Rebekah (43 page)

“I will miss you,” she said at last, startling him. Was she speaking truth?

“I should not be gone long.”

Perhaps Jacob would return before he did, and she could have her love returned to her. She was only sad because she missed her favorite son. Nothing more.

“Is there anything else you need?” Her voice remained toneless, devoid of feeling.

“No.”

She would see to bringing the bread and make sure he was well fed whether she spoke to him again or not. He could not bear to say more when there was nothing left between them.

Rebekah stood on the hill at the crossroads leading north and south, the hill where she had lost both husband and son. Isaac’s back had long since disappeared from view, two donkeys and two men heading south toward the Negev where the wild things grew, where Isaac could be at peace in the surroundings he had loved since childhood.

Numbness worked through her, the kind that comes with shock too great to comprehend, with loss too great to bear. What had her life come to?

She turned to face the breeze coming down from the north, whipping the scarf about her and her robe behind her, cooling the tears that came in a steady stream over her cheeks.
Jacob!
His name hurt to speak aloud, and the memory of his last hug was fading with every sunrise. Would she see him again? Had he arrived safely in Paddan-Aram? Surely Laban would eventually send word. But no caravan had come from Mesopotamia thus far, and no message had been received.

She closed her eyes, seeing him once more, his expression solemn as he took his staff and a donkey laden with few goods
to make his travel light. He had looked at her with a mixture of faith and fear, and when he held her, she had clung to him, never wanting to let go.

A guttural cry burst from within her at the memory, and she sank to her knees, the weight of her loss pressing in on her with a force too great to hold her upright.

Oh, Adonai, what have I done?

If only He had spoken to her again in the years following the twins’ birth. If only He had spoken to Isaac to confirm His words. Things would have been so much different.

Dry sobs rose to choke her, but the wind caught them and snatched them from her. Would a sandstorm arise too, destroying all she had left? She crawled on hands and knees and turned to face south once more, squinting against the faintly swirling dust of the earth, knowing she could no longer see Isaac’s bent form riding away from all they had once held dear.

What had happened to their love? He had loved her once. More than she could have ever thought a man capable. But the memories of their better days lived now on the fringes of her thoughts, and though she tried to grasp them, they were like the wisps of dust, floating just out of reach.

Oh, Adonai, Elohei Abraham, Elohei Isaac, hear me!

The cry broke loose something deep within her, and in that moment she knew with new clarity how much she had lost. Jacob’s love for her had meant too much, his future too consuming. And she had thrown away the only man who loved her as herself, as his only, favored wife.

She lowered her face to the earth, tasting the grasses and dirt mingling with fresh tears. Both hands were clenched, fists pounding the ground beneath her, until at last, spent and exhausted, she released her hold and opened her palms facing upward.

She must go after Isaac and beg his forgiveness.

 35 

Isaac lifted his face toward the west, feeling the last glow of the setting sun on his weathered face. The scent of the fire Haviv had built wafted nearby, and birds spoke in their many languages among the desert trees. The oasis at Beer-lahai-roi was quiet this time of year, and the hint of winter rains hovered in the air around him. They would find warmth enough in their tents for a time but eventually would need to take shelter in the caves. One tent standing alone in the wilderness did not offer the protection from the elements that an entire camp did. Would Haviv be willing to stay with him so long away from Selima and their children?

A weight settled in the place where his heart used to be, a perpetual ache that made him feel defeated and old. Was this how his mother had felt at his father’s imagined betrayal? Instead of understanding and forgiveness, she had placed a wall around her heart and set her love on her son, in the place where love for his father should have been. And she had carried the loss she felt with her to the grave.

Would he end up living her fate?

He moved into the tent, feeling his way along the wall, suddenly no longer hungry for the food Haviv was preparing. The
darkness that followed his every step deepened in the shadows of the tent. His foot touched his mat, and he sank down, his bones aged and creaking with every breath.

How he missed Rebekah! But not the woman she had been of late. He missed the bride of his youth, the woman who had shared life with him before God answered his prayer and granted them twins. The twins who had come between them.

But no. It was the vision that had brought the division and this final betrayal. The vision he had refused to accept and believe.

If You meant for the older to serve the younger, why did You not tell me too?

He had been denied the knowledge, the call of God, that had sent his father off to sacrifice the only son he loved on the altar of binding, of betrayal, and then he had been denied the vision given to his wife that would have him sacrifice the son he loved on the altar of parental blessing.

Why?

Where was God’s goodness now?

Ishmael’s question of old haunted him as he turned onto his back and stared into the dark. Tears trickled down his face into the mat below him. Why did God keep such things from him? Surely he had been obedient, trusting. He had surrendered his whole life into God’s keeping.

Not all.

No. Not this. He had clung to his disbelief in Rebekah’s vision because he could not see Jacob taking Esau’s place in leading the camp, in handling foreign tribesmen, in being the man Isaac wanted him to be. A hunter. A man of the wild. A man after his father’s heart. Not his mother’s. Not like he had been.

Truth dawned on him at the thought. When had his love for his mother turned to anger, to this running from all that she’d been, from the way she had protected him, doted on
him, held him too tightly in her bonds? And he’d been running from her influence, from the fear of repeating her errors with his sons, ever since.

But at what cost?

He rose up on his elbows and closed his eyes, longing for sight. Had he rejected Rebekah’s vision because his own past would not allow it? And had he lost her love in the process?

Sadness filled him as he rose to sit upright once more, his sight finally cleared to see the truth that had lain in his heart all along. He loved Rebekah. Despite everything, despite her failings and his, he loved her with a force that shook him to his inner being. He would return to her and seek her forgiveness.

And tell her that at last he believed her.

Rebekah arrived at Beer-lahai-roi two days later with Haviv’s younger son guiding her, protecting her. She spoke quietly to Haviv, grateful that Isaac remained seated in the shade of one of the larger date palms, unaware of her presence. She worked quickly to put the lentils and barley to boil, season them with garlic and cumin, and stir it all together with a willow branch. Isaac’s favorite stew, like the kind his mother used to make for him and his father when life was good and joy filled their house with laughter.

Oh, Adonai, Elohei Abraham, restore our joy.

When the stew and seasoned flatbread Isaac favored were ready, she carried them to his side and set the food before him. Isaac opened his eyes, though they did not see her, and sniffed the air.

“I did not expect spiced stew. You will be accused of being a woman if you continue to cook so well, my friend.” Isaac laughed, obviously expecting Haviv to respond.

“I have been accused of worse.” She watched his expression startle at the sound of her voice.

“Rebekah.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You are here.”

“Yes.”

He sat very still, but his unseeing eyes moistened, and he blinked away the threat of tears. She knelt beside him, her heart as skittish as a new bride, and was suddenly cold with fear. What if he rejected her now? But she had nothing left to lose.

He reached for her hand and held it gently in his, saying nothing, then lifted it, kissed her palm, and intertwined their fingers as they had once intertwined their bodies. He pulled her close until her head rested against his chest. Tears she thought long spent rose up, filling her eyes, as he tenderly drew circles along her back.

Moments passed in silence until he slowly, deliberately, held her at arm’s length. When she looked into his face, she did not see a man spent with age but a young husband, her lover, the man she had pledged her whole life to love and serve. Her heart skipped a beat as he leaned closer, and his lips lingered over hers, their tears mingling.

“I have not been the man you wanted.”

“No, I have not accepted the man you are. It is I who did not appreciate what you offered me.”

“I should have been stronger.” His voice held strength she had not heard from him in years.

“I should have been kinder.” And she knew it was true. There were so many times when she had been the one blinded. “I tried to make you like my father.” Who had given her everything she wanted but not all that she needed in a man she could rely on.

“I let you fill my mother’s place.”

“There was no harm in that.”

He shrugged one shoulder, and his eyes misted again.

“I did not see you, who you really are,” she said, feeling his arms come around her again. “I only saw what I wanted to see.”

“I loved you in spite of it all.” He kissed the top of her head.

“But I did not treat you as I should have. If I had, I would not have favored Jacob over you.” She felt his heart beating steadily beneath the tunic she had made him. One she had made more out of duty than love. She saw that too clearly now.

“I knew you loved me.” His voice held such kindness, making her want to weep again.