The twins Samuel and Lemuel were born on a blustery fall day. The village was scandalized, of course, and skeptical of their stated paternity, but as with all such things these feelings soon passed; the family was enfolded in the embrace of the community with only the mildest disapprobation. The boys were quite similar in many ways, though not identical, but after they reached the age where they could speak all resemblance in their personalities dissolved. Sam was sweet-natured and given to a sly grin when found to have erred. Lem, however, was surly to the point of being antisocial and seemed particularly allergic to the confidences of others. He spent long hours alone in the forest and, though his mother feared for him at first, soon concluded that the creatures of the forest were likely more at risk from her fierce son than the other way 'round.
So they grew. Samuel the Wise became the village butcher when the old, childless couple who had done this work before him willingly gave way. True to his nature, he offered to keep them supplied with meat and other staples for their remaining lives in exchange for their shop, an offer they were only too happy to accept. Lemuel the Fierce was a feared and respected hunter who supplied his brother's shop with venison, rabbit, squirrel and from time to time the more exotic boar or other wild game. Lem lived alone in a sturdy hut of his own manufacture deep in the forest. Samuel married a lovely, plump, merry woman named Sarah; they had many children. As one may guess, Lemuel never married and seemed happiest that way. Though rumors abounded of women finding their way to his hut and its bed, none would confess to this. His flashing eyes and native aloofness were as an aphrodisiac to many, though, so these rumors would seem to be at least plausible.
There are those who say that Sarah succumbed to Lemuel's charms at some point, though this seems most likely a calumny, for she was devoted and loyal. Though she was generous to the surly young man, they were never close in any way that would lead to this conclusion. Though over the years her sensitivity to his need to be left alone led to a certain familial love growing up between them, and he could some nights be found in companionable silence in his brother's house, it is doubtful he and Sarah were ever physically intimate. Those who claim that this do so from the spurious fact that Lemuel almost certainly inherited what has come to be known as the Curse of Jacob and that, as he was childless, the curse should have ended with his death. That one of the children of Samuel and Sarah had the traits of Jacob is no way argues for infidelity, however. Even a cursory knowledge of the curious ways of genetics will allow that Sam could easily have carried the trait without expressing it and thus passed it on to a child of his. But, no matter. These are the quibbles of historians and would no doubt bore you if carried further.
Let it be said, then, that Samuel's daughter, Naomi, came into possession of Jacob's birthright. Unlike Lemuel, who had reacted to this with a reflexive avoidance of the cause of suffering, Naomi, truer to the memory of her grandfather, was an open, charming, cheerful, willing recipient of the secrets of others. As Miriam died soon after the birth of her granddaughter and as she was the only one in whom he had confided, she was not there to note the similarity between the little girl and her progenitor and draw the inevitable conclusion, issue the necessary warning. But Sarah was perceptive and as a village child had grown up with the story of Jacob; after her marriage, this was even more deeply imbedded as part of family lore. She saw clearly the resemblance between the two and guessed at the likely consequences. Though she tried her best to shield her young daughter from those who were drawn to tell their troubles to her, there was only so much Sarah could do, and the consequences soon became apparent. Sarah wept and prayed over her little girl, for the life of suffering she was sure to lead, while Samuel comforted her with the knowledge that Naomi was destined to do much good for those about her. And so it was.
Naomi grew (and grew and grew) to be a trusted confidant to every man, woman and child of the village in direct proportion to the quality and quantity of their sins. She was as loved as her grandfather had been, perhaps more so, but her increasing girth and the likelihood that she would bear them similarly afflicted children made her anathema as a prospective mate. She was well into her third decade and her 22nd stone (or 300th pound, in more modern terms) when the Traveler came to town and entirely changed her life and those of many of the children of Jacob.
Chapter Eight is here.
So they grew. Samuel the Wise became the village butcher when the old, childless couple who had done this work before him willingly gave way. True to his nature, he offered to keep them supplied with meat and other staples for their remaining lives in exchange for their shop, an offer they were only too happy to accept. Lemuel the Fierce was a feared and respected hunter who supplied his brother's shop with venison, rabbit, squirrel and from time to time the more exotic boar or other wild game. Lem lived alone in a sturdy hut of his own manufacture deep in the forest. Samuel married a lovely, plump, merry woman named Sarah; they had many children. As one may guess, Lemuel never married and seemed happiest that way. Though rumors abounded of women finding their way to his hut and its bed, none would confess to this. His flashing eyes and native aloofness were as an aphrodisiac to many, though, so these rumors would seem to be at least plausible.
There are those who say that Sarah succumbed to Lemuel's charms at some point, though this seems most likely a calumny, for she was devoted and loyal. Though she was generous to the surly young man, they were never close in any way that would lead to this conclusion. Though over the years her sensitivity to his need to be left alone led to a certain familial love growing up between them, and he could some nights be found in companionable silence in his brother's house, it is doubtful he and Sarah were ever physically intimate. Those who claim that this do so from the spurious fact that Lemuel almost certainly inherited what has come to be known as the Curse of Jacob and that, as he was childless, the curse should have ended with his death. That one of the children of Samuel and Sarah had the traits of Jacob is no way argues for infidelity, however. Even a cursory knowledge of the curious ways of genetics will allow that Sam could easily have carried the trait without expressing it and thus passed it on to a child of his. But, no matter. These are the quibbles of historians and would no doubt bore you if carried further.
Let it be said, then, that Samuel's daughter, Naomi, came into possession of Jacob's birthright. Unlike Lemuel, who had reacted to this with a reflexive avoidance of the cause of suffering, Naomi, truer to the memory of her grandfather, was an open, charming, cheerful, willing recipient of the secrets of others. As Miriam died soon after the birth of her granddaughter and as she was the only one in whom he had confided, she was not there to note the similarity between the little girl and her progenitor and draw the inevitable conclusion, issue the necessary warning. But Sarah was perceptive and as a village child had grown up with the story of Jacob; after her marriage, this was even more deeply imbedded as part of family lore. She saw clearly the resemblance between the two and guessed at the likely consequences. Though she tried her best to shield her young daughter from those who were drawn to tell their troubles to her, there was only so much Sarah could do, and the consequences soon became apparent. Sarah wept and prayed over her little girl, for the life of suffering she was sure to lead, while Samuel comforted her with the knowledge that Naomi was destined to do much good for those about her. And so it was.
Naomi grew (and grew and grew) to be a trusted confidant to every man, woman and child of the village in direct proportion to the quality and quantity of their sins. She was as loved as her grandfather had been, perhaps more so, but her increasing girth and the likelihood that she would bear them similarly afflicted children made her anathema as a prospective mate. She was well into her third decade and her 22nd stone (or 300th pound, in more modern terms) when the Traveler came to town and entirely changed her life and those of many of the children of Jacob.
Chapter Eight is here.