Rachel (12 page)

Guilt nudged him at the thought of his other wife, then was swiftly replaced by anger and a profound sense of loss. If he had not allowed Laban to fill him with so much wine that night, if he had looked more closely into her eyes before taking her to his bed, perhaps he could have exposed Laban’s deceit and prevented the strife he lived with now.

He shifted the weight of the lamb on his shoulders and used the staff to keep his balance, his thoughts making him feel old
and used. He could not change what was past. And he could not rid himself of Leah, despite Rachel’s attempts to keep them apart. He could not deny the woman forever. But Rachel would not make it easy for him.

He turned, taking a wider path through a dry wadi, then led the sheep to one of the low-rising valleys where the grasses still stood tall against the late summer breeze. Soon the winter rains would feed the wadis and give drink to the fields. But for now he moved farther and farther from home in search of untouched land.

He settled beneath a spreading oak tree and laid the crippled ewe beside him, feeding her from his own hand while the rest of the flock grazed nearby. The sun rose quickly as the hours passed, and he pulled the turban down to shade his eyes from its glare, glancing over the field to make sure none of the lambs had foolishly wandered off. He started at the sight of a woman coming toward him.

Rachel had made no mention of joining him today, but who else . . . ? He squinted as she drew closer, his heart sinking in recognition. Leah.

He stood at her approach, not wanting to face her, knowing he must.

“What are you doing here, Leah?” He studied her, reading determination and a hint of fear in her gaze. He gentled his tone. “Has something happened that you seek me?” He had just left Rachel a few hours ago. Had some harm come to her? Alarm filled him, but one glance at Leah calmed him. She would surely be agitated if she were forced to relay bad news.

“I must speak with you, my lord.” She held his gaze but a moment, then seemed to find fascination with her feet. “That is, I need to speak with you alone. Without Rachel.”

“It would seem you have managed to do that now.” He bristled at his own impatience and winced at the hurt he glimpsed as she glanced up at him again, her expression apologetic.

“I know we did not start out well . . .” She looked beyond him again. “That is, I know you would not have married me at all if not for our deception.” She drew in a long, slow breath, as if the words would come only one sentence at a time.

“What do you want from me, Leah?” He sensed her reasons without need of words, but she was here now. And he needed her to finish and be done with it.

“I want you to sleep with me.” She met his gaze, unflinching. “I will never bear you sons if you never share my bed.” Her cheeks flushed as she spoke, and he knew each word had cost her.

This time it was he who looked away. He’d known this was coming, but he hadn’t expected it today. Here. Now. And yet here she stood, her manner brooking no argument. And from her look, he knew he owed her what she asked. She had every right to seek her father and confess Jacob’s treatment of her. And if they involved Laban, there would be no end of trouble!

He glanced beyond her as if the thought of Laban might bring him forth at that moment, relieved when only the sheep stretched over the pasture before him. “I will come to you tonight,” he said at last.

She nodded, and a shy smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “Thank you, my lord.” She stood a moment more until the air grew uncomfortable.

“Is there anything else you needed?” He suddenly wanted her to leave, to give him time alone to think, to clear the air of her troubling presence.

She shook her head. “Only that it takes time for a woman to conceive. So perhaps you can come more than once in a month’s time.” Her pale eyes held such wistfulness, and the thought that she loved him pierced his already guilty conscience.

He nodded once. “I understand.”

She smiled fully this time and turned to go. “I will prepare your favorite pastries tonight.” She lifted her robe and picked
her way over the rocky terrain without another word or backward glance.

Jacob watched her go, astounded by her boldness. Astounded and chagrined. Perhaps the woman was not so weak as she appeared. And in truth, he owed her the chance to bear sons. She was his wife, after all.

But as the day drifted on and the shadows lengthened, he could think of only one thing. How to explain to Rachel that he was spending the night with Leah.

10

“You can’t go to her.” Rachel stared at Jacob, her words choked, and she fought the urge to weep or cajole him into changing his mind. “I had hoped . . . that is . . .” She turned, unable to face him, the heat of shame creeping up her neck.

She felt his presence behind her, his gentle touch on her shoulders. He slowly coaxed her to face him. “What had you hoped, beloved? That we could pretend our life was as we had planned it? We cannot go back to those days. Our life includes your sister now, and we have to make the best of it.”

Her lower lip quivered, and she blinked against the tears stinging her eyes.

He lifted her chin until she met his gaze. “What had you hoped, Rachel?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters to you. If there is something I can give you, you know that I would.” She searched his tortured gaze, realizing in that moment how much it pained him to leave her. “Please don’t make this harder than it is.”

“I wanted to be the first to conceive.” The words were a whisper, an embarrassment. She couldn’t blame him for not trying, as she had had his time exclusively since her wedding week, forcing Leah into a secondary role of more maid than wife. The power over her husband’s affections, over her sister,
had soothed the hurt of betrayal but a little. If she could bear Jacob a son first, then she could allow Leah the consolation of Jacob’s time now and then.

“There is no reason to believe you still won’t.” He leaned close to her ear, his breath tickling, his kiss a gentle promise. “I will give her tonight, but tomorrow will be yours. She said herself that it can take a woman time to conceive.”

“She told you that?” She could not imagine Leah having such an open conversation with him.

“She wants to bear a child, beloved, as every woman longs for.”

“She can bear all she wants, just not first.” She knew the words were harsh, but she could not hide the jealousy that rose like a living thing within her, sometimes so strong that it threatened to choke all kindness from her.

“Who knows but perhaps you are not already carrying the seed of promise within you?”

She blushed at his frank words and the way his eyes roamed over her, assessing, loving her with a look. Her time was still a week away, so perhaps . . . it could be true.

“You will give her only tonight?”

He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I cannot avoid her forever, Rachel. I will give her tonight, and perhaps others now and then. But tomorrow will be yours.” He kissed her then, a kiss that did not linger, then cupped her cheek in a parting gesture.

She gripped his hand and squeezed. “I will be waiting,” she said, forcing more cheer into her voice than she felt, watching him slip from her tent into the night.

When he was gone, she sank onto her mat and gave in to the bitter tears. She could not bear to share him. Could not bear to think her sister might conceive ahead of her. And in the turmoil, she could not decide which was worse, competing with her sister for her husband or competing to be the first to bear Jacob a son.

Leah stood at the door of her tent the following morning, accepting Jacob’s parting kiss on the cheek, then watched him stop at Rachel’s tent and give her a lingering kiss full of promise. The familiar jealousy felt like a kick to her middle. She shouldn’t compare. It did no good and only caused her further pain. He loved Rachel. He only tolerated her. Perhaps worse.

Emotion made her chest tight, but she drew in a breath to steady herself. He had come to her last night, and though their time was nothing compared to the first night when he thought she was Rachel, still he was kind to her. But she could not make him love her. He was too kind to say so, but she knew he resented her.

The thought threatened to make her spirits sink even lower, and she would not allow herself to ruin the memories of her time with him. Perhaps even now a child grew within her. She placed a hand over her middle and glanced heavenward.
Please grant me this mercy. You see how
it is with me. Please give me a son to
take my husband’s place.

It was a selfish prayer, she knew. And the chances of her conceiving after one night when she had not done so during her entire wedding week seemed unlikely. Then again, perhaps the Almighty would consider her plight and have mercy.

Three months passed, and Jacob found himself choosing to spend more nights with the sheep in the fields, avoiding his tents. How had his life become so complicated? A man could only give so much, and sometimes all he wanted to do was lay his head on a rock and stare up at the stars. To dream of the ziggurat and the angels of God gliding from earth to heaven, to know that surely God had a purpose for all of his struggles.

He should take joy in knowing Leah carried his child now. But the thought, which would normally have pleased him, lost all joy every time he stepped into Rachel’s presence. He sighed.
Dragged a hand along the back of his neck as he looked over the field, mentally counting the sheep.

The afternoon sun blazed overhead, and it was time to call the sheep to take them to water. He lifted a flute he had fashioned to his lips and played a familiar tune, then called for the sheep to follow. As he walked he continued to play, then stopped short when he caught the sound of another flute matching his tune with accompanying harmony. He turned, searching the hills for the flutist. Surely a bird would not sound so similar or carry such a well-matched tone.

At last he spied someone walking toward him. He stood still, watching, his heartbeat quickening as the woman grew closer. She drew the flute from her mouth and tucked it into the pouch at her side, smiling up at him.