24

Jacob sipped his barley beer, watching the crowds of men—workers and sons of Laban—enjoying the fruits of their labors after a successful sheep shearing. Laughter and the swell of voices drowned out the sounds of the fire crackling in the pits and in the tall sconces that cast long shadows on the walls.

Jacob moved along one of those walls of the courtyard now, catching patches of conversation as he headed to where Bahaar and Laban’s other sons sat with full plates before the fire. He stopped at the sight of Rachel coming toward him from the cooking room with a large flask and held his cup out for her to refill it.

“Did you notice the difference in the sheep this year?” Jacob turned at the sound of Tariq’s voice. “Jacob’s sheep were heartier and stronger than our father’s. Does anyone besides me see a problem with this?”

Jacob slid into the shadows and pulled Rachel with him, holding a finger to his lips. He cocked his head to better hear and glanced around, hoping he was not noticed.

“Jacob has taken everything our father owned and has gained all this wealth from what belonged to our father.” The voice belonged to Rustam, son of Laban’s concubine Refiqa. Murmurs of agreement followed the comment.

“He took only what our father agreed to pay him.” Jacob recognized Bahaar’s voice, his heart lifting to find one supporter among his brothers-in-law. “Though it is curious that he has done so well while our father’s flocks have clearly weakened.”

The skin prickled on Jacob’s arms. Perhaps not so supportive. He glanced at Rachel, whose wide eyes told him she had heard and feared for him, for them. Surely Laban’s sons would not harm him. But as the voices continued to argue and agree, Jacob forced himself to pull away. He drew Rachel into the house, into one of the inner rooms, and shut the door.

“I want you to take Joseph and go home,” he whispered, afraid even the birds of night might hear his comment and repeat it to Laban or one of his sons.

“But I will be missed. There is still so much food to prepare and pass to the men—” She cut her words off at his touch on her shoulder.

“You heard your brothers, beloved. They suspect me of cheating them.”

Rachel nodded and took his hand. “They will not harm us here, Jacob. We cannot just run away. My father will be slighted if you send all of us to our tents and leave his celebration.” She released his hand and touched his forearm. “They have had too much to drink. By morning they will forget everything.”

He didn’t agree. She had not worked beside them shearing the sheep, had not seen the malevolent glances his way when they thought he would not see, when one of his sheep came before the shearers. But now was not the time or place to fully express his concerns, his fears.

“You are right, of course.” He touched her cheek. “But as soon as you are finished, I want you to leave. I will send Leah shortly after you. The children are young and must be put to bed. No one will argue that.”

Rachel looked at him a moment, considering his request. “I had thought to check on my mother before we go. To see if she needs anything.”

He gave a slight nod. How could he refuse her anything? Especially when Suri’s health had continued to decline. “Go to her as soon as you can, then take Joseph and leave.” He knew he was probably being overly protective of them, but he could not shake the feeling of unease in his gut. “You will go?”

She nodded, her dark eyes holding him captive, her smile erasing some of the fear troubling him. “I will go, Jacob. I think you worry too much.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “But I will leave as soon as I’m able.”

He drew in a breath, though the action did little to soothe him. She picked up the flask she’d set by the door, and he followed. He would go back to the fire and give them warning of his approach, lest Laban’s sons suspect he had overheard them. Then he would see how they acted in his presence.

Rachel’s heart beat too fast as she walked to the fire where her brothers and half brothers sat talking among themselves. She approached Tariq, making her presence known, and was satisfied when the conversation shifted to concerns over the wheat crop rather than further discussion of her husband. She moved from man to man, refilling their cups, resting a pointed look on Bahaar. He glanced beyond her, but she read the guilt in his eyes. He did not appreciate Jacob’s success any more than the others, but at least he felt some type of remorse for his comments.

She looked up as Jacob approached the men, their smiles forced but half welcoming before she moved to stand in the shadows, listening. Her brothers made room for Jacob to join them, but the air was tenser now, and the jokes carried barbs that seemed especially sharp. Rachel stood near, her hands clenched tight about the flask, and for the briefest moment wished for the sling she used to carry when she shepherded the sheep in the fields. But she wouldn’t really use such a thing against her own kin. Still, she couldn’t help the protectiveness that rose within her for Jacob and for her son.

She hurried away, wondering where Joseph had wandered off to. Jacob’s earlier distress suddenly filled her with worry. She must tell Leah and take the children back to the tents. Perhaps it was time for them to leave her father’s household and travel to Canaan as Jacob had long hoped. Jacob’s contract with her father would be completed at month’s end, and her father had done nothing to make any of them want to stay even a week beyond. She stopped near the outer courtyard searching for her son, spotting Leah’s older boys playing games with Bahaar’s children. Would they truly go and leave this all behind?

Thoughts of her mother surfaced, bringing a sense of loss. Her stomach twisted in an uncomfortable knot. How could she leave her when she was so ill? And how could she live without her? Or bear another son without her aid? To leave her behind . . . But her mother could never come with her. Her father would hunt them down to bring her back.

She worried her lower lip, her anxious thoughts racing ahead of her feet as she hurried through the house searching for Joseph. There were too many rooms and too many children. She should have told him to stay close to her. But at six years old, he could hardly be expected to hang on to her robe and ignore time with his cousins.

She found Leah in one of the sleeping rooms holding Dinah, Issachar and Zebulun and Joseph already sleeping on cushions beside her. “There you are. I expected them to be playing with their cousins.”

Leah glanced up. “They held races in the field behind the courtyard and nearly fell asleep eating their meal.”

“Let me help you take the children home.”

Leah shifted Dinah’s sleeping form onto her shoulder. “We should have taken them long ago,” she said, exhaustion lining her face. “These feasts wear me out.”

Rachel bent to coax the boys awake and took Joseph and Zebulun by the hand while Leah took hold of Issachar’s. They moved quietly through the house, passing Farah in one of the halls.

“Have you seen your mother, Rachel? She’s asking for you.” Farah glanced at Rachel, then looked at her daughter. “Let me help you. Are you taking them home?”

Leah handed Dinah to her mother and took Zebulun’s hand from Rachel’s. “Shall I take Joseph for you?”

“No, he can come with me. We won’t be long.” She left them and took a side hall to her mother’s room, where she found Suri lying on her mat. Rachel hurried to her side. “Are you in pain, Ima?”

Her mother’s face looked pale and drawn, but she shook her head and offered Rachel a weak smile. “I am well, my daughter. Just tired. So very tired.” She looked from Rachel to Joseph, and her smile widened. “Come to see me, dear child.”

Joseph, still groggy from a full day of work and play, climbed beside his grandmother, his touch gentle as if he sensed her weakness. She pulled him near and stroked his soft dark hair. “Such a beautiful boy you are, Joseph. Yahweh has great things in store for you, my son.” She kissed the top of his head, and Rachel’s heart stirred with a mixture of joy and pain. Joy over her mother’s blessing and pain over the fear that she would soon lose her.

“Can I get you anything, Ima?” Rachel wanted to linger but sensed that her mother needed rest. “Shall I call for your maid?”

Suri shook her head. “No, child. Seeing you was all I needed. I fear I wore myself out trying to help until Farah shooed me away.” Her gaze traveled beyond Rachel, and Rachel turned to see if someone was there, but they were alone. “Go now, Rachel. Take Joseph home.” She kissed Joseph’s cheek then, and Joseph crept closer to Rachel. Rachel bent to kiss her mother’s sallow cheek.

“I will come tomorrow, Ima.” Surely a good night’s sleep would make things right.

“Tomorrow,” she said, her voice drifting off.

After a few moments, when she saw her mother’s even breathing in the soft rise and fall of her chest, she took Joseph’s hand and left the room. They made their way to the main sitting room of the house, then toward the outer courtyard, passing her father’s shrine to his gods as they went. Rachel paused at Joseph’s tug on her arm.

“Why does Sabba Laban keep images, Ima?” He no longer sounded sleepy, and a grave frown creased his young brow. “Abba says we are to worship only one God, Elohim.”

She squatted beside him to better meet his gaze and kept her voice low. “Abba is right, my son. Sabba Laban should not keep these.”

“Then why does he?”

“He thinks they bring him good fortune. And one day he will pass them to his heir, the son of his choosing, as his inheritance.” Her father had long believed that the passing of his gods to his oldest son, or whichever son he deemed most worthy, would pass down the riches and blessings he had enjoyed in his life. Jacob had scoffed at the idea, and Rachel had agreed.

But as she led Joseph to their tent, a new thought crept into her mind. If her father thought all of his earthly blessings were wrapped up in those images, and if that blessing would pass to his heir, wouldn’t it be the perfect deception to give them to Jacob? None of her brothers were as deserving. And if they continued to choose to believe such lies about the idols, why not let them lose the very thing they hoped to gain?

But as quickly as the thought to steal them came, she passed it off. She would have no opportunity to do so without being found out. And Jacob might not appreciate her duplicity or her attempt to put her father in his place.

Morning dawned bright and clear, and Rachel roused before the children, before Leah, to draw water from the well. She loved the cool tingle of the dew on her feet and the peace that came with the earth’s waking. Normally she would wait for Leah or Bilhah or even Zilpah to join her, but today she needed to think, to pray. It had been six years since she’d borne Jacob a child, and she could not shake the longing for another. If Adonai were gracious, she could perhaps bear another son before Jacob deemed it time to pack up and leave. For though the idea of leaving had pleased her in the night during the heat of anger toward her brothers, morning had brought the contentment of the familiar. She could not go. Not yet.

Still, as she lowered the jar to the well’s depths and then turned toward home, her emotions again grew conflicted. Why did life have to be so difficult? So many struggles she had endured against Leah. So many struggles Jacob had endured against her father. And already she saw the signs of struggle in Jacob’s children. Few of his older sons looked on Joseph with favor. They resented his place in Jacob’s heart as his firstborn, and the looks they gave him when they thought Rachel did not see were less than kind, their words often harsh toward him.

If anything happened to Jacob, how would she protect her son from Jacob’s oldest, sometimes mean-spirited sons? She had seen the way Reuben eyed her son, and Simeon and Levi were not quiet in their teasing of him, until she quickly intervened. Judah was the only one of Jacob’s four oldest who seemed to hold a hint of kindness in him, but he was too young and often swayed by his brothers. Rachel did not exactly fear them—they were children, after all—but sometimes, when the night sounds lingered outside the tent and sleep would not come, she crept close to Joseph’s mat and slept at his feet to protect him.

She steadied the heavy jug on her shoulder with one hand and took the path toward Jacob’s tents, but as she neared the camp, expecting most to still be abed, commotion made her heart grow still. She moved closer, her recent thoughts giving rise to fear.

Had something happened to her son? Surely not. But her heart beat faster just the same. She hurried and set the jug in its ground hole and peered inside the tent, heart pounding now, relieved to see Joseph still sleeping. She breathed a sigh, then turned to scan the camp.

“Rachel!” Jacob’s sharp voice from the direction of her father’s house gave her a start, and she whirled about and hurried toward him.

“What is it?” One look into his dark eyes made her stomach tighten with a sick feeling of dread. “Tell me.”

He touched her hand and pulled her along with him. “Your mother.” He swallowed, the effort strained. “Come.”

Rachel ran at his side as he led them to her father’s house, suddenly aware of her father’s servant running ahead of them. Distant keening filled her ears as they neared, and the sick feeling grew. Her knees suddenly felt weak. She forced herself to keep going, her breath coming hard, until at last they stopped outside her mother’s room. Farah greeted them.

“I’m so sorry, Rachel.” Moisture skimmed Farah’s lashes, and Rachel wondered if her tears were real.

“Let me see her.” Rachel pushed past her brothers’ wives into the small room her father had portioned for her mother and for her when she was a young girl. Dawn’s bright colors filtered through the small window, casting streams of light on the woven rug beside her mother’s bed, where her body lay still, devoid of even the thin color it had held the night before.

Rachel stared, disbelieving. Her mother had still breathed just last evening. This could not be!

The sound of the keening women coming from the direction of the courtyard drew closer. How had the professional mourners already heard when she had just been told? She felt a sense of invasion and wished she could shut the door to weep for her mother in peace.

She knelt at her mother’s side and slowly, carefully touched her cheek. The lack of warmth took her aback, and she leaned away, stuffing a fist to her mouth, tears filling her throat. She covered her face with both hands and moaned. Jacob’s touch did not stay the tears when he knelt beside her. He pulled her into his arms and held her, letting her weep.

“How can I live without her?” she said, her voice hoarse against his robe.

“Hush, now. Everyone goes to the grave sometime, beloved. This was just your mother’s time.” His soft words did not soothe, but she nodded in feigned acceptance.

“I was not ready.”

“Death never asks permission, beloved.”

She had nothing to say to that, but his gentle touch on her back slowly calmed her. He was right, of course. Death came as the end of all life, and no one knew when it would snatch one from another. Hadn’t she known it was coming? Hadn’t she sensed it in her mother’s look the night before? In her mother’s parting words to Joseph?

“She knew.” She lifted her head and wiped the tears from her face, meeting Jacob’s gaze. “Last night she asked for me. I took Joseph to see her and she blessed him. She knew she would never see him again.”

His eyes misted at her words, and her heart beat with love for him. “She loved you.” He kissed the top of her head. “As do I.”

She looked from his dear face to her mother’s colorless one and sighed. “At least we still have each other.” She turned to him and took his offered hand, letting him help her to her feet.

He leaned close to her ear. “Yes, and that is all that matters.”