Rachel and Leah (Women of Genesis) by Orson Scott Card Page A

that her gratitude was fleeting, while her annoyance at the changes kept being revived with each thing she stepped on, each stumble, each item out of place, and each fresh remembering that she really was good for little in this world, that the tasks she was able to perform were generally those that little children were given. She could not sew—her stitches would all have to be taken out again. She could not even spin, foreven though you did not have to stare at the yarn you still had to be aware of it, and aware of how much fleece remained. And you had to know whether the spindle was still spinning from the distaff. All impossible for her. So even the most continuous occupation of women was barred to her.
    She could weed, once a garden was well started—once the plants were big enough that she could tell a bean or radish or squash from the weeds that sprang up. She could carry water—if someone kept the path clear—which probably took more time than if they simply carried the water themselves. Was it even possible that her voice did
not
please Father, that he only said it did because singing was one of the few things she could actually do without the work having to be redone by others?
    There is no more useless person on earth than I am, thought Leah. She did not say this to anyone because, first, they would certainly agree with her, and she could not bear the slight hesitation before they reassured her that it wasn’t so. Second, she recognized that there was something very selfish and wicked about spending time moping about because of how limited she was, when instead she ought to be grateful every moment that she was so blessed by having a father who bent his whole household to taking care of her. And third, why should she complain to any living person when it was God who made her half-blind like this and therefore her tender eyes must somehow fulfil a purpose he had in mind for her?
    Wouldn’t it be nice, though, if God would send her a dream to explain everything—like those dreams he kept sending to Rachel, who had perfectly good eyes. Wasn’t that just like God, to send the girl with good eyes the visions that assured her that God had a great purpose for her, while toLeah, who could not see with her natural eyes, he sent only spiritual blindness as well?
    Maybe that was why God had brought Jacob to their camp. Rachel got dreams, but perhaps Leah had been sent a prophet. An angel, even—to hear everyone speak of him, he was almost divine in all his attributes, as an angel would appear to be, among ordinary mortals. He had the holy books, didn’t he? He had the words of God in a bundle he carried with him on the road, and he had the power to open them and wake up the sleeping words and speak them aloud. Could he not tell her what God meant her to make of her life?
    That was why, along with her annoyance at the changes in the camp and her annoyance at herself for being annoyed, she also was filled with hope. For of course, when God wished to change your life, the change might not be comfortable in
every
way.
    But what good did it do for God to send her an angel, or at least a cousin with God’s word in a sack, if she never had a chance to speak to him? He had been here more than a week and she had not been in his presence. He was everywhere—the gossip of the camp was about nothing but him, how he had gone here, done that, said this, smiled at someone, laughed at someone’s jest, noticed a problem with one of the animals, taught the cook how to make lamb taste like venison, and on and on. Everyone, it seemed, had had some encounter with him … except her.
    Well, of course not Leah! Besides the natural modesty of women, which would keep her from meeting him casually in the camp, she was kept out of the way of the real work of the camp. And since he was endlessly working, and she was endlessly kept from the work, how would they meet?
    She mentioned this once to Rachel, who said, “I know, they don’t let me