Rachel (4 page)

Laban’s expression held a calculating edge, and his smile did not quite reach his eyes. “Your father blessed you, you say. Yet you are the younger son, are you not?” That Laban would know the birth order of his sister’s twins came as no surprise. News traveled between the camps, even if the people did not.

“The God of my fathers chose me for the covenant blessings over my brother.” He did not wish to convey to Laban just how he had secured that blessing.

“And yet you come with so few possessions.” He glanced again at the donkey and the obvious lack of bulging sacks at its sides. “When your grandfather’s servant came seeking my sister, he had camels and jewels and many gifts to pay a bride-price.
And yet you come to me seeking a wife with so little? Unless it is gold you have hidden in those sacks?”

Jacob quickly deduced that Laban cared a great deal about how much he would profit from the loss of a daughter. But Jacob did not have even one gold piece left from his travels to cover the bride-price. He glanced into the distance, aware of his own inadequacies. He would have to confess all if his uncle were to believe him.

A bitter sigh escaped him. He met Laban’s penetrating gaze.

“The God of my fathers promised my mother before I was born that the older would serve the younger,” he said. “I was the younger. My mother raised me to understand that it was I who deserved the birthright, foreordained to me by Elohim Himself. But when it came time to receive it, I knew my father preferred my older brother. So I found a way to take the birthright from Esau. It was obvious that he despised it, in any case.” He folded his hands and rested them in his lap, glancing at them once, seeking strength.

“After I received the birthright, the blessing should have come to me without question. But again, my father chose Esau over me. So my mother, your sister, devised a plan for me to take the blessing from my brother. Together we convinced my father that I was his firstborn, and my father granted me the covenant blessing of Abraham.” He paused, gauging Laban’s reaction, noting the sudden gleam in his dark eyes.

“My brother was furious when he discovered the ruse and threatened to kill me once my father rests with his fathers. My mother, fearing for my safety, requested that my father send me off to secure a wife and to get me away from my brother. I have come to ask for your protection and, if I find favor in your eyes, to marry your daughter.”

Laban shifted his weight on the stone and smoothed a hand over his robe, all the while holding Jacob’s worried gaze. “You are my own flesh and blood,” he said, smiling. “You are my
sister’s son.” He stood and offered Jacob a hand. Jacob took it and Laban embraced him. “Come, stay with me and all will be well.”

“Thank you, my lord. And your daughter? Is she unmarried and able to become my wife?” He followed as Laban turned his face toward the city once more.

“I have two daughters,” Laban said, his voice suddenly strained. “But there is time enough to discuss your future.” He glanced over his shoulder and motioned with one hand. “Come. Let us get you settled and enjoy a warm meal. Meet my family and partake of my table and tell me how my sister fares.” Laban walked on, and Jacob grabbed the donkey’s reins.

Two daughters. But he already knew that Rachel was the one he wanted. Rachel, whose dark eyes had captured his, whose gentle touch had held no pity when emotion overcame him. Rachel, who was a shepherdess, as he was a shepherd.

His heart lifted with the possibility. Irrational as it might seem, he would do whatever it took to have her.

Rachel walked past the cooking rooms and sniffed, greeted by the scent of ground cinnamon and baking bread. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation of the sweet treats yet quickly soured at the knowledge that Leah was at her best, trying to impress Jacob with her baking. Jacob, for his part, had been appreciative, but his attention always returned to Rachel, his look gentle, longing.

At first his interest had almost amused her, no different than other men she had known. Hadn’t her many brothers acted in a similar way toward the women they’d married? Hadn’t every man and boy who passed her at the market or spoke to her at the well when she was with the sheep acted the same? Men were predictable, if nothing else.

Yet as the weeks turned to a month, she did not find Jacob’s looks or the way he acted toward her amusing in the least.
Here was a man who valued her, who considered her a woman of worth.

She smiled, comfortable in the knowledge yet pricked by irritation at Leah whistling while she worked. Rachel hurried on toward her rooms. The men would be in from the fields soon, and she wanted to change her tunic, dirty as it was from helping her mother weed their large garden.

Rachel enjoyed the study of plants and their uses on her treks through the fields and hills with the sheep. She had come across rare mandrakes once when she was in the fields and quickly offered them to her mother. Their use, it was said, could aid in fertility, but her mother had told her she had no wish to bear another child at her age. Still, she had taken them from Rachel’s hand, declaring her too young to know about such things, and later admitted to offering them to Laban, who did not hesitate to catch her meaning. Unfortunately . . . or fortunately for her mother, no child had followed.

She moved from the hall that led to her bedchamber and met her maid, Bilhah, coming from the weaving room, a tunic draped over one arm. “Come, help me dress,” she said.

“Yes, mistress.” Bilhah obediently quickened her step as Rachel led her to her spacious room.

Rachel sank onto a low stool before a table that held her cosmetics and lifted the brass mirror. “Look in that chest and find me a fresh tunic.” She held the mirror to her face, noting the smudges of dirt across her nose. She wiped them clean with a cloth.

“This yellow one would look nice on you.”

Rachel turned as Bilhah held the garment for her approval. “No, not that one.” She pointed to the chest, holding back an impatient sigh. The girl was young and new to Laban’s house. It would take time to teach her. “Find the blue one. It’s Jacob’s favorite.” She turned back to the mirror, then set it down and went to the low table that held a clay basin with brackish water.
This would never do. But she rinsed her dirty hands in it just the same, then crossed the room to the chest with her clothes.

“Never mind the tunic. I’ll find it myself. Go, draw me some fresh water to wash with.”

She sighed as Bilhah hurried off, turning her attention to the small stack of tunics. That she had several to choose from was a testament to her father’s wealth and her sister’s skill with the weaving. She ought to be more grateful to Leah for the fine clothes, but all she could think of was the way Leah had been putting too much effort into gaining Jacob’s attention. Everyone knew Jacob cared for Rachel. He barely gave Leah a second glance. But though Leah rarely looked him in the eye, she watched him from the shadows, and Rachel heard the whispers and comments she made to her mother, Farah, or the other new servant, Zilpah.

Rachel pulled her best blue tunic from the pile, then chose a thick circlet of gold to cinch the waist, to accentuate just enough without causing her father to raise a brow. She would use the imported kohl to enhance the wide angles of her dark eyes and would place a small amount of ointment made from crushed poppies to bring out the color of her lips.

If Leah was going to bake her prized cinnamon pastries to tempt Jacob’s ardor, she would do what she knew best and tempt him with one well-placed glance. She would allow her beauty to do the rest.

The meal that night held a festive tone. Jacob listened to and laughed with Laban and his sons while Laban’s wives and daughters served them. At meal’s end, Leah carried a tray of sweets to the table and placed them before her father. Laban motioned to Jacob to eat while Leah slipped into the shadows.

“Ah, Leah, my daughter, what fine treats you make for your poor father.” Laban glanced behind him and waved his arm to
draw her close once more. “My Leah is a marvel with dough and spices, and her weaving rivals your own mother’s.” He smiled, and Jacob felt suddenly uncomfortable with his perusal. “You will find no worker more dedicated than this girl.” She bent closer at his insistence, and he kissed her cheek. “What say you, my boy? Are her baked goods not most appealing?”

Jacob took a bite of the sweet pastry and nodded his appreciation. They
were
good. But he caught the subtle undertone in Laban’s words. He did not wish to take Leah to wife. He glanced at Leah, who looked beyond him, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze. The girl had no confidence, and though one might consider her pretty, she was not beautiful like her sister. What man would want a wife who wouldn’t look him in the eye or glance at him with something more than wistfulness?

“Your daughter is quite skilled in her work. The sweets are most appreciated.” He glanced her way again and caught the slight smile she seemed reluctant to give.

“Thank you,” she said, her words strained as though something were stuck in her throat. She backed quickly away and stood once more in the shadows.

Jacob tilted his head. Curious girl. He turned his attention back to his uncle.

“You have been with me a month now, my son.”

Was Laban rethinking his hospitality? Custom demanded a host offer to house a man three days before that man should no longer infringe on the host’s kindness but offer his services, to work for his food and a place to sleep at night. But Jacob had worked for his uncle since the first day.

“Yes, my lord. The time has passed quickly.” What more did his uncle want from him?

“Just because you are a relative of mine, should you work for me for nothing? Tell me what your wages should be,” Laban said, helping himself to another of Leah’s treats, his look pointed and assuming. Laban knew Jacob wanted to marry his daughter
Rachel. He was offering a way for him to pay the bride-price for her. But by his actions this night, Laban clearly wanted him to seek Leah’s hand in marriage.

Jacob glanced across the room where Rachel stood some distance apart from her older sister. Lamplight bathed her face in a soft glow. Her robe was of the softest wool, and he imagined her skin was far softer. Longing filled him. How beautiful she was! And how much he wanted to spend his life at her side, listening to her words, her laughter.

He slowly pulled his gaze from her, a gaze she willingly returned with the confidence Leah lacked, a hint of mischief in her dark, alluring eyes. He looked again at his uncle. “I’ll work for you seven years in return for your younger daughter Rachel.”

The room grew still, and Jacob felt the gazes of all resting on him. It was a slight against Laban, who had clearly tried to place Leah before him. Yet Laban knew it was Rachel Jacob wanted from the first day. Surely he would not deny him! Seven years would seem like nothing if it were but Rachel who waited for him in the end.

Laban’s expression clouded for the slightest moment, but as the air grew heavy around them with anticipated dread, Laban smiled. “It’s better that I give her to you than to some other man. Stay here with me.” He lifted his silver cup and Jacob did the same, their cups meeting in the middle of the table. “Seven years,” he said.

“For Rachel,” Jacob said, wanting to be sure everyone understood to what it was he had agreed.

“For Rachel,” Laban agreed.

It was a trust. A betrothal. A contract between them. Rachel now belonged to him, as long as he kept his part of the bargain. In three and a half years he could pay the bride-price with the amount Laban would pay to shepherd a flock of sheep. He had offered seven, double the amount. To be sure Laban would give him his desire. To be sure he was not cheated.

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