21

Jacob’s knife slit the throat of a year-old male goat, prime among Laban’s flock. The loss would come out of the pay counted toward the debt he owed the man, but it was a loss he must bear. If only God would hear and answer!

He searched his heart for words that could express his longing, Rachel’s longing, but found none. The goat’s body grew slick in his hands as blood spilled onto the stones of the altar he had painstakingly built. Fire burned in a torch held tight in the ground, waiting to consume the sacrifice. Laban appeased all gods on various occasions, but this was not a sacrifice he would think necessary. What did it matter if Rachel bore a son? Jacob already had nine sons, and Leah was carrying another, if her hints were true. And still Rachel waited.

How long, Adonai?

He had offered bulls and goats a few times in the recent past, but never with such a heavy burden upon his heart. Never with such a longing to see God answer his prayers. Could Adonai see the suffering of his beloved and feel the pain of his heart? Were his own sins the cause? To think so seemed far-fetched. God had blessed him with sons through three other women. To be denied a son with the woman he loved—would not the burden be hers alone to bear?

His great love for her told him otherwise. And as he cut up the goat and placed it on the altar, he felt the weight of his sins resting heavily on his shoulders. Surely he was sinful at birth! One who grasps the heel. A deceiver. Was he paying the price for such practices?

The rustling of grasses near the altar made him turn, his heart yearning at the sight of her, his beloved. How small she looked, head bent and draped in a white head covering. No jewels adorned her neck or ears, and her feet were bare. Her robe was simple, unassuming, and her hands were clasped in front of her. She stepped closer, and he longed to go to her, but she knelt in the grasses, head bent to the earth.

He stared, his heart constricting at her humility and the pain he had glimpsed in her large, luminous eyes. He reached for the torch, turned back to the altar, and lit the pieces of flesh until they caught fire. Smoke lapped the blood and animal flesh and rose to the heavens. Jacob set the torch back in its spot and came to kneel at Rachel’s side.

Tears filled his throat, not from the smoke as much as from the sobs and soft prayers coming from his beloved’s lips. He faced forward as well, palms splayed before him, his own prayers offered heavenward.

Forgive us, Adonai Elohim. Please, remember Your maidservant, my beloved, and grant her heart’s desire. You have blessed me with many sons, but of this woman You have not given any. Look with favor on us, Your undeserving servants, and give us a son, as You did for my father and my grandfather before me. Remove the sting of her barrenness, I pray. He swallowed the unshed tears.

Please, hear my prayer.

He waited, searching his heart for any last words that he might utter to convince the Almighty to act on Rachel’s behalf. As the last of the smoke died away and the sacrifice turned to ash on the scorched stones, Rachel rose slowly to her knees, and Jacob took her in his arms. She rested her head on his chest, and he stroked her back, his silent tears falling softly now with her own, and he sensed that she still prayed, seeking God’s face.

The sun dipped to blazing pinks and oranges by the time they stood apart. Jacob grabbed the torch and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, retrieved his own sandals from the edge of the clearing, and led her to the path home, feeling as he did the night he had met the Holy One at Bethel on the way to Laban’s house. Truly God did not dwell only in Canaan’s lands. His reach was long, and He could see them even here.

Surely He had heard their prayers.

Rachel awoke with a start, a queasy feeling in her middle. She rose quickly from her pallet and hurried to the clay pot, heaved over it, and lost the remnants of last evening’s meal. She leaned back on shaking limbs and wiped her mouth with a linen cloth. Was she ill? She glanced at her sleeping mat, where Jacob had risen on one elbow, looking at her.

“Shall I send for your maid?” Concern etched his brow as he pushed to his feet and came to stand over her. “What can I do for you, beloved?” He placed both hands on her shoulders, and she leaned into his strength.

“I am all right now.” She turned. “Help me up.” He grasped her hand and tugged, holding her close.

“You are not ill?”

She shook her head. A sudden ravenous hunger came over her. “I am hungry enough to eat three loaves of bread and cheese and dates and—”

He placed a finger to her lips and laughed. “This is some strange illness you bear to be sick one moment and ravenous the next.”

She gave him a sheepish look, then pushed from his embrace to change out of her night tunic and quickly dress. The scent of baking bread stayed her worry that she would have to wait until the flour was ground. She glanced up, catching his amused glance.

“What?”

“You are more beautiful than I ever thought possible.”

She blushed at the compliment, her senses heightened with overwhelming love for him. Walking toward him, she offered him a bright smile. “And you, my love, are too kind.” Her stomach growled loud enough for him to hear, and she placed a hand on her middle. “But you will have to excuse me. I must eat.” She turned toward the tent opening, but he caught her hand.

She looked back at him, lifting a brow.

“How long has it been since your time?” He studied her, his gaze intense.

Heat rose again to her cheeks. She thought back, assessing, eyes growing wide with the knowledge he seemed to already possess. How could a man know such a thing? It was the woman’s place to tell him.

She shook her head. “It isn’t possible.” Though on the second time through counting the days, she realized that well over a month had passed with no sign of her flow.

“Why not?” His smile warmed her from head to toe. He stepped forward and took both her hands in his. “Did we not pray? And have I not spent every night in your tent since that prayer?”

It was true. She felt suddenly weak with the realization. Another month would need to pass to confirm her suspicions, but her body already showed some of the signs—things Bilhah had told her to look for that she had also experienced. Leah had spared her the details, though her mother had given her some insight as well. She knew what to expect. And the gnawing hunger in her belly was only one of them.

“Oh, Jacob!” She was crying now, and his arms came around her in a gentle embrace. “I dare not believe it.”

He patted her back, then rubbed circles along it. She glanced up, seeing the glint of tears in his eyes as well. He kissed her softly and looked lovingly down at her. “There is no reason to doubt, beloved. Adonai has heard, and He has answered.”

Awe filled her at the thought, but in the next breath, she gripped his arms, fighting sudden fear. “We must not speak of it yet, Jacob,” she said, her voice low. “Wait until I can confirm it with my mother, in another month or so. If we are wrong . . .”

“We are not wrong.” His confidence boosted hers. “But we will wait, as you wish.” He pulled her close again. “Adonai has heard, Rachel. You will bear me a son.”

She sighed against him, her fears melting away with his words. Still, a sense of caution filled her. “I just want to be sure.”

“Then it will be our secret.” He released her then, and as her stomach growled again, he pointed toward the door. “Go!” He laughed. “Feed yourself . . . and the babe,” he added softly.

She smiled, joy filling her, knowing in the deep places in her heart that it was true. She left the tent, listening to Jacob’s joyful whistling behind her.

Months passed, and Rachel confirmed what Jacob had suspected. Joy became a constant spring within her every time she caught Jacob looking at her with awe, a secretive smile ghosting his lips. His attention to her heightened, and she basked in it. But at the same time, she found herself more aware of Leah and their maids. She had spoken privately to Jacob of her thoughts several nights before, and now as she sat with Leah spinning newly shorn wool into yarn, the words came back to her.

“I appreciate your nearness, Jacob.” She’d grasped his hands and leaned forward, kissing him soundly. “But I don’t want you to neglect the others on my account.” The words had surprised them both, but she did not retract them. She had seen Leah’s longing looks and felt a sense of gratitude that Adonai had been so gracious to her at last. She dare not risk His disfavor by her selfishness. No. Whether she liked it or not, God had given Jacob four wives. She could not keep him only to herself.

“I would have only you. You know that.” He nuzzled her ear, and she sighed. He was not making this easy!

“I know,” she said, wrapping both arms around his neck. Such love she felt for him! “But Leah carries your child as well, and it would do well for your household if you spent a night with her now and then. Your children need to know you care for their mothers.” To say so reinforced her resolve.

“Your son shall be prince among his brothers,” he said, and his look held more conviction than it had the last time he had suggested such a thing.

“Though he will be the last among them and the youngest?”

“He will be your first; therefore, he is my firstborn.”

“Suppose it is a girl.” Would God do such a thing after she had waited so long?

“It is a boy.” His eyes blazed with fierce light, and she did not question him again.

Now as she sat with Leah, whose swollen belly indicated her time was near, she wondered how Leah’s children would accept her son, especially if Jacob favored him above all of his brothers. They would hate him! As she sensed at times they hated her. She must not let such a thing come to pass. She must mend the rift with her sister as best she could.

Rachel paused in her spinning to place a hand on her middle. “His kick is strong.” She smiled at Leah. “Your time draws near, my sister.”

Leah wiped sweat from her brow and blew out a breath. “Actually, the pains are in my back this time. I fear the birth will be as difficult as it was with Judah.” A wary look crossed her face, and the hint of fear filled her eyes. With Judah’s birth, Leah had taken many months to heal, far longer than she normally did.

“I will pray that it goes well with you.” Rachel’s own fear rose at the thought. Would her time be difficult? “I must admit, I envy how easily you have given birth in the past. I shouldn’t worry . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she looked into the distance. Some women died in childbirth. Would God bring her this far to take her life? Would Jacob forfeit his love for her and be left with only her son? Or what if she carried the babe until the end and he died during the birth? She rubbed her middle, suddenly anxious to feel him move again.

“You must not fear,” Leah said, bringing her thoughts up short. She met her sister’s gaze. “Fear makes the pain worse. You must trust that Adonai will see you through it.” She picked up her distaff and attached another bundle of wool to it. “He would not go so far as to answer your prayers only to take your life.” Her gaze was fierce, protective even. “Or the babe’s.” She looked away as though suddenly embarrassed by her outburst. “I will pray for you as well.”

“Thank you.” Rachel found she meant every word. But a new thought struck her. “If something should happen to me . . .” She spoke haltingly, not wanting to speak but knowing she must.

“Nothing is going to happen to you. Don’t say such a thing!”

Rachel held up a hand. “Please, I must.”

Leah stared at her.

“I want you to raise him. If I should not make it.” A sob rose up, but she forced it down. Nothing would happen. Adonai would protect her, as Jacob had said many times in the past few months. But just in case . . . “Promise me.”

“You don’t want Bilhah? She is your maid. I am your usurper, Rachel. You have hated me for years.” Leah’s look told her that the feeling had been mutual.

“You are my sister. I want you.” Rachel’s throat grew thick again, and she looked away. “Of course, I am hoping it is I who am allowed to raise the child.” She laughed, the sound shaky to her ears.

Silence fell like a pall between them until Rachel picked up her distaff again, assuming the conversation was at an end. But many moments later, Leah cleared her throat, causing Rachel to look up again.

“I will do as you ask,” Leah said, her voice tight. “And if God should see fit to leave you and take me, I would ask the same of you.”

Leah’s sons would not want her. But she did not voice the thought. The babe Leah carried and her youngest sons would not know the difference.

Rachel looked at her sister and nodded. “May Adonai give us strength to try Jacob’s patience another day and through many children to come.”

Leah laughed at the comment, and the air between them changed, sweeter than it had been in as long as Rachel could remember. She smiled at her sister, then lifted her gaze heavenward, praying her last words would be true.

Leah knelt at Rachel’s side a few months later, working the pain from her back. “Breathe, sister. It does no good to hold on to it too long.” How well she remembered Rachel doing the same for her a few months before.

Leah had not expected the pains to come on her so soon but was grateful the travail had not lasted as long as she had feared. A sixth son had been born nearly before her mother arrived, and she had held him close, proclaiming, “God has presented me with a precious gift. This time my husband will treat me with honor, because I have borne him six sons.” Though with Rachel pregnant at the same time, Jacob’s response to Leah held little difference until Rachel prompted him to stay near and hold the child. While Leah watched, Rachel had even taught him how to wrap the boy’s bands as practice for her son when he was born, though Jacob had never tended even one of his children to that point. But he had complied with Rachel’s prompting, and Leah and Rachel had both laughed at his clumsiness.

And now Leah’s son Zebulun lay sleeping in a basket in a corner of the tent, watched over by one of the young serving maids, while Rachel struggled in her own travail.

“I see his head,” Rachel’s mother said, her smile warm and more wrinkled than it had been when Leah had birthed her firstborn. Yet Suri remained a faithful midwife no matter which wife of Jacob bore down on the birthing stool. “A few more pushes, my daughter.”

Rachel groaned and gave a loud cry as the babe finally slipped into Suri’s waiting hands.

“A boy!” Suri’s jubilant voice matched the boy’s strident cries. Rachel laughed and wept as Leah helped settle her onto clean sheets plumped with cassia-scented cushions.

“I have a son.” Her voice held such awe that even the twinge of jealousy Leah had felt at the moment of his birth vanished.

“Yes, sister. A fine boy.” Leah stepped back as Suri handed the boy, now washed and swaddled, into Rachel’s arms.

“I have a son?” The male voice was low, unmistakably Jacob’s.

Leah stepped away from Rachel’s side to allow Jacob a better view, unable to deny a soft nudge of jealousy.

Rachel looked up at Jacob’s approach, her smile radiant. Jacob knelt at her side and touched his son’s cheek and laughed at the way the boy stretched, tilting his head and emitting a contented sigh.

“What will you name him?” Jacob’s gaze held such love for her sister it made Leah’s heart twist with longing.

“Joseph.” Rachel looked down at her son and touched the wisps of dark hair. “God has taken away my disgrace.” She lifted her gaze to Jacob, her smile soft, her dark eyes not quite content. “May Adonai add to me another son.”

Jacob twirled a strand of Rachel’s hair between his fingers, and Leah felt like an intruder on something precious. She backed slowly away but did not miss the look that passed between them.

“May Adonai grant your wish, beloved. Let me bless him in the presence of the men waiting,” he said when Rachel’s fingers could not quite release him. Jacob took the child from her and shifted him with practiced ease onto his shoulder.

She let her arms fall to her sides. “Very well.”

Jacob moved past Leah, carrying Joseph to the tent’s opening. Leah followed to watch and listen. She was surprised to see that her father and many of her brothers and half brothers had gathered for the occasion that was not even the boy’s circumcision. Jacob’s older sons—Reuben, six, and Simeon, five—stood tall like little men when Jacob drew near.

“My son, Joseph,” he said, holding the boy up for the men to see. “My firstborn . . . of Rachel.” That he clarified his meaning made little difference. Leah knew with a certainty that Joseph was held before them as Jacob’s firstborn rightful heir.

The emotion she had felt earlier in the tent swelled within her now, and she wanted desperately to go inside, to retrieve Zebulun from his slumber and hold him close, to gather her children around her and seclude herself away from them all. But Jacob’s next words brought her thoughts to an abrupt halt.

“My father, send me on my way so I can go back to my own homeland. Give me my wives and children, for whom I have served you, and I will be on my way. You know how much work I’ve done for you.” He pulled Joseph close against his shoulder and patted his back in gentle strokes. When had he become so good with small babes? But of course, Bilhah’s sons would have received attention from him when they were in Rachel’s care.

Her father stood and clapped a hand to Jacob’s free shoulder. “If I have found favor in your eyes, please stay. I have learned by divination that Adonai has blessed me because of you.”

Did her father actually think that Jacob would be swayed by such a claim? Leah stepped closer to the awning’s edge to better glimpse her father’s expression.

“Name your wages, and I will pay them.” Laban’s face was open, earnest, and Leah searched his eyes for any hint of duplicity, unable from the distance between them to tell.

Joseph began to whimper in Jacob’s arms, and he turned, glancing toward the tent. His gaze found Leah’s, and she hurried forward to take the babe. “Thank you,” he said.

She hurried to the shade of the awning, then stepped to the threshold and summoned Rachel’s mother. “Take him to Rachel,” she whispered. Suri’s response was drowned out by Jacob’s strong voice.

“You know how I have worked for you and how your livestock has fared under my care,” he said.

Leah moved back to her place just below the awning, noting that Laban had stepped back a pace. The two men seemed to have squared off in challenge.

“The little you had before I came has increased greatly, and Adonai has blessed you wherever I have been. But now, when may I do something for my own household?”

It was a reasonable request. If they left now, they would have little more than the clothes on their backs. Still, Leah’s heart hammered with the possibility, and she could not deny a rebellious longing to leave her father’s household and set off to wherever Jacob led. But they could not leave so soon with Joseph a wee babe.

“What shall I give you?” Her father crossed his arms, and the glint in his eyes told her that he too had realized that Jacob could not immediately leave.

Jacob reached for his staff that leaned against a tent post and tapped it against the ground. “Don’t give me anything,” he said. “But if you will do this one thing for me, I will go on tending your flocks and watching over them.” He had her father’s full attention now and took a step back, his arm pointing toward the fields where the sheep still grazed. “Let me go through all your flocks today and remove from them every speckled or spotted sheep, every dark-colored lamb, and every spotted or speckled goat. They will be my wages. And my honesty will testify for me in the future, whenever you check on the wages you have paid me. Any goat in my possession that is not speckled or spotted, or any lamb that is not dark-colored, will be considered stolen.”

“Agreed.” Laban stepped closer and kissed each of Jacob’s cheeks, Jacob doing the same in return. “Let it be as you have said.”

Leah stood a moment longer and watched her father turn, motion to her brothers, and head back toward his house. She followed at a distance and saw the men circle back and head to the fields. Straight to the flocks. Before Jacob could claim his wages.

A sinking feeling settled in her middle. Her father did not intend good toward Jacob. He would rob her husband of his pay before he could act, while Jacob watched over his favorite wife and son.

She walked toward the tents, debating what to do. In the end, her love and loyalty to Jacob won out. She must warn him. Before it was too late.