see him either, except when I’m caring for the lambs and he comes to see the animals.” Naturally, Rachel did not realize that she was, in effect, saying, You’re right, Leah, everyone, including me, gets to spend time with him. Only you are excluded.” No, Rachel actually thought that their situations were somehow alike!
Then one morning Bilhah came back to the tent with breakfast and could hardly keep from spilling everything, she was so excited. “You and Rachel are to be officially presented to him tomorrow night, before dinner,” she said.
Leah knew whom she meant—to whom else would she be presented? Then again, why would
Rachel
be presented, since she and Jacob had seen each other almost every day, including that “cousinly” kiss at the well, which everyone thought was so sweet that they told the story over and over. Leah was the only one who needed to be presented. So maybe there was someone else who had met
neither
of them. “Presented to whom?” she said.
Bilhah laughed, one short titter, before she realized that Leah wasn’t joking. “Jacob,” she said. “He hasn’t met you.”
“But he’s met Rachel.”
“He wasn’t presented by your father.”
Presented by Father. As if he were a suitor.
“Do you think he means it like that?” asked Leah.
“Like what?”
“A presentation of his daughters to a man who might wish to marry one of them.”
Bilhah was taken aback. “I don’t know. Is that what’s done here?”
“It’s happened before, but Father never meant it. And itwas always to a father looking for a bride for his son. This would be the first time he presented us to the suitor himself.”
“You’re too young to marry,” said Bilhah.
“But these things are often settled when you’re young. So there’s no uncertainty. And no delay when we reach child-bearing age. Wasn’t it done that way in the city?”
“I wasn’t at the age yet. To be presented, even.”
“But your father had a dowry for you.”
Bilhah nodded. Undoubtedly it was still a sore spot for her, to remember what happened to her father’s savings, so carefully kept for her.
“It’s what a father does for his daughters—tries to make sure that they have a good marriage. These things aren’t left to the last moment.”
“But he’s not simply offering you, like fruit in a bowl, is he?”
“Of course not,” said Leah. “Officially it’s simply a courtesy, nothing about marriage at all. But men who really come on business, Father doesn’t present us, he keeps us out of sight. Only the men who specifically ask about us, and then only the ones he thinks are even remotely eligible. But none of them were really to be considered, till now.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re all Ba’al-worshippers.”
Bilhah didn’t understand. “But don’t we worship the Lord in this camp, as well?”
“Not the Ba’al
they
teach about, those false priests. They make their statues of Ba’al, people pray to them, the priests take their offerings, but none of it gets to God.”
“But your father has statues, too. He prays to them,” said Bilhah.
“He doesn’t pray
to
them,” said Leah. “He keeps them because they belonged to his great-great grandfather, Terah. Abraham got the birthright, but our family got the statues.”
Bilhah said nothing, but from her posture, Leah knew she wanted to. “What?” Leah asked.
“If he doesn’t pray to them, why does he always have them in the tent with him when he says his prayers?”
“He keeps them in the inner room of his tent because they’re a great treasure to the family. And he prays in that room because it’s his most private place.”
“And he faces them while he’s praying because …”
“How do you know where he faces when he prays?” Leah was suddenly suspicious. Had Bilhah been spying?
“Don’t you know that servants go everywhere and see everything?” said Bilhah.
“Oh, so you’ve
heard
this from others,” said
Then one morning Bilhah came back to the tent with breakfast and could hardly keep from spilling everything, she was so excited. “You and Rachel are to be officially presented to him tomorrow night, before dinner,” she said.
Leah knew whom she meant—to whom else would she be presented? Then again, why would
Rachel
be presented, since she and Jacob had seen each other almost every day, including that “cousinly” kiss at the well, which everyone thought was so sweet that they told the story over and over. Leah was the only one who needed to be presented. So maybe there was someone else who had met
neither
of them. “Presented to whom?” she said.
Bilhah laughed, one short titter, before she realized that Leah wasn’t joking. “Jacob,” she said. “He hasn’t met you.”
“But he’s met Rachel.”
“He wasn’t presented by your father.”
Presented by Father. As if he were a suitor.
“Do you think he means it like that?” asked Leah.
“Like what?”
“A presentation of his daughters to a man who might wish to marry one of them.”
Bilhah was taken aback. “I don’t know. Is that what’s done here?”
“It’s happened before, but Father never meant it. And itwas always to a father looking for a bride for his son. This would be the first time he presented us to the suitor himself.”
“You’re too young to marry,” said Bilhah.
“But these things are often settled when you’re young. So there’s no uncertainty. And no delay when we reach child-bearing age. Wasn’t it done that way in the city?”
“I wasn’t at the age yet. To be presented, even.”
“But your father had a dowry for you.”
Bilhah nodded. Undoubtedly it was still a sore spot for her, to remember what happened to her father’s savings, so carefully kept for her.
“It’s what a father does for his daughters—tries to make sure that they have a good marriage. These things aren’t left to the last moment.”
“But he’s not simply offering you, like fruit in a bowl, is he?”
“Of course not,” said Leah. “Officially it’s simply a courtesy, nothing about marriage at all. But men who really come on business, Father doesn’t present us, he keeps us out of sight. Only the men who specifically ask about us, and then only the ones he thinks are even remotely eligible. But none of them were really to be considered, till now.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re all Ba’al-worshippers.”
Bilhah didn’t understand. “But don’t we worship the Lord in this camp, as well?”
“Not the Ba’al
they
teach about, those false priests. They make their statues of Ba’al, people pray to them, the priests take their offerings, but none of it gets to God.”
“But your father has statues, too. He prays to them,” said Bilhah.
“He doesn’t pray
to
them,” said Leah. “He keeps them because they belonged to his great-great grandfather, Terah. Abraham got the birthright, but our family got the statues.”
Bilhah said nothing, but from her posture, Leah knew she wanted to. “What?” Leah asked.
“If he doesn’t pray to them, why does he always have them in the tent with him when he says his prayers?”
“He keeps them in the inner room of his tent because they’re a great treasure to the family. And he prays in that room because it’s his most private place.”
“And he faces them while he’s praying because …”
“How do you know where he faces when he prays?” Leah was suddenly suspicious. Had Bilhah been spying?
“Don’t you know that servants go everywhere and see everything?” said Bilhah.
“Oh, so you’ve
heard
this from others,” said
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