“He’s dead,” Judah said with defeat in his gaze. He turned to Onan and Shelah. “Come, help me make a bier to carry him to a cave for burial.” They quickly left the tent, leaving Tamar with Kaella and Er’s body.
Kaella’s gaze shifted to her, and Tamar could not tell whether there was any kindness in her or not. “You will help me prepare my son’s body.”
Tamar nodded. She stepped closer and did as Kaella told her, gathering linen and spices and water to wash his body. A body she should know well after many months of marriage, but she hardly recognized this man in his unmoving, silent state. What had killed him? He hadn’t touched her food, so no one could accuse her of poisoning him. He was young. Too young to just . . . die.
Kaella worked alongside her as they washed and anointed the body, one moment grieving and the next looking on Tamar with questions she did not raise. Would Er’s family accuse her of his death?
But she hadn’t killed him. She had simply withstood his angry, cruel words. Could words kill a man?
32
Judah paced the entire length of the camp and back again. He stopped before his tent, stared at the door, and marched off again. Anger fueled his steps, and along with it a healthy sense of fear. God had surely killed Er. And it was his fault. If he had taught the boy how to be a husband, how to love his wife . . . Had his son truly treated his bride so poorly? If so, why?
“Tell me again how it happened,” Judah had said to Tamar for the third time, days after they had buried Er.
Tamar shivered as though she were cold and wrapped her arms about herself. “I had prepared a special meal for him. He grew angry that we were not eating with the family and wouldn’t touch the food.” She scratched the back of her neck. “I have told you twice before.”
“You said that he yelled at you. Did he curse you? Did he curse God?” he asked.
That thought had haunted Judah in the month of mourning that had recently passed. Tamar had haltingly answered his questions the same way every time, but Judah sensed that she was not telling him what mattered most. Had Er abused her? He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Still, Er must have said cruel things to her. Hadn’t he done the same to his own mother a time or two?
Judah turned back and finally stopped pacing in front of his tent. One thing was certain. Tamar had not dishonored his son by accusing the dead. Whatever happened had to be from God. Only God held the power of life and death.
The image of seventeen-year-old Joseph flashed in his mind. Did You take my son because of what I did to my brother?
But he found no answer in the heavens or in his heart. That didn’t mean he shouldn’t do the right thing. He drew in a deep breath, pushed open the tent flap, and looked at Onan’s pallet. Onan sat upon it, legs crossed. By his disheveled appearance, he had obviously just awakened, and it was long past dawn.
“Onan,” Judah said, walking across the room to stand above him. “Get up! Your brother did not provide Tamar a child or himself an heir. So go and marry Tamar, as our law requires of the brother of a man who has died. You must produce an heir for your brother.” He pulled his son to his feet and shoved him toward the basin of water. “Wash up. After you eat, you are going to marry your sister-in-law.”
Onan looked at Judah, eyes wide. “What if I don’t want to marry her? Er wanted to choose his own wife. I want to do the same, and it’s not her!”
“Why do you find her so distasteful? You must raise up a child for your brother.” He walked closer until Onan began to wash his face and wet his hair.
Judah watched him, then decided it was better to make him thoroughly wash in the creek. Onan complained the entire walk there, and Judah wondered if any of his sons were ready to marry. Perhaps he had hurried things along too quickly. But Onan could wed, and he must keep the traditions of his fathers.
Onan crawled up the bank a short time later and dressed in the clothes he had not had his mother wash in over a week. Judah noticed and knew Tamar deserved better, but he would waste no more time.
“Come,” he said when Onan had tied his sandals. “I will take you to her tent now.”
Onan said nothing, but Judah did not miss the scowl on his face. They crossed the pasture and climbed a low hill until at last the tent Kaella had made for Er and Tamar came into view. Judah spotted the girl outside, squatting over the fire and stirring something. She had taken to eating alone since Er’s death, and Judah could not help but think that the reason had to do with the way Kaella acted toward her.
But Er’s death wasn’t the girl’s fault, no matter what his wife might think. He had questioned her, and he knew by what she did not say that she was innocent. His heart told him this was true.
They came to the tent and Judah stopped near the fire, Onan standing sullenly at his side.
Tamar looked up and quickly stood. “My lord, what can I do for you?” She offered him a slight bow, hands folded in front of her.
“We have a tradition,” Judah said, looking at Onan. “When a man dies, leaving no children, that man’s brother must marry the widow to raise up a son for him. I am here to give you Onan as a husband to raise up a son to carry on Er’s name.” He placed a hand on Onan’s shoulder and urged him to step closer to Tamar.
Tamar’s eyes grew wide. She looked from one man to the other as if both had lost their senses. Had she not heard of this tradition? But of course she would know of it. Though it did not happen often, her people had practiced it for generations.
Her silence lingered as she looked at Onan, who did not meet her gaze. She closed her eyes briefly, then lifted her head, acceptance apparent in her expression. “I am my lord’s servant,” she said softly. She let her hands fall to her sides.
“And I declare Onan, my son, to be husband to Tamar, daughter of Yassib, to carry on his brother’s offspring.” Judah fairly pushed Onan closer and took each of their hands. He placed Tamar’s hand in Onan’s, and Onan finally lifted his gaze to the girl and gripped her hand.
Judah released his hold, said a quick blessing over them, and told Onan that this was his home now, with Tamar. Onan did not argue or give Judah any complaint, to Judah’s great relief. Instead, he led Tamar inside the tent.
Judah turned to walk away. Onan would fulfill the vow and all would be well. It had to be. How could he face the men of the land and especially Yassib if his own sons could not give them both a grandson? He and his generation would die without grandchildren, like Joseph, who could have no kin to carry his name.
Guilt over Joseph, over Er, over his life, followed Judah to the sheep pens.
Tamar felt her whole body go numb, barely sensing Onan’s hand holding hers or him leading her into the tent. What had just happened here? He was barely old enough to be anyone’s husband. If Er had been childish, Onan was more so. She had seen his selfish attitudes, had heard the taunting and insulting words they both used, all in the name of humor. And now, just when she was free of the one, she found herself bound to the other.
The tent flap closed behind them, and she heard Judah’s footsteps fade in the distance. Onan let go of her hand once they entered the tent. The porridge would burn over the fire if she did not attend to it, but what could she do? He had pulled her inside, and she was captive to do what he wanted.