He searched her face, knowing of what she spoke, wishing again that he had gone with her that long-ago day. If only she had asked him. If only he had been able to help her since.
“You will always be my favorite sister. Never forget that.” He smiled, and she laughed lightly.
“I am your only sister, Joseph. Of course you would say that.” She straightened.
“Let us talk of better things,” he said, taking her hand again and moving toward the central fire where the family gathered at mealtimes.
She pulled him toward a copse of large oak trees instead, away from the tents. He followed willingly, curious.
“I would rather not speak in such an open space,” she said once they were in the shade of the trees. The wind whispered above them, and birds sang a mix of tunes in the branches.
“Something troubles you, my sister.” He leaned against an oak and watched her beautiful face.
“I . . .” She paused as if searching for the words. “Our father seems overly anxious of late. Do you know what it is that troubles him?” She clasped her hands in front of her.
Joseph looked beyond her. “He concerns himself over the lack of camaraderie in our family. Particularly between my brothers and me.” He held her gaze. “It is nothing to concern you.”
“Everything our father does and feels concerns me, Joseph. He holds many regrets . . . as do I.” She looked at her feet and sighed.
“You can’t continue to wish the past could change, Dinah.” He coaxed her to look at him, but his words did not erase the hurt in her gaze.
She glanced toward the fields where her brothers had taken the sheep. “My brothers always think they know best, but they don’t. If Father had known they were going to kill all of those men that day . . . They didn’t even ask his opinion, Joseph. And they didn’t care at all what I thought. They were spiteful and hateful, and Shechem loved me.” Her words came out in a near whisper, and her voice caught on a sob.
Why was it so hard for her to forgive after so many years had passed? But he did not live with her grief.
Joseph stroked his thinly bearded chin. What could he possibly say to encourage her, to help her see that God still cared about her? Surely the God of Abraham who cared for the servant Hagar cared for his sister.
He searched his heart for words that were difficult. “Dinah, your life is not over because of this. God still has a plan for all of us. I don’t know what that is, but I know that with all our father has seen Him do, what he has experienced with our God, He has called our family out to be His own. We are His people, Dinah, and that means you too. No ill treatment by a foreign man, no lack of mercy from our brothers can change God’s favor toward you. You did not sin, Dinah. They did. You cannot change what happened, but you can still do great things in life. God has not abandoned you.” He touched her arm in a comforting gesture.
She nodded, moisture filming her large, dark eyes. “I want to believe that, Joseph. You are the only one who believes as Father and my mother do. I know your mother also believed in Him, but my brothers . . . they are always angry. It is like they hate the entire world and all that God made.”
“They are jealous of me,” he said softly. “Which is why our father troubles himself over it.” He looked at his feet. He knew it deep down but had never voiced it to her.
She touched his shoulder. “They shouldn’t be,” she said, her voice firm. “You have lost so much. They should be grateful they still have our mother. Instead, they fault you for finding favor with Father. It makes no sense.”
“I think it is more than that,” Joseph said, looking toward the tents.
She stared at him, her dark brows lifted in question. “Explain yourself to me, please. I do not understand.”
He cleared his throat and glanced briefly toward the heavens. “I believe in our father’s God,” he said. “Father and I often speak of Him, and Father teaches me about Him. So does our grandfather. Have you ever seen any of our brothers go into our father’s tent or heard them ask him questions about our God?”
She slowly shook her head.
“Because they don’t want to hear about Him. They are not interested in the things of the Creator as I am. As Father is. As Grandfather is. It is a connection I share with them that our brothers do not. They think Father favors me, and he does so not just because I’m Rachel’s son but because I want to learn all that he knows of life, of God, of everything.”
Dinah searched his face for a lengthy breath, then nodded. “You are right. They do not ask my mother such questions either. She tried to teach them—to teach all of us—about our father’s God, but they wanted to run and play and now would rather work. They have little use for things they cannot see.”
“But you do.”
“Yes,” she said, looking toward the heavens. “I talk about Him with my mother frequently. Not so much with our father. But then he doesn’t seem to know how to talk to me on any subject except Benjamin.”
Joseph laughed. “I think he struggles with having a daughter when he is used to mostly sons.”
Dinah smiled, and this time he didn’t see the sadness behind her eyes. “I will have to spend more time with him to show him not to be afraid of a daughter.”
“I think having a daughter would be a wonderful thing.” Joseph moved away from the tree. “I should get to work. Is there anything else?”
She shook her head. “No. I just wanted to give Benjamin time with Father. I will collect him now, and you go ahead and learn whatever it is you are learning.”
He grinned. “I think I’ve already figured things out, but don’t tell Elkan I said so.”
She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Trust me. I won’t.”
Dinah considered Joseph’s words over the next few weeks. How hard it was to believe that her life held any worth after what she had done. After what had been done to her. If only . . . But her anger at her brothers, particularly Simeon and Levi, did her no good. They were quick-tempered and impossible to talk to. Not that she wanted to talk to them. If they had not killed Shechem, she might be wed and the mother of children by now.
She looked up from the loom where she worked in the common area with the other women, their voices a buzz in the background of her thoughts. Her mother sat opposite her and met her gaze with a lifted brow. Dinah simply shrugged. She did not want to discuss her feelings with anyone, not even her mother, for Leah would only defend her sons.
A deep sigh lifted her chest as she moved the shuttle, threading the weft through the warp. This tunic for Benjamin would be a little long on him, but he was growing so fast that he would outgrow it before she could make him a new one.
She suppressed a soft smile at the thought of Rachel’s young son. If not for Benjamin, who would she have to love or to love her? Though she was not his mother, he still felt like a son to her.
“You’re terribly quiet today, my daughter,” her mother said, breaking into her thoughts. “Is something troubling you?”
Dinah lifted her head but continued to work. “I am fine, Ima. I was just thinking and concentrating on the weaving.”
Leah’s look said that her answer did not satisfy, but Dinah returned her attention to the task. Did God care about her the way Joseph said He did? What would she do with her life once Benjamin grew to adulthood, or even when he became old enough to tend the sheep with her brothers? Would they hate him as they hated Joseph?