He caught sight of Shelah calling the sheep and goats to follow him toward the fields. Judah drew up beside him. “You are up early. Did you eat?”
Shelah nodded. “Yes, Abba. Samina made porridge and bread for me. I think she cooks as well as Ima did. She would make a fine wife.” He met Judah’s gaze, and Judah could not hold it.
“You are meant for Tamar.” He turned away, for he knew he could not bear to lose another son to that woman. Would it be so wrong to let Shelah have his subtle request?
But the nagging thought to call Tamar back to his camp had lingered since Kaella’s death. Still, how could he go against his wife’s dying wish to never allow Tamar near their home again? How could he give his last son to a woman who had been the reason his first two sons were dead?
He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. But what was he to do with Tamar? She legally belonged to his household, and he had known from the beginning that sending her back to her father was not the right thing to do. Yassib had shown his anger and frustration with Judah, but he had also given in to Judah’s request for the sake of his two lost sons.
There was no possible way he could bring Tamar back now. If Shelah died, he would have no one. Even if he himself married again and his new wife birthed more children, it would be years before they could help him. He would die before he could train them to be better men than his oldest sons had been.
But it was Tamar who had caused this curse to come upon him, not Er and Onan. At first he had not thought so, but now fear rose within him whenever he thought of the girl. He could not go through such loss again.
“What has you so quiet, Abba?” Shelah asked as they came to green pastures and the sheep spread out to eat their fill.
It still amazed Judah how easy it was to go in and out and find lush pastures. God had surely blessed the land, even if He had not blessed him. Was he to do something with this blessing of a land that seemed to drip with milk and honey? Everywhere he turned, everything he touched flourished and grew. Except his family.
What he wouldn’t give to have his family again. He glanced at Shelah, aware of his questioning look. “I’m thinking of your mother and brothers and the bountiful land. I’m thinking of Tamar and you and what I should do.” He held his son’s wide-eyed gaze.
“I don’t want to marry her, Abba. I want Samina.” He looked at his feet, his voice dropping in pitch. “And I don’t want to die too.”
Judah patted his shoulder, then cupped his face with one hand. “And you won’t,” he said after a pause. “I cannot lose you, and I cannot bring that woman into our house again. I will go to her father and break the contract. Let her be free to marry another.”
“No one will want her,” Shelah said, his wisdom beyond his years. “Everyone thinks she’s cursed by God.”
Judah leaned back, unaware of that rumor. He had considered his sons cursed by God. But Shelah was right. Tamar was the one. She was to blame for all the sorrows that had befallen him.
“Then she shall remain a widow,” he said, moving away to guide a wayward lamb back to the flock. Yes, let her remain a widow the rest of her life. She really deserved to die for what she’d done to him.
He had assumed that Yassib had raised good daughters. Daughters who could be trusted. He would not pay the price for Yassib’s errors. Tamar would never be welcome in his camp again.
Three months later, as Tamar approached the town well, she saw a group of women standing close together, gossiping, no doubt. What poor soul were they destroying with their words this time?
She lowered her jar into the well and filled it. One of the women approached her, and she faced her after pulling the jar toward herself and holding it against her chest.
“Hello, Tamar,” the woman said. “Have you heard the news?” She smiled. “Of course you haven’t, for we all just learned of it ourselves.”
Normally Tamar did not stand around and listen to their tales, but something in the woman’s expression made her curious. “What is it?”
The woman leaned closer. “They say that Judah and his friend Hirah the Adullamite are going up to Timnah to supervise the shearing of his sheep.” She tsked her tongue. “I mean, I know the man has to look after his flocks, grieving or not, but sheepshearing is always a festive time. Apparently the man has finished mourning his wife’s death.”
Tamar stared at her a moment, surprised at the condemnation in her tone. She quickly dismissed it. Judah couldn’t grieve forever. But by now he should have given her to Shelah. She could be helping with the festivities if there had been a wedding to celebrate first.
Judah never planned to give you to Shelah.
The thought struck her with more force than she expected. Hadn’t she always known it? And now her father-in-law would go to celebrate with his friends while she remained a young woman dressed in black, unable to go out anywhere until she was free of the bonds of widowhood.
“Thank you for telling me,” she told the woman, shaking herself from her wayward thoughts. This was information she could use. She wasn’t sure how, but as she walked back to her father’s house, she knew she must find a way to change her future. She would not remain a widow all her life. She would not allow this man to leave her childless and alone.
36
HEBRON
Jacob woke to the keening sound of the women of the camp, startled by the telltale sign of mourning. He rose as quickly as his aging body would allow, dressed, and hurried to follow the sound. Leah’s tent. His heart sank with the realization even before he heard the truth or saw her body. What would he do without Leah?
He braced himself and lifted the flap to find Dinah, Bilhah, and Zilpah surrounding Leah’s prone form. Light came from several lamps. Dinah turned, noticing him there, and jumped up and ran to him.
His arms came around her, his only daughter. “She is gone, Abba,” Dinah said, hiccupping on a sob. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he patted her back as if she were a small child to be comforted. “I should have known sooner that she’d been feeling weaker for many years. But she never complained, and she kept up with her work . . . I should have noticed.”
“Your mother kept many things to herself, my daughter. It is not your fault that she has gone the way of all the earth. We all go there sometime.” Still, Jacob struggled to piece together Leah’s actions of late. He had talked with her often, but she had kept her weakness from him as well. She had still made him her best pastries and offered them to him when they were alone. She had still laughed with him even though they talked more about Benjamin than her sons. Leah knew that Jacob held them accountable for Joseph’s loss, and she never seemed to fault him for his feelings.
But gone? So soon? He was far older than she was. Shouldn’t he have gone to Sheol first?
Now they would travel to Machpelah and Leah would rest with Jacob’s ancestors there. Waiting for him until God’s time for him on earth was also finished.
If only Joseph could have been placed safely in that tomb instead of torn to pieces by animals. The grief never left him, and now with Leah’s loss it simply multiplied. His life was one of much trouble and hardship. Was this how God blessed a man?
He wrestled with the thought nearly as much as he had once wrestled with God Himself, causing his limp. He knew God had blessed him then. He just didn’t expect blessing to come with so much heartache and loss.