Rachel and Leah (Women of Genesis) (16 page)

“Really?” said Leah. “Did something bad happen on the road?”

Bilhah was about to tell the story, but at that moment the steward came to the tent door. “If the lady Leah is ready, your father wishes me to bring you and your sister to the banquet tent to be presented to his guest and brother, the lord Jacob.”

“Tell me after,” whispered Leah.

“And you tell
me
all that happens tonight!” whispered Bilhah back again.

Leah grimaced. “I won’t
know
all that happens. Only what people
say
.”

“You see everything,” said Bilhah. “Just not with your eyes.”

Leah laughed and rose to her feet. It hurt Bilhah’s heart to see how, as soon as Leah stood, her poor posture and her squinting eyes defeated so much of the beauty of her gown and hair. But she said only, “Ah, Leah, you break my heart with your beauty.”

“I break
something
,” said Leah, chuckling. “But I appreciate your kindness. You’re my dearest friend, Bilhah. I promise never to send you away from me again.”

I
f Rachel had to marry someone, then yes, it might as well be Jacob. And if her dreams meant anything—which she wasn’t at all sure of—then they probably meant that God wanted her to marry him. Certainly Father did.

But as they led her across the dusty expanse between tents, her hair oppressively tight and heavy instead of loose and free—did they really think that would turn her from a shepherdess into a lady?—she felt afraid.

Of what? She couldn’t name it. Not of Jacob. She was easy at heart whenever she was with him. And never of Father—even when he was angry with her, he wasn’t
very
angry. Yet she was filled with dread. Maybe it was just the future that frightened her. Someday, instead of being free to care for the animals and stride boldly out under the sun, squinting to watch the flock in the bright day, she’d have a heavy belly and sit around in a stuffy dusty tent, listening to the nattering of
the servants and getting ridiculously thrilled because the baby kicked.

Well of course babies kick. They’re
trapped
in there.

Leah was waiting for her under the front awning of the dining tent when she got there. Usually they would be in the back, where the servants brought the food in and out. They would be brought into the tent by Reuel, the steward, who was hovering and fussing. Rachel treated him as if he were invisible, which usually made him stay away from her.

“I feel like I’m a sheep brought to market,” said Rachel to Leah.

Leah smiled that irritating little half-smile of hers, as if she had some secret superior knowledge. “I don’t think anybody’s going to shear you,” said Leah. “Or make you into mutton.”

“No, they’re going to breed me,” said Rachel. And then, remembering how easily Leah could feel neglected, she added, “Or you.”

“Don’t condescend to me,” said Leah.

Well, that’s how it was with Leah. There was no pleasing her.

“Father is bringing me here out of courtesy,” said Leah. “It’s you that he wants, and don’t pretend you don’t know it.”

“Nobody asks me what I want,” said Rachel.

“Nobody has to,” said Leah.

Rachel knew exactly where this argument led, but was powerless to turn from its inexorable course. “I suppose you’re saying that I’m always asking for things.”

“No,” said Leah—and Rachel felt like she could say the words along with her—“little Rachel never has to
ask
.”

“I’m sure that every sigh of mine brings rain from heaven or a bull from the river.”

“Next best thing,” said Leah. “A prophet from the well.”

So Leah didn’t want an argument after all. In fact, it was funny. Rachel laughed.

Leah smiled a little more broadly. “I just hope he doesn’t marry you and go away at once.”

“You’ve been praying for me to go away since the day I was born.”

“Not until about five days after, and anyway, God never answers
my
prayers.”

Did that half smile mean that Leah was joking? Or that she meant it, but wanted you to
think
she was joking so you wouldn’t get mad? Or did she want you to know she meant it, and the smile was so she could tell Father, Rachel knew I was joking, I was
smiling
when I said it?

Rachel knew it was better to say nothing. “You mean I had five days when my sister was glad I was alive?”

“No, there were five days when I didn’t know you existed. I was three. What does anyone tell a three-year-old?”

“So why don’t you want him to take me away right off?”

“Because when he goes, he’ll take the holy books with him,” said Leah. “And I want to read them first.”

“You can read?’ asked Rachel.

“I can listen to someone else read.”

This made Rachel very uncomfortable, though she wasn’t sure why. “Jacob has a lot of work to do, he can’t just sit there and read to you.”

Leah openly smirked. “Oh, don’t get jealous, my beloved and ever-watchful sister.
He’ll
be gamboling with the lambs and you all day, I’m sure. Bilhah’s the one who’s going to read to me.”

No wonder she ran away. Imagine being trapped all day, reading and reading. “Lucky Bilhah.”

“She’s excited about it. She already
can
read a little. A different kind of writing, but she’ll learn this way easily, Jacob says. And I’m not
blind
. I expect I’ll learn to read, too.”

Reuel had been going in and out of the tent, but now he came out and walked right to them. “Your father has given me the signal to bring you in. Remember not to look the noble prince Jacob in the eye.”

Rachel rolled her eyes and Leah laughed. “We’ve both talked to him face to face,” said Leah.

“Don’t shame your father by acting as if you don’t know how to be modest young ladies,” said Reuel.

“Someday,” said Leah, “we’ll be giving
him
the orders.”

“No we won’t,” said Rachel. “Because one of our brothers will inherit him along with the whole camp.” She stuck her tongue out at the steward, who ignored her.

“If I never get married,” said Leah, “I plan to stay around camp and make his whole life miserable until he’s eager to die.”

The steward made a wry face. “You think you’re irritating me, but you’re not,” he said. “Because you’ll be some other man’s problem.”

“No I won’t,” said Leah.

“It’s a world of wombs,” said Reuel, “and men panting to have the use of them. You’ll find a husband, you may be sure.” He made one last fussy adjustment in Rachel’s clothing, pulling the shoulders of her gown to be a bit more open, which made no sense to her, since she had absolutely nothing to make barer shoulders look attractive to a man.

“And speak only when your father speaks to you,” said Reuel.

“We’ve been presented before,” said Leah.

“But not to your Aunt Rebekah’s son. Do you think your father wants him to go home with an ill report of you, and shame him in front of his sister?”

“He can’t go home at all,” said Rachel. “Or his brother will kill him.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” hissed the steward. “Keep your pretty little mouths shut except to smile and show your good manners.”

“Calling our mouths pretty,” said Leah, “doesn’t make it any nicer when you tell us to keep them shut.”

“It makes it worse,” said Rachel.

“When the two of you are together,” said Reuel, “you’re impossible.”

“No,” said Leah. “Just irritable.”

Rachel beamed a big insincere smile at the steward. “How’s that?”

“Repulsive,” he said. “Only a crocodile could find that attractive.”

“Good,” said Rachel. “I’d rather have a crocodile than a husband.”

“That’s a good one,” said Leah. “Mention that idea to Father and Jacob. They’ll both laugh and think you’re so cute.”

“And then I’ll make sure Rachel spends the next year carding wool in a tiny dark tent,” said Reuel.

“That’s how I spend my days already,” said Leah. “I wonder what
I’m
being punished for.”

Rachel sighed. It always came back to poor poor Leah and how she suffered.

Father’s voice roared from inside the dining tent. “Where are my daughters, taking naps?”

“Poor Reuel,” said Rachel, patting his hand. “We’ve gotten you in trouble, haven’t we?”

Reuel pushed them toward the tent. “Fortunately, your father knows you both well enough that he doesn’t blame me.”

They had done this before, coming in through the front of the dining tent, stepping with bare feet onto the thick carpet, standing there with everyone’s eyes on them. Usually Rachel looked only at Father—when she looked at anyone at all. For as soon as they started talking about her, praising her, commenting about her virtues, she could not look anywhere at all, but cast her eyes downward, forcing herself to say nothing, but longing to leave. What did they think they knew of her, just by looking? They praised her face, which Rachel herself had never seen, but they also spoke of her modesty and obedience, which was ridiculous, since they had no idea of how she behaved when she wasn’t directly under her father’s eye.

This time, though, she knew the man sitting beside Father, and liked him. He knew animals in general, and had come to know many of the animals in Father’s herds individually. He was good with people, showing respect even to the shepherds who didn’t deserve it, listening patiently to all advice but following only that which was wise. He was the kind of man who would insist on chasing after that stupid girl Bilhah because, as Jacob insisted, he was the only one who had no duties and so the only one who could be spared. No duties! He had been here so brief a time, and yet he was already nearly indispensable. Even some of the old shepherds counseled with him, and while Jacob was careful never to give
orders to anyone, it was plain he knew how to run a camp at least as well as Reuel did.

He was an admirable man. Yet that would have made Rachel more nervous, less able to meet anyone’s gaze, were it not for the fact that she also knew him to be kind to her. He was a man who listened patiently to her, who let her tell him her dreams, who took her concerns about the lambs seriously. She wondered sometimes whether this meant only that he was good with children—for he was, all the boys and girls in camp adored him and some of them followed him around as if they thought he was their mother. Or did it mean that he felt something special for her? She was sometimes sure that he did. But whatever he felt, it was not the leering possessiveness that she had seen in the eyes of some of the men who came looking for a wife for their son. He did not treat her as if he intended to own her. Nor did he coddle her as if she were injured or weak or a baby. He looked her in the eye as if she were his equal, a person that he respected, not gazing at her as a possession he was proud of.

So she met his gaze fearlessly and smiled at him, which of course she was not supposed to do, lest it make her look forward. But why shouldn’t she? She knew this man. He was her cousin. They had spent hours together.

Jacob smiled back at her—and there was laughter in his eyes, as if he knew how artificial and silly this whole presentation ritual was.

Then he looked at Leah and seemed not to notice Rachel existed any more.

“Both your daughters are jewels, my brother,” said Jacob. “But I suspect Leah sees better than anyone thinks she does.”

“You wouldn’t think that if you saw her stumbling around in the camp,” said Laban.

Rachel could feel Leah stiffen beside her. She was so prickly. Why
shouldn’t
Father say that? She did stumble, even with people leading her!

“My father’s vision was fading. But his was the blindness of old age. He could see nothing near at hand, even when he could still see far-off things—a high bird, but not his own hand. And he talked about how the world closed down, how it felt as though he walked always in a tunnel, with darkness on every side.”

“I’m sorry to hear of it. But God sends trials even to the best of men.”

“Leah, though—she looked me in the eye and I know she saw me. Even the expressions on my face, and this was before dawn, when there wasn’t much light at all. I think she has the kind of weak eyes that let a person see what’s very close. I think she can do many things that you’ve placed out of her reach.”

Rachel knew that Father didn’t like hearing this. It would sound like criticism to him. She was also pretty sure that Leah wouldn’t like having her tender eyes talked about. Well, too bad, Leah! This is Jacob’s way, to speak plainly, and if you don’t like it, I’m sorry, but it’s better than the kind of person who sneaks around and never says what he’s thinking.

“I think we know best what our daughter can and can’t do,” said Laban.

He must really be nervous, thought Rachel. To say “we” when Mother’s been dead for so many years. It was the way he talked when supplicants came before him, or when he was
administering a punishment to someone in the camp. Would Jacob recognize the rebuke that this implied?

“Oh, I know,” said Jacob. “I’m like a child in this camp, compared to what everyone else knows. But sometimes a child can see what no one else notices, because everything is new to a child. I want to teach Leah to read, along with her servant. I know her eyes would get tired, but I think she can see the letters and could learn to write them. I think she could see well enough to spend time copying some of the books I have. Because that’s part of the sacred duty of keeping the records. They fade with time and use, and they have to be copied out perfectly. If Leah can learn to write with a good hand, then I could use her help, and Bilhah’s as well, of course.”