“You are unjust!” She began to cry, shaming herself completely.
He looked away. “Resorting to tears won’t change my mind,” he said coldly.
Anger spurred her. “Do you think my father will welcome me with open arms?” She struggled for control over her unraveling emotions. “A widow twice over? Childless? Rejected and cast out?”
Judah was implacable. “Tell him I want you to remain a widow in his house until Shelah has grown up. When that day comes, I will send for you.”
Tamar lifted her head and stared into his eyes. “Will you?”
“I said I would.”
She refused to look away. Let him see the faith she had in him now that he had forsaken her.
Judah’s face reddened and his eyes shifted. “You don’t believe me?”
She gave him no answer, though she wondered. When had she ever seen Judah do what was right?
“I promise you!” he said quickly. “There! Now will you go without more distress?”
Content with that, Tamar did as he commanded.
Bathshua stood just outside the door, triumphant and pitiless. “Your nurse is waiting for you outside.” Fighting tears, Tamar stepped past her, but Bathshua wasn’t satisfied. She followed Tamar to the door and stood watching. “We’re well rid of you!”
Tamar didn’t look back. Nor did she look at Acsah, afraid that if she did so, she’d burst into tears and give Bathshua even more satisfaction. “Judah is sending us back to my father.”
Acsah’s eyes flashed. “I shall lay a curse upon Bathshua and her household.” She stepped forward, but Tamar grasped her arm, yanking her back.
“You will not! This is my home, my family. No matter what Judah thinks, this is where I belong.”
Acsah’s eyes filled with angry tears. “They do not deserve you,” she said under her breath.
“Judah chose me, Acsah. I will live in hope of being worthy of his choice. If you must speak, say prayers on his family’s behalf.”
No servant was given to accompany or protect them. They were given two small barley loaves and a skin of water to share.
When Tamar was well out of sight of the house, she fell to her knees and sobbed. Filling her hands with dust, she covered her head. Unable to console her, Acsah wept as well.
It was only eight miles to Zimran’s house. The hot sun was heavy upon them, but not as heavy as their hearts. It was dusk before Tamar arrived at her father’s door. He was not pleased to see her.
* * *
Zimran ordered everyone out. Tamar’s mother, Acsah, her sisters and brothers all hastened to obey. She wished she could flee her father’s wrath as well. She had no choice but to stand silent as he unleashed his fury upon her. Perhaps, in the end, he would show mercy.
“I gave you to Judah’s son so that you would bear children for him and keep peace between us! You have failed me! You have failed us all!”
She must keep her wits about her, or she was lost. “Judah gave me his word that he would send for me when Shelah is old enough to fulfill his duty to me.”
Zimran turned a scornful eye upon her. “And you believed that Hebrew? You fool! Shelah is only a few years younger than Er. Three or four at the most! And now Judah says Shelah isn’t old enough yet to father children? Ha! If he’s too young, why take him to the sheepshearing? You should have insisted upon your rights!”
She stumbled under the blow of his hand, falling to her knees. “I did all I could, Father.”
“Not enough!” Zimran paced, his face red, his hands balled. “You should have remained in his house rather than come back here. What good are you to me? You bring shame upon my house!”
Tamar pressed a hand over her throbbing cheek. Her heart pounded with fear. She must not give in to it. She must think. “Judah promised, Father. He promised.”
“So what? What good are vows with a Hebrew? The Hebrews made an agreement with Shechem, didn’t they? Look what happened to them!” He stood over her. “You’re no longer my responsibility! If Judah doesn’t want you in his house, why should I want you in mine? You’ll bring us all ill fortune!”
She must survive. “If you’re willing to risk it, Father, ignore Judah’s wishes. Cast me out!”
“Judah’s wishes? What wishes?”
“To build his household.” Was her father still afraid of Judah? She could only hope so. “Will Bathshua bear more sons for Judah, Father? She’s dry as dust and cold as stone. Can Judah give Shelah to another woman before he’s fulfilled his obligation to me? Judah wants to build his household, and I’m the one he chose to be the childbearer. Has anything changed?”
Her father’s eyes flickered. “If Judah meant to keep his word, he wouldn’t have sent you here. He sent you back because he wants to be rid of you. Everyone will know Judah thinks a daughter of my house is the cause of his ill fortune!”
How her father’s words stung! Her eyes burned hot with tears. “Give Judah time to grieve, Father. Give him time to think!”
“Time! All the advantages I gained with your marriage are lost to me! Do you think Judah will bring his flocks to my fields with you here? I’ll have to find other shepherds to bring their flocks and herds, or my land will go unnourished.” He glowered at her. “You’re useless! You’re a plague on my house! I have other daughters who need husbands! Will any man offer for the sister of an accursed woman like you? Judah would probably consider it a favor if I killed you!”
The cruel, thoughtless words rained down upon Tamar and hurt her far worse than blows. She quaked inwardly but dared not show weakness. “As you wish, Father. Strike me down. And when Judah sends for me so that his son can have sons, tell him, ‘I killed Tamar in a fit of rage!’”
“I’ll cast you out the same way he did.”
“He sent me home to my father for safekeeping. Will you tell Judah you rejected me? Will you tell this Hebrew warrior that his daughter-in-law was sent away to glean in other men’s fields, beg bread, and prostitute herself in order to survive? I’m certain Judah will understand. Hebrews are easily swayed, aren’t they? They’re given to mercy. They forgive a wrong done to them. My father-in-law will be as merciful to you as you are to me!”
He was listening. Tamar pressed her advantage. “If I’m ruined and made unfit for Shelah, what will happen to Judah’s household? I will always be Judah’s daughter-in-law. Shelah is Judah’s last son, Father. Is Judah the sort of man who will let his household die for want of children? He chose me!” She paused, giving him a thoughtful look. “Unless you wish to return the bride-price.”
Her father paled.
She softened her voice. “Judah has asked a simple thing of you, Father. Give me food, water, and shelter for a time and receive his blessing for it.”
“How much time?”
“A few years, perhaps. Whatever time Shelah needs to become man enough to be my husband.”
The root of fear had been deeply planted in her father. That fear must be the hedge of protection around her. “You want Judah as an ally, Father, not an enemy. You are not strong enough to stand against him.”
He sneered, his eyes cunning. “He is but one man and has but one son now.”
A chill washed over her. Had she jeopardized Judah’s household by reminding her father of their dwindling numbers? She could see what he was thinking. He had six sons. Her mind raced in Judah’s defense. “Judah has many brothers, many fierce brothers. And their father is Jacob, a man who speaks with the unseen, living God who destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. Don’t forget what Jacob’s sons did to Shechem. An entire town was destroyed because of the dishonor done one girl. Am I not Judah’s daughter now, wife of his firstborn, Er, wife of Onan, promised wife of his last son, Shelah? What will Judah’s God do to you if you attempt to destroy his household?”
Zimran paled. He wet his lips nervously. “You will work,” he said with bluster. “You won’t sit around growing fat and lazy on his promise. You will be a servant in my house until such time as he calls f
or you.”
She bowed her head so that he wouldn’t see her relief. “I am your humble servant, Father.”
“I had such hope you would build a bridge,” he said bitterly. “The stars did not foresee the trouble you would bring me.”
Her throat was tight with tears. She swallowed them and spoke with grave respect. “One day Judah will thank you.”
Zimran gave a bitter laugh. “I doubt it, but I’ll take no risks over a mere girl. You will sleep with the handmaidens. You’re unfit company for your sisters.”
Tamar knew he sought to hurt her because she’d failed him. She raised her head and looked at him. He frowned slightly and looked away. “You may go.”
She rose from the floor with dignity. “May the God of Judah bless you for your kindness toward me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Before you go, there’s something I want you to think about.” His eyes were hard. “You’re young. Soon your widow’s garb will chafe you. The years will pass, and you’ll see your chances of bearing children fade.”
“I will be faithful, Father.”
“You say that now, but a time will come when you’ll long to remove the sackcloth and ashes and your tsaiph of black. But I’m warning you: If you ever do, I’ll let Judah decide your fate. We both know what that will be.”
Her death, no doubt, followed by celebration.
“I will be faithful. Upon my life, I swear. If it’s the last thing I do, I will bring honor upon Judah’s house!” Despite the tears flooding her eyes, she lifted her chin and looked into his eyes before she left the room.
* * *
Judah would have forgotten all about Tamar if Bathshua hadn’t become obsessed with finding some way to take vengeance upon the wretched girl. Even after Tamar was gone, his wife gave him no peace.
“My sons must be avenged! As long as she lives, I’ll have no rest!”
And neither would he.
Bathshua ceased running the household, leaving her chores to a few lazy servants while she dedicated her days and nights to beseeching her gods for vengeance. She wanted Tamar dead and disaster to befall Zimran’s entire household.
“The girl is gone!” Judah shouted in frustration. “Give me some peace and forget about her.”
“As you’ve done!” Accusation reigned. “I have two sons in the grave because of her. If you were any kind of man, you would have killed her! I will never forget what she’s done to me! Never!” She returned to her idols, praying to them for vengeance.
Judah left her alone in her misery. Could stone idols hear? Could wood or clay teraphim change anything? Let her find whatever consolation she could.
Judah thought about taking another wife. Another woman might give him more sons, but the thought of another woman under his roof sickened him. He’d grown up in a household with four wives. He knew the trouble women could bring to a man, even women who believed in the same God he did. His father’s life had never been easy. Judah’s mother and Rachel, his father’s favorite wife, had constantly been at odds in their contest to produce sons. Matters only worsened when they both insisted that Jacob take their handmaidens as concubines, each thereby hoping to win the competition. Their sons had been weaned in bitter rivalry. And nothing had ever turned his father’s heart from Rachel. Jacob had loved her from the moment he’d first seen her, and her death in childbirth had nearly destroyed him. In truth, he loved her still. He’d loved Joseph and Benjamin more than all the rest of his sons because they had come from Rachel.
No, Judah wouldn’t bring more misery upon himself by taking another wife. One woman was enough trouble for any man. Two wives would be double the trouble. He reminded himself often that he’d loved Bathshua once. She was the wife of his youth, the mother of his sons. He wouldn’t set her aside for another, no matter how difficult she became.
Besides, he’d have to build another house for fear of what Bathshua would do to any woman he brought into this one. He’d seen her ill treatment of Tamar.
Judah escaped conflict with Bathshua by staying away from his stone house and tending his flocks. He had a justifiable reason for being away for weeks on end. Yet even out in the fields away from his wife, trouble hounded him.
His calves and lambs were cursed by disease or killed by predators. The sun scorched his pasturage. When he kept his animals protected in the wadies so that marauders wouldn’t take them, rains came upon the mountains, sending floodwaters through the wadies. Many animals were swept away by a flash flood, their bloated bodies a feast for vultures. When he returned home, he found blight had killed his grapevines. Beetles had devoured his palm tree. The garden had gone fallow for lack of loyal servants. The sky was bronze, the earth iron!
Even Bathshua sickened as the bitter rot of discontent spread poison through her thinning body. Her face sharpened. Her voice rasped. Her dark eyes became as hard as obsidian. She complained constantly of pain in her neck, her back, her stomach, her bowels. Judah summoned healers, who took his money and left useless potions behind.
Everything Judah had worked twenty years to build was turning to ashes before his eyes. And he knew why.
God is against me!
Lying on the hard ground in the opening of his sheepfold, a stone for a pillow, Judah stared up at the evening sky and remembered the promise God had given his father, Jacob, so many years ago—the same promise God had given to Jacob’s father, Abraham. Land and descendants as numerous as the stars in the heavens! The Lord had blessed Jacob-Israel with twelve sons.
Judah was haunted by nightmares about the fateful day in Dothan. His own words cursed him. “What can we gain by killing our brother? Let’s sell Joseph to those Ishmaelite traders!” The dry cistern yawned like a black hole in his dreams, and he could hear the cries of his helpless younger brother.
He knew it was because of what he and his brothers had done to Joseph that his life was now in ruins. There was no way to go back, no way to undo his part in it.
“Help me, brothers! Help me!” Judah remembered the boy struggling against his shackles and sobbing for help from those who should have protected him. “Help me!” The boy’s sobs still echoed, the same way they had the day he was dragged away to Egypt as his brothers watched.
Judah had shown no mercy to Joseph then.
Judah expected no mercy from God now.
* * *
Though outwardly obedient, inwardly Tamar balked at fate, for it was not her destiny to grow old and die without having children. Four years passed, but Tamar clung tenaciously to hope. She was still young; there was still time.
She worked hard for her father’s household. She gave him no opportunity to complain. She made pottery. She wove baskets and cloth. She made tools for her brothers and sisters to use in the fields. Only when the shepherds had taken their flocks away did her father send her out into the fields to work. Though the work was grueling, she preferred the open spaces. Better a burden of rock than the burden of others’ contempt.
Her father prospered. The third year Zimran harvested twofold from his fields. “Where is the ill fortune you were sure I would bring you?” she said in challenge.
“Let’s wait and see what next year brings.”
By the fifth year her father’s household prospered so greatly that everyone forgave her presence. Her sisters married, and she was welcomed into the house. Her brother took a wife. Tamar became an object of pity. She would have welcomed their compassion, but she despised their charity. They looked down upon her and upon Judah’s household.
She held on to her hope. She clung to it. One day Judah would send for her! One day she would have children! Someday the house of Judah would be strong and held in high honor because of the sons she would give them. She wept, for she ached to take her rightful place as the childbearer in her husband’s clan. What greater dream could a woman have?
Yet sometimes in the night, when Tamar heard the soft mewling sounds of her brother’s firstborn son, she wept. Would she ever hold a child of her own?
Surely Judah had not forsaken her. Surely he would send for her. He had given his promise. Perhaps this year. Perhaps next. Oh, let it be soon!
When she was alone in the fields, Tamar lifted up her eyes to the heavens, tears streaking her face. How long, O Lord, how long will I be abandoned? How long before justice is done? Oh, God of Judah, help me. When will this son of yours see that I can give his household the children he needs so that the name of Judah will not die? Change his heart, God. Change his heart.
Having prayed to Judah’s unseen God, Tamar did the only thing left to her.
She waited . . .
and waited . . .
and waited. . . .
FIVE
On market day, while her father and brothers sat in the city gate visiting with friends, Tamar remained in the goat-hair booth with her mother and sold cloth made from the flax. Sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued patrons never cowed Tamar, and the booth always showed a good profit when she managed it. Her mother was content to leave it in her hands.
Business had been brisk, and Tamar was kept very busy while her mother sat and stitched the sun, the moon, and the stars on a red gown she’d made for her daughter in Timnah. Every year Tamar’s sister received a new gown and veil. Zimran grumbled at the cost of the cloth and colored thread but never refused to allow his wife to purchase whatever she needed. Only the best would do for a temple priestess, and her father coveted the favor of the gods, any and all of them. Tamar’s mother spent hours working with her fine threads and tiny beads, trimming the gowns and exquisite veils she made from imported cloth of red and blue. She also made anklets with rows of tiny bells.
Though Tamar wore her mourning garments until they were threadbare, she never asked for more or wished for the finery her sister was given. Tamar was satisfied with her voluminous black tsaiph that covered her from head to foot. The garment didn’t chafe, but the barren wasteland of her life did. Despair wore upon her resolve.
She’d been born for more than this! She’d been brought up and trained to be a wife and mother of a household! Six years had come and gone, and still no summons from Judah!