will he?” Her mother glanced in the direction Jacob would take when he returned.

“Of course. What man isn’t pleased to see his son safely born?” She said the words to placate, fighting the rebellion, the hurt stirring in her heart.

“Has anyone told him that Leah’s time was so close?”

Rachel shook her head. “I do not know. Leah might have sent a servant. It was not my place to tell.” Nor did she want to. “Leah did not want me at the birth. She can tell Jacob when he returns.”

Suri stood as if in indecision, her beautiful face lined with concern. “How many days has he been in the fields?”

“Three.”

“How long does he stay away?”

“Sometimes a day. Sometimes a week. It depends.”

“On?”

“On how much fighting and strife there is between us all.” To admit such a thing made her guilt loom larger. She sounded petty and childish.

“Oh, dear child.” Suri placed an arm around Rachel’s shoulders and walked her toward her tent. “Do you still harbor so much anger against your sister after all this time?”

Rachel’s throat grew thick with unshed emotion. She nodded, unable to meet her mother’s concerned gaze. “She conceived a month after her wedding week with him, Ima. Yet I remain a wilting flower in his house! How can God bless her after what she did? Jacob was never meant to be husband to her. He worked seven years for me!” Her voice rose in pitch, and she stopped, hating the whiny quality it took on when she was upset. She cleared her throat and tried again. “He doesn’t love her, Ima. It is I who should have borne his first son. Not Leah. Never Leah!”

Suri led Rachel into the tent and stood in the sitting room, facing her. Her hand was gentle and warm against Rachel’s cheek. “Dear, dear child. We cannot control the gods or determine their will for us. Perhaps it is your bitterness that keeps you from bearing. Anger has closed many a womb, and you wouldn’t be the first barren wife to share her husband with another.”

“I don’t want to be barren!” She felt her defenses crumbling under her mother’s touch.

“And there is no saying you will stay that way. But until Jacob’s God or your father’s gods see fit to bless you, try to get along with your family. Let your husband care for your sister, at least a little.” She stroked her cheek. “Try to imagine what it would be like if you were in Leah’s place.”

Rachel closed her eyes, the words wounding her. For a moment she imagined how it would feel if Jacob left her for Leah, spent every night in Leah’s arms away from her. The thought was unbearable.

And yet it was Leah who held a babe against her breast. Leah who would hand Reuben to Jacob to bless on his knees, whose very name would cause Jacob to see her differently, to perhaps want to ease her misery, to love her as she wished.

“I try, Ima,” she said at last. “It is easier to be angry and to keep my distance.”

For though she knew her mother’s words were wise, she could not give in to what it would mean to implement them. She could not allow Jacob more time with Leah or Leah’s son. She needed him to give her a son of her own. She needed him for herself.

Jacob walked with hurried steps, thrilled with the news from the servant boy that he had a son safely born. Why hadn’t he been told sooner? But what could he have done if he had? Comfort Rachel? She would be attending the birth, and he would be left pacing before the tent, listening to cries that would pain him to hear.

The thought made him pause and nearly stumble over one of the larger rocks along the path. No, it was better that he had remained in the fields, where he was blissfully ignorant of the goings-on in his household. The bickering between the sisters had grown worse as Leah’s time had grown near. And somehow Rachel seemed to blame him that she had not been first to beget. Did she think him in the place of God to grant a child?

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the frustration from his mind, and lifted his gaze to the sun-drenched blue skies. Why did You put me in this situation? I wanted only Rachel.

But God had given him Leah as well, if, in fact, God involved Himself in such situations. He couldn’t exactly blame God for Laban’s deception any more than he could blame Him for his own. Was this strife payment for his sins? He should have offered a sacrifice . . . something! But he could not change things now.

He approached the sheep pens where Rachel’s brother met him.

“It’s about time you got here.” Bahaar embraced him. “You have a fine son. Hurry! Go and meet him.” He nodded in the direction of Jacob’s tents. “Your son awaits your blessing.”

“You have already seen him?” Somehow Jacob thought Rachel’s brother would be among the last to glimpse his nephew.

He shook his head. “Not yet. But Ima tells me he is strong and healthy.” He shooed Jacob away with one hand. “Everyone has gathered and is waiting for you. Go!” He laughed as Jacob turned and moved toward his tents.

As he crested the rise, he saw that most of Laban’s family filled the area in front of the tents, near the central pit where a fire blazed. Voices floated to him, and he paused a moment, taking it all in and searching for Rachel. Where was she? Surely she would not hide in her tent during the blessing of his son.

He slowly moved closer, his heart aching and joyous, an all-too-familiar mingling of opposite emotions.

“There he is at last!” Leah’s mother, Farah, emerged from the crowd and hurried toward him. “We have been waiting,” she said when she drew closer. “Leah is anxious to see you, for you to see your son.”

Jacob nodded, meeting the woman’s triumphant gaze, and he knew in that look that she was glad it was her daughter who had given Jacob an heir, the first sign of his strength, and not Rachel.

“Come.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Bless your son.”

He followed like an obedient ewe, accepting the well wishes of Laban and his sons, then followed Farah to Leah’s tent. Still no sign of Rachel.

“You cannot touch her or you will be unclean,” Farah was saying. “But you can speak to her and hold the babe.”

“Am I not supposed to bless the babe outside, in the presence of witnesses?”

Farah stopped at the threshold. “You can do that after you see Leah.”

He glanced around, still searching. He looked back at Farah. “Is Rachel in the tent?”

Farah could not hold his gaze but looked over his shoulder into the distance. “I assume she is in her own tent. I have not seen her.”

Jacob touched Farah’s arm. “Why did she not help her sister with the birthing?”

Farah looked at him then, and he caught the slightest flicker of indecision pass over her expression. A deep sigh escaped. “I would tell you that Rachel had no desire to be here. But the full truth is that Leah did not want her company. So they have not spoken, and Rachel is not here.” She crossed both arms over her chest, and the crowd stilled as though listening to their every word. “You must do something to make them get along, Jacob.”

Her comment raised his ire. “Me do something? I cannot control their jealousy. And I will remind you that we would not be in this situation if things had been done as I requested.”

Farah shook her head. “No, but we cannot undo the past. And Leah has given you a son where Rachel has not. So come, see your wife and son.”

Jacob stood still, warring with indecision. At last he turned and found a seat near the fire. He did not care what Laban said or did to him. He would see Leah in his own time. “Bring my son to me,” he said at last.

Farah looked from Jacob to Laban, then moved closer to her husband. “This is not right, my lord.”

Laban puffed on his pipe and looked from her to Jacob, then back again. “The man can do as he wishes with his wife,” he said. “Bring him the boy, and let me see my grandson.”

Farah’s expression darkened, but she did not protest. She turned and went into Leah’s tent, then returned with a swaddled bundle. She approached Jacob and held the sleeping boy out to him. “His name is Reuben.”

He has seen my misery. Jacob took the boy and looked into his face, his heart pricked with sudden guilt. Whether he visited Leah or not, she had sent him a clear message. She was miserable, and her son would be a constant reminder as to why.

“She said,” Farah continued, “‘surely my husband will love me now.’” She spoke loud enough for the entire company to hear.

Jacob’s face grew hot. He could not conjure love from nothing. Love was a feeling, a passion, a deep caring, bringing with it purpose and a desire to protect from all harm. Love drew him to Rachel to spend time with her, to grant her every desire. When it came to Leah, he had no love left to give. Rachel used it up, pulled it from him, and wrapped herself in it, creating a tight bond between them. How could he even think to share such a thing with her sister as well?

The thought was ludicrous!

He glanced at Leah’s mother, then down at the baby, his son, who had now opened his dark liquid eyes and seemed to look into Jacob’s soul. Whether he loved the mother or not, this was still his son. The thought warmed him in a way he had never felt before. He stroked the boy’s face with one finger and smiled.

“May you be blessed of Adonai, my son Reuben.” He faced the crowd and lifted the boy for all to see, then pulled him close to his heart. “My son!”

“May he be blessed of Adonai!” Laban said, and his sons and the women of the household said the same.

The noise startled the boy. His lips puckered, and a moment later he let out a lusty cry. Men and women laughed at the joyous sound, and Farah held out her arms to take him. “I will return him to his mother,” she said, tight-lipped.

“Tell Leah I said ‘thank you.’” He would visit her later, after he found Rachel. Somehow he must find a way to ease her wounded heart, and somehow, God help him, he must bring some kind of peace to his household.