Till Shiloh Comes (29 page)

“Maybe the rains will come soon, and then you'll see the kind of meals I can cook for you.”

“You've done wonderfully well, daughter,” Jacob murmured. He continued to eat, and as he did, the two boys came running by. Perez was chasing Zerah and shouting at the top of his lungs. Jacob had lifted a bit of meat to his mouth, but he paused, and Tamar saw his eyes go to the boys. She had become adept at reading the old man's moods, for he made little attempt to hide his emotions. She watched him as he kept his eyes on the two youngsters, and she thought,
He hasn't accepted my boys as his own blood yet, but he will one day
.

“How are things with the people?” Jacob asked as he slowly chewed with his weak teeth.

“Hungry.” She shrugged. “We were all hoping for a harvest of grain this year, but there was no rain at all. Most of the grain didn't even come up, and that which did was taken by the wild things.”

“I just don't know what we're going to do. How much longer can this drought last?” Jacob whispered.

Tamar glanced up into his old, wrinkled face. She knew as much of the history of this man as anyone did, for it was to her that he spoke most often of his youth. The others may have been there for part of his life, but Tamar know how to elicit his many memories, even those from his childhood. Others were too busy or didn't care. His sons were always out trying to find food, but Tamar was always there by his side, and now she reached over and put her hand on his. “You must not worry.”

“How can I help it? Still, we're better off than some. Those who don't have flocks are starving.”

“God isn't going to let us starve.”

Jacob blinked his eyes and stared at her strong face. Tamar had large, well-shaped eyes, a strong mouth, and a determined chin. The desert had dried out her complexion, but there was a strength in her that most women lacked. “You have more faith than most,” Jacob murmured.

Tamar squeezed his hand and smiled. “God will not let us die.”

“Why are you so sure of that?”

“Because of you, master.”

“Because of me?”

“Yes, of course. You've been telling me for years now about how El Shaddai met you and actually spoke with you.”

“You've always loved my stories.” Jacob smiled and put his hand on her head. “You've been a blessing to me, Tamar.”

“I trust I will always be your handmaiden.”

As usual, she was able to cheer Jacob up, and finally he sighed and shook his head. “You have more family feelings than any of my sons.”

“I have learned of your family from you. It's a wonderful story, master,” Tamar said with enthusiasm. “Tell me some more.”

Jacob laughed and sipped the last of his milk. He smacked his lips, and she refilled the cup. “I think I've told you everything that's ever happened to me.”

“But there must be more about your father or your grandfather or about the beginnings of your people. Tell me about that.”

As always, Jacob was impressed with this woman. He was not sure how much the rest of his family knew about the hope that was in his own heart. Somehow Jacob had received from his father and his grandfather the absolute certainty that their people, above all others in the world, had been favored by El Shaddai. His face grew sober and his eyes dreamy as he spoke, and Tamar leaned forward to catch every word.

“Back in the beginning there was only Adam and Eve, the first man and the first woman, and they had two sons. One was Cain and one was Abel….” He went on to relate the story of how Cain killed Abel, and he shook his head. “Cain became a vagabond, and his children and his grandchildren forgot about the God who had made them.”

“What about the other sons?” Tamar asked when he paused. “Not Abel, but the other children.”

“God gave them another son whose name was Seth. He was a man who loved God, and his children loved God. That was the beginning of two lines of people in the world—those of Seth and of Cain, those who love God and those who do not. But the sons of Cain far outnumber the sons of Seth, I'm afraid.”

“And who was Seth's son?”

The two sat there in the tent, the woman kneeling and listening intently, and Jacob going over the traditions that were burned into his memory. He did not know everything about the dark, cloudy past, but he spoke words he had learned from others. Finally he stared at her and laughed shortly. “You've heard this from me a hundred times, daughter. Why do you want to hear it again?”

“Because,” Tamar said, her voice steely and determined, “out of all the peoples in the earth, all of the tribes in the nation, God is doing a great thing with you, master. From you will come Shiloh.”

Jacob was always amazed at the strength and power and intensity that flowed out of Tamar as she spoke about this. He stared at her now and shook his head in wonder. “You are right, but I do not even know which one of my sons will be in the line.”

Tamar smiled slightly. Her lips curved upward, and she wanted to say,
I know
. But she felt it would not be wise. “Eat some more,” she said. “And tell me about meeting God. What does He look like?”

Jacob was slightly amused. “I've told you many times, He doesn't look like
anything,
daughter. God is not a man, and He does not look like a man. All I saw when God spoke to me was a light of some kind. God somehow is light.”

Tamar tried to get him to speak more, but the old man got to his feet, picked up his staff, and walked outside. Tamar followed him, and Jacob said, “You boys, come here!”

Perez and Zerah had been rolling in the dust wrestling. They came at once but went to their mother and tried to hide behind her.

“Come out from behind your mother there. I want to look at you.”

Reluctantly the two boys came out with a little help from Tamar, and Jacob stared at them. “What were you boys doing? Fighting?”

“No, sir, playing,” Perez said, looking up at his grandfather.

The boy smiled, and Jacob realized that the child had more of Judah in him than the other. He looked at Zerah and saw his mother's features in the lad's face. “Why don't you walk with me, and I'll tell you a story.”

Zerah looked up at his mother and clung to her. Perez's eyes danced. “Yes, Grandfather!”

Tamar watched as the three went off, Perez holding to Jacob's hand, and Zerah keeping his distance. “That's right,” she whispered. “Get to know those boys, for one of them is in the line of Shiloh!”

****

None of the four Sons of the Maids were happy as they sat cross-legged on the ground, gnawing the meat off the bones of the sheep they had butchered that morning. “This meat is so tough I can't chew it,” Gad complained.

Asher, his brother, was still heavyset, despite the scarcity of food. He licked the bone, trying to suck the marrow out of it, then shook his head as he tossed the bone over his shoulder. “At least we've got something to eat.”

“We won't have if this keeps up.”

Dan and Naphtali, Bilhah's sons, were seated across from Gad and Asher. Naphtali's face was badly scarred from being attacked by a wolf as a small child, and his twisted visage made him look constantly angry. Dan had a lean, intelligent face and was crafty, though he was no longer as wild and headstrong as when he was young. Now he stared with disdain at the remnants of the bones and exclaimed, “We're all going to starve to death if something's not done! Naphtali, what did you find when you went to the tribe over to the west?”

“I didn't find anything good,” he said. He took a drink of tepid water from a leather bottle and spat it out. “They're as hungry as we are. I talked to the head of the clan. He said they're going to move south.”

“I was there last week and things weren't any better,” Gad said with a shrug.

The four sat there, drawn together by the circumstances of their births. They were merely the sons of Jacob's concubines, not the sons of one of his wives. This had set them apart all their lives and given them feelings of inferiority. No one spelled it out, but it was understood that the sons of Leah and the sons of Rachel somehow had a higher status. This had not sweetened the disposition of the Sons of the Maids, and they sat there complaining.

Finally Naphtali said, “There's always Egypt. Plenty of grain there.”

Staring at his brother sourly, Dan shook his head. “A lot of good that does us.”

“We could go there and buy some,” Naphtali replied.

“No, we'll never be able to do that. Anyway, things are going to get better.”

Asher had picked up another bone and was trying to nibble a morsel of meat that still clung to it. He was always hungry, and it was a mystery how he could stay fat while the rest of them were gaunt with hunger. “We're going to have to do something,” he said. “The animals are going to starve. We're
all
going to starve if something isn't done!”

****

At the same time the sons of Leah were having their meal in their own part of the camp. The six of them were as discontented as the Sons of the Maids. Simeon, the second-born, was a lean man and had, perhaps, the hottest temper of any of the brothers. He cursed now and stared at the small portion of stew in his bowl. “Is this all I get?”

Levi, the third in order, was as short and muscular as Simeon was lean. He had black hair, dark eyes, and his temper was a match for Simeon's. “I'm sick of hearing you complain!” he shouted. “Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you!”

Simeon came right back, and the two leaped to their feet and faced each other, ready for a fight. They were both good fighters, having spent much of their youth learning those skills.

Issachar and his brother Zebulun were the youngest of Leah's son's. Reuben, Simeon, Levi, and Judah had all been born in a brief period; then their mother had stopped bearing children. That was when she had given her handmaiden to Jacob to produce more children. But later Leah's womb had opened to bear Issachar and Zebulun. They were younger and did not have the fiery tempers of their older brothers.

Issachar stood up to get a drink of water but stopped and stepped up to Simeon and Levi. “Don't fight. It's too hot.” He hated to see his brothers fighting. “Doesn't do any good to quarrel,” he said with a sigh of frustration.

Simeon and Levi glared at each other, then plopped themselves down on the ground again.

Simeon flexed his arms and said, “My children are hungry all the time.”

“So are mine,” Levi muttered. “Everybody's hungry.”

Zebulun was different from all his siblings in one respect. He had, from his earliest days of childhood, longed for the sea. This was rather strange, for he had seen the sea only once on a trip he had made with his older brother Reuben. The sight of it had burned itself into his brain. Everyone knew it would take very little to send him away from home to learn the trade of a sailor. He picked up a dried-out date, popped it into his mouth, and chewed on it. “What about going to Egypt? They've got plenty to eat there, if what I hear is true.”

“Those are just rumors,” Judah said. He shook his head and added, “I don't think there's as much food there as people say.”

Reuben had been silent to this point, and his face was lean and drawn from lack of nourishment. “Everybody's talking about it.”

“Talking about what?” Judah asked.

“Talking about all the food in Egypt.”

“Do you believe it's there?” Judah asked with a little hope in his voice. “I've always thought it was just people boasting.”

“No, I've seen some of the grain they've brought back. Old Menesee took a whole herd of donkeys there and brought them back fully laden.”

“How much did it cost?” Simeon demanded.

“They didn't give it away,” Reuben said with a shrug, “but at least they got enough grain to make bread and perhaps have some left over for seeding a new crop.”

“I don't see what good it does to have seed,” Judah said. “You put it in the ground and without water it dies.”

Zebulun piped up, “I think we ought to go.”

“Go where?” Issachar said. “To Egypt?”

“Yes, to Egypt!”

The brothers discussed this idea, and finally Reuben said, “I don't think we have any choice. We've got to go to Egypt.”

“Ha!” Simeon sneered. “I can picture Father letting us go there!”

Reuben got to his feet and towered over them. His body was starting to shrink, but he was still a powerful man. “We've got to go. I think even he will see that. Judah, why don't you go talk to him?”

“You're the firstborn,” Judah retorted. “I think it should be you.”

Reuben looked down at the ground. “That doesn't mean anything anymore.”

“Yes, it does,” Zebulun said quickly. He got to his feet and came over to stand beside Reuben. He was very attached to his oldest brother and put his hand on his arm. “Go tell him that we have to go. And make sure you tell him
I
want to go. I never get to go anywhere.”

Reuben tried to convince the others that he was not the one to talk to Jacob, but the other brothers insisted. Reuben sighed heavily, then shrugged. “All right, but I don't think it will do any good.”

****

Jacob had been dozing at twilight when suddenly his eyes flew open. His hearing was still surprisingly good for one his age, and besides, Reuben made a lot of noise when he walked. “Is everything all right, son?”

Reuben came and sat down in front of his father. “No, things aren't all right.”

“What's the matter? Any new problems?”

“The same old problem,” Reuben said. “We've got to do something, Father.”

“What can we do? We're not God. He's the one who controls the rain. Until it rains, it's going to be like this.”

“Yes, that's right, of course.” Reuben hesitated. He knew well how much his father hated the very idea of Egypt, but there was no way around it. “The only choice we have is to go to Egypt and buy grain there.”