The Sons of Isaac(49)
She pulled away and looked at him. “But I was so sure …”
“Of course, I understand.” He pulled her to him and gently kissed her forehead where her mantle had fallen away. “This is all so hard for you but it will all be over soon.”
Rebekah pulled away and took some time adjusting her mantle. She didn’t want him to see how disappointed she was. She had expected such a different reception. He patted her hand and then rose and strode out through the opening in the tent.
She sat very still pondering all that had happened. How had she thought Elohim would really bother to speak to a troubled woman? No matter what Isaac had said, it was evident he didn’t really believe Elohim had actually bothered to speak to her.
She gave a groan as the churning and twisting suddenly seized her. She bent over, clutching her stomach. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she stuffed the end of her mantle in her mouth and bit down hard. He was right about one thing: it was getting close to her confinement. It wouldn’t be long now. However painful the birth might be, it would be a relief to be rid of this constant upheaval.
As quickly as the struggle had seized her, it stopped, and she sank back into the cushions exhausted. She stretched her fingers out over her bulging stomach and breathed deeply. “I was so sure,” she murmured.
* * *
It was within that week that the birth pains began and the birthing stool was moved into her tent. Deborah hurried to get the folded swath of fine linen for the swaddling clothes while others busied themselves getting extra water from the well and the salt for rubbing the newborn. They stopped only to spread the news that Rebekah was about to have the long-awaited child.
Rebekah had been on the birthing stool for a considerable time and the midwives were beginning to get anxious when Deborah, who was holding her hand, felt her grip tighten. “The child is coming,” she said just as Rebekah let out a great cry and, weeping, clung to Deborah.
Within minutes the old midwife held up a screaming, struggling infant. “It’s a boy! He’s healthy and strong,” she shouted.
“He’s covered with soft red hair like a lion’s cub,” another exclaimed as she rubbed the child with oil and salt and wrapped him quickly in the swaddling clothes, ready to take him outside the tent where Isaac waited impatiently.
“There is yet another child coming. I saw a hand clutching the heel of this one,” the old midwife had exclaimed, but no one but Rebekah heard her. The women had all followed the first midwife outside the tent. Isaac was given the child. Immediately the somber mood changed and there was dancing and singing and exclaiming over the rugged health of the child. “He is beautiful to see with soft, red hair and a strong cry,” they chanted and sang.
Even when one of the serving girls rushed out to tell them another child was being born, they paid no attention. Isaac was laughing and exclaiming over the child he held. He wept tears of joy and cried with a loud voice, “This is the child of promise, my firstborn, the child who will inherit the birthright and the blessing. We will call him Esau because of his redness.”
In the tent Rebekah held out her arms and asked to hold the second child, who had arrived quietly without the attention or fanfare of the first. There had been no swaddling cloth to wrap him in, so he was hastily rubbed with oil and salt and wrapped in Rebekah’s head cloth. The old midwife studied him a moment. “He’s a scrawny, poor one, not healthy and strong like the other.”
Rebekah hungrily clasped the small bundle and cradled him in her arms. She studied his little face. His eyes were shut tight, giving his features a worried look that tugged at her heart. She marveled at his small, perfect ears and ran her finger around his face and gently touched his mouth so that he gave a small sucking motion. She smiled as she examined his tiny hand and thought how the midwife had cried out that his hand had been clutching the heel of his brother.
Tears came to her eyes as she realized that this small one was being totally ignored. Everyone had now left her alone in the tent while they celebrated and rejoiced over his brother. She could hear the clamor and now drums beating and the ram’s horn blown to announce the importance of the occasion. From time to time, loud and clear, she heard the strong, lusty cry of her firstborn.
She laid her cheek against the soft dark hair of her neglected child and let her tears fall freely. No one cares about this lovely child, and no one has even come to give him a name. She rocked back and forth studying his little form with wonder and delight. There really have been two babies struggling in my womb. Two nations, the voice called them. And it was said the elder shall serve the younger.