“Rachel, Rachel,” the dying woman muttered through lips that barely moved.

The two serving women glanced at each other across the pallet of blankets and pillows piled on the tent floor. One bent to moisten a cloth in the bowl of water. She pressed a few drops between the parted lips.

“Mistress,” the other maid smoothed a few straggling strands of gray, wiry hair off the wrinkled forehead. The skin beneath her fingers felt like a piece of papyrus left too long in the desert sun. A single tear slid down her cheek as she thought of the many times the now frail hands had served the suffering and frightened in the family.

Outside the tent, the women could hear the deep voices of men gathered around their father. His voice came heavily through the tent flap.

“God of my fathers, again you take away from me one I love.”

A moan distracted Bilhah and Zilpah... Jacob could be heard pleading with his God.

“You came to me on the way to Haran, my God, and promised me prosperity. You took away Rachel at Ephrath. Joseph, the son of your promise, you stole from me at Dothan. Now, Leah, mother of my sons lies dying. What good are riches without the ones I love? God of my Fathers, I will be left desolate when I bury Leah in the cave with Abraham and Sarah and my parents.”

“My father,” young Benjamin’s voice was heard, “you will not be alone.”

“My son, someday you will bury the one you love above all else, and your life too will be empty.” Despair was in the deep voice.

...

“My husband,” her voice was gentle. She tried to lift her one hand to touch the man’s face.

“I never understood,” she murmured...