He parted ways with Yassib, promising to meet again soon, then whirled about and headed back toward the camp. He would speak with Er and set things right. His own reputation hinged on the behavior of his sons. He would not allow this child to ruin that.
Several weeks after her wedding, Tamar left the tent she shared with Er and stepped gingerly over the rocky ground toward the area where Kaella ground the grain. She braced herself for any questions her mother-in-law might send her way, silently praying to any god who might be listening for help. She could not let them know the way Er forced himself on her morning after morning, with nothing but a primal need to satisfy his urges. He never kissed her, never spoke kindly to her, and she had yet to engage him in much conversation other than responding to his barked orders to feed him or serve him in some way.
Emotion swelled within her, and she swallowed hard, making herself walk straight and keep the tears at bay. They came too often when she was alone, waiting for Er to finally return to her. A shiver ran down her spine as she spotted Kaella motioning her to hurry. She picked up her pace, forcing herself to smile instead of wince at the pain she still could not get used to, and sat beside her mother-in-law to work.
“Good day to you, Ima Kaella.” She looked into the woman’s astute dark eyes and saw a hint of compassion there.
“It is good to see you up and about, Tamar. How well I remember my first days as a wife. Judah was . . . an ardent lover. A woman can take time to adjust to such . . . things.” Kaella searched Tamar’s face as if trying to read her thoughts.
Tamar nodded, emotion rising again. She would not cry. She would not betray Er to his mother, for how did she know that his mother wouldn’t take his side? “I’m sure that is what we are experiencing as well,” she said, knowing Kaella expected her to respond. “I am not used to Er’s . . . ways.”
Kaella laughed softly. “You will soon adjust, dear girl. Er can be immature and spoiled, but he’s a good boy at heart.” Her expression changed as though she were still thinking of her firstborn as a young boy.
But Er was no longer a youth. He was a man who acted like a youth, and Tamar did not know how she was going to cope with it all.
She took up the mortar and pestle and poured some of the wheat into the clay bowl to grind for the flatbread the men would want to soon eat. Er would go off with his father and brothers to care for the sheep since the harvest was now past. Soon she would begin to spin wool into thread to make clothing for Er and perhaps in time for a child who would come. Not a child of their love, but perhaps a child whom she could love.
“I’m sure things will grow easier as we get to know each other,” Tamar said, willing it to be so and telling her heart that this had to be all that was wrong. Once she understood Er’s ways and why he acted as he did, she could avoid his anger, which seemed too quick to spark toward her. She would learn to appease him, if not please him. In time, perhaps he would care for her.
But as she worked in silence beside his mother, she wondered if anything in her own heart could change enough to make her care for him.
Months passed, and Tamar thought she saw a softening in Er’s attitude toward her, so she decided one evening, with Kaella’s permission, to prepare a meal for him in their tent and do all she could to make him feel like the man she hoped he could be.
She stirred the stew that sat warming over the coals outside the tent, checked the flatbread and fruit and nuts that would accompany the meal, and longed to sample the pistachio treats she had lovingly created from her mother’s best recipe. A hint of hope stirred inside of her as she looked up to see Er walking with his father toward the central fire. He stopped there, but when Kaella pointed to his tent and apparently explained that Tamar had made a special meal for him, he turned and headed across the compound. He stopped near the door and looked down at her as she knelt to stir the stew once more.
“Welcome, my husband,” she said, offering him a tentative smile. “I hope you are well.”
Er stared at her, lifted the flap, and went inside. Did he expect her to bring the food into their small living space when she had so carefully arranged it all in front of the tent beneath the awning? She assumed that was his intent, and picked up the clay pot and moved into the tent. She hurried to carry each item into the tent and arrange them in front of the cushion where he sat, legs splayed in front of him.
“Close the flap,” he commanded once she had finished.
She obeyed and came to stand before him.
“What made you think I would want to eat with just you? We eat with my family. We eat the food my mother prepares. Not you.” He swept his arm over the food she’d so carefully prepared. “How do I know you will not try to poison me with food made only by your hand? Do you think I don’t know the way you look at me? How you despise me because I don’t love you or give you what you want when you want it? You are a selfish creature, and I never wanted to marry you.”
Tamar began to shake inwardly from the shock of his words. She swallowed twice, then said, “I thought it would please you. I wanted only to please you, Er.”
He jumped to his feet and closed the distance between them. “Please me? You will never please me. You are no better than a prostitute to me. You are someone my father chose, not me. You are worthless to me.”
Tears trickled over her cheeks as he towered over her, his gaze filled with hatred.
“My father was a fool to choose you!” he fairly shouted.
She opened her mouth, though she could think of nothing to say. His hand connected with her cheek so fast she stumbled backward, face burning, and more tears blurred her vision.
“Have you nothing to say?” He sneered at her.
“I never meant to anger you,” she managed, holding her burning cheek with one hand.
“Well, you did. You can never be a wife to me. I would divorce you if I could.” He turned to leave the tent.
Tamar watched in horror as he fell face forward to the earth. Had he tripped?
But when he didn’t move, Tamar crept closer. Was he playing one of his games? She held her breath as she came alongside him and knelt. She slowly touched his shoulder. He did not move. She tried to roll him onto his back but still feared he was pretending to be hurt.
She must do something. If he was playing a trick, let his father deal with him. She rose and ran through the tent door toward the fire where Judah’s family sat eating.
“You must come,” she said, standing before Judah. “Something is wrong with Er.” Her shaking grew, and she could not stop her teeth from chattering.
Judah jumped up and ran toward her tent, and she followed at his heels. “What happened?” he yelled, his long legs putting him far ahead of her.
“I don’t know. He turned to walk out the door when he fell to the ground and didn’t get up.” She put her hands on her knees to catch her breath.
Judah brushed past her into the tent and fell to his knees at Er’s side. He rolled Er onto his back, but still he did not move. His lips held a bluish cast, and his face had paled.
Judah shook his son. “Er!” he cried. “Wake up, Son.” But Er’s limbs fell limp, and Tamar saw the look of death in his eyes.
Kaella shoved the tent door open, nearly knocking into Tamar. She quickly scooted toward the back of the tent, away from Er’s family, who descended on her small home, all wailing and crying over their son and brother.