The Gate of Heaven (19 page)

“I hope so.” He lifted his head and heard another muted cry from Leah. She had not cried out much, but every time he heard her moans, Jacob had wiped the sweat from his brow. He hated to see anyone suffer. Now he handed the tray back to Rachel, and as he did, he heard his name called. He turned to see Lamah coming out of the tent, beckoning him. “Come in, Jacob.”

Jacob instantly turned and went inside, leaving Rachel to stand there staring after him. She felt a keen pang of loneliness at being left outside at such a time and knew this was something she had no part of.

As Jacob entered the tent, he saw Leah lying on the bed with the baby within the crook of her arm. He walked over and looked down at the tiny red face, the little eyes pulled together, and then the child broke into a loud, squalling cry.

Leah said, “I have borne you a fine boy, husband. Hold your son.”

Jacob reached down and picked up the baby. Holding the morsel of life in his arms, he felt his heart swell with pride.

“His name is Reuben,” Leah said. “That means ‘behold a son.'”

Leah reached up and took Jacob's hand, and he squeezed it and knelt down beside her. “He's a fine son, wife.” He leaned over and kissed her.

At the invitation of the midwife, Rachel came into the tent at that moment. Jacob and Leah did not even look up as their attention was solely on their new son and each other. Rachel stood watching the tableau before her, and it went straight to her heart. Tears came to her eyes, and she choked back sobs. Whirling, she left the tent without congratulating the new parents. She went to her own bed and fell on it, deep sobs racking her body. She pushed her face into the pillow, muttering, “He will love Leah more now that she has given him a son.” Grief overwhelmed her, and she wept long. Finally she rolled over on her back and looked up toward the roof of the tent, as if she could see heaven above. “Oh, God,” she wept, “what have I done to displease you that you have given me no child?”

As Rachel slapped a waterlogged garment on a flat rock and pounded it with a smaller stone, she heard a sound and lifted her head. A fish had broken the surface of the small stream, making a widening ripple. The sunlight sparkled along the water lapping at the rocky banks, and in the distance a long line of mountains cast a sharp, jagged shadow against the flat land. The breeze stirred the scrub bushes along the bank, and the plants at the water's edge gave off a musty, pungent odor.

Rachel turned quickly at the noises the boys were making as they played a game nearby on a flat piece of ground. She smiled as she watched them, thinking how different each of Leah's four sons were. Not one of them resembled the other. They had been born one after the other, and Rachel had learned to love them—but not as if they were her own, for Leah would not allow her to get that close to her sons.

Arching her back to relieve the strain, she slipped her feet into the water, enjoying the coolness of it, and continued to watch the boys. She had made them a ball out of soft leather, stuffed with dried straw and sewn together with sheep-gut twine. She had taught them several games with it, and now they were playing one that they called Keep the Ball, which consisted of one of the boys grabbing the ball and trying to keep the others from taking it away from him.

As she watched, Reuben, the largest and the oldest of the brothers, made a wild grab for the ball. He was a rather clumsy boy and not swift in thought, but he was good-hearted and gentle nonetheless.

Simeon, the second-born, was as lean and quick as Reuben was large and clumsy. He had snatched the ball and laughed as Reuben made an ineffectual grab at it. He shoved Reuben backward so that the larger boy stretched headlong on his back, and then Simeon laughed and shouted. There was a cruelty in this boy that Rachel hated to see.

The third member of the quartet, Levi, was short and stocky with black hair and dark eyes. She expected him to lose his temper, for he often did. In this he was like Simeon and also in the fact that he could be cruel at times.

A shout went up, and Judah grabbed for the ball. Rachel smiled, for Judah was a miniature edition of Jacob—the same chestnut hair and warm brown eyes, not overly large but quick and strong. He was the best of the boys in Rachel's opinion, and she watched fondly as he snatched the ball away from Simeon and tore out as fast as his little legs would take him, pursued by the other three.

As the boys ran off and their voices grew fainter, a mixture of regret and grief filled Rachel. These were not
her
boys, and as she watched and listened to their play, a sharp sadness touched her, a pang that hurt deeply.

“You cheated!” Simeon shouted and shoved Judah backward. The smallest of the four went sprawling in the dirt, but he jumped right up, screaming, “I didn't either cheat!”

“You did too!” Simeon retorted. His small, close-set eyes flared with anger. “You grabbed the ball when I wasn't looking!”

“That's fair!” Judah said. He was an even-tempered boy, even sweet most of the time, but Simeon was a bully, and Judah felt he had to stick up for himself. The two boys began to argue, and finally Simeon snatched the ball and struck Judah in the face. Judah cried out, “I'll tell Rachel on you!”

“Go on and tell her! She's nothing anyway!”

Judah was on his feet, his eyes flashing. “Don't you say anything bad about Rachel!”

Simeon laughed. “She doesn't have any sons! She's no good for anything.”

Judah could not bear to hear anyone verbally abuse Rachel, which Simeon often did and even Levi did on occasions. With an angry cry, Judah threw himself at his brother, and the two rolled in the dirt. Judah was getting much the worse of it. The other two simply watched, although Reuben had concern in his eyes.

Suddenly Rachel was there pulling the two boys apart. They were covered with dirt and Judah's lips were swelling.

“Shame on you!” Rachel cried. “Brothers shouldn't fight like this. You ought to love each other.” She glared at them, and Simeon avoided her eyes. She had a fair idea that the fight was his doing, but she asked, “What's this all about? What are you fighting about?”

“Simeon said something bad about you.”

“You shut your mouth, Judah!” Simeon cried furiously. “You're nothing but a talebearer!”

Judah started to answer angrily, but Rachel put her hand on his shoulder. “That's enough, Judah.”

Judah blurted out, “He says you're not good because you don't have any children!” He looked up, his eyes filled with pain. “Why don't you have any little boys, Rachel?”

The question went right to Rachel's heart. She had heard this kind of talk often enough from Leah and knew that Simeon had been absorbing it, as had his brother Levi. “God hasn't given me any little boys, Judah,” she whispered.

Simeon was still furious. “God blesses those He loves with children!” he said, then turned around and ran away. Levi followed him, but Reuben came closer and put his arm around Rachel. “Don't you pay any attention to them, Aunt Rachel. They're just soreheads.”

“That's right. God does love you, and I do too,” Judah said. He threw his arms around her, and Rachel held him tightly, her eyes blinded with tears. She could not speak, her throat was so tight, and the two boys held on to her as she fought back the tears.

Jacob stumbled into camp, his strength drained. He had been off caring for the sheep for two days. He had slept little and had only a few pieces of cold meat to eat, bringing his temper near the snapping point. He stopped long enough to take a drink of water and wash the grit from his face. When he stopped he saw Laban lying in the shade, asleep. A nearly flattened wineskin was beside him, and Jacob knew the old man had been doing nothing but sleeping and stupefying himself with wine. Anger washed through Jacob at the sight. He set his teeth, then stalked over to Laban and leaned down, shouting, “Get up!”

Laban startled awake and sat up at once, confusion in his eyes. He rubbed his face and tried to speak, but his tongue was furry. “What…what is it? What's wrong?”

“I'll tell you what's wrong,” Jacob said with scarcely concealed fury. He bit off the words, and they struck against Laban with all the force of arrows. “I've been out for two days working to keep your flocks and your herds. I haven't had anything to eat, and I haven't slept.”

Laban quailed beneath Jacob's glare and rubbed his hand across his face. He cleared his throat and said, “Well, you should have gotten some help.”

“Help? What do you know about help? All you do is sit here and stay drunk all day long.”

“Well, Lomach and Benzar, they—”

“Those no-good, worthless sons of yours! I'll tell you where they've been. They've been in the village, drunk and consorting with harlots—like always!”

Jacob's raised voice was drawing the attention of the camp. He became aware that Leah and Rachel and everyone else within hearing distance had stopped their work and were staring at him. He did not often lose his temper, but now it was gone, and he grabbed Laban's thin arms and pulled the old man to his feet. “You listen to me! You're going to lose everything if you don't make those worthless sons of yours work!”

Laban was shocked. Jacob hardly ever spoke back to him, and now he had jerked him up as if he were a child. The old man sputtered, “You turn me loose! Who do you think you are?” He jerked himself backward and shook his fist in Jacob's face. “You're nothing but a poor relative. You don't own anything! You be careful how you talk or you'll be sorry!”

Jacob laughed harshly. “All right, old man.
You
take care of the flocks, then—you and those worthless sons of yours. I'm through! We'll see how long it takes you to lose everything you've got!” He turned on his heels and stalked away, anger in every line of his body.