Sealed - S. G. Ricketts (ink book reader .TXT) 📗

I tried to ignore how her hand continually stroked its slumbering form. “What will we do?” she said, watching the dusky scene outside. We all knew it to be noon.

Charis buried her face in my side. “F-father says we’ll have to ask for aid from your father, Tamar.”

I felt something stir deep down within me, something I’d thought long dead. Hope. I swallowed the sudden tightness in my throat and stroked her head. “Hush, Charis. If the locusts are here, they are probably at my father’s fields as well.”

Naamah’s pretty brow furrowed. “Your father is farther north than we are. Perhaps he has already harvested his grain.”

The hope grew. To see my father again, my family… The twins would be nearing their own coming of age, and my sister would be as old as Charis in the spring. “He does harvest sooner,” I allowed.

“And I’ll get to meet Vashti?” Charis asked, hopeful. “I want to meet her, Tamar. I’ll even ask Father. Oh please, can I meet her?”

I smiled down at her, momentarily forgetting the destruction outside. “If it’s possible, I’d love for you to meet her. She’d love you.”

The girl fairly glowed beside me, and she squeezed me in a hug. I tried to hide my wince as her arms pressed against fresh welts. Er hadn’t had a suitable outlet for his fury lately. Naamah caught the grimace but said nothing. My smile wavered. For months, Onan’s new wife had been friendly but distant. My heart dropped as I saw the slight smirk and watched her hand begin its rounds again. So whispers were being heard through camp. I brought Charis closer to me, trying to hide my sudden tears from her. I blinked them away furiously. Five years and no heir: no one in camp doubted who was the failure in our marriage.

A week later, the locusts left. The fields were barren, not even the stalks of barley left. That same day, Er fell sick. Within two sunrises, he was gone.

The entire camp was stunned. The barley crop and every other edible thing for miles around had been destroyed, and Judah’s heir was dead. Judah mourned for days. I waited. I hardly knew when I ate or slept. Overnight, the world had drastically changed. Not only was Er gone, but so was my place within the household. While he had been the one abusing me, he had also been my protection. I was his wife, the future lady of Judah’s line. Now, I was no one. If I’d been able to carry a child, that would have protected me. But now… I had nothing. I was nothing. In Adullam, I would be cast aside in my father’s house, living off the pity of others. I had no thoughts of staying with my adopted family. I was alone.

Judah called me to him. His beard was streaked with new gray and his eyes were rimmed with red. While I’d mourned my loss of standing, I’d not mourned the loss of Er. Kneeling before his shattered father, I felt the first stirrings of guilt. It took a moment for Judah to speak. His fingers twisted over and over again in one of Er’s cloaks, and I watched as he swallowed over and over, trying to get past his grief to speak with me. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Tamar, you have been a dutiful wife to Er. His death has left you without, and his name will not live on. Therefore, Onan shall be his kindsman-redeemer. Until the time that you carry a child, you shall stay with Naamah. After the child is born, he will inherit all that I would have given to his father. May Yahweh bless your womb and provide for Er’s memory.”

I bowed my head, offering the same plea to Yahweh. The thought of bearing a child with Onan disgusted me. The life I’d have if I didn’t have a child terrified me. And Naamah seemed happy with him… I left Judah’s tent and immediately went to the tent Naamah shared with Onan’s female servants. The room stilled as I walked in; Naamah’s silken head rose from her couch.

“Ah, sister dear, come sit with me, will you?” She patted the pillows next to her. “I cannot rise for the grief of losing our brother.”

Hesitantly, I sat beside her. There was something wrong, something in the servants faces that made me nervous. Naamah picked up my hand, her swollen fingers stroking my own slender ones. “You must be devastated, Tamar. I can’t imagine losing Onan.” She clucked and preened beside me, fully aware just how terrible her brother-in-law had been. I narrowed my eyes but left my hand in hers. What did she want? I didn’t need the looks of the servants telling me that I was about to meet the true face of my sister-in-law. She turned my bridal ring on my finger, admiring the carvings in the sunlight. “I hope our company will keep you from being too distraught, dear sister. It must be so desperately lonely, having no children to lean on in these times,” she said.

I met her glittering gaze with my own. “I am ever grateful to my lord for providing for Er and myself in such a way.”

The barb struck. Naamah sucked in a breath, then smiled sweetly. “Anything for you, my dear. I do so hope you can feel this some day.” She pulled my hand onto her belly and the child inside kicked at me. I resisted the need to snatch my hand back. Naamah plucked at her coverlet coyly, seeing her own attack paying off. “I hope it’s swiftly, for your sake.”

I tugged my hand out of her own and stood, offering a short bow. “So do I, sister. There is nothing greater I wish in the world than to be out of your tent so you and Onan may return to the life you knew.” I gave her a masterful smile of my own, knowing she knew my meaning. Then, I left.

As the camp’s mourning period ended, so did my brief respite from Judah’s sons. Onan sent a servant at dinner, asking me to appear in his tent at dusk. Next to me, Naamah’s swollen face purpled. I sent the servant back with as brief a reply as possible. The pregnant woman merely continued to glare at me.

The rest of dinner passed in a stunned blur. Kindsman-redeemer. I’d never thought I’d need one, and now I’d been passed on to Onan. I shuddered, goosebumps covering my arms under my robes. The sun was just falling in the west as I made my way to Onan’s tents. Naamah’s overly-gracious dismissal of me for the night still stung. The entire situation stung. I was a woman grown, nineteen years old, and this tiny speck of a child hardly fifteen was bossing me around. But she has a child and a husband, while you have neither.

I silenced my own doubts, trying to salvage what was left of my pride. Naamah was a woman, regardless of her youth. I bit my lip. She’d conceived two months into their marriage. Was I really so terrible to Er and Judah’s god that I would be punished so, while others prospered?

My thoughts remained dark as dusk fell. I waited. Every fiber of my being was tense, listening for the crunch of footsteps or the soft whoosh of breath. As the night wore on, my dark mood grew worse. The sounds of life continued outside but I remained where I was, seated in the flickering light of the lamp. I heard laughter and gossip, teasing and reprimanding. Shelah and his friends ran past at one point, their shadows dancing across the walls. One by one, the people went to their beds until only a few fires were left, tended by quiet servants. My breath caught in my throat. This was how life would be for me, I knew. Always seen from a distance, always something I could never grasp. Love and joy and friendship and motherhood: would they all be denied me? The sudden bitterness was enough to take my breath away.

It was well past midnight when Onan finally appeared. I had put out the lamp, but sat rigidly on the sheepskin on the floor. Er had surprised me on few occasions; his filthy brother would not do the same. In the darkness, I watched as Onan pulled back the flap and came inside. A smile played around his lips and he stank of fermented goat’s milk. “Where are you, pretty Tamar?”

I bit back my retort, instead lighting the lamp. The wick glowed and caught, and the tent was cast into orange relief. “Here, my lord.”

His eyes traveled up and down my body. I resisted the urge to hide myself. “Mmm…” He stepped closer, dropping his cloak near the door and settling himself next to me. “I always did envy Er, having such a lovely wife.” Calloused hands pushed aside the top of my robes, exposing the skin of my shoulder. His eyes burned as they traveled from there down to my breast. “Yes… Naamah is pretty in her own way, but I should have been first-born. I should have had you then, and I’ll have you now.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. His fingers caressed, cupped my chest, slid the wool all the way down. I couldn’t find breath to speak. I knew Er. I knew what he wanted and how to handle it. Onan, I knew nothing about. His obsessive gentleness frightened me more than Er’s brusqueness ever did. There was a sickness in his gaze; my skin crawled. “M-my lord, Naamah loves you.”

Onan snorted and pulled his manhood out. I looked away, disgusted. “Naamah loves no one but herself. And now, she is good for nothing until the child is born.” He shoved his knee between my own and lurched above me. I stared dumbly up at his glazed eyes. “But she is with child, while you never will be.”

I didn’t understand until he was finished. Just as I braced myself for that awful shaking, that moment when a man was at his weakest, Onan rolled off. I sat in surprise as he shook silently next to me. “Onan…?”

He rolled over slowly and grinned at me. “I’ll never have a child with you,” he whispered. “You’re good to me so long as you have no sons. Now clean this up. I’ll summon you again.” He stood, arranging himself and stumbling to the adjoining room. Just before he went in, he turned around, ice in his eyes. “Speak nothing of this to Naamah. I want to watch her writhe.”

I’m not sure how long I sat before the little oil lamp. Its light faded and the dim light of pre-dawn brushed the top of the tent before I felt I could move. Even my tears were frozen behind the numbness that was taking over. There, in a wadded piece of wool, lay all Judah’s promises and all my dreams. Onan would use me or his own pleasures, but Naamah would be the only one to ever carry his seed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The trip home was a quiet one. Naamah’s mourning cries followed me as we made our way out, echoing off the hills and in my memory long past the time we’d traveled out of sight. I pulled my shawl tighter around me to keep the summer sun off my face. The few servants I had led