Rebekah (31 page)

“I would stop you.” Esau jumped up to stand between his father and uncle.

Ishmael laughed. “And so you would, young nephew.” He put away his weapon, and Rebekah released a breath.

Ishmael rose up and leaned forward until he was nose to nose with Esau. “But if you were not home, or if your father were off by himself in the hills with no one to watch out for him . . .” He let the thought linger until even the air in the tent grew hot, uncomfortable.

Ishmael removed his dagger and set it away from him, then leaned back against the cushions, his hands behind him. “And now”—he looked directly at Esau—“in my defenseless position, your father could lift his sword and plunge it into my chest, and who would stop him?”

“I would cut his throat before he could reach you, Abba.” Kedar’s voice carried a thinly veiled threat.

Ishmael laughed again, but Isaac sat silent, waiting.

“If our father’s God were to sit by and allow such a thing from either of us, then He cannot be good. He would destroy evil if He were.” Ishmael leaned forward again, his look so intense Rebekah could feel the heat of it from where she waited in the shadows. “But how do we know it isn’t Elohei Abraham who created evil in the first place? How do we know He isn’t glad to use it against us?” Ishmael leaned back once more, took a long drink from the goblet, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, then returned his dagger to his side.

“You see, my brother,” he said, his look confident, strong, “you cannot really know this God our father worshiped. I do not see Him as so very different from the gods of my mother’s people or the gods of our father’s family. He just disguises his
intentions better than most.” A smug smile, as from one who is certain he has won a debate, creased his lean, angular face.

Questions swirled in Rebekah’s mind, and fear twisted in her middle as she witnessed the admiration growing in Esau’s eyes. He was fully enamored with his uncle, and she felt him slipping away with each word of the conversation.

Isaac shifted in his seat and folded his hands in his lap, his eyes focused on them as though they were clay tablets with words that could answer his brother with eloquence. His silence begged to be filled by more than the sipping of wine, the chewing of sweet cakes, and the whispers of Ishmael’s sons.

At last, when Rebekah thought she could not bear his contemplation a moment longer, he lifted his head and looked deeply into Ishmael’s dark eyes. “I am not in the place of God to give an answer to all of your questions, my brother, but this one thing I know.”

At his pause, Rebekah held her breath and glanced around the tent. Every eye focused on her husband—Jacob’s with the most interest.

“Adonai Elohei Abraham is not a God who delights in evil. If He did, He would not have destroyed the world with the flood. Noah would not have felt the need to preach repentance, and our father Abraham would not have been called out from a city of foreign gods to follow after Him.

“Do I understand why you were sent away or why I was bound and laid on an altar like a lamb to be slaughtered? No, I do not. But I have heard God’s voice on that mountain, and I know He delights far more in obedience, which our father fully understood, than in the circumstances that allow evil to prevail.”

Ishmael drew a hand over his beard, studying Isaac for the space of several heartbeats, but at last he looked away, signaling an end to the debate. “I cannot say I agree with your
conclusions. I do not see His motives as more benevolent than any other of the gods I serve.”

“Can the gods you serve, the gods of wood and stone, speak? Can they lift even one finger to do what is just and right?” Isaac’s gaze was unflinching, and Rebekah wanted to cheer her husband’s response.

But Ishmael’s expression was closed, his hooded eyes shifting slightly from Isaac to his sons. At his nod, they stood as one.

“I will allow that neither one of us can know for sure what our father’s God is like,” he said, his tone brooking no further argument.

Isaac stood, and Jacob and Esau rose with him.

Isaac embraced Ishmael and kissed each cheek. “You leave tomorrow?”

After seven days, Ishmael would want to return to his clan, and Rebekah would be happy to see him go.

Ishmael nodded, at last showing the soft hint of a smile. “Ready to see me off, are you, Brother?” He returned Isaac’s kiss of departure and clapped him on the back.

“Of course you know you are welcome to stay as long as you like.” Isaac walked with his brother through the tent’s opening, their conversation drifting out of earshot, Ishmael’s sons following.

Rebekah moved from her place in the shadows and set about clearing the goblets and scraps of food left on the golden trays, her ears attuned to the night sounds and the voices of Jacob and Esau as they moved from the tent.

“I want to go with him.”

Esau’s words stilled her hands, her heart suddenly thumping hard against her ribs. She walked closer to the tent’s opening.

“Go with who?” Jacob’s tone held surprise. “Uncle Ishmael?”

“Who else? Did you not hear his stories of the hunts he has
carried out, of the mighty game he has killed? He could teach me better use of the bow. He is more skillful than Father.”

Esau’s excited voice held persuasion, and she knew in an instant that if he turned those pleading eyes on Isaac, he would promptly get his way. She must not let him.

“All I heard was his disdain for our grandfather’s God. Does this not concern you?”

Rebekah breathed a sigh that Jacob had been listening with discernment, that he cared about the weightier matters.

“Of course. But have you not thought these very same things? Uncle only voiced the questions we have all raised at one time or another. And how can we know anything for certain? Have you heard God’s voice?”

“Abba has.”

“So he says.”

Esau’s words came out harsh, despite his attempt to lower his voice, and Rebekah did not miss the signs of anger bubbling within her firstborn son. Did Isaac realize how Esau felt? The boy was too easily persuaded, too quickly influenced.

Images of Haviv and Nadab flashed in her mind’s eye. Haviv, who had married Selima and remained a faithful servant, loyal to their God. Nadab, who had stormed off and married a Canaanite and abandoned his family, Isaac’s camp, and their faith. She could not let Esau end up like Nadab.

She stopped, looked across the camp where Isaac bade Ishmael farewell. The men would rise before dawn and be on their way, leaving her little time to convince Isaac to keep Esau here. The boy would make a strong case. But she could be just as convincing.

 26 

Holding a clay lamp in one hand, Isaac slipped through the entrance of his tent and lowered the flap, closing himself in semi-darkness. A deep sigh lifted his chest, but the burden would not dislodge, the turmoil of the evening resting heavily on his shoulders.

Ishmael’s questions had not troubled him for his own sake. He had wrestled with the questions of God’s power and goodness since his youth. He had not understood the test of faith that led his father to obey a seemingly outrageous command, one that the gods Ishmael served might easily demand, but one his father’s God would not. Adonai had called his father out from among such beliefs and practices. To ask it of him was so foreign to all that his father had come to know of Him that he would not have obeyed at all if not for the fact that he knew Elohim’s voice. There had been no mistake. Isaac understood that now.

But his children did not, nor would they until they had lived their own hardships. If only he could instill this understanding deep within them so they might be spared their own tests of faith. Would Esau’s faith be tested and grow in the company
of Ishmael? Should he allow the boy to go with his brother as Esau had pleaded with him to do?

He rubbed the back of his neck, certain the pounding of his head would not be eased until he closed his eyes in sleep. Weariness swept through him, but as he moved from his sitting quarters to his sleeping chamber, he stopped abruptly. Rebekah sat among his bed cushions, her hair undone, her expression earnest.

“What are you doing here?”

The hurt in her dark eyes made him wish the words back the moment he had spoken them.

“That is, I did not expect you.”

She merely nodded and dropped her gaze as her hands twisted the fabric of her robe. She still wore the garments of the day, as though she knew he might send her back to her own tent. The thought stirred him to gentle his response, and he set the lamp on the low table and came to kneel beside her.

“I am sorry, Rebekah. I am tired and worn out with the many voices of argument and reason. I do not wish to speak any more this night . . . but I can see you are distressed or you would not be here. So please, tell me quickly that we may both get some rest.” He reached for her hand, hoping to still her fidgeting and coax her to hurry and speak.

She lifted her head, and his heart melted at her pleading look. “You must not allow Esau to go with your brother.” She kept her voice low, though the tone implored him. “I watched him tonight, and I heard him tell Jacob that he wanted to return with his uncle. But Esau is too eager to please his uncle, and I fear he will fall into Ishmael’s ways if we allow it.” Her words ended in a rush, and she pulled his hand to her chest, where he could feel the rapid beating of her heart. “Please, my lord. I know he will ask you.” She paused, and he knew she could read the look in his eyes. “He already did?”

Isaac nodded. “He could speak of little else the moment Ishmael returned to his tents.”

“What did you say to him?”

Isaac lifted his free hand, which suddenly felt weighted with age, and pulled the turban from his head. “I told him I would think on it. I will tell him in the morning before dawn.”

Crickets picked up where his last words left off.

“You must tell him no.”

Her tone and the insistent way she spoke sparked irritation within him.

He pulled his hand from hers. “I will take your opinion into consideration.” He put his back to her and removed his robe and tunic. He lifted his night tunic in one hand, then thought better of it and turned to face her.

She lifted wide eyes to his, then lowered them, the heightened color of her cheeks barely visible in the lamp’s flickering glow.

He settled himself among the cushions and studied her. “Put aside your robe and come.”

She looked at him and opened her mouth as if she would say more, then closed it and did as he had asked. His heart stirred as she nestled in the crook of his arm, the feel of her soft skin and the scent of her hair filling him with desires he had ignored for too long. He kissed her, letting his lips linger, and looked deeply into her eyes.

“I share your worries, Rebekah. But I also know that a boy too restricted is a boy who may one day rebel far worse than he might have. Remember Nadab.”

“I do! This is why I do not want Esau near his uncle. He is too vulnerable, too easily swayed—”

He held a finger to her lips, then slowly moved it aside and kissed her again, more deeply this time, until her rigid form relaxed in his arms.

“I’m sorry, my lord, I just—”

“Shh . . .” He sifted his fingers through her undone hair and pulled her closer. “No more tonight.”

She released a sigh that he sensed signaled her own irritation, and he knew her well enough to know she would bring it up again in the morning. But for tonight he allowed himself to forget his cares, forget the days of mourning his father and the struggles of brother and sons, and enjoy the pleasures of the one he loved.