34

Jacob touched Rachel’s hand in the darkness of her tent, where a single torch cast shadows over the room that hours before had been full of life and hope. Stars blanketed the sky outside her tent, making it impossible to choose the place for her grave this night. He looked into her face, the skin ashen, drained of color, her beautiful smile hidden, yet her lips somehow faintly showing a hint of the smile he once knew. She had teased him with a similar look when she acted coy and wanted to get him to see things her way. She had always succeeded, partly because he loved giving in to her.

He studied her, wondering what she saw now on the other side in Sheol. His eyes closed, seeing again the ziggurat with the angels and the visitors at Mahanaim, and the man he had wrestled with across the Jabbok River. Rachel, of all others in his life, had witnessed his last encounter with God, had heard His blessing, had seen His look of love. She had spoken of it in awe several times since, and he could not help wondering if she was with Him now.

Would to God that he could join her!

He buried his face against her stiff side and wept, wishing dawn would never come. Let them find him dead at her side, two lovers joined forever in death as their love had joined them in life.

How could he bear to go on without her?

He raised his head, brushed a strand of her hair, no longer soft as it had been, and tucked it along her shoulder. He left his hand resting against her cheek, not caring that she could no longer feel. A sob rose within him, choking him.

Rachel! Rachel, come back to me.

He lifted his head, gazing heavenward, seeing only the wooden tent posts and cords, a shroud about him.

Why did You take her from me?

The questions swirled inside of him, complements of the same thoughts he had struggled with when he had wrestled with God, and he knew he could not utter them aloud. Could only keep them close to his heart. There was no reasoning with good and evil in this life. Memories of his father and Uncle Ishmael discussing God’s goodness when he was but a lad surfaced. And with the memory he caught a glimpse of his father’s sufferings on God’s altar.

He drew in a breath, unsettled. He could not live without Rachel. And yet he had no choice but to do so. Joseph and Benjamin needed him. Leah needed him. That thought surprised him, but he could not explore it now.

He laid his head beside Rachel’s, his tears wetting the floor at her side. Dawn would come, and he would bury his most beloved wife beside the road to Bethlehem at Ephrath.

And he would raise a pillar in her honor.

Leah stood surrounded by her sons, watching as the servants lowered Rachel’s body to the earth beside the road and covered her with dirt. Jacob and Joseph kept their distance from the rest of Jacob’s sons, the rift as wide as it had ever been. She had spoken to her sons as they walked along the way, begged them to be a comfort to their father and brother, but only Judah had given the slightest hint of agreement. She looked to him now, but he glanced away as though she asked too much of him.

Jacob moved to the side of the road where a pile of stones lined the path. Joseph hefted the largest in his arms, carried it to his mother’s grave, and set it upright. Jacob looked up and addressed them.

“In memory of Rachel,” he said, his voice hoarse from his night of weeping. He looked from one son to the next, his gaze resting on each of his wives and his daughter as well. “She loved you all.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving in his throat. “May Adonai accept her.”

Leah brushed a stray tear from her cheek, glancing once more at Judah. But it was Dinah who moved away from her brothers, first to Jacob to kiss his cheek, then to Joseph, who held her close. Judah’s feet seemed loosed by her actions, and he came close to embrace his father and brother. Leah breathed a sigh. Perhaps one son would pave the way for goodwill between them all.

They stood for a time talking softly in small circles until at last Jacob left them to walk alone in the fields. Leah longed to follow. They were camped near the road due to Rachel’s travail that had come upon her sooner than they had expected. They could not stay there for long, and soon Jacob would want to continue the journey to see his father in Hebron.

Rachel’s eyes would never rest on Jacob’s family. Only Leah would meet the famous patriarch. Sadness followed the thought. Isaac would have loved Rachel, as everyone did.

Leah moved to her tent, letting Jacob go off to grieve alone. There was time enough to sort through the problems Rachel’s death left them. Time enough to comfort him as only she knew best.

The seven days of grieving passed, and Jacob continued the journey south toward Hebron. Dusk fell as he walked, his limp more pronounced than it had been in years, and he looked out over the land that stretched before him, land that he had known all of his life. How many lessons he had learned at the hands of his father and mother in this place with these people. How Rachel would have loved to have known them both!

Benjamin’s cries drifted over the camp as he neared his tents. Leah had found a wet nurse among the Shechemite widows and had brought the woman as a servant into her tent to care for him. Jacob spotted Judah and Joseph in conversation near the fire, and his heart warmed to see their attempt at getting along. If only Rachel had lived to see it.

His steps slowed as he neared Leah’s tent. Benjamin’s cries abated, and Leah sat under the awning, spinning wool, as he had seen her do a thousand times in the years of their marriage. The sight was somehow comforting, beckoning him.

He turned aside and walked closer. “May I join you?”

She looked startled for a moment, then quickly stood, motioning for him to take her seat among the cushions. “I will get another,” she said, hurrying inside for another large pillow. “Some wine, my lord?”

He nodded, waiting as she retrieved the flask and silver cups he had given her. He breathed deeply of the sweet aroma, then sipped long from his cup. Grief rose and fell as he sat beside her in companionable silence. He looked into her pale eyes, not remarkable like Rachel’s but familiar.

She offered him a quiet nod, then picked up her spindle and worked the distaff, sitting beside him as the servants worked in the camp around them. Children’s voices mingled with the evening song of birds in the trees above them.

He met Leah’s gaze, wondering if they would grow old together.

The thought did not displease him.