Rebekah (34 page)

Esau gave a sheepish grin. “Jacob used to holler at me when we were small and shared a tent. I whacked him in the night, waking him.” His grin turned wicked. “He only thinks I was asleep the whole time.”

Isaac lifted a brow. “You mean to tell me those bruises were intentional?”

He could not stop the amusement from lifting the corners of his mouth. The boy had caused Rebekah many a lost night of rest. Just as he had surely caused her with his unexplained absence even now. He should have told her he was leaving. Should have reassured her of his love, despite their differences.

Guilt pierced him, but Esau seemed not to notice.

“Can’t let my little brother think he’s stronger than me, now can I? A few smacks when he isn’t expecting it don’t hurt anything.” His gaze glanced off Isaac’s, and sudden color heightened his already ruddy hue.

Perhaps neither of them was immune to feeling guilt over the hurt they had inflicted. But he let the matter pass.

“We will turn back to camp today,” he said, kneeling beside the fire to heat the water and herbs he carried.

“So soon? But we just left yesterday, and I had hoped . . .” He looked in the distance to the south, away from the camp.

“Had hoped what?” Isaac narrowed his gaze, trying to
read his son’s intentions. That his son might want to spend time with him was tempting . . .

“I had thought . . . that is . . .” Esau stirred the wheat berries with a tree branch to keep them from burning.

Isaac waited, but it appeared Esau had changed his mind. “There is a famine on the horizon, and we must prepare for it.”

Esau’s brows drew together in a frown, and he looked as though he wanted to speak. Again Isaac waited, as Esau wrapped the thick part of his robe around his hand and pulled the camp oven from the fire to cool.

“We could stay with my uncle,” he said, at last meeting Isaac’s gaze. “There was no talk of famine in the hills where he lives.”

Isaac studied his son, noting the eager light behind his eyes at the mention of Ishmael, and with the knowledge he felt the slightest hint of sadness. Was the boy too taken by his uncle? Ishmael did not carry the promise passed down from Abraham. Perhaps Rebekah had been right. But he could not trust that thought.

“We will send men to seek greener pastures and move where the water still resides,” he said, mixing the mint leaves into the heated water to steep. “We will not be joining Ishmael.” He glanced up to read Esau’s expression. The boy’s disappointment lasted but a moment.

“To Egypt then?”

Esau’s eagerness did not diminish with the change of location. Isaac released a sigh. Perhaps it was only adventure he sought.

“I do not know where Adonai will lead us, my son.”

“But Egypt has water, Father. The Nile flows continually, and they say that famine never visits the black land.” He reached in his sack for a handful of dates and cheese and popped some in his mouth, then handed the rest to Isaac.

Isaac took a handful of both, fingering the dates’ smooth, sticky surface. He glanced at the cloudless sky, already feeling the heat rising with the sun, which threatened to bake the earth before it had fully risen. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck, and he rubbed the spot as he popped the dates into his mouth. He broke off a hunk of the soft cheese and tucked the rest into his pouch.

“We will return to camp and discuss our options with Haviv and Eliezer.” He met Esau’s gaze. “We will go where God leads.”

He waited, assessing Esau’s reaction, but he seemed suddenly interested only in the food and the fire. Isaac poured the tea into clay mugs and handed one to his son, content with the silence and the interruption of twittering birds greeting the dawn.

When the meal finished, Esau cleaned up the utensils and packed the donkey’s sacks while Isaac put out the fire. But as they turned west to head back to camp, Esau approached Isaac’s side once more.

“Abba?”

“Yes, my son?” Isaac gripped the head of his staff, holding tight to the donkey’s reins as he braced for what he sensed was coming next.

“What if I waited out the famine with my uncle? I would be one less stomach to fill, one less person to worry over. He did invite me to stay with him. And if you are going to move us regardless, then wouldn’t now be a good time for me to make that visit?” He rested a hand on the donkey’s mane and met Isaac’s gaze across the animal’s back.

Isaac looked at his son, Rebekah’s warnings rising in his thoughts. And yet, as he saw the earnestness, felt the pleading in his tone, he could not help wondering anew whether her fears were unfounded. The twins were no longer children. Each one had to decide what he would believe, whether or not
he would follow in the faith of their grandfather Abraham. It was not a decision Isaac could make for them. Perhaps time with his uncle would help Esau see the difference in the two households and long for his father’s faith.

He looked beyond his son’s head to the distant hills where Ishmael lived. It would take a few extra days to make the trip, but perhaps the boy was right. If Isaac took him there now, he could return and have that time alone and consider how best to make Rebekah see his view of things.

He paused but a moment, the decision made. “Very well, my son. I will take you to Ishmael. Perhaps if we hurry, we can catch up to his small caravan before they reach the hills. I will send for you when we are settled in our new location.”

Never mind that they could use Esau’s help in packing and moving to wherever they were going. His loss would mean less conflict between the twins, and perhaps less conflict between himself and Rebekah.

He did not stop to ponder that he was only fooling himself.

 28 

Rebekah stirred the lentil stew with the whittled branch Jacob had fashioned into a scraping utensil, her heart anxious, aching. Would the turmoil never cease? How was it she had lost both husband and one son in the space of a few weeks? But Abraham’s death had changed Isaac, and Ishmael’s visit had made Esau bolder until she feared she did not know either one anymore.

Their argument and Isaac’s absence had lasted nearly a week, and when he returned, Esau was not with him. Isaac had given in and taken him to Ishmael only days after he agreed it was too soon, that the boy was too impressionable. The threat of famine should not have changed anything. Esau should go with them to wherever they were going.

Her stomach knotted at the sound of voices entering the camp and coming closer to the central fire. She peered through the sides of the open tent, where she stood over one of many cooking fires, to see Isaac and Haviv in deep discussion.

The ache intensified. Isaac had confided little in her since his return, saying only that they would be packing up the camp and moving west toward the sea. He had not shared
her bed or stayed to talk after the evening meal since Ishmael had left nine days earlier.

The knot turned sour as she pondered the thought, and she felt the threat of tears. He stood so close, yet so far. How she missed him! Missed what they had once shared. But how could she get it back when neither one of them was willing to compromise? Bile rose in the back of her throat, and she struggled to swallow it.

A touch on her arm made her jump, making acid stick in her throat. She whirled about, nearly dropping the stick into the stew pot. “Jacob! You know better than to scare me like that.” Had she been so absorbed by her thoughts that she had not heard his footfalls?

“I’m sorry, Ima.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “But Father is asking for you.”

She met his sober gaze and stiffened. “If he wants me, let him come to me.” She lifted her chin and looked away, her anger bubbling.

“Ima.” Jacob’s gentle tone brought tears to her eyes. How could she treat him so? At least this son cared for her feelings, even if his father and brother did not.

She turned to look at him, and her grip tightened on the stick as she stirred and scraped, feeling the broth thickening. “He should come to me.” But she dropped the pitch of her voice, knowing she did not mean it as fiercely as it sounded.

“How would it look to his men if he humbled himself to seek you out? Please, Ima, do not force him to step beneath his pride like that. Do not make him lose the respect of the men in the camp. If you do not heed his voice, who will?”

Jacob rested both hands on her shoulders and kneaded the tenseness until her muscles grew less rigid, her anger slowly dissipating. Of course he was right. Her bitterness would not accomplish her goals for Jacob. She must find better ways to appease and convince.

“You will come with me,” she said. She glanced around the tent and spotted Selima at the other end. She called to her to take over stirring the stew, then straightened her head scarf and followed Jacob to the central fire.

“Here she is, Father.”

Jacob’s announcement brought Isaac’s attention from Haviv to her. He smiled, but there was no laughter in his eyes or joy in the action.

“Rebekah, Haviv tells me that Abimelech, king of the Philistines in Gerar, has not felt the effects of the famine. He has accepted our request to settle in Gerar, and we will leave at first light. Please have your maids pack the belongings and be ready to go.” He held her gaze, obviously awaiting her nod of acceptance, but she could not bring herself to acknowledge the wisdom in leaving with such speed.

Silence settled between them, and she felt the eyes of Haviv and Jacob on her.

“Is there a problem?” Isaac asked when she did not move or speak.

Warmth heated her face. She should not make him coax a response from her. That he even cared that she answer dissolved some of the ire from her heart.

“We shall do our best to be ready, my lord,” she said at last, offering him a tentative nod. “We have accumulated many things, and a day or two longer might cause less burden on the men and women in their packing.” She looked at him, searching, unable to keep the longing for him from invading her thoughts.

Isaac’s look turned thoughtful, and he glanced briefly at the distant sky. She followed his gaze, uncertain what it was that he studied in the bright, cloudless heavens. His eyes swept the camp, then he glanced at Haviv before coming to look at her once more.

“I will send every available man to help you. But the sky
does not bode favorable for us to stay here. I sense a storm brewing, and it will not hold rain.”

“One with sand and wind?”

He nodded. “The conditions are right, and while the trees here might shelter us, the sooner we can get to the coast, the better for the flocks and herds—for everyone.”

His urgency suddenly made sense, becoming her own.

“I will do as you say.” She turned, then thought better of it. “Shall I get started now?”

He smiled fully this time, and she felt a measure of relief in knowing her attempt at peacemaking had had its desired effect. “Yes, thank you. I will be along soon to help you.”

She turned to leave, glancing back over her shoulder. “The food is ready. If you would eat now, we can pack the cooking utensils and eat flatbread and dried fruit in the morning.”

He nodded his agreement, and she lifted her skirts and hurried across the short distance to the cooking tent. There was much to do, and the packing would be an almost overwhelming burden. But Isaac’s gentle tone and genuine smile had given her new hope. She would make things right with Isaac whether she agreed with him or not. She would not move to Gerar with a heart of bitterness.