Rebekah

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “Perhaps your father feared what he did not know.”

  His look grew thoughtful. “If my father knew me, he would not have feared. My father obeys Adonai. He does not always trust his son.” He turned forward again, the only sound that of their sandals crunching dry earth and the voices of servants behind them.

  They walked in silence until they reached Isaac’s tent. He stopped a good distance away, several paces between his tent and where he set hers. Would he call her to him this night? Marriage customs normally dictated a betrothal, which by the gifts already given her had been accomplished back in Paddan-Aram. Would Isaac wait for a formal wedding ceremony? It was within his right to claim her even now, but surely he would wait until they reached Hebron and she was introduced to his father.

  Did Isaac resent his father?

  She helped him unroll the tent and pound the pegs, stretching taut the ropes.

  “I will leave you to prepare the evening meal,” he said when they finished. He gave a slight bow and held her captive with the strength of his gaze. “I am glad you came.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” She wondered that her voice worked at all, so intense was the air that pulsed between them. He wanted her. She could read it in the subtle wink he gave her as he touched her shoulder. The contact made her knees suddenly want to give way. “I am glad I came too.”

  His gentle pressure on her shoulder was his only response, and then he released her and walked back toward his men.

  The journey to Hebron took two days, and Rebekah chose to walk with Isaac part of the way, hoping she could learn more about him. He seemed to enjoy her company, and he pointed out various plants he had discovered along the way.

  “Do you see the large flowers on that plant there beside the stream? Most flowers in the desert are small, but this one puts out large blossoms.” He looked at her. “Do you know how it draws enough water to produce such impressive beauty?”

  Her stomach fluttered, and she wondered if he spoke only of the flowers. He smiled and pointed to some large yellow blooms dotting the banks of what would normally be a dry wadi but now flowed with water from the recent spring rains. She looked where he pointed.

  “Perhaps its roots go deep into the ground?” She had no idea if such a thing were true, but she warmed to the way his eyes shone as he spoke to her.

  “I would have thought so too.” He wound the donkey’s reins over his other hand, stepping closer to her. He leaned in as though his next words were a secret between them. “Until I studied the plant and dug into the ground around it. Do you know where it derives its nourishment?”

  She shook her head, fascinated by the sparkle in his passionate dark eyes. “I have no idea.”

  His look held hers for the space of one, two, three heartbeats, and she sensed his growing fondness of this time with her. “The plant with the larger flowers steals its water from the smaller plant beside it. Do you see the smaller white flower?”

  She followed the length of his bare arm to its fingertips, then past it to the flowers a short distance away. “Yes.” Her words were a whisper.

  “The smaller flower is hosting, feeding the one that takes from it. So the stronger host ends up looking weaker and becoming weaker because the second plant takes all the good from it.”

  “Does this not kill the smaller flower?”

  Isaac shook his head. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? But if the bigger killed the smaller, it too would die. Instead, the bigger keeps the smaller alive just enough so that it might live.”

  She smiled. “You draw much pleasure from such study.” The thought pleased her.

  “Yes. And I hope you might do the same.” She grew warm at the intimate way he looked at her, and the deep tones of his voice drew her.

  “I would like learning such things if you teach me.”

  He looked as though he might take her hand, but held back and simply smiled. “Such a thing would give me great pleasure.”

  He walked on, and she fell silent, already recognizing his penchant for introspection. They continued in companionable quiet until the sounds of an encampment grew close.

  “We are here,” Isaac said, stopping a moment to look at her. “This is my father’s camp. You will meet his concubine Keturah and her six sons, along with the rest of the household. You will be mistress over Keturah, but take care not to use that against her. She will not take kindly to it.” He paused but a moment, and she wondered if he could read the worry in her gaze. “Do not concern yourself with her too much. We will not live here long.”

  The servants and camels came to a stop behind them, waiting for Isaac to lead the rest of the way into the camp, whose black goat’s-hair tents were visible just over the rise.

  Isaac stepped closer, cupping her shoulder, his touch this time sending little sparks through her. “We will meet my father and hold a feast to celebrate your arrival. Then you will come into the tent of my mother.” He paused, turned her to face him. “And become my wife.”

  His words turned her middle to warm liquid, and her heart quickened its pace.

  “Tonight?” she managed through a suddenly dry throat.

  He gave her arm a gentle squeeze, his look tender. “Tonight.”

  She nodded, suddenly wishing he would kiss her but knowing for certain that he would not do so until he had brought her to his mother’s tent.

  He stroked the veil near her cheek with one finger. “Do not fear me, Rebekah.”

  She lowered her eyes, feeling a swell of sudden emotion. “I won’t, my lord.”

  She heard him sigh and lifted her head to look at him once more.

  “Come,” he said at last. “Let us go and meet my father.”

  14

  Rebekah’s hands trembled, and she fumbled with the lapis lazuli necklace that Isaac had given her that afternoon after they had briefly met his father, Abraham, and Abraham’s concubine Keturah. Music of harps and flutes and the steady beat of the wedding drum filled the air outside her tent, making her nearly drop the precious piece.

  “I can’t do this.” She held the strand of jewels out to Deborah, who took it in steady hands and clasped it behind Rebekah’s neck. “I did not expect to be so nervous.”

  Deborah turned Rebekah to face her and cupped her cheek, coaxing her gaze upward. “There is every reason for you to feel so, my dear child. But none of them is valid. Not with the way Isaac looks at you. He will be a kind and gentle husband. Trust me in this. I know of what I speak.” Deborah’s dark eyes glinted with a memory Rebekah could not share, but she sensed that her nurse’s past was not nearly as kind to her as her present.

  “Was your husband . . . was he . . .” She could not finish the sentence, her words stopped by the shake of Deborah’s head.

  “It is not worth discussing. Not on your wedding night!” She straightened Rebekah’s multicolored robe and the mantle over her head. “Are you ready for me to place the bridal crown over the veil?”

  Deborah would clasp the fabric beneath the crown, encasing her behind the veil. Rebekah would see only through a slit where her eyes would be visible, a bride awaiting her unveiling by her husband. The thought made her palms moist, and she could not find her voice.

  She nodded, telling herself once again that she had no need to fear. She felt Deborah’s hands lift the veil in place, and her breath caused little droplets to appear on the fabric. She had already been given the ritual cleansing. She did not need to grow sweaty beneath the clothes! But her nerves were in tatters, and she could not still the shaking.

  “There.” The golden bridal crown rested heavily upon her brow, and she peered into the bronze mirror that Deborah held out for her. But she barely had a moment to examine her cloudy reflection before the music grew more intense, the beat of the drum picking up its pace. “It is time.”

  “Yes.”

  “You will be fine.”

  “I know.” She believed it. She must.

  She stepped from her tent to the crowd of people
in Abraham’s camp. A striped red and blue canopy stood near the campfire, and she spotted Isaac standing beneath it. Abraham sat on a large rock near Isaac’s side, his weathered face beaming with pleasure. She slowly approached, Deborah at her side. She glimpsed Selima standing near Haviv and faintly wondered how long it would take for the man to ask for her hand.

  But she could not think of that now, as the drum and the flutist drew her ever closer to where Isaac waited. When she reached his side, he took her hand in his and squeezed her cold fingers. His smile took her breath, and she longed to cup his cheek and touch her fingers to his bearded face. But she merely looked at him instead, wondering if he could feel the way her pulse jumped and soared at his touch like a bird in flight.

  “My daughter, you do me and my son great honor this day by agreeing to become Isaac’s wife.”

  Abraham’s voice broke through her thoughts as the music came to an abrupt halt. She turned to face him, surprised to see him standing so close to them beneath the canopy.

  “As you have come without a male relative to grant you the blessing, and as I have been informed your family has already bestowed such a blessing upon you before you left to come here, let me just say a few words before you two are joined together as one.”

  She bowed her head and felt Abraham’s hand, still strong despite his many years, rest upon her crowned head. Her chest lifted, but the sigh would not release.

  “Rebekah, my daughter, and Isaac, my son.” He paused, his voice catching on Isaac’s name.

  She longed to look up, to see what passed between father and son in that moment, but she dare not move with Abraham’s hand resting upon her.

  “Be fruitful and multiply, as our God has commanded each of us. God has joined you together this day. His peace be upon you.”

  She heard another catch in his voice as he spoke the last word and wondered if his voice was affected by age or simply the emotion of the moment. As his hand lifted from her head, she met his gaze, seeing the moisture in his eyes.

  “Thank you, my father.” She smiled, though he could not fully see it behind her veil, and felt his approval in the look he gave her. Indeed, he was her only father now, and she prayed her actions would please him.

  “If only your mother could have seen this day.” He directed his attention to Isaac, and Rebekah looked at her new husband, seeing him nod.

  “She would be pleased with Adonai’s choice,” Isaac said, looking from his father to her. His smile melted what little fear she had left, filling her instead with a new sense of desire to please him as well.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Her voice came out breathy.

  Isaac squeezed her fingers again, and the music started up once more. “Come,” he said, bending close to her ear.

  She turned to follow, her heart beating faster with every careful step. Isaac crossed the campground, leaving the rejoicing crowd, leading her to a large goat’s-hair tent on the edge of the ring of Abraham’s camp.

  “This belonged to my mother.” Isaac lifted the flap and beckoned her to go ahead of him into the dark enclosure. He quickly followed, carrying a torch, then set about lighting two small clay lamps. He returned the torch to its post and let the flap fall, closing them in.

  The tent was divided into several rooms, one of them a large sitting area with plush cushions scattered about. Her loom already stood in one corner, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw that Isaac had taken care to have the items she had brought from home arranged in various places.

  “I thought you would feel more at home here if you recognized some of the furnishings.” He waved a hand, taking in the room, and she glanced to where he pointed.

  “You are most thoughtful. It pleases me very much.” She smiled, hoping he could see the pleasure in her eyes.

  His look captivated her, and he did not move or speak for several beats of her already racing heart. What should she do next? Did he want her to pour him some wine? But she had no idea where to look for the flask.

  “You are very beautiful,” he said.

  Her stomach did a little flip as his hands moved to take the crown from her head.

  “But I cannot appreciate your beauty with this between us.” He fumbled with the clasp holding the veil over her face, and in that moment she sensed he was as nervous as she.

  She moved her hand to help, their fingers grazing, her breath growing still as he let the veil fall away. She felt her pulse throbbing in her neck and watched his Adam’s apple move up and down. He traced a line along her jaw. “Yes, it is as I suspected. You are the most beautiful of women.”

  His smile made her knees grow weak, and when he bent to touch his lips to hers, she lost all sense of time and place. She had traveled half the world to get here, and the journey had been worth every step. God had given her a prince unequaled.

  As his kiss deepened, she wrapped her arms around his neck and gladly returned it.

  Isaac rose up on one elbow, blinking at the light poking under the rolled-up sides of the tent. He shook his head, trying to remember when they had lifted the flaps, when he spotted Rebekah fully dressed and tying the scarf over her head. He smiled and wondered at the love that rose within him for this cousin, his wife.

  Wife.

  He liked the sound of the word and played it over for a moment, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. He flung the covers aside. She turned, a dark blush filling her face as she looked down at him.

  “You are awake, my lord.” Her flustered state at seeing him in only a short night tunic the day after their wedding night made him almost chuckle.

  “It would appear so,” he said instead. “What are you doing?”

  She was clearly dressed for a day’s work. He should have told her last night not to worry about such things today.

  “I thought I would draw water and help prepare the morning meal.” Her voice sounded uncertain, and she glanced over her shoulder and then back at him again.

  “There is no need today. Come, sit beside me.” He smiled at her confusion, but when he patted the sleeping mat where she had recently lain, she obeyed.

  “There is a need to eat, is there not? I would do my part, my lord.”

  He touched her cheek, stroked one finger down it. “I know you would, and you will. But this is our wedding week. We have seven days to get to know each other, and we are not allowed to leave this tent.” At the surprised lift of her brow, he added, “The women will leave food for us at the tent’s door, and at week’s end we will join the others for a final feast.”

  “I see.” She looked beyond him, and he wondered if spending seven days in his company might displease her. “What if we want to go for a walk together?”

  He smiled into her eyes. “If such a thing would please you, I think we can sneak away without attracting undue attention.”

  “I would like that.”

  The thought seemed to cheer her, making his heart light. He knew just the place he would take her first, a lush valley where the spring bubbled over rocks and the trees plunged thick branches toward the heavens, offering shade and seclusion. He would carve a flute for her and teach her to make music at his side.

  He scooted into an upright position, studying her. She sat slightly rigid, her back straight, as though she did not know how to relax now that darkness did not keep them in seclusion.

  “You will not be needing this unless we travel.” He gently pulled the veil from her hair and smoothed a hand along her dark tresses. “A married woman in the camp need not veil herself. Though you may tie your hair off your shoulders.” He coaxed her to look at him, and the blush he’d found so becoming the night before only endeared her more to him now. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Does this displease you—spending so much time with me?” He hated the need to ask it of her, but if she truly did not wish his company . . .

  “No, no, of course not!”

  Her smile reassured him, and he let out a breath, relieved.

  “I only . . . I d
id not know. Our customs are not so very different—there is a marriage week to be fulfilled—it is just that I am used to a house of brick with many rooms and much work to be done.” She looked around, and he wondered how pale his mother’s tent must be in comparison to her mother’s house of stone.

  “My mother’s tent is the largest in the camp besides my father’s.” His tone sounded defensive and he knew it. Was he a child that he should pout? He shook himself for having such a ridiculous thought. Wealth could be expressed in many ways; he need not compare one to another to please her.

  She turned back to him, her look chagrined. “Oh no, my lord, I did not mean . . . that is, your mother’s tent is wonderful and large, and I am most comfortable. I just . . .”

  He could no longer refrain from pulling her close, his lips tasting hers. “You have no reason to be sorry, Rebekah.” He spoke in her ear, his breath lingering at her throat. He heard her breath catch and watched her pulse throb in her neck as he loosened the robe from her shoulders and moved to kiss her again. “We have a week where no one will interrupt us or question us and with no work whatsoever to keep us occupied.”

  “No work whatsoever?” She sounded incredulous, as though she had never experienced a day of rest.

  “Only the work of discovery, of coming to know and understand each other.” He could spend a lifetime getting to know this beautiful woman, and he determined in that moment that he would have none other. She was his and he was hers alone.

  She offered a pointed look at the rolled-up sides of the tent, then sifted her fingers through his rumpled hair. “Shall I lower the flaps, my lord?”

  He noticed a mischievous glint in her brown eyes and nodded, smiling. Her hips held a purposeful sway, and she glanced back at him as she pulled the ropes to lower the flaps again, encasing them in semidarkness.

  She removed her robe, folded it gently, and laid it over a basket in the corner, then came to sit beside him. He took her hands in his and turned them over slowly, kissing each palm. “Tell me, my love, are you glad you came? Surely a woman as beautiful as you are could have had any man in Paddan-Aram.” He pulled her closer to lie beside him, settling her in the crook of his arm.