The Sons of Isaac(36)
“Do you believe there are trouble-causing demons?” Isaac asked.
She took another small bite as she glanced around the tent and contemplated the answer. “It could explain why some people have so much trouble.”
“Do you think that is why someone like my mother was barren for so many years?”
“That’s the kind of thing the demons are supposed to do.”
“You don’t seem to be very concerned about them.”
“I’m not,” she said, looking directly at him and at the same time licking the sticky sweetness of the dates from her fingers.
“You aren’t afraid of anything, are you?” He reached for the damp, perfume-scented cloth that was draped over the side of the tray, intending to wipe away the offending syrup. She took the cloth from him and wiped each hand slowly and with an obvious enjoyment of the subtle fragrance. “Oh, I am afraid of some things, but not of being barren.”
“You’re not afraid of being barren? I thought every bride was afraid of that.”
“Well, I’m not,” she said as she carefully folded the cloth and put it back on the side of the tray. “I had a special blessing given me before I left Haran. I will have many children.”
“And I too have promises. No trouble-causing demons can come against the promises of Elohim to my father.”
“I’ll tell you what I think.” She looked around again as though to make sure no demon lurked in the dark corners of the tent. “I think it is the old women who like to frighten new brides. They love to tell horrible stories. It’s always the poor young bride who turns out to have the ears of a donkey or talons like an eagle instead of fingers.” She held out her two arms and looked at her hands. “It would be awful,” she said, looking at him and grinning.
He captured one of her hands in both of his. “You have beautiful hands,” he said. “I noticed them when we first met and you brushed your hands against your veil.”
“And you have eyes that say many lovely things even before you speak.”
“We will have no problems,” he said. “Our children will be wise and prudent.”
“They will all be handsome and generous,” she said as they both laughed with the delight of discovery.
Isaac could hardly contain his joy. Joy in the realization that he was no longer alone or lonely and joy in realizing that he had trusted his father and Elohim and they had not failed him.
* * *
As the days passed, Isaac found it even harder to believe his good fortune. His little bride was full of happy surprises. She responded to his attention with dancing eyes and coy glances that made their nights magical. She never seemed to tire of him. At the same time he marveled that she never bored him. Perhaps it’s because she’s busy. There’s always something that interests her.
Early in the morning he would wake to hear singing coming from the tent that had belonged to his mother and was now Rebekah’s. It was a hypnotic, rhythmical tune that went along with the swinging goatskin that produced the morning’s butter. Then there was the sharp slapping sound that meant flat cakes were being turned on the outdoor clay oven. It made him smile as he lay back against the straw-filled headrest. There would be only a few minutes before she would appear with buttermilk and bread cakes dripping with honey butter.
As she knelt, placing the straw mat with its delectable offering beside him, he was aware of the subtle fragrance that always filled the air around her. It was not the patchouli of his mother but some mysterious blend that hinted of Damascus or the markets of Mari.
He was charmed by her way of reaching out and taking hold of his hands before he could reach for the food, then bending forward to kiss him. He could see that she was amused by her own boldness as she sat back on her heels, hands folded in her lap, and grinned at him.
It was not the custom for a wife to be so forward, but when she saw that it pleased him, she seemed to delight in continuing the practice. He was amazed at how quickly she determined his likes and dislikes. She was a careful observer and so fitted in without being told. He knew his mother would have liked her and would have been happy that he was no longer lonely and grieving.
When it came time for him to again spend long days with his men, he became concerned. What would she do? How would she spend her time in this strange camp that was so different from anything she was used to?
He finally decided it was a foolish concern. She seemed to find even the rocky, sand-strewn desert fascinating. “There are lovely flowers here,” she said on one occasion, holding out a long spike with clusters of pink-winged fruit.
Isaac took the flowers from her and pointed out the six membranous wings surrounding each small nubbed bit of green. “In the summer,” he said, “these small wings dry out and then the wind blows the winged seeds to new places.”