Rebekah (8 page)

He drew in a long, slow breath, rubbing the tears from his cheeks. “May Your will be done, Lord. I am ready.”

 7 

Shouts, joyous laughter, and singing accompanied the grape harvest as men cut the heavy clusters from the vines, and women quickly followed behind with their woven baskets. Squeals of children coming from the nearby winepress matched the rhythm of their stomping feet as they squished the fruit between bare toes as fast as it could be harvested. A week of arguing with Laban about the images he had paid for and set up in the main area of the house had drained Rebekah’s spirit, and she welcomed the harvest with a sense of relief.

“Let me empty that for you.” A young man leading a donkey and pulling a cart stopped in the row where Rebekah and Selima worked. He lifted Selima’s bucket and tossed the grapes into a larger one in the back of the cart, then did the same with Rebekah’s.

“Thank you.” Rebekah did not allow her gaze to linger. The man had stripped to the waist to work in the sun, and Rebekah felt heat fill her face at the sight of him. He paused as he set her empty basket at the base of the vine but did not move on.

“The pleasure is mine.”

She heard the smile in his voice and glanced at his face but looked quickly away from his interested expression. She looked instead at Selima, who was watching her with wide, amused eyes.

“Yes, well, if you do not hurry, the others will overflow their baskets.” She pointed beyond her to men and women from the village cutting the fruit from the vine. She turned to her work, but her heart gave a little flutter as he looked at her a moment too long. At last he grabbed the donkey’s reins and moved forward.

“I will return,” he said, looking back over his shoulder.

His smile made her stomach quiver. The man was too bold and much too interesting. Who was he? But she squelched the thought as a passing nuisance. He was probably a lowly servant, and Laban would want nothing to do with such a man, even if the man did choose to approach him.

Selima giggled when the servant passed out of earshot. She hurried to Rebekah’s side. “Every man in Harran is attracted to you, mistress. You must admit, that one is comely to look upon.”

Rebekah shrugged and returned to her work. “You think every man you see is comely.” But she smiled at her servant just the same. “Get back to work before we lose daylight.”

Selima obeyed, still giggling as she went. Rebekah tilted her head to accept the kiss of the early afternoon sun. Soon it would be too hot to continue in the fields, and she would have to set out food for Laban’s workers beneath the shade of the trees in the nearby orchard. And in the days ahead there would be the continued work of setting grapes to dry in the sun and cooking the last of the fruit into honey. She would have little time to think of handsome young men who were too bold or too poor.

She jolted at a touch on her shoulder, turning to see who dared interrupt her concentration.

“They said I would find you here. How do you fare, my sister?”

“Bethuel!” Rebekah’s heart lightened at the sight of her oldest brother, and she quickly abandoned the vine, falling into his embrace. “I was beginning to wonder if we would ever see you again. It has been far too long.”

Bethuel patted her back and released his hold, keeping her at arm’s length. “The sheep needed me.” He smiled in that half crooked way she had always loved.

“I am glad you are here.” She leaned closer. “Soon we must speak.”

Concern etched thin lines along Bethuel’s turbaned brow, and he studied her a moment as he thoughtfully stroked his beard. “Is Laban treating you well?”

She nodded, but emotion stuck in her throat. “I am well, but there is a matter we must discuss.” She lowered her voice and glanced around, aware of too many people who might overhear, despite the singing and laughter surrounding them.

“After the evening meal then,” he said, his gaze somber. She knew he would not brush her concerns as quickly aside as Laban had.

Daylight dimmed, and the workers in the vineyard bid their farewells, carrying heavy baskets of ripe fruit to their homes. Rebekah lifted her basket onto her head and moved behind a group of women, anxious to get home and speak with Bethuel. She had sent Selima on ahead to help her mother with the evening meal’s preparations, though she would have preferred the girl’s laughter to the company of the women of Harran and Nahor.

A soft breeze feathered the fabric of her head scarf against her face, and she had to pick her way carefully over the roots of the uneven vines. She stopped abruptly, nearly tripping
headlong, as a man stepped from between the vines and stood in her path, blocking her way, a too-familiar gleam in his eye.

“What? Excuse me. Please, let me pass.” Her heart beat faster as she suddenly recognized the man who had earlier taken her basket and loaded the fruit onto his cart. He was fully clothed now in a white tunic and striped cloak held together with a golden, jeweled clasp. This was no peasant worker, and by the symbol etched into his embroidered robe, she recognized him as a son of one of the elders of Harran.

“I had thought to do that. But your brother Laban had suggested I . . . shall we say, take your measure, before agreeing to a match. He assured me you were the most beautiful virgin in the land.” He let his eyes travel the length of her. “I can see he is a man who speaks truth.” A roguish smile lifted one corner of his mouth, and Rebekah felt her insides grow warm, her cheeks heating at his perusal.

“Please,” she said, her voice weaker than she intended. “Let me pass. My brothers are expecting me, and if I am late, things will not bode well for you or for me.”

He chuckled as though he found her quite amusing. “I do not fear your brothers’ wrath,
betulah.
I am Dedan of Harran. I fear nothing.” His fingers lightly grazed her cheek.

Was this man Laban’s idea of a suitable match for her? What kind of a man would accost a virgin in the vineyard with dusk approaching? She stepped back abruptly, nearly tipping the basket from her head.

“You are a fool if you fear nothing. The wrath of the God of Shem be upon you if you do not move away and let me pass!” She raised her voice, hoping someone was still near enough to hear her. He had not stated his intentions, but weren’t they clear enough? Any man who waylaid a virgin had only one desire, and she was not about to give it to him without a fight.

His laughter died as he studied her in the waning daylight,
his brows knit close in a frown. “You are a bold one,
betulah.
” He stroked his beard. “I should enjoy taming that fiery spirit.”

His tone made her blood run cold. Fear snaked its way up her spine, but she held his gaze without flinching.

He stepped forward, his breath fanning her face. “If I choose to take you, I will. If I choose to betroth myself to you, I will. Your brother has come begging, and now I can see why. He is weary of a sister who is too bold.” His fingers drew a line from her temple to her jaw. “Though no one can deny your beauty.” He leaned forward as though he would kiss her.

She clutched the basket and stepped back. He grabbed her arm. She jerked away and quickly lowered the basket to hold like a shield between them. He released her and stepped back, holding both hands up in a gesture of defeat.

“Do not act so worried,
betulah.
I only meant to steady you, to keep you from falling.” He chuckled again as though he were quite pleased with himself. “You shall make a fine bride.” He tipped his fingers to his head and saluted her, then backed away. “We shall meet again,
betulah.
”

Rebekah stilled, her breath coming fast, not certain she could trust that he was gone. But a moment later, she shook herself, thrust the basket back onto her head, and fairly ran the rest of the way through the vineyard. Heart beating hard against her ribs, she did not stop until she reached her family’s courtyard.

 8 

“I will not become his wife. You cannot force me.”

The evening meal had ended, and Rebekah grew increasingly angry, unable to shake Dedan’s actions from her thoughts. She stood now in front of Laban, arms crossed to still her nerves, while he reclined against plush cushions, smoking his clay pipe. Bethuel sat to his left, and she glanced between the two of them. “He accosted me in the vineyard.”

Bethuel jumped to his feet. “He will pay for this.” He strode toward the door, and Rebekah had to hurry to catch up with his long strides. It would cost him his own life to kill an elder’s son.

She touched Bethuel’s arm, halting him. “He did not harm me. He only frightened me.” She smiled, assuring Bethuel with a glance she spoke truth. When Bethuel grudgingly took his seat once more, she faced Laban, who seemed not the least worried of what Dedan might do to her. “The man is a reckless fool, and I will not marry him.”

“Since he has yet to ask for such an arrangement, I do not think you need worry about such a thing, my sister.” Laban puffed on his pipe and crossed his ankles. “What makes you think he wants you?”

“He said as much.” Rebekah felt the blood drain from her face. Had the man been merely playing games with her, lying to her?

“Did he now?” Laban looked at her for a long moment, his gaze thoughtful. “I did make a subtle inquiry but did not know they would take matters so quickly into their own hands.” He puffed a few more times, letting his words linger in the air with the smoke. “It would seem Dedan acted rather rashly.”