Rebekah (10 page)

A line of camels—she did a count and found ten magnificent beasts, each one laden with many sacks—slowly knelt, allowing six men to dismount their backs. She watched,
fascinated, and crept closer. She stopped at the sound of male voices coming from the other side of the nearest camel.

“Paddan-Aram, city of Nahor.”

At the man’s comment, Deborah looked toward the city gates.

“We have reached the city where Abraham’s relatives reside?”

“Assuming they still live here. Our last report indicated as much. Though they could live in one of the cities farther east.”

“Pray let this be the place. And let us hope Abraham’s relatives have daughters of marriageable age.”

Deborah’s heartbeat quickened with the words. Should she step forward, introduce herself, and tell the men they had found what they sought? But a moment later, one of the men—the older one by the slight warble in his voice—gave a loud cry, startling her.

“O Adonai, Elohei of my master Abraham . . .” His voice dropped in pitch on the last word, and she strained to hear the rest. “Give me success today, and show kindness to my master Abraham. See, I am standing beside this spring, and the daughters of the townspeople are coming out to draw water. May it be that when I say to a girl, ‘Please let down your jar that I may have a drink,’ and she says, ‘Drink, and I’ll water your camels too’—let her be the one You have chosen for Your servant Isaac. By this I will know that You have shown kindness to my master.”

Deborah gasped, startled at the request. The circular well had many steps going to the spring below. To carry the jar down and up again with the many trips they would need to fill the stone troughs was more than any maiden would offer a stranger.

“Why do you pray for the impossible?” the younger man said. “A woman would need to be very strong and determined to carry water up and down the steps to fill the troughs.”

The young man shared Deborah’s sentiments. Perhaps she should just step from beneath the trees and invite the men to Laban’s house, to save Rebekah the loss she must surely face when she did not do as the servant asked.

Disappointment filled her at the thought.

“Is not the master’s God able to do the impossible? Was not Isaac’s birth proof of this? Wait and see, my son, what God will do.”

Shame replaced her doubt. Surely it was possible. Rebekah had a giving heart and a strong back, but this . . .

She moved just beyond the tree line at the sound of female voices drawing closer. Rebekah and Selima and the other girls from town approached, laughing and talking among themselves.

Deborah slipped away and circled around toward the city gates. She could not bear to watch the man’s prayers go unanswered. She should not doubt Rebekah, but if she stayed, she would surely interfere and insist on helping and thwart the man’s prayer before God could answer it. A prayer that was too big for any woman to fulfill. Abraham’s servant was putting God and Rebekah to too great a test.

“Did you see those men?” Selima’s girlish giggle followed the comments.

Rebekah gave her an indulging smile. “From the corner of my eye, without looking at them conspicuously, yes. And I suppose you did too.” She lowered her water jar and dipped it into the flowing river, waiting as it filled to the top.

“The young one and the old one were looking at us.” Selima filled her jar and hefted it onto her shoulder, following Rebekah back up the steps. “The young one is handsome.”

“Interesting that you could notice such a thing in one quick glance.” Rebekah smiled at the blush on Selima’s cheeks as
she steadied her full jar with one hand, her gaze on the stone steps. The trek was as familiar as her weaving, and she could make it easily enough, but after the rain they’d had the night before, the stones were slippery, and she took extra care to be sure-footed.

“And interesting that you did not.” Selima’s indignant tone made Rebekah laugh. Her maid noticed every young man they met either in the markets or in the streets. Except for the shepherds, who were usually too young or too old, it was rare to see one at the well.

“They are travelers. There is no sense in noticing whether they are handsome or not since it is certain they have not come to stay. Besides, he is likely already married.” She glanced over her shoulder at Selima, noting the girl’s pout. “Cheer up, Selima. One day we will both find men who are worthy of our notice and our dreams.”

Rebekah put one hand along the wall as they reached the curve of the well, knowing the words were more hope than reality. She waited a moment for Selima to reach the top, then headed back toward the city gate. She stopped as she glimpsed the older man they had noticed earlier hurrying toward her.

“Please give me a little water from your jar,” he said, stopping within arm’s length of her. She read sincerity in his dark eyes, guessing him to be about as old as her father would have been had he lived.

She quickly lowered the jar to the ground and took a step back, allowing him to approach. “Drink, my lord.”

He scooped water from his hand to his mouth. She looked beyond him, noticing the younger man Selima had mentioned watching, but his gaze seemed fixed beyond her. Rebekah hid a smile as Selima’s face flushed crimson. Rebekah glanced back at the man and saw several other men sitting nearby among a pack of ten camels, looking exhausted.

How far had they come? If they had stopped at the well,
they obviously needed to water the camels, but one look at the empty trough told her they had not yet done so. The men would need to descend the steps of a well they did not know, perhaps not noticing the places where water could make the stones slick. One of them might fall . . . The thought troubled her. She knew this well and its unsteady stone steps. She could water the animals faster and more safely than a group of tired men.

She looked up as the man straightened.

“Thank you,” he said. His look held kindness and deep appreciation. “You are most kind.”

She gave a slight bow, then lifted the jar into her arms. “I will draw water for your camels also, until they have finished drinking.” She did not wait for a reply but hurried to the trough and dumped the contents of her jar into it. One glance at the sky told her that dusk would soon be upon them. She would move quickly. She knew the exact spots to place her feet, and without Selima to distract her, she would easily finish before darkness fell.

She clutched the jar to her shoulder and hurried down the steps, one hand skimming the wall. Dipping the jar into the flowing river, she willed it to fill faster, snatched it back into her arms and onto her shoulder, and fairly flew up the steps. She hurried to the trough, the water splashing down over the lip of her clay jar into the stone enclosure.

“Mistress?”

She looked up at the sound of Selima’s voice.

“Let me help you.”

Rebekah lifted the empty jar to her shoulder again. She shook her head. “Take your water home. Mother will be waiting for it, and she will worry if I do not soon return.” She hurried back to the steps, glancing behind her. “Tell her I am coming quickly. Do not tell her why.”

Her heart beat faster with every step. It would take at least
ten trips to fill both troughs. Would two troughs of water be enough to satisfy the thirst of ten camels?

Her feet landed in the soft dirt at the water’s edge again, and she repeated the task, her legs carrying her to the surface once more. She had filled the troughs for Bethuel’s sheep many times. Ten camels should be no different than a flock of sheep, should they?

She caught sight of the men watching her. Her face grew warm, whether from exertion or their perusal, she could not tell. The younger one did not strike her as overly attractive, as Selima seemed to think, but the girl probably wished Rebekah had let her stay to help, if only to glimpse the young man again. Silly girl! These travelers would be on their way by morning, and they would hear nothing of them again.

Then why did Rebekah feel so compelled to help them?

I am sending my messenger to meet you. When he comes, you will know what to do.

Her breath came faster at the memory of the strange man’s words. Surely not. Was the old man a messenger? But no. She had merely imagined the encounter with the stranger and his comforting words in an effort to calm herself, to somehow feel she had some control over her brother’s ambitious designs.

But she could not shake the thoughts, nor the urgency to hurry through her task.

After fifteen trips into the heart of the well and up to the surface again, her back ached and her legs felt like fire. She stopped at the trough where the camels had nearly emptied what she had filled, holding her last full jug on her shoulder to take home to her family.

She watched as the camels, one by one, turned away from the water to settle onto the nearby grassy knoll. The old man approached, and she willed her breath to slow, to wait for him to speak.

He carried a leather pouch in one hand and pulled out a
gold nose ring and two gold bracelets. “Whose daughter are you? Please tell me, is there room in your father’s house for us to spend the night?”

Rebekah’s heart did a little kick as the man offered her the bracelets. She extended her free arm, and he placed them over her hand. The gold felt cool against her hot skin.

“May I?” he asked, indicating the nose ring.

She nodded and waited as he slid the thick looped ring onto the side of her nose. The weight of the jewelry told her these were not mere trinkets. And it made sense that he might want to pay her for her work, but she felt awkward accepting the gifts.

He took a step back, and she knew he awaited her answer.

“I am the daughter of Bethuel, the son that Milcah bore to Nahor.” She glanced beyond him for a brief moment at the waiting men and loaded camels. “We have plenty of straw and fodder, as well as room for you to spend the night.”

Laban would be sure to agree once he saw the gold on her arms.

“I will send my brother to lead the way.”

Despite the gifts and his kind manner, it would not look good for a
betulah
, a virgin maiden, to walk with a group of foreign men through the streets of Nahor.

She turned to go but stopped short at the man’s voice. “Praise be to Adonai, Elohei of my master Abraham, who has not abandoned His kindness and faithfulness to my master.”

Rebekah’s heart held a strange warmth at the sight of the man bowed low to the earth.

“As for me, Adonai has led me on the journey to the house of my master’s relatives.”

What could this mean? Rebekah watched but a moment more, then turned, clutching her jar lest she spill the contents, and ran all the way home.

Laban entered the courtyard of his mother’s home in Nahor, his mind churning, weighing his dwindling options. He simply must convince Bethuel to get Rebekah to agree to a match with the elder’s son whether she cared for him or not. The man was willing to offer a costly sum to marry her, and Laban was tired of waiting for something better. While Rebekah’s weaving did add to the family’s wealth in a way he had not expected, he could not keep a virgin in her mother’s home forever. He would be laughed off the council for such a thing.

He rubbed his temples, feeling the start of a headache, his third one this week. There was no doubt about it; he must act, and soon. He moved from the threshold across the spacious court and greeted Farah, who handed him his pipe and knelt to wash his feet.

“I trust you had a good day, Husband.” She smiled, making her features almost pretty.

He grunted and sat on the bench to allow her to untie his sandals. His concubine Refiqa emerged from the house, and his chest lifted as it always did at the sight of her swelling belly. His son Tariq, by his wife Farah, raced from the house and hopped onto his lap. He laughed as he pulled the boy close.

“And what have you been doing this day, my son?”

The boy leaned in and kissed Laban’s beard and whispered, “Mama taught me how to tell good plants from weeds. She let me use the hoe to dig them out.”

Laban leveled a look at Farah, who lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “It is a useful task for a child, even for a son.”