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it.” She closed the cabinet firmly, as though such words would bring bad luck upon her house. She turned and frowned down upon Tamar. “Would you raise up your sons to bow down to a god who destroys cities?”
    “If Judah wills it.”
    “Judah,” Bathshua said and shook her head. “Have you ever seen my husband worship his father’s god? I never have. So why should his sons or I worship him? You will train up your sons in the religion of Er’s choice. I have never bowed down to an unseen god. Not once have I been unfaithful to the gods of Canaan, and I advise you to be faithful as well. If you know what’s good for you . . .”
    Tamar recognized the threat.
    Bathshua sat upon a cushion against the wall and smiled coldly. “Er wouldn’t be pleased to hear you were even thinking of worshiping the god of the Hebrews.” Her eyes narrowed. “I think you’re the cause of our troubles.”
    Tamar knew what to expect. When Er returned, Bathshua would claim there was spiritual insurrection in the household. The woman relished stirring up trouble. Tamar longed to throw the broken crockery on the earthen floor and tell her mother-in-law it was her own actions that were destroying the family. Instead, she swallowed her anger and collected shards as Bathshua watched.
    “The gods have blessed me with three fine sons, and I’ve brought them up in the true religion, as would any good mother.”
    Hot-tempered sons, who do even less work than you do, Tamar wanted to say but held her tongue. She couldn’t win a war with her mother-in-law.
    Bathshua leaned forward and lifted an overturned tray enough to pluck a bunch of grapes. She dropped the tray again. “Perhaps you should pray to Asherah more often and give better offerings to Baal. Then your womb might be opened.”
    Tamar lifted her head. “I know of Asherah and Baal. My father and mother gave up my sister to serve as a priestess in the temple of Timnah.” She didn’t add that she’d never been able to embrace their beliefs or say aloud that she pitied her sister above all women. Once, during a visit to Timnah during a festival, she’d seen her older sister on an altar platform having sexual intercourse with a priest. The rites were intended to arouse Baal and bring spring back to the land, but Tamar had been filled with disgust and fear at what she saw, sickened even more by the excited crowd witnessing the scene. She’d drawn back, ducked around the corner of a building, and run away. She hadn’t stopped running until she was out of Timnah. She’d hidden in the middle of an olive orchard and remained there until evening when her mother found her.
    “You are not devout enough,” Bathshua said smugly.
    No, I am not, Tamar said to herself. She knew she could never be devout when she didn’t believe. The gods made no sense to her. All her efforts to worship them filled her with a strange sense of repugnance and shame.
    Bathshua rose and returned to her loom. She had calmed enough to begin straightening the tangled threads. “If you were a true believer, you’d be with child by now.” She glanced at Tamar, no doubt trying to assess the impact of her mean-spirited words. “It would seem the gods are angry with you, wouldn’t it?”
    “Perhaps,” Tamar conceded with a pang of guilt. Bathshua’s teraphim were nothing but clay, stone, and wood statues. She couldn’t embrace them as Bathshua did, nor could she adore them as fervently. Oh, Tamar said the prayers expected of her, but the words were empty and held no power. Her heart was untouched, her mind far from convinced.
    If the gods of Canaan were so powerful, why hadn’t they been able to save or protect the people of Sodom and Gomorrah? Surely a dozen gods were more powerful than one—if they were true gods.
    They were nothing but carved stone, chipped wood, and clay molded by human hands!
    Perhaps there was no true god.
    Her heart rebelled at this thought as well. The world around her—the heavens,