CANAAN
Judah placed the last tent in the last cart, ready to return to Hebron and reconcile, God willing, with his father and brothers. He had not slept well for many nights, and it had nothing to do with the occasional cries from his sons in the tent next to his.
He straightened his turban and rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could make his heart calm to a normal rhythm. He’d known he would find himself anxious when this day arrived, but now he could barely keep still. A baby’s cry caused him to walk the length of the caravan and stop where Tamar sat with her maid, each holding one of his sons.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, his voice gruff. He found it nearly impossible to speak to the girl in a normal tone. On a rare occasion he could, but only when they were by the fire and darkness covered the land. Never in daylight when his emotions could be exposed. How did one feel such pride in his children yet also such guilt toward their mother?
“Everything is fine, my lord,” Tamar said, offering him a slight smile.
She had tried to calm him for days, but he would not be calmed. She did not know what life would be like in his father’s camp. And in truth, neither did he after being gone so many years. Would Jacob accept him with open arms? Or would he be shunned and lose his place in the line of heritage for fleeing his father’s house?
“You are worried, Judah,” Tamar said, drawing him from his thoughts. Perez nursed at her breast, and her maid offered Zerah a wet rag to suck on while he waited his turn to feed. How did Tamar manage it all?
He shook himself, focusing on her comment. “Yes. I do not know what to expect when we arrive. I do not want you to be disappointed if we are not accepted.” He met her gaze for the first time in weeks.
“I will not be disappointed.” She smiled at him, then focused on Perez, cupping his head with her hand. “I daresay neither will you, for once your father sees you again, he will be overjoyed that you decided to come home.”
“Let us pray you are right. Are you ready to go?” He glanced at the caravan, which included Shelah’s new wife, Samina, animals, household items, and his infant sons. Shelah led the sheep at the start of the long line of servants.
“I am ready.” Tamar sat straighter and covered herself as she removed Perez from her breast. She had never allowed him to see her as he had the day he thought her a prostitute, and he was glad of it. He dared not even think of her as a wife, mother of his children or not.
He walked away and called to the servants as he headed to the front of the caravan. “Move out!” he shouted, catching Shelah’s attention. He still marveled at how accepting Shelah had been of his and Tamar’s indiscretion. But he knew that had more to do with Shelah’s marriage to Samina and his release from having to marry his brothers’ wife.
Shelah turned and waved, his smile wide, then called the sheep to follow.
Judah walked along, moving from front to back to front again, his sense of foreboding growing with each step home.
HEBRON
Jacob leaned heavily on his walking stick as he moved throughout the camp, counting the tents as a matter of habit and watching the servants work. His remaining two wives, the concubines Bilhah and Zilpah, worked with Dinah, spinning and weaving as usual. Benjamin often went with Reuben to care for the sheep, but Jacob did not allow them to travel far, as his other sons did. Reuben had assured Jacob he would keep the boy near and thus far had not failed to keep his word.
One glance at Bilhah, however, and Jacob wondered if he should trust Reuben at all. He shook his head and looked away. A few moments later, footsteps behind him caused him to turn.
“Are you all right, Abba?” Dinah slipped her arm through his and walked with him. “You seem restless today. Or are you still grieving my mother?”
Jacob looked into her eyes and wished not for the first time that life had been kinder to her. She should have a husband and children of her own. He should have been stronger and kept his sons in check. Regret pulsed through him, and a fresh wave of grief added to the many poor choices he had made. If only . . . But looking back and wishing for what could have been never did him any good.
“I do miss your mother, Dinah. Leah became a friend in later years after I lost Rachel. After I lost Joseph.” He continued walking. “But today I don’t know why I feel on edge. Nothing is right. The crops are not doing as well as they have for years now, and our family is . . . broken.”
Dinah kept pace with him as they moved to the central gathering place where stones were placed in a circle and they ate as a family. He thought to sit and rest his weary bones when the baaing of sheep came from a distance. The jangle of wagons and the lowing of cattle grew louder until Jacob watched as a great caravan of people and animals entered the camp.
He stopped, staring, and Dinah gasped. “Judah!” she whispered, and he recognized his son the moment he stepped to the head of the crowd.
“Yes,” Jacob said. His legs grew weak, but Dinah’s strength held him up.
Judah strode forward, his bearing humble. The closer he came, the more Jacob saw the uncertainty and regret in his gaze. He stopped several paces from Jacob.
“Father. It is I, Judah.” He twisted his hands in his belt as if he didn’t know what else to do with them.
“Judah! My son!” Jacob opened his arms, not hesitating a moment, and Judah stepped into them, holding him close. “Judah!” Jacob held tight to him, emotion rising within him until he could no longer contain it. He wept against Judah’s robe, and Judah’s tears mingled with his own.
“I’ve come home, Father. I should never have left you. I hope it is all right to live here with you again.” He held Jacob at arm’s length, his tear-streaked gaze holding Jacob’s.
“Of course! Did you have to ask?” Jacob shook from head to foot, and Judah helped him find his seat to rest his quaking limbs. “You’ve come home at last!” How long he had waited for this son to return. He had wondered if he would ever see him again.
Judah sat beside him. “Yes, Father, and I’ve brought my family with me. You have three grandsons you have not yet met. Would you like to meet them?”
Jacob searched Judah’s face. “Grandchildren?” He rose, sudden strength filling him. “Where are my grandchildren?” He followed Judah to the carts and the people who had gathered in a circle near the sheep and cattle. “All this is yours, my son?”
Judah nodded. “Yes. Your God has been very good to me.”
Jacob turned to him, searching his face. “You believe.”
Judah did not flinch, though his skin flushed as if the subject brought him shame. “It took me a long time to do so, Abba. But I suppose sometimes hardship is what leads us to seek the things we’ve always known were true. Your God—my God—has taught me much . . . and He has led me home.”
Jacob’s heart lifted with his son’s words. He would never have imagined this day in a thousand lifetimes. Only one thing could have made his life even better than seeing this son and the children who came through the crowd for him to meet—if Joseph had walked into the camp and said those same words. I’ve come home.
But Jacob knew he would never hear such a thing, for his beloved son was dead. Yet this son was alive, and he told himself to be grateful for what God had given.