Chapter One
WHEN Tamar saw Judah leading a donkey burdened with sacks
and a fine rug, she took her hoe and ran to the farthest
border of her father's land. Sick with dread, she worked
with her back to the house, hoping he would pass by and
seek some other girl for his son. When her nurse called
her, Tamar pretended not to hear and hacked harder at the
earth with her hoe. Tears blinded her.
"Tamar!" Acsah puffed as she reached her. "Didn't you
see Judah? You must return to the house with me now. Your
mother is about to send your brothers after you, and
they'll not take kindly to your delay." Acsah
grimaced. "Don't look at me like that, child. This isn't
of my doing. Would you prefer a marriage with one of those
Ishmaelite traders on his way to Egypt?"
"You've heard about Judah's son just as I have."
"I've heard." She held out her hand, and Tamar
reluctantly relinquished the hoe. "Perhaps it will not be
as bad as you think."
But Tamar saw in her nurse's eyes that Acsah had her
own grave doubts.
Tamar's mother met them and grabbed Tamar by the
arm. "If I had time, I would beat you for running off!"
She pulled Tamar inside the house and into the women's
quarters.
No sooner was Tamar through the doorway than her
sisters laid hands upon her and trigged at her clothing.
Tamar gasped in pain as one yanked the cover carelessly
from her head, pulling her hair as well. "Stop it!" She
raised her hands to ward them off, but her mother stepped
in.
"Stand still, Tamar! Since it took Acsah solong to
fetch you, we must hurry."
The girls were all talking at once, excited, eager.
"Mother, let me go just as I am!"
"Straight from the fields? You will not! You will be
presented in the finest we have. Judah has brought gifts
with him. And don't you dare shame us with tears, Tamar."
Swallowing convulsively, Tamar fought for self-
control. She had no choice but to submit to her mother and
sisters' ministrations. They were using the best garments
and perfume for her appearance before Judah, the Hebrew.
The man had three sons. If she pleased him, it would be
the firstborn, Er, who would become her husband. Last
harvest, when Judah and his sons had brought their flocks
to graze in the harvested fields, her father had commanded
her to work nearby. She knew what he hoped to accomplish.
Now, it seemed he had.
"Mother, please. I need another year or two before I'm
ready to enter a household of my own."
"Your father decides when you're old enough." Her
mother wouldn't look her in the eyes. "It's not your right
to question his judgment." Tamar's sisters chattered like
magpies, making her want to scream. Her mother clapped her
hands. "Enough! Help me get Tamar ready!"
Clenching her jaw, Tamar closed her eyes and decided
she must resign herself to her fate. She had known that
one day she would marry. She had also known her father
would choose her husband. Her one solace was the ten-month
betrothal period. At least she would have time to prepare
her mind and heart for the life looming before her.
Acsah touched her shoulder. "Try to relax." She untied
Tamar's hair and began to brush it with long, firm
strokes. "Think soothing thoughts, dear one."
She felt like an animal her father was preparing for
sale. Ah, wasn't she? Anger and despair filled her. Why
did life have to be so cruel and unfair?
"Petra, bring the scented oil and rub her skin with
it. She mustn't smell like a field slave!"
"Better if she smelled of sheep and goats," Acsah
said. "The Hebrew would like that."
The girls laughed in spite of their mother's
reprimand. "You're not making things better, Acsah. Now,
hush!"
Tamar grasped her mother's skirt. "Please, Mother.
Couldn't you speak to Father for my sake? This boy is ...
is evil!" Tears came in a rush before she could stop
them. "Please, I don't want to marry Er."
Her mother's mouth jerked, but she did not weaken. She
pried Tamar's hand from the folds of her skirt and held it
tightly between her own. "You know I can't alter your
father's plans, Tamar. What good would come of my saying
anything against this match now other than to bring shame
upon us all? Judah is here."
Tamar drew in a ragged sob, fear flooding her veins.
Her mother gripped her chin and forced her head
up. "I've prepared you for this day. You're of no use to
us if you don't marry Er. See this for what it is: good
fortune for your father's house. You will build a bridge
between Zimran and Judah. We will have the assurance of
peace."
"There are more of us than there are of them, Mother."
"Numbers don't always matter. You're no longer a
child, Tamar. You have more courage than this."
"More courage than Father?"
Her mother's eyes darkened with anger. She released
Tamar abruptly. "You will do as you're told or bear the
full consequences of your disobedience."
Defeated, Tamar said no more. All she had done was to
bring humiliation upon herself. She wanted to scream at
her sisters to stop their silly prattling. How could they
rejoice over her misfortune? What did it matter if Er was
handsome? Hadn't they heard of his cruelty? Didn't they
know of his arrogance? Er was said to cause trouble
wherever he went!
"More kohl, Acsah. It will make her look older."
Tamar could not calm the wild beating of her heart.
The palms of her hands grew damp. If all went as her
father hoped, her future would be settled today.
This is a good thing, Tamar told herself, a good
thing. Her throat was hot and tight with tears.
"Stand, Tamar," her mother said. "Let me have a look
at you."
Tamar obeyed. Her mother sighed heavily and tugged at
the folds of the red dress, redraping the front. "We must
conceal her lack of curves, Acsah, or Zimran will be hard
pressed to convince Judah she is old enough to conceive."
"I can show him the cloth, my lady."
"Good. Have it ready in case it's requested."
Tamar felt the heat flood her face. Was nothing
private? Did everyone have to discuss the most personal
events in her life? Her first show of blood had proclaimed
her womanhood and her usefulness as a bargaining tool for
her father. She was a commodity to be sold, a tool to
forge an alliance between two clans, a sacrifice for an
assured peace. She had hoped to be overlooked for another
year or two. Fourteen seemed too young to draw a man's
interest.
This is a good thing, Tamar told herself again. Even
while other thoughts crowded in, tightening her stomach
with fear, she repeated the words over and over, trying to
convince herself. This is a good thing.
Perhaps if she hadn't heard the stories ...
For as long as Tamar could remember, her father had
been afraid of Judah and his people. She'd heard the
stories about the power of the God of the Hebrews, a god
who had turned Sodom and Gomorrah to rubble beneath a
storm of fire and brimstone, leaving a wasteland of white
sands and a growing salten sea behind. No Canaanite god
had ever shown such power!
And there were the stories of what the Hebrews had
done to the town of Shechem, stories of mayhem ...
"Why must it be this way, Mother? Have I no choice in
what's to become of me?"
"No more choice than any other girl. I know how you're
feeling. I was no older than you when I came into your
father's house. It is the way of things, Tamar. Haven't I
prepared you for this day from the time you were a little
girl? I have told you what you were born to do. Struggling
against your fate is like wrestling the wind." She gripped
Tamar's shoulders. "Be a good daughter and obey without
quibbling. Be a good wife and bear many sons. Do these
things, and you'll bring honor upon yourself. And if
you're fortunate, your husband will come to love you. If
not, your future will still be secure in the hands of
sons. When you're old, they'll take care of you just as
your brothers will take care of me. The only satisfaction
a woman has in this life is knowing she has built up the
household of her husband."
"But this is Judah's son, Mother. Judah's son Er."
Her mother's eyes flickered, but she remained
firm. "Find a way to fulfill your duty and bear sons. You
must be strong, Tamar. These people are fierce and
unpredictable. And they are proud."
Tamar turned her face away. "I don't want to marry Er.
I can't marry him—"
Her mother grasped her hair and yanked her head
back. "Would you destroy our family by humiliating such a
man as this Hebrew? Do you think your father would let you
live if you went into that room and begged to be spared
marriage to Er? Do you think Judah would take such an
insult lightly? I tell you this. I would join your father
in stoning you if you dare risk the lives of my sons. Do
you hear me? Your father decides whom and when you marry.
Not you!" She let go of her roughly and stepped away,
trembling. "Do not act like a fool!"
Tamar closed her eyes. The silence in the room was
heavy. She felt her sisters and nurse staring at her. "I'm
sorry." Her lip quivered. "I'm sorry. I'll do what I
must."
"As we all must." Sighing, her mother took her hand
and rubbed it with scented oil. "Be wise as a serpent,
Tamar. Judah has shown wisdom in considering you. You are
strong, stronger than these others. You have quick wits
and strength you don't even realize yet. This Hebrew has
taken an interest in you. For all our sakes, you must
please him. Be a good wife to his son. Build a bridge
between our people. Keep the peace between us."
The weight of responsibility being given her made her
bow her head. "I will try."
"You will do more than try. You will succeed." Her
mother leaned down and kissed her cheek briskly. "Now sit
quietly and collect yourself while I send word to your
father that you're ready."
Tamar tried to think calmly. Judah was one of the sons
of Jacob who had annihilated the town of Shechem over the
rape of their sister. Perhaps, had the son of Hamor known
more about these men, he would have left the girl alone.
When he realized his mistake, he made every attempt to
placate Jacob's sons. They wanted blood. The prince and
his father had agreed to have every man in Shechem
mutilated by the Hebrew rite of circumcision. They were
desperate to bring about a marriage alliance and assurance
of peace between the two tribes! They had done all the
Hebrews required, and still, three days after the
Shechemites were circumcised, while they were all sick
with fevers, Judah and his brothers took vengeance. They
hadn't been content with the blood of the offender; they'd
cut down every man by the sword. Not one survived, and the
city was plundered.
Hebrews were a stench in Canaanite nostrils. Their
presence invoked fear and distrust. Even though Judah had
left his father's tent and come to live among Tamar's
people, her father had never slept easily with Judah so
close. Even Judah's longtime friendship with Hirah the
Adullamite didn't reassure her father. Nor did it matter
that Judah had taken a Canaanite wife, who had given him
three sons and trained them up in Canaanite ways. Judah
was Hebrew. Judah was a foreigner. Judah was a thorn in
Zimran's side.
Over the years, her father had made contracts with
Judah to bring flocks to his harvested fields. The
arrangement had proven beneficial to everyone and had
brought about a tentative alliance. All through those
years, Tamar had known her father sought a better and more
lasting way to keep peace between himself and the Hebrews.
A marriage between the two households might ensure that if
she succeeded in blessing Judah's household with sons.
Oh, Tamar understood her father's determination to
bring about her marriage to Er. She even understood his
need for it. She understood her role in all of it. But
understanding didn't make it any easier. After all, she
was the one being offered like a sacrificial lamb. She had
no choice as to whether she married or not. She had no
choice as to the man she would marry. Her only choice was
in how she faced her fate.
Tamar was ready when her mother returned. Her feelings
were hidden as she bowed down to her. When Tamar raised
her head, her mother placed both hands upon her and
murmured a blessing. Then she tipped Tamar's chin. "Life
is difficult, Tamar. I know that better than you do. Every
girl dreams of love when she's young, but this is life,
not idle dreams. Had you been born first, we would have
sent you to the temple of Timnah instead of your sister."
"I would not have been happy there." In fact, she
would have preferred death by her own hand to the life her
sister led.
"So this is the only life left to you, Tamar. Embrace
it."
Resolved to do so, Tamar rose. She tried to still the
tremors as she followed her mother from the women's
chamber. Judah might still decide she was too young. He
might say she was too skinny, too ugly. She might yet be
spared from marrying Er. But it would change nothing in
the end. The truth was hard to face. She had to marry, for
a woman without a husband and sons might as well be dead.
* * *
Judah watched Zimran's daughter closely as she entered the
room. She was tall and thin and very young. She was also
poised and graceful. He liked the way she moved as she
served the meal with her mother. He'd noticed her youthful
elegance during his last visit after the harvest. Zimran
had put the girl to work in the field next to the
pasturage so Judah and his sons could see her. He had been
fully aware of Zimran's motives in displaying her this
way. Now, on closer inspection, the girl looked too young
to be a bride. She couldn't be more than Shelah's age, and
Judah said so.
Zimran laughed. "Of course, she is young, but so much
the better. A young girl is more moldable than an older
one. Is that not so? Your son will be her baal. He will be
her teacher."
"What of children?"
Zimran laughed again; the sound grated Judah's
nerves. "I assure you, Judah my friend, Tamar is old
enough to bear sons and has been old enough since last
harvest, when Er noticed her. We have proof of it."
The girl's eyes flickered in her father's direction.
She was blushing and clearly embarrassed. Judah felt oddly
touched by her modesty and studied her openly. "Come
closer, girl," he said, beckoning. He wanted to look into
her eyes. Perhaps he would glean better understanding of
why he'd thought of her at all when the subject of
marriage had come to mind.
"Don't be shy, Tamar." Zimran's mouth flattened. "Let
Judah see how pretty you are." When she raised her head,
Zimran nodded. "That's it. Smile and show Judah what fine
teeth you have."
Judah didn't care about her smile or her teeth, though
both were good. He cared about her fertility. Of course,
there was no way of knowing whether she could produce sons
for his clan until she was wed to his son. Life held no
guarantees. However, the girl came from good breeding
stock. Her mother had produced six sons and five
daughters. She must also be strong, for he had watched her
in the fields hoeing the hard ground and carrying rocks to
the wall. A weak girl would have been kept inside the
house, making pottery or weaving.
"Tamar." Her father gestured. "Kneel before Judah. Let
him have a closer look."
She obeyed without hesitation. Her eyes were dark but
not hard, her skin ruddy and glowing with health. Such a
girl might stir his son's hardened heart and make him
repent of his wild ways. Judah wondered if she had the
courage needed to gain Er's respect. Her father was a
coward. Was she? Er had brought nothing but grief since
he'd been old enough to walk, and he was likely to bring
this girl trouble as well. She would have to be strong and
resilient.
Judah knew the blame for Er's waywardness could be
laid at his feet. He should never have given his wife a
free hand in rearing his sons. He'd thought complete
freedom would allow them to grow up happy and strong. Oh,
they were happy as long as they got their way and were
strong enough to abuse others if they didn't. They were
proud and arrogant for lack of discipline. They would have
turned out better had the rod been used more often!
Would this girl soften Er? Or would he harden and
break her?
When she looked into his eyes, he saw innocence and
intelligence. He felt a disquieting despair. Er was his
firstborn, the first show of the strength of his loins.
He'd felt such pride and joy when the boy was born, such
hope. Ah, he'd thought, here is flesh of my flesh, bone of
my bone! How he'd laughed when the young sprout had stood
in red-faced fury, refusing to obey his mother. He'd been
amused by his son's passionate rebellion, foolishly proud
of it. This boy will be a strong man, he'd said to
himself. No woman would tell Er how to live.
Judah had never expected his son to defy him as well.
Onan, his second son, was becoming as difficult as Er.
He'd grown up threatened by his older brother's white-hot
jealousy and had learned to protect himself by cunning and
deception. Judah didn't know which son was worse. Both
were treacherous. Neither could be trusted.
The third son, Shelah, was following the ways of his
brothers. Confronted with a wrong, Judah's sons lied or
blamed others. When pressed hard enough to get the truth,
they appealed to their mother, who defended them no matter
how offensive their crimes. Her pride wouldn't allow her
to see their faults. They were her sons, after all, and
they were Canaanite through and through.
Something had to be done, or Er would bring Judah's
head down to the ground in shame. Judah almost regretted
having sons, for they wreaked havoc in his household and
his life! There were moments when his rage was so intense,
it was all he could do not to pick up a spear and hurl it
at one of them.
Judah often thought about his father, Jacob, and the
trouble he'd endured at the hands of his sons. Judah had
caused his father as much trouble as the rest of them. Er
and Onan reminded Judah of his brothers Simeon and Levi.
Thinking of his brothers brought back the black memories
of the grievous sin he himself had committed—the sin that
haunted him, the sin that had driven him from his father's
household because he couldn't bear to see the grief he'd
caused or be in the company of the brothers who had shared
in what he'd done.
His father, Jacob, didn't even know the full truth of
what had happened at Dothan.
Judah tried to console himself. He'd kept Simeon and
Levi from murdering their brother Joseph, hadn't he? But
he also remembered that he was the one who'd led them into
selling the boy to the Ishmaelite traders on their way to
Egypt. He'd made a profit from the lad's misery—profits
shared by his brothers as well. Only God knew if Joseph
had survived the long, hard journey to Egypt. It was more
than possible he'd died in the desert. If not, he was now
a slave for some Egyptian.
Sometimes in the darkest hour of night, Judah would
lie awake upon his pallet, filled with an agony of
remorse, thinking about Joseph. How many years would it be
before he could put the past behind him and forget what
he'd done? How many years before he could close his eyes
and not see Joseph's hands shackled, his neck noosed, as
he was led forcefully away by the Ishmaelite traders? The
boy's screams for help still echoed in Judah's mind.
He had the rest of his life to regret his sins, years
to live with them. Sometimes Judah swore he could feel the
hand of God squeezing the life from him for plotting the
destruction of his own brother.
Zimran cleared his throat. Judah reminded himself
where he was and why he'd come to the home of this
Canaanite. He mustn't let his mind wander, mustn't allow
the past to intrude on what he had to do about the future.
His son needed a wife—a young, comely, strong wife who
might distract him from his wicked schemes and devices.
Judah's mouth tightened as he studied the Canaanite girl
kneeling before him. Was he making another mistake? He'd
married a Canaanite and lived to regret it. Now he was
bringing another one into his household. Yet this
Canaanite girl appealed to him. Why?
Judah tipped the girl's chin. He knew she must be
afraid, but she hid it well. That would be a useful skill
where Er was concerned. She looked so young and guileless.
Would his son destroy her innocence and corrupt her as he
was so eager to do to others?
Hardening himself, Judah withdrew his hand and leaned
back. He had no intention of allowing Er to make the same
mistakes he had. Lust had driven him to marry the boy's
mother. Beauty was a snare that captured a man, while
unrestrained passion burned away reason. A woman's
character mattered greatly in a marriage. Judah would have
done better to follow custom and allow his father to
choose a wife for him. Instead, he'd been stubborn and
hasty and now suffered for his folly.
It wasn't enough that a woman stirred a man's passion.
She also had to be strong, yet willing to bend. A stubborn
woman was a curse upon a man. He'd been laughable in his
youthful confidence, so certain he could bend a woman to
his ways. Instead, he'd bent to Bathshua's. He'd fooled
himself into thinking there was no harm in giving his wife
freedom to worship as she wished. Now, he found himself
reaping a whirlwind with his idol-worshiping sons!
Tamar was of calmer disposition than Bathshua. Tamar
had courage. She appeared intelligent. He knew she was
strong, for he'd watched how hard she worked. His wife,
Bathshua, would be happy about that. No doubt she would
dump her chores upon the girl as soon as possible. The
quality that mattered most was her fertility, and only
time would tell about that. The qualities he could see
were more than enough. Yet there was something more about
this girl that Judah couldn't define—something rare and
wonderful that made him determined to have her in his
family. It was as though a quiet voice was telling him to
choose her.
"She pleases me."
Zimran exhaled. "You are a wise man!" He nodded to his
daughter. Thus dismissed, Tamar rose. The Canaanite was
clearly eager to begin negotiations. Judah watched the
girl leave the room with her mother. Zimran clapped his
hands; two servants hurried in, one with a tray of
pomegranates and grapes, another with roasted lamb. "Eat,
my brother, and then we will talk."
Judah would not be so easily manipulated. Before
touching the food, he made an offer for the girl. Eyes
glowing, Zimran plunged in and began haggling over the
bride-price.
Judah decided to be generous. Marriage, though far
from bringing happiness to him, had brought some stability
and direction. Perhaps Er would be similarly diverted from
riotous living. Besides, Judah wanted to spend as little
time with Zimran as possible. The man's ingratiating
manner irritated him.
Tamar. Her name meant "date palm." It was a name given
to one who would become beautiful and graceful. A date
palm survives the desert and bears sweet, nourishing
fruit, and the girl came from a fertile family. A date
palm sways in the desert winds without breaking or being
uprooted, and this girl would have to face Er's quick,
irascible temper. A date palm could survive a hostile
environment, and Judah knew Bathshua would see this young
girl as her rival. Judah knew his wife would pit herself
against this young bride because Bathshua was vain and
jealous of her son's affections.
Tamar.
Judah hoped the girl held all the promise her name
implied.
* * *
Tamar waited while her fate was settled. When her mother
stood in the doorway, she knew the matter of her future
was decided. "Come, Tamar. Judah has gifts for you."
She rose, numb inside. It was a time for rejoicing,
not tears. Her father need not fear any longer.
"Ah, Daughter." Her father smiled broadly. Obviously,
he'd fetched a high bride-price for her, for he had never
before embraced her with so much affection. He even kissed
her cheek! She lifted her chin and looked into his eyes,
wanting him to know what he'd done to her in giving her to
such a man as Er. Perhaps he would feel some shame for
using her to protect himself.
He didn't. "Greet your father-in-law."
Resigned to her fate, Tamar prostrated herself before
Judah. The Hebrew put his hand upon her head and blessed
her and bid her rise. As she did so, he took gold earrings
and bracelets from a pouch at his waist and placed them
upon her. Her father's eyes glowed, but her heart sank.
"Be ready to leave in the morning," Judah told her.
Shocked, she spoke without thinking. "In the morning?"
She looked at her father. "What of the betrothal—?"
Her father's expression warned her to silence. "Judah
and I celebrate tonight, my daughter. Acsah will pack your
things and go with you tomorrow. Everything is settled.
Your husband is eager for you."
Was her father so afraid that he didn't require the
customary ten-month betrothal period to prepare for the
wedding? She would not even have a week to adjust to her
impending marriage!
"You may go, Tamar. Make ready to leave in the
morning."
When she entered the women's chamber, she found her
mother and sisters already packing for her. Unable to
contain her feelings any longer, Tamar burst into tears.
Inconsolable, she wept all night, even after her sisters
whined and pleaded for her to stop. "You will have your
day," she told them angrily. "Someday you will
understand!"
Acsah held and rocked her, and Tamar clung to her
childhood for one last night.
When the sun rose, she washed her face and donned her
bridal veils.
Her mother came to her. "Be content, beloved one.
Judah paid dearly for you." Her voice was tear-choked and
faintly bitter. "That Hebrew came with a donkey laden with
gifts. He returns home with only his seal ring and staff."
"And me," Tamar said softly.
Her mother's eyes filled with tears. "Take good care
of her, Acsah."
"I will, my lady."
Her mother took Tamar in her arms and kissed her. "May
your husband love you and give you many sons," she
whispered against her hair. Tamar clung to her tightly,
pressing herself close, soaking in the warmth and softness
of her mother one last time. "It's time," her mother said
softly, and Tamar drew back. Her mother touched her cheek
before turning away.
Tamar went out into the morning sunlight. Acsah walked
with her as she headed toward her father and Judah, who
were standing some distance away. She had cried herself
out last night. She would shed no more childish tears,
though it was hard not to do so with Acsah weeping softly
behind her.
"Perhaps all we've heard isn't true, Acsah
said. "Perhaps Er is not as bad as some say he is."
"What does it matter now?"
"You must try to make him love you, Tamar. A man in
love is clay in a woman's hands. May the gods have mercy
on us!"
"Have mercy upon me and be quiet!"
When she reached the two men, her father kissed
her. "Be fruitful and multiply the household of Judah." He
was eager for their departure.
Judah walked ahead, Tamar and Acsah following. He was
a tall man with long strides, and Tamar had to walk
quickly to keep up with him. Acsah muttered complaints
under her breath, but Tamar paid her no attention.
Instead, she set her mind on what lay ahead. She would
work hard. She would be a good wife. She would do
everything within her power to bring honor to her husband.
She knew how to plant a garden, tend a herd, cook, weave,
and make pottery. She could read and write enough to keep
proper lists and records of household goods. She knew how
to conserve food and water when times were bad and how to
be generous when times were good. She knew how to make
soap, baskets, cloth, and tools, as well as how to
organize servants. But children would be the greatest
blessing she could give her husband—children to build the
household.
It was Judah's second son, Onan, who came out to meet
them. "Er is gone," he said to his father while staring at
her.
Judah slammed the end of his staff into the
ground. "Gone where?"
Onan shrugged. "Off with his friends. He was angry
when he heard where you'd gone. I stayed out of his way.
You know how he gets."
"Bathshua!" Judah strode toward his stone house.
A buxom woman with heavily painted eyes appeared in
the doorway. "What are you yelling about this time?"
"Did you tell Er I was bringing his bride home today?"
"I told him." She leaned indolently in the doorway.
"Then where is he?"
She lifted her chin. "I'm his mother, Judah, not his
keeper. Er will be along when he's ready and not before.
You know how he is."
Judah's face darkened. "Yes, I know how he is." He
gripped his staff so tightly his knuckles turned
white. "That's why he needs a wife!"
"That may be, Judah, but you said the girl was
pretty." She gave Tamar a cursory glance. "Do you really
think this skinny girl will turn Er's head?"
"Tamar is more than she seems. Show her to Er's
chamber." Judah walked off, leaving Tamar and Acsah
standing before the house.
Mouth tight, Bathshua looked Tamar over from head to
foot. She shook her head in disgust. "I wonder what Judah
was thinking when he chose you?" Turning her back, she
went into the house and left Tamar and Acsah to fend for
themselves.
* * *
Er returned late in the afternoon, accompanied by several
Canaanite friends. They were drunk and laughing loudly.
Tamar remained out of sight, knowing what men were like in
this condition. Her father and brothers had often imbibed
freely and argued violently because of it. She knew the
wisdom of staying out of the way until the effects of the
wine wore off.
Knowing she would be summoned, Tamar had Acsah array
her in wedding finery. While waiting, Tamar willed herself
to set aside every terrible thing she'd ever heard about
Er. Perhaps those who had spoken against him had hidden
motives. She would give him the respect due a husband and
adapt herself to his demands. If the god of his father
smiled upon her, she would give Er sons, and quickly. If
she were so blessed, she would bring them up to be strong
and honest. She would teach them to be dependable and
loyal. And if Er so wished, she would learn about the God
of Judah and bring up her sons to worship him rather than
bow down to the gods of her father. Still, her heart
trembled and her fears increased with each passing hour.
When Tamar was finally summoned and saw her husband,
she felt a flicker of admiration. Er was tall like his
father and held the promise of great physical strength. He
had his mother's thick curling mass of black hair, which
he had drawn back in Canaanite fashion. The brass band he
wore around his forehead made him look like a young
Canaanite prince. Tamar was awed by her husband's handsome
appearance but filled quickly with misgivings when she
looked into his eyes. They were cold and dark and devoid
of mercy. There was pride in the tilt of his head, cruelty
in the curve of his lips, and indifference in his manner.
He didn't reach out to take her hand.
"So this is the wife you chose for me, Father."
Tamar shivered at his tone.
Judah put his hand firmly on his son's shoulder. "Take
good care of what belongs to you, and may the God of
Abraham give you many sons by this girl."
Er stood unblinking, his face an inscrutable mask.
All through the evening, Er's friends made crude jests
about marriage. They teased Er unmercifully, and though he
laughed, Tamar knew he wasn't amused. Her father-in-law,
lost in his own thoughts, drank freely while Bathshua
lounged nearby, eating the best tidbits of the wedding
feast and ignoring her. Tamar was hurt and confused and
embarrassed by such rudeness. What had she done to offend
her mother-in-law? It was as though the woman was
determined not to show her the least consideration.
As the night wore on, her fear gave way to depression.
She felt abandoned and lost in the midst of the gathering.
She had married the heir of Judah's household, and yet no
one spoke to her, not even the young husband who sat
beside her. The hours passed slowly. She was bone weary
from lack of sleep the previous night and the long walk to
her new home. The tensions of the wedding feast further
sapped her. She fought to keep her eyes open. She fought
even harder to keep the tears from welling up and spilling
over.
Er pinched her. Tamar gasped and jerked away from him.
Heat flooded her cheeks as she realized she had
unwittingly dozed against his side. His friends were
laughing and making jokes about her youth and the
impending wedding night. Er laughed with them. "Your nurse
has prepared the chamber for us." He took her hand and
pulled her up to her feet.
As soon as Acsah closed the door of the bedchamber
behind them, Er stepped away from Tamar. Acsah took her
place outside the door and began singing and beating her
small drum. Tamar's skin prickled. "I'm sorry I fell
asleep, my lord."
Er said nothing. She waited, her nerves stretching
taut. He was enjoying her tension, plucking her nerve
endings with his silence. Folding her hands, she decided
to wait him out. He removed his belt sardonically. "I
noticed you last year when we brought the sheep to your
father's fields. I suppose that's why my father thought
you might do as my wife." His gaze moved down over
her. "He doesn't know me very well."
She did not fault Er for the hurtful words. She felt
he was justified. After all, her heart had not leapt with
joy when Judah came and offered a bride-price for her.
"You're afraid of me, aren't you?"
If she said no, it would be a lie. To say yes would be
unwise.
His brow rose. "You should be afraid. I'm angry, or
can't you tell?"
She could, indeed, and couldn't guess what he would do
about it. She remained silent, acquiescent. She'd seen her
father in rages often enough to know that it was better to
say nothing. Words were like oil on a fiery temper. Her
mother had told her long ago that men were unpredictable
and given to fits of violence when provoked. She would not
provoke Er.
"Cautious little thing, aren't you?" He smiled
slowly. "At least you keep your wits about you." He came
toward her. "You've heard things about me, I'll bet." He
brushed his fingers against her cheek. She tried not to
flinch. "Have your brothers carried stories home?"
Her heart beat faster and faster.
"As my father said, you're mine now. My own little
mouse to do with as I wish. Remind me to thank him." He
tipped her chin. His eyes glittered coldly, reminding her
of a jackal in the moonlight. When he leaned down and
kissed her mouth, the hair on the back of her neck rose.
He drew back, assessing her. "Believe the rumors, every
one of them!"
"I will try to please you, my husband." Heat poured
into her cheeks at the quaver in her voice.
"Oh, no doubt you will try, my sweet, but you won't
succeed." His mouth curved, showing the edge of his
teeth. "You can't."
It took only a day of the weeklong wedding celebration
for Tamar to understand what he meant.