Rebekah: Women of Genesis (27 page)

Rebekah reached up, untied the neck-binding of the veil, and pulled it off over her head. If her face had been grimy before she put it on, it was now streaked with sweat, and hair that had been windblown before was now matted and wet. “You see me at my worst, sir,” she said. “But how could a stranger enter your mother’s tent?”

“I promise you, she cleans up nicely,” said Eliezer.

Isaac reached out and took a bead of sweat from her cheek with the back of one finger. His touch was gentle, yet her skin tingled where he touched her. “My wife will see me sweaty with work or filthy from travel, and I will see her that way many times as well. And we’ll see each other at our best, too. But never will she be more beautiful to me than she is this moment. I see nothing but goodness in your face. That is your beauty, Rebekah.”

Quite before she realized it, tears streamed down her face. Of relief. Of . . . no, it was too soon for love. But of gratitude, yes, and admiration for the perfect kindness of his words, of the gesture of letting her dwell in his mother’s tent. And also because she thrilled at the way her name sounded when it came from his lips. “Oh, Isaac,” she said. “Did those words . . . did the Lord give them to you?”

“No, sorry,” said Isaac.

“Don’t be sorry,” said Rebekah. “I hoped they were your own.”

He took her by the hand and led her to a small altar built of fitted stones. No bullocks could have been sacrificed here, it was too small, and besides, the stones looked new-cut, and there was no staining of ashes. Still holding her hand, Isaac knelt across the altar from her, and with very simple words promised her she would be his wife forever. Then he told her the words she was to say to him, and she said them. With only Deborah and Eliezer as their witnesses, while the rest of the camp was busy installing Rebekah’s maids in their tent and unloading and caring for the camels, Isaac said the words that bound them together in a marriage with no end. Her sons, he added, would be his only heirs, as he was the only heir of his father.

Then he leaned across the altar and kissed her.

“Now,” he said, “the woman who enters my mother’s tent will be my wife, and from that moment it will no longer be known as Sarah’s tent, but as the tent of Rebekah. Now, dear girl, you’re filthy and you smell like a camel. Go in and clean yourself up and change clothes, and then come out of the tent of Rebekah to be presented to my household as my wife.”

“I thought . . .”

“Is something wrong?” asked Isaac.

“I just thought . . . that your father would have to give his permission first, or at least meet me.”

“My father gave permission when he sent Eliezer on his errand. And he
will
meet you, but not as a girl waiting to be married. He’ll meet you as my wife.”

Rebekah imagined how it might be, Isaac presenting her to his father and his father’s concubine . . . and realized something. “You are protecting me,” she said. “When I first meet Keturah, I’ll already outrank her.”

“My dear wife,” said Isaac, “you outranked her the day you were born. I married you here because who are we to delay what the Lord has ordained? All that kept us apart was distance, and when that was gone, there was no reason to delay.” He leaned down and kissed her again. His lips were gentle, too, and yet the kiss was firm, and his hands on her shoulders were strong yet not forceful.

“A boy will be waiting outside your tent,” said Isaac as he led her to Sarah’s tent. “When you’re ready for Deborah or any of your other handmaidens, you have only to speak loudly and he’ll go fetch whomever you want. He’ll make no mistakes. He’s a clever boy, and I asked him to know the names of all your servants within the first few moments they were here.”

“No one has ever . . . no one has ever watched over me so carefully,” she said. Though in a sense she had been carefully sheltered all her life, what she meant was that no one had watched out for her
feelings
or tried to anticipate what would make her more comfortable.

“Well, soon we’ll become completely used to each other and you’ll be watching out for me as much as I watch over you,” said Isaac. “Now go inside. My people are eager to meet you.”

Inside the tent, Rebekah took a few minutes to look at what was there. The furnishings were simple yet of the finest quality. If these were indeed Sarah’s rugs and Sarah’s bed, Sarah’s boxes and jars and table, then her taste was exquisite, that of a queen who had nothing to prove to anyone, and so made no gaudy display; but neither was she ashamed to own things of the highest quality.

But if these are Sarah’s possessions, what will it be like for him to come to me here, and love me in the way a man loves a woman? Won’t his mother’s shadow loom over us? Everything he sees here will remind him of his childhood at her knee.

Without offering the slightest disrespect to the memory of Sarah—indeed, Rebekah was fascinated by the great lady, and longed to know everything about her—she nevertheless had to make sure that from now on, when Isaac thought of this tent, when he saw the inside of it, he would not immediately remember his mother, but would remember Rebekah instead.

She called for Deborah, and in only a short time she was there. Within an hour, Rebekah had been thoroughly washed and her hair plaited like a bride’s. Then she sent Deborah from the tent with instructions to go tell Isaac that Rebekah was ready.

Deborah looked at her with concern. “But—”

“Go,” said Rebekah.

Deborah went.

Soon she heard a soft clapping outside her tent.

“Isaac?” she asked.

“I’m here,” he said.

“I’m afraid to go out and meet your people,” said Rebekah. “Could you come inside for a moment to encourage me?”

The tent door opened and Isaac stepped inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darker interior.

“Who is encouraging whom here?” asked Isaac.

“You are,” she said. “Before you present me to your people, shouldn’t I present myself to you?”

“Eliezer has no idea how nicely you clean up.”

“Isaac, God brought me here to conceive a child,” she said. “Not to meet your household.” She took the two steps that closed the distance between them. “Let’s put first things first.”

He seemed to think it was a good idea. And here inside the tent, he was the same man she had seen outside it—a man with strength who chose to be gentle, a man with authority who chose to be kind. She had always thought it would be frightening to know a man this intimately, but with Isaac her fear was gone almost before she had a chance to notice it.

It was Isaac, not Deborah, who helped her dress and assured her that her hair looked perfectly arranged. And if his judgment was not perfect on that matter—Deborah did a quick fix as soon as Rebekah emerged from the tent—she was perfectly content that he thought she looked perfect despite her imperfection. It was a promising beginning to a marriage that would shape the future of the covenant between God and Abraham. Because, as Rebekah well knew, a man could serve God with all his heart and still rend his family apart, misshaping the lives of his children in the process. It was not possible that a man like Isaac could make any such mistakes.

Part IV

The Seed of Abraham

Chapter 10

Contrary to what Rebekah had been led to expect, Keturah was flawlessly gracious. She embraced Rebekah at once and seemed genuinely dismayed that the wedding had already taken place, and insisted that there would still be a feast as if the wedding still lay in the future.

“Isaac was beginning to be like an aging uncle,” said Keturah. “He was just pottering about mumbling things from the holy books and looking confused when anybody talked to him. But now—it’s as if you took twenty years off his age!”

“I hope he doesn’t do the same to me,” said Rebekah.

Keturah looked puzzled for a moment, and then laughed. “Of course! You’re not twenty years old yourself, are you! I am, though. Barely!”

“Still, that’s not such a great difference in our ages.”

“It’s our husbands who are old men!”  Keturah laughed aloud at her own joke. Then she leaned close to Rebekah. “I notice you had the self-control
not
to look around and see whether Isaac heard me. That’s good—some women think their husbands are
babies
and have to be protected from everything.”

Rebekah wanted to say, Even a grown man might wish to be safe from insult in his father’s house, but in truth Keturah had said nothing wrong, and perhaps the only reason Rebekah felt snippy about it was because of what Isaac and Eliezer had said just before they arrived at Isaac’s camp. All Keturah was doing was trying to make friends with her.

Or . . . perhaps she was asserting seniority because of her age, so Rebekah would not challenge her leadership of the women.

“I think,” said Rebekah, “that Isaac is planning for us to live at Lahai-roi. I hope we visit here often enough for us to become friends.”

Keturah’s expression changed to one of mock dismay. “Oh no, it’s going to be awkward for a few days.”

“Why would it be?” said Rebekah.

“Because Abraham is absolutely determined that his grandchild—the birthright grandson, to be exact—is going to grow up right here where he can keep an eye on him.”

“Well, perhaps that’s a decision that can be made when I’ve actually given birth to such a child,” said Rebekah.

“I don’t know. When Abraham gets an idea in his head . . .” She leaned close to Rebekah, as if confiding a secret. “He’s a very old man, you know, and he gets impatient when people don’t see things his way immediately.”

“I’m sure everything will work out,” said Rebekah. “No need to think about that now.”

“I hope you
do
end up living here,” said Keturah. “Even though it does mean you’ll be ruler of the women.”

Rebekah at once protested, though in fact she was relieved that Keturah had brought up the subject and declared her own disadvantage so cheerfully.

Keturah dismissed her objections. “Don’t be absurd, Rebekah. I may be a wife here, of sorts, but I’m not
the
wife.”

Rebekah did not say that technically a concubine was more servant than wife. “I’m not
the
wife either,” said Rebekah. “I’m the son’s wife.”

“But he’s
the
son, and that makes you
the
wife. The one who will bear the birthright boy.”

“May God grant that prayer,” said Rebekah.

“If he hasn’t already,” said Keturah.

Did she really say what Rebekah thought she said?

“Oh, don’t blush and look shy. Isaac has been shockingly chaste. I assumed the reason he married you so quickly was because he couldn’t wait a moment longer!”

Rebekah looked away, not wishing to continue that line of discussion. “I wonder what I should call him.”

“Your baby?”

“Your husband.” She had always thought of him as Uncle Abraham, but now he was her father-in-law.

Keturah laughed loudly. “Oh, everybody calls him Father Abraham except me, I just call him Abraham. In public. What I call him in private is
private.
”

She grinned as if she was dying to tell. But Rebekah continued to look off into the distance and said nothing to encourage
that
topic, either.

So Keturah went on. “And Isaac, of course, he just calls him Father.” And then, as if it were a secret: “One thing you have to know—in this camp, what Father Abraham decides is what
will
happen. He talks to God, you know.”

“So I heard,” said Rebekah dryly. “But that’s how it is with every herding family. The patriarch is the judge and lawgiver. He’s what a king would be, in a city.”

“Only the kingdom is very small,” said Keturah, laughing.

“In this case,” said Rebekah, “the kingdom is very large.”

“Well, for a
camp
I suppose it is, but I’ve seen the cities of the coast.”

“Really? All of them?”

“I’ve actually
been
in Gerar.”

“It must have been impressive,” said Rebekah. “I hear it’s almost a tenth of the size of Byblos, and Byblos is large enough to be considered a good-sized town in Egypt.” Rebekah felt just a little bad about letting herself get caught up in a contest of words with Keturah, but there was something about her that just made Rebekah want to argue.

“Oh, I know, all those magnificent places, so far away. Abraham’s been to Egypt, you know.”

“I’ve heard stories,” said Rebekah.

“But still, how can you call Abraham’s camp a
large
kingdom, if you’re going to go comparing Gerar to the cities of Egypt!”

“Because Uncle Abraham’s kingdom is the whole world, Keturah,” said Rebekah.

Keturah looked at her as though she were out of her mind. “Well, I think King Abimelech of Gerar would have a different opinion.”