Rebekah (13 page)

Rebekah fingered the loom her father had given her, memories washing over her of working at it side by side with her mother and Laban’s wives. She would miss the camaraderie, the laughter, the commiserating among the women on how to live with their men. Only Deborah and Selima would go with her to her new home, a new country where everything would be unfamiliar and challenging. She sighed and set about quickly breaking down the pieces of the loom, fitting them into leather sacks to pack and hang from the camel’s side.

“So you are truly going.” Her mother’s plump body cast a shadow as she passed the threshold and crossed in front of the window, her tone holding traces of bitter emotion.

Rebekah could not bear to look up and meet her gaze, lest she give way to her own uncertain tears.

“Yes,” she said, turning away from her mother to the wall where woven baskets stood. She hurriedly transferred skeins of dyed wool from the baskets into goatskin sacks and tied them at the neck. She looked up at Selima’s approach.

The girl seemed to sense the tension in the room, stopping short just inside the threshold.

“Can you take these to the men, Selima?” Rebekah hefted the heavy sack of wool into Selima’s arms.

“Yes, mistress.” She glanced over Rebekah’s shoulder. “I will be back for the loom.” She hurried through the open archway while Rebekah looked to see if she had forgotten anything.

“I wish you would wait.” Her mother took a step closer, within arm’s length.

Rebekah faced her, surprised at her mother’s sudden change of tone. She was not one to show emotion, nor had she seemed to care much for Rebekah’s feelings. But one look into her mother’s eyes showed Rebekah a side to the woman she had rarely seen.

“I know, Ima. I will miss you.” Despite their differences, it was true.

Tears glistened in her mother’s eyes, though she quickly blinked them away, and Rebekah stepped forward slowly, awkwardly, and pulled her into a warm embrace. “Don’t cry, Ima.” She swallowed, forcing back a sudden swell of her own emotion. “Surely we will see each other again.”

She needed to believe their goodbyes were not permanent.

“You will not be back. Abram and Sarai never returned.” Her mother stepped away from her embrace and crossed her arms, a posture she used whenever she was determined to get her way.

“Abraham and Sarah,” Rebekah corrected, noting the scowl deepen along her mother’s brow at the mention of their new names, “were not able to return, but they were much older. Surely their son will find traveling for a visit no hardship.” She would not let her mother dissuade her. She mustn’t!

“Why did he not come here himself to claim a bride? Why did not
Abraham
send the son with his servant?” Her mother whirled about, her back to Rebekah, another stance meant to show her displeasure, to elicit a change of heart. Rebekah was in no mood to placate her mother’s pouts.

“I have more to pack.” She walked past her mother into
her sleeping chamber, her heart beating fast. Such encounters always made her anxious. She did not wish to cause strife, but she could not go back on her word now, could not choose her mother over a husband.

A sigh lifted her chest, and she willed her racing heart to slow. She strode to the carved wooden chest that stood against one wall and lifted the lid. Selima must have already emptied it of the many new garments, along with the ones Rebekah already owned. The stone casket containing her jewels was gone from the low table, and her pallet was rolled up, waiting by the door. How quickly it had all been stowed for travel! Her pulse quickened again as she moved into the room, checking every corner, but nothing that could be packed onto a camel remained. The furniture would stay, as they had no way to easily transport it. Besides, Isaac would have his own tables and chests and more.

Isaac.

What would he be like? Her heart gave a little flutter at the simple intimacy of his name.

She turned at a touch on her arm.

“Everything is packed.” Deborah came alongside her, a smile wreathing her face. “Are you ready?”

Rebekah glanced beyond her nurse, but there was no one in the hall outside. The room held an eerie quiet. “My mother?”

“Is out in the courtyard with the rest of the household. They are waiting to send you off. Laban has commanded food prepared for us to eat along the way. A canopy stands near the edge of the court, and your mother has retrieved your best robe.” Deborah turned, extending a hand for Rebekah to lead the way to the courtyard.

“She is going to have a ceremony without the groom?” Rebekah stood unmoving.

Deborah nodded. “You can take the robe off before you mount the camel. Your family wishes to bless you, mistress.”
She smiled, her expression reassuring. “Let them have this last moment.”

Rebekah nodded, suddenly overcome once again with emotion. She looked over her sleeping room one last time, the memories short. She had not lived in this house in Nahor long. She had already left the house of her birth in Harran, and this room had little hold on her. Still . . .

“I will miss this place.”

Deborah put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “As we all will. But a new adventure awaits us. A whole new way of life.”

“Yes.” The thought filled her with sudden excitement. “I am to be married.” A surge of joy bubbled within her. “To a prince.” She smiled. “Selima will be happy with that.”

Deborah laughed. “Selima dreams of things too grand.”

The sounds of music and voices of men and women filled the courtyard at Rebekah’s approach. Her mother hurried to greet her, all traces of her tears gone. “Put this on. Quickly now. Eliezer wishes to be off, and you best not keep him waiting.”

But by this very act of ceremony they were doing just that.

Rebekah did not say so as she clutched one of the new robes to her, stepped back into the house, and hurriedly switched from the one she was wearing. A moment later, she moved with graceful steps to stand beneath the canopy that Laban had used when he married Farah.

Silence settled over the court, and Laban and Bethuel stepped forward, each holding a goblet of wine in his hand.

“Our sister, may you increase to thousands upon thousands,” Laban said, lifting his cup in the air.

Bethuel did the same, smiling into her eyes. “And may your offspring possess the gates of their enemies.”

She knew what he meant. Enemies could be found in homes as well as foreign lands, and he had just blessed her and her
children to conquer both. Her heart warmed to the thought, a little thrill passing through her.

“Let it be so!” The small crowd shouted the words together, and the sounds of flute and lyre and drum filled the air while her mother and sisters-in-law rushed forward. She hugged each one, unable to keep the tears at bay now. They quickly helped her switch back to her traveling robe and folded the wedding robe for the long journey to Hebron.

When the last goodbye was said, the last kiss accepted and given, Rebekah and her maids climbed onto the backs of the camels. She clutched the saddle as the beast rose, settling herself in for the long ride. The camel lurched as it started forward but soon fell into a steady rhythm. They would not stop for many hours and would not reach Hebron for several weeks.

She glanced behind her, waving to her family until they disappeared from view, then faced forward. Eliezer’s men surrounded her and her maids, a wall of protection against thieves and marauders. She did not fear for her safety. But she could not help the pang of anticipation that grew with each camel’s step closer to Canaan. She must know more about this cousin she was about to marry. When they sat about the fire later that night, she would ask questions of Eliezer and his son and the other servants. After all, a woman could not go into a marriage without knowing something about the man she was marrying.

Deborah did not allow herself to breathe deeply, nor did she lose her worry, until the camels came to rest the first night, many hours’ distance from Nuriah’s home. In the hurry of leaving, she had managed to avoid contact with the woman, who had enough things on her mind to keep her sufficiently distracted. Deborah felt momentary relief when she learned
that she and Selima would accompany Rebekah, but the truth did not fully overtake her until she stood over the fire and smelled the scents of cumin and rosemary coming from the quick lentil stew filling the camp.

She glanced at Rebekah, whose wide-eyed look told her that she too was sensing the reality of her decision. Deborah stepped beside her and placed a hand on her arm.

“You made a wise choice to come.” She studied Rebekah’s face, hoping her own need to be free of Nuriah did not somehow show through her expression. But she could not contain the new feeling of joy that had started to rise from a place deep within.

Rebekah nodded. “I know.” Her head lifted, and Deborah followed her gaze toward the low hill where the camels rested just over the rise. “Have you seen Selima?”

Deborah darted a look over the camp, her eyes finally settling on the women’s tent. “She is probably in the tent, settling things.” Though now that she thought about it, she had not seen her daughter since they set up camp, when Selima had gone to lay out their bedrolls and deposit their necessary items in the tent.

“I saw her leave the tent long before the stew was put together,” Rebekah said.

Deborah glanced at the sky. The sun’s orb suspended halfway between the horizon and its place in the west, nearly out of sight. The spring was more than an arrow’s shot from where they stood, down the embankment where the land dipped away from the camp.

“If she went for water, she should have long ago returned.”

Fear sent a prickly feeling up her spine. She looked around, the fear mounting. Where was she?

“Selima?”

Deborah turned at the male voice calling her daughter’s name. She glimpsed Eliezer’s son Haviv walking toward them.

“Why do you seek my maid?” Rebekah’s worry matched Deborah’s. And why was this man looking for her daughter?

“Is she not here?” Haviv’s brow furrowed, and the concern in his eyes heightened Deborah’s own fear.

“I saw her leave the tent, and I think she carried the jar to draw water.” Rebekah dried her hands on a piece of linen and hurried to Haviv’s side. “But perhaps she returned and slipped inside again.”

Rebekah rushed to the tent while Deborah called to one of the men to keep watch over the stew, apologizing for the inconvenience. She hurried after Rebekah, Haviv a few steps behind her, but the tent was dark, as they first suspected.

“I’m going to check near the camels at the water’s edge,” Haviv said.

Deborah picked up her skirts. “I’m coming with you.”

She felt Rebekah at her side, keeping her pace. When they reached the rise, they spread out their search in different directions.

“Selima!” Deborah’s heart beat fast and hard. She could not come all this way to finally hold the hope of a better life only to lose her daughter! Emotion rose up, filling her throat. “Selima!”

“Selima?” Haviv’s voice came from the distance, followed by Rebekah’s high-pitched cry. But no answering response followed.

Had she been abducted by marauders? Had she fallen asleep among the camels? Ridiculous thought!

And then she heard Haviv’s jubilant call. Deborah ran, following the sound near the last of the line of camels kneeling by the stream.

“Selima! What happened? We have been worried, and everyone is looking for you.” Deborah fell to her knees beside her weeping daughter. “My child, what have you done?
Are you hurt?” She searched Selima’s tear-soaked face, saw the way she rubbed her ankle with both hands.

“He kicked me.” Selima motioned with her head to the camel at her back.

Realization dawned. A camel’s kick could have broken a bone.

“Let me look.”

A cloud passed away from the moon, giving them more light, and Deborah gently lifted Selima’s robe from the offending limb. The skin was broken and purple and twice its normal size.

“I need to touch it to see if the bone is still whole.”

Selima sucked in a breath and winced at Deborah’s touch, but she did not cry again. “I am the biggest of fools.”

“You are not a fool.”

Haviv’s voice startled them both, and Deborah leaned back and looked behind her, watching the exchange between her daughter and Abraham’s servant.

“You are not used to these beasts. Many a man has been kicked who does not take care around them. I should have stayed with you and warned you.”

“It is not your fault. I was stubborn and fat-headed to think I could manage out here near dark alone.”

“Yes, well, speaking of dark,” Deborah said, glancing at the sky and suddenly grateful for this man’s presence, “we must get back before that man burns the stew and we all go to bed hungry. I will make you a poultice, and you will be well in a day or so.”

“I can’t walk.”

Deborah opened her mouth to protest, but Haviv stopped her words. “Since it is not broken, I am going to carry you back to the camp.”

Deborah watched her daughter’s large eyes grow wider, as though she had never expected such a thing from him. She
clutched her hands together and held them to her chin. “All right.” Her voice was soft, and Deborah could see the interest and embarrassment in her expression.