Rebekah (4 page)

A large clay urn rested atop Rebekah’s shoulder, and she steadied it with one hand as she took the steps downward leading into the well’s yawning mouth. Months had passed since she had been allowed to travel to the well outside of Harran, one she had used daily when they lived in the city. She was weary of begging Laban to give her the freedom to return to this task, and even now she was only allowed to come in the company of three of her maids, as if she were a prized flower Laban feared would be picked if he did not keep her surrounded and protected.

Irritation made her tighten her grasp on the urn as the voices of the village women drew closer, their varying tones echoing against the cavernous stone walls. She recognized her friend Iltani’s high-pitched squeal among them.

“Rebekah!” Iltani sidled alongside Rebekah as she reached the last step and waited while she lowered the jar to the ground, then accepted Iltani’s kiss of greeting. “I thought we would never see you here again! Where has that brother of yours been hiding you?”

“At my grandfather’s house in Paddan-Aram.” Though Iltani surely had already heard this news.

“But why? He has taken you away from your friends. The treks up and down these steps are not the same without you.” Iltani laughed freely, and her eyes danced with too-obvious delight.

“You are happy about something. Tell me.”

Iltani smiled wide, but when she met Rebekah’s gaze, she sobered. “You may not think my news to be good.”

“Of course I will! If it makes you happy, it will bring me joy as well.” Though she could not deny a foreboding feeling in her heart.

Iltani took in a long breath and released it in a rush. “Naveed and I are betrothed! We will marry before the year is out. His father is already planning to build onto their house to make room for us.”

“I thought Naveed would be moving away when he married.” The words came out before she thought to stop them. She had no claims to Naveed. They had been childhood friends, and despite his attempts to marry her, those plans had long since changed.

“It is true that Naveed does not receive the inheritance of the firstborn, but Naveed is good at his father’s trade, and his father wants to keep him on.” Iltani dipped her jar into the spring, lifted the full water jug, and placed it gracefully on her head. “I hope you will attend me.”

“Of course. I will be honored.” She smiled at Iltani, but grew silent as Iltani chattered on about the wedding. She was happy for Iltani, truly she was. But the prick of jealousy in her heart mocked her. In the months since her father’s death and their move to Paddan-Aram, Laban had turned away too many suitors, always hoping for one who would offer more.

“Are you coming?” Iltani moved up the steps and glanced back over her shoulder to where Rebekah stood at the water’s edge.

“You go ahead. I’ll be up shortly.” She lowered her jar to the spring and waited as the water bubbled up into it.

“Will you go to the wedding?” Selima asked as the group surrounding Iltani grew distant.

Rebekah filled her jar, lifted it onto her head, and waited as Selima did the same. “If Laban allows it, of course.” The thought of Iltani marrying ahead of her did not matter. She would not let it. Though at nearly twenty years on earth, she had already waited long enough.

“But,” she added as they began the long trek to the surface, “if he does not allow it, I will not be disappointed.”

The sun blazed a path toward the western ridge when Rebekah finally found Laban alone in the family courtyard. Servants had cleared away the last of the meal, and her brother sat near the fire, a clay pipe in his hand. She smoothed the wool of her skirt as she sat on a stone bench opposite him. “I trust you had a prosperous day with the merchants.”

Laban put the pipe to his lips and drew in the smoke of the poppy leaves, then released a breath. “The woven garments you made brought a fair price.” He jingled the pouch at his belt. “Your skills have given your family a tidy sum.” He looked at her, and she caught the glint of affection in his dark eyes, a sentiment she had not detected from him since before their father passed.

He set the pipe on the bench beside him and lifted the purse, untied the strings, and poured several nuggets of gold into his hand, holding them out to her. She accepted them and dropped them into a pouch in her robe. “Thank you.” She was surprised at the strength of the emotion his actions evoked. Perhaps he truly did seek what was best for her.

“You earned it fair enough.” He picked up his pipe again and puffed. “Put it away for your future. When you go from
this house to the house of your husband, you shall not go empty-handed.”

Rebekah looked beyond Laban to the dying warmth of the setting sun, her heart stirred with the thought. Yet how often had he made such comments and done nothing to make them come true? Every time she handed over a newly woven garment or length of multicolored cloth to trade with foreign merchants, he handed her the same amount, giving the same comment. Yet no husband had come to claim her in the five years since she was nubile, and she feared Laban intended to hold her until her beauty faded and it was too late.

“About that husband,” she said, forcing down her frustration. “When do you plan to find such a man for me, my brother? You have turned away every suitor who has come to call. Men will fear something is wrong with me if you do not act soon. Why do you hesitate?”

He avoided eye contact, dragging too quickly on the pipe. He choked and coughed for a long moment. She poured water into a gourd and he drank. At last he looked at her, but his gaze flitted quickly beyond her, as though he could not face her.

“Tell me the truth, Laban. I am tired of waiting for you to act.” She was angry now, recognizing the sheepish grin poking from beneath the thick curls of his beard.

His head bobbed as he nodded. “You are right as always, my sister. I have only considered your best interests. What kind of man would I be if I sold you to a life of poverty?” He leaned forward and touched her knee.

She looked into his charming gaze, the one she had grown weary of him using to appease her. “Not every man that has come is poor. But I fear my brother expects too much. I want you to act now.”

Laban leaned away from her and twisted the pipe in his hands, looking at the smoldering leaves as though wisdom
could be found there. Silence grew, broken only by the sounds of voices coming from inside the house and the crackle of the fire in the stone hearth in the courtyard.

At last he looked up. “I will send servants to Ur, to some of our distant kinsmen, to see if a match can be made.”

“I don’t want to marry a distant relative or go back to a land we were forced to leave. Why can’t you choose from someone nearby? Why would you send me away?”

“Would you choose a man like Naveed, who will inherit nothing from his father and has no means to get ahead in life? The men who have approached me could offer no better.”

“Naveed is betrothed to Iltani.” Sudden emotion at the thought surprised her. She was happy for Iltani. Truly she was.

Laban’s brow lifted in a quizzical expression, a sure sign he had yet to hear the news. “Well, yes, then all the better for him.” He smiled, plopping the pipe back into his mouth, then drew in the smoke and released it. “You will thank me someday that I turned him away. But do not worry, dear sister. You will marry soon.”

She scrunched the fabric of her robe, kneading it between her fingers. Voices drifted closer, and before she could answer, her mother and Laban’s wife Farah carried in baskets of wool and settled on benches nearby.

“Are we interrupting something?” Her mother smiled at Laban as she pulled the wool from the baskets and worked with Farah to separate the strands.

The moon ducked in and out of the clouds, an unsteady light over the courtyard. Night air brought a chill with it, but heat infused Rebekah’s cheeks at Laban’s audacious attitude. She rose, trembling, unable to share the same fire with her mother and her favorite son.

“Excuse me.” She hurried from the courtyard into the house, past busy servants, and down the hall toward her
sleeping chambers. She turned at the sound of footsteps and saw Selima coming toward her.

She entered the room and sank onto her couch. Leaning against the pillows, she let out an angry breath. “I am weary of his tricks. Laban is using me for his own gain. I am a prisoner in this house!” Defeat settled over her like a sodden cloak.

She looked out the window toward the starless heavens. The scent of rain hung heavy in the air, and her clothes felt damp from the weight of it. “Am I unworthy of marriage, Selima?”

“Any man worth anything would be honored to marry you, mistress.” Selima plucked a pillow and fluffed it between her fingers. She was a pretty girl in her own right, but not well-to-do enough to marry at will unless Rebekah released her and had Laban find a man for her.

The thought depressed her further. She couldn’t get Laban to do her own bidding, let alone help a servant. She walked to the window, wishing the rain would come and release its hold on the sticky air. Her gaze slanted upward, and she let go of her anger with a long, slow sigh.

God of our ancestor Shem, let me marry an honorable man, not one taken to the greed of my brother and mother.

She let the prayer leave her heart, wondering if it took wing and moved beyond her to the One she had learned of at her father’s knee. Did He really exist? Laban would placate Him, if He did. But Laban placated every god in Harran.

Doubt settled over her. If Laban’s words were true, which she could not trust for certain, might she truly find herself wed and in the home of her husband soon? How soon? Hope lifted her chest for only a moment. She would believe such a thing once she witnessed it.

 4 

Rebekah bent over the grindstone and gripped the wooden handle, turned the stone in a circular motion, and pressed the kernels of wheat between the top and bottom millstones. She’d been at the task long enough to cause her back to ache, and she stretched, trying to get the kinks to loosen. Three weeks had passed since her conversation with Laban, and he had not mentioned the subject of her future again.

She did not trust Laban.

Footsteps sounded in the adjacent house, and the voices of servants came closer. “There you are.” Deborah approached and motioned her aside. “You look spent. Let me take a turn.” She placed a woven mat beneath her knees and grabbed the wooden handle of the grindstone with both hands.

Rebekah sank onto the bench and breathed deeply. “The sun is warm today.” She dabbed at the beads of sweat along her forehead with the edge of her head scarf.

Deborah glanced up at her. “I thought you would have Selima do this task today. Weren’t you planning to go to the market with your mother?”

Rebekah shook her head. “My mother did not want my
company. I think she and Farah had plans they did not think I would approve.” A sigh escaped before she could stop it.

“Perhaps they want to surprise you. If Laban has found a match for you, they could be buying gifts for your betrothal. You know how your mother enjoys surprises.”

“My mother enjoys keeping things from me, if that’s what you mean by her surprises.” Rebekah gave a sardonic laugh. “Do you honestly think Laban has taken a single step toward seeking a husband for me? I think he has put it out of his mind.”