A Lineage of Grace Page 9

  Tamar rose and haggled with another customer. It was late in the day, and the man wanted quality textiles for bargain prices. She refused his price and sat down. He offered more. They haggled again. Finally, the man purchased the last of the cloth and left. With a sigh, Tamar sat inside the booth with her mother.

  “I’m going to need more blue thread. I thought I had enough to finish this sash, but I still need more. Go and buy more for me, but be quick about it.”

  Tamar walked past booths displaying baskets of figs and pomegranates, trays of grapes, jars of olive oil and honey, skins of wine, bowls of spices from Eastern caravans. Children played beside mothers hawking merchandise. Tamar saw other widows, all much older than she, sitting content while grown sons or daughters-in-law conducted the business.

  Depressed, she purchased the blue thread her mother needed and headed back. She walked down a different aisle of booths displaying wood, clay, and stone teraphim; pottery; baskets; and weaponry. She was restless and dejected, when she noticed two men coming toward her. One looked vaguely familiar. She frowned, wondering if he was a friend of her brothers.

  As he came closer, she realized it was Shelah! Shocked, she stared, for he was a full-grown man boasting a beard and broad shoulders! His companion was a young Canaanite, and both were armed with curved knives. Each had a wineskin draped over his shoulders, and they were both drunk! Shelah swaggered down the narrow lane. He bumped into a man, shoved him aside, and cursed him. Tamar couldn’t seem to move. She stood gawking at them, her heart racing.

  “Well, look at her, Shelah.” His friend laughed. “The poor widow can’t take her eyes off of you. Perhaps she wants something from you.”

  Shelah brushed her aside with scarcely a look and snarled, “Get out of my way.”

  Heat poured into her face, for Judah’s son hadn’t even recognized her! He was just like Er, arrogant and contemptuous. He bumped into a counter, rattling the clay teraphim displayed there. The proprietor made a grab for his merchandise as Shelah and his friend laughed and strolled on.

  “Get out of my way. . . .”

  Tamar fought against the anger and despair filling her. Judah never meant to keep his promise!

  What would become of her when her father died? Would she have to beg crumbs from her brothers’ tables or go out and glean in a stranger’s field? For the rest of her life, she would suffer the shame of abandonment and have to survive on others’ pity. All because Judah had forsaken her. It was not just! Judah had lied. She was left with nothing. No future! No hope!

  Tamar returned to her father’s booth and gave the blue thread to her mother. Then she sat in the deepest shadows, her face turned away.

  “You were gone a long time. What kept you?”

  Hot tears burned Tamar’s eyes, but she refused to look at her mother. “The woman was stubborn about the price.” She would not expose her shame.

  Her mother made no further reprimand, but Tamar felt her watchful eyes. “Is something wrong, Tamar?”

  “I’m tired.” Tired of this endless waiting. Tired of hoping Judah would keep his promise. Tired of the barrenness of a useless life! She clenched her hands. She needed wise counsel, but whom could she trust? She couldn’t speak with her father, for he’d merely tell her he’d been right all along: Judah had cast her out and abandoned her. She couldn’t speak with her mother because she was content with things as they were. She was getting older and needed extra hands to help. Her father was wealthy enough now to have servants, but he preferred to sink his profits into a new stone storage house for surplus grain.

  The market day ended, and the booths were dismantled. Her father and brothers came in time to load the donkey. It was a long walk home.

  Tamar didn’t speak of Shelah until she was alone with Acsah.

  “Did he speak to you?”

  “Oh yes. He told me to get out of his way.” Tamar pressed a hand over her mouth, silencing the sob that choked her. She closed her eyes, struggling for control over her emotions. She shook her head.

  Acsah embraced her and stroked her back. “I knew this day would come.”

  “I stood right in front of him, Acsah, and he didn’t even know me.”

  “You were a young girl when you entered Judah’s house. Now you’re a woman. It’s not surprising Shelah didn’t recognize you. I doubt even Judah would.”

  “You don’t understand what this means!”

  “Yes, I do. You’re the one who never understood.”

  Tamar drew back. “I thought . . .”

  Acsah shook her head. “You hoped. You were the only one who had faith in that man.” She touched her cheek tenderly. “He is the one who has been faithless.”

  “I must do something, Acsah. I can’t leave things as they are.”

  They talked far into the night but came up with no solutions. Finally, exhausted, Tamar fell into a fitful sleep.

  * * *

  Tamar was milking the goats when her mother came to her. It was clear something was terribly wrong. She rose. “What’s happened, Mother?”

  “Judah’s wife is dead.” Tears slid down her mother’s wrinkled cheeks, but her eyes were like fire.

  Tamar stepped back, her body going cold. “Who sent word?”

  “No one sent word! Your father heard about it from a friend who has commerce with the Hebrews. Judah’s wife is already buried! You were not even summoned to mourn her.” Her eyes were fierce and black. “That my daughter should be so ill-treated by a Hebrew and nothing be done about it will bring me down to my grave!” She wept bitter tears.

  Tamar turned her face away and closed her eyes. She wished she could sink into the earth and be spared this final humiliation.

  Her mother came closer. “When will you see your situation for what it is? Your brother saw Shelah in the marketplace. He took pity on you and told me rather than your father! Shelah’s a grown man! Perhaps he’s left his father’s household. Perhaps he’ll choose his own wife and do whatever he pleases. Judah did!”

  Tamar turned away. What she said was true. Judah had never had control over his sons. He’d never been able to rein in Er or Onan. Why should anything be different with Shelah? All the men of Judah’s household lived for the pleasure of the moment without thought of tomorrow! Shaking, Tamar paced. She had to do something or scream. She sat down and went back to milking the goats.

  “How can you say nothing at such news? This despicable man has abandoned you!”

  “Enough!” Tamar glared up at her mother. “I will not speak against Judah or his sons. I will remain loyal to the house of my husband, no matter how they—or you—treat me.” She wished she could control her thoughts as easily as her tongue!

  “At least we give you bread.”

  “Grudgingly. I earn every bite I take.”

  “Your father says you should go to Kezib and shout at the gate for justice!”

  So her father knew everything. Her humiliation was complete. Tamar put her forehead against the side of the goat; her anguish was too deep for tears.

  “You should have cried out against Judah long ago.” Her mother was relentless. “It’s your right! Will you sit here for the rest of your life and do nothing? Who will provide for you when you grow old? What will happen to you when you can no longer work? What will happen to you when you’re too old to glean?” She knelt beside Tamar and grasped her arm. “Let the elders know how this Hebrew has treated you and brought shame upon us! Let everyone know that Judah breaks his vow!”

  Tamar looked at her. “I know the man better than you, Mother. If I shame him before all Kezib and Adullam, he will not bless me for it! If I blacken the name of my father-in-law, will he show me kindness and mercy and give me Shelah?”

  Her mother stood in disgust. “So you will go on waiting. You will accept what he’s done to you. You’ll let the years pass and grow old without children.” Tears came hot and heavy. “How many years will it be before your time of childbearing passes? You won’t be young forever! Wh
o will take pity on you when your father dies?”

  Tamar covered her face. “Please do not vex me so! I’m searching for a way . . .” She wept.

  Her mother said nothing for a long moment. She put her hand gently on Tamar’s shoulder. “Life is hard for a woman, Tamar. But it’s impossible without a man.”

  Tamar drew a shaky breath and raised her head. “I know that better than anyone.” Rubbing the tears away, she looked at her mother. “I will find a way.”

  Her mother sighed and looked out toward the hills. “The man who spoke with your father said Judah’s wife was ill for a long time. Two years, at least. She must have died a slow, cruel death.” She hesitated, her brow furrowed. “Judah had only one wife, didn’t he?”

  “Only Bathshua.”

  “No concubines?”

  “None.” Milk splashed into the earthen bowl as Tamar worked. Focusing on her task, she tried to ignore her mother’s gentle touch. It would be her undoing, and she’d cried enough to last a lifetime.

  “The man said Judah was going to Timnah with his friend from Adullam,” her mother said and let the words hang in the air before adding, “The sheepshearing festival will begin soon.”

  Tamar looked up at her. Her mother smiled faintly, eyes keen. She said nothing more. Brushing Tamar’s shoulder lightly with her fingertips, she left her alone to think.

  And how her thoughts whirled as she worked. Judah might be unwilling to keep his promise, but she still had rights. According to the customs of her people, if Judah wouldn’t allow Shelah to sleep with her and give her a son, then Judah himself owed her one.

  So Judah was going to the sheepshearing now that his wife was dead! Righteous indignation filled her. Timnah was a center of commerce and the worship of Astarte. She knew what her father-in-law would do there. There were common harlots by the dozens, who sold their bodies for a scrap of bread and a cup of wine! Such might be her own fate if her father cast her out.

  She would no longer sit quietly by, waiting for Judah to honor a promise he’d never intended to keep. If she didn’t do something soon, Judah would be led by his lusts and carelessly give up his seed—what rightfully belonged to her—to the first woman in Timnah who tantalized him.

  Biting her lip, Tamar considered her options. She could continue her chaste existence and wait upon Judah to do what was right, knowing now that he never would, or she could go after him. She could pretend to be a harlot by the roadside. Shelah hadn’t recognized her. Why should Judah?

  She carried the earthen vessel into the house, where her mother was putting the last touches on her sister’s veil. Tamar set the bowl down and looked at the finery lying across her mother’s lap. What if she were to dress in her sister’s garments?

  “This is the best veil I’ve ever made.” Her mother tied off and bit a thread. “There. It’s finished.” She held it up.

  Tamar took the veil from her mother’s hand and ran it carefully through her own. “It’s very beautiful.”

  “Look at the gown.” Her mother rose and took up the gown for Tamar to see. “I’ve made everything your sister needs: headband, veils, gown, sash, anklets, and sandals.” She turned toward Tamar. “The veil was the last piece.” She stretched out her arm, and Tamar laid the veil carefully over it. Tamar noticed that her mother’s hands were trembling as she carefully folded the veil and tucked it into the basket. “Your father plans to send these things to your sister in two days. She must have everything in time for the festival.”

  Did her mother suspect the plan that was forming in her mind? “I’ll work in the fields tomorrow, Mother. I may not return to the house until very late.”

  Her mother tied the basket closed but didn’t rise or look at her. “It’s a three-hour walk to the crossroads at Enaim. You will have to start out just before dawn.”

  Tamar’s heart lurched, but she said nothing.

  Her mother bowed her head. “If Judah recognizes you, he’ll kill you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “If I die, I die.”

  “Shelah is a shallow young man. He would be easier to fool.”

  “Perhaps, Mother. But I don’t want another jackal. I’m going after the lion.”

  * * *

  The oil lamp was still burning when Tamar rose in the night. Her mother knew exactly how much oil to use so that the light would last through the heaviest darkness. Soon the lamp would flicker and go out, just in time for the first hint of dawn to light the room. Tamar tiptoed across the room and picked up the basket with her sister’s clothing. She left the house with it.

  The sun was rising, turning the stars into dying sparks in the paling sky. Tamar walked quickly across her father’s fields to the hills beyond. The sun was up and the earth warming by the time she reached the crossroads of Enaim. She entered an olive grove, hurrying into its depths where she would be hidden.

  Stripping off her widow’s garb, Tamar put on the garments and trappings her mother had made for her priestess sister. She loosened her hair, combing her fingers through the thick, black, curling mass until it hung down her back to below her waist. She put on the veil. The tiny bells around her ankles tinkled as she tucked her black tsaiph into the basket and hid it behind a tree.

  Grim but determined, Tamar walked back and waited at the edge of the grove where passersby wouldn’t see her. She kept watch for the rest of the morning. Her heart leaped into her throat every time she saw two men coming down the road, but she stayed hidden. She would show herself to no men but Judah and his Adullamite friend.

  It was well past noon when Judah appeared on the rise with Hirah at his side. She stepped out and sat at the edge of the grove. She rose and stepped forward as they came closer. The anklet bells tingled softly and caught Judah’s immediate attention. He slowed his pace and looked at her.

  Her palms were slick with sweat, her heart hammering wildly. She wanted to run into the orchard and hide herself again, but she vowed not to lose courage now. She must be bold. Deliberately ignoring the men, she leaned down, lifted the hem of the gown, and adjusted the thin straps of one sandal. The two men stopped.

  “We’re in no hurry,” the Adullamite said, his tone amused.

  When she straightened, Tamar didn’t look his way. She didn’t want him to approach her. She fixed her gaze upon Judah—it was he whose attention she sought. Would he recognize her? Her breath caught tensely as he turned aside and came to her. He stopped right in front of her and smiled, his gaze moving downward. Judah didn’t recognize her. He had scarcely looked at her veiled face.

  “Here, now,” he said, “let me sleep with you.”

  Tamar was shocked at how easily he fell prey to a woman’s wiles, even a woman who was completely inexperienced in the art of seduction! Was this the way men bought the services of a harlot? What should she say now?

  “She wants you, Judah.” Hirah grinned. “See how she trembles.”

  “Perhaps she’s shy.” Judah smiled wryly. “Go on ahead, Hirah. I’ll catch up later.”

  Hirah chuckled. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, my friend!” He walked down the road, leaving Tamar alone with Judah. She almost lost her nerve because of the intensity of his eyes. He never looked away.

  “So,” he said, “we’re alone now. What do you say?”

  She could tell his need was great, but no greater than her anger. Would her sister have felt pity? Tamar couldn’t muster any. Seven years ago she had begged him not to allow his son Onan to treat her like a harlot! Judah had wanted her to entice his son into doing what was right.

  Today she would do so with Judah himself.

  She took a step away from him, looking back over her shoulder coyly. “How much will you pay me?” She spoke low, in a tone she hoped would beguile him.

  “I’ll send you a young goat from my flock.”

  And where was his flock? Her anger heated. How like Judah to promise something he had no intention of giving. First, a son. Now, a goat! She wouldn’t accept another promise from hi
s lips. Not on this day, or any other. “What pledge will you give me so I can be sure you will send it?” She lowered her eyes so he would not see the fire that raged within her. Had he sensed it in her voice or mistaken the tremor for unbridled passion?

  Judah stepped closer. “Well, what do you want?”

  Tamar considered quickly. She wanted something that bore Judah’s name. If she became pregnant, she would need something to prove him responsible. “I want your identification seal, your cord, and the walking stick you’re carrying.” As soon as she uttered the words, her heart stopped. She had asked for too much! No man in his right mind would agree to give up so much, especially to a harlot! Judah would guess now. He would reach out and rip the veils from her face and kill her right there at the crossroads.

  She jerked slightly as he reached out. Then she realized he was handing her his staff! Tamar took it, then watched in amazement as Judah removed the cord from around his neck and handed her his seal as well. He hadn’t even uttered a word of protest! The man was driven by lust!

  A bitter sadness gripped Tamar. It took all her willpower not to wail and weep loudly. All the years she had waited for this man to do what was right, and then to find that he thought nothing at all of handing the keys to his household over to a woman he thought was a prostitute!

  The sadness ebbed quickly, replaced by excitement. She had cause to hope. Though she had shed her pride and degraded herself, she had this one opportunity to provide a child for the household of Judah. Acsah had said the time was right. She could only hope so.

  “Have you a room in town?” Judah said.

  “The day is fair, my lord, and grass far softer than a bed of stone.” Judah’s staff in her hand, she walked into the olive grove. He followed.

  * * *

  Judah took his pleasure beneath the shade of an olive tree and fell asleep in the afternoon heat. Tamar rose quietly and left him there. She hurried through the trees, found the basket she’d hidden, and quickly stripped off her sister’s garments and put on her own. Looping Judah’s cord and seal around her neck, she tucked them beneath her black mourning garment. She folded the red dress, veils, and sash and put them carefully away, tucking the belled anklets deep into the folds, where they would make no sound.