Read Online Rebekah: Women of Genesis by Orson Scott Card - Free Book Online
Authors: Orson Scott Card
Tags: Fiction, Old Testament
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favor from God, for such a thing happened only to great women, like Sarai, who was a king’s daughter when Abram darkened the whole plain around Ur-of-the-North with the vast herds he brought to her father when he married her.
It was foolish to compare herself to the incomparable Sarah, for she was a woman of legend. Yet could she not also hope, in some secret place in her heart, that she, too, might be part of a legend, even if it was only a small one?
To be the wife of Ezbaal. . . . All would envy her. All would honor her. And he was a just man, fair in all his dealings, so she would have nothing to fear at his hand, and her children would be well treated. Her sons would be raised to excel in herding, husbandry, and war; her daughters she could raise with grace and skillful hands and willing hearts, and see them placed in good homes with good men, because they would be well dowered. All her future looked dazzling, if he asked for her hand, if Father said yes.
So what was it that made her feel a sick dread inside at the thought of going away with him? Was it nothing more than the excitement and nervousness any girl should feel at the coming of a husband and lord—her suitor and lover? The fear of rejection when the women saw her face?
No. She had those feelings also, and knew them for what they were.
Not until she wrote his name in the dirt with a stick did she understand what made her sick with dread to have him come. It was the last two syllables of his name. Ba’al. The word only meant “lord,” and there were many who still said that it was just another name for the God of Abraham. But Rebekah knew that Ba’al had long since ceased to be another name for God. Instead he wore the face of a hundred graven images in cities and villages throughout the land, and it was to these images that the people prayed. And the priests were not priests of God, but rather priests for hire, telling people, not how to live clean from sin, but rather that doing whatever they wanted was no sin at all, as long as they made their sacrifices to Ba’al.
Was Ezbaal’s name the one given him by his parents, or did he choose it himself? If he chose it, then it meant he was a pious man in the worship of the false god; and if his parents chose it, it suggested they had been pious, and would he not also show respect to them by worshiping the god they named him for?
How could she marry a man who did not serve the God of Abraham?
She could not go to Father, for from the moment Ezbaal arrived, Father was with his noble visitor. And because Laban was at Father’s side almost constantly, writing for him so the conversation with Ezbaal could go smoothly forward, she could not talk to her brother, either. It would do no good to discuss this with Deborah—what would she know? What could she do?
So Rebekah went to Pillel.
It was not a thing lightly done. Pillel was unfailingly courteous with her, but she always sensed in him a coldness, something held back, as if he had not decided yet whether to like her or not. And since she had taken to wearing the veil, he had virtually stopped talking to her at all, except where the business of the camp required that he speak to the chief of the women. But now, at the very least, she had to get a message discreetly delivered to Father, and who else could do that?
Pillel was, as always, in the midst of work, supervising the slaughter of two calves and four lambs for the feast that night. Already drained, cleaned, and skinned, the carcasses were disjointed and quartered before being spitted, since there wasn’t time to roast them whole. Rebekah, too, had been busy, preparing four disused firepits that were only brought back into service when a large company visited or in time of drought, when unusual numbers of animals had to be slaughtered and their meat preserved. But she left her women tending the fires and came to stand beside Pillel with her head
It was foolish to compare herself to the incomparable Sarah, for she was a woman of legend. Yet could she not also hope, in some secret place in her heart, that she, too, might be part of a legend, even if it was only a small one?
To be the wife of Ezbaal. . . . All would envy her. All would honor her. And he was a just man, fair in all his dealings, so she would have nothing to fear at his hand, and her children would be well treated. Her sons would be raised to excel in herding, husbandry, and war; her daughters she could raise with grace and skillful hands and willing hearts, and see them placed in good homes with good men, because they would be well dowered. All her future looked dazzling, if he asked for her hand, if Father said yes.
So what was it that made her feel a sick dread inside at the thought of going away with him? Was it nothing more than the excitement and nervousness any girl should feel at the coming of a husband and lord—her suitor and lover? The fear of rejection when the women saw her face?
No. She had those feelings also, and knew them for what they were.
Not until she wrote his name in the dirt with a stick did she understand what made her sick with dread to have him come. It was the last two syllables of his name. Ba’al. The word only meant “lord,” and there were many who still said that it was just another name for the God of Abraham. But Rebekah knew that Ba’al had long since ceased to be another name for God. Instead he wore the face of a hundred graven images in cities and villages throughout the land, and it was to these images that the people prayed. And the priests were not priests of God, but rather priests for hire, telling people, not how to live clean from sin, but rather that doing whatever they wanted was no sin at all, as long as they made their sacrifices to Ba’al.
Was Ezbaal’s name the one given him by his parents, or did he choose it himself? If he chose it, then it meant he was a pious man in the worship of the false god; and if his parents chose it, it suggested they had been pious, and would he not also show respect to them by worshiping the god they named him for?
How could she marry a man who did not serve the God of Abraham?
She could not go to Father, for from the moment Ezbaal arrived, Father was with his noble visitor. And because Laban was at Father’s side almost constantly, writing for him so the conversation with Ezbaal could go smoothly forward, she could not talk to her brother, either. It would do no good to discuss this with Deborah—what would she know? What could she do?
So Rebekah went to Pillel.
It was not a thing lightly done. Pillel was unfailingly courteous with her, but she always sensed in him a coldness, something held back, as if he had not decided yet whether to like her or not. And since she had taken to wearing the veil, he had virtually stopped talking to her at all, except where the business of the camp required that he speak to the chief of the women. But now, at the very least, she had to get a message discreetly delivered to Father, and who else could do that?
Pillel was, as always, in the midst of work, supervising the slaughter of two calves and four lambs for the feast that night. Already drained, cleaned, and skinned, the carcasses were disjointed and quartered before being spitted, since there wasn’t time to roast them whole. Rebekah, too, had been busy, preparing four disused firepits that were only brought back into service when a large company visited or in time of drought, when unusual numbers of animals had to be slaughtered and their meat preserved. But she left her women tending the fires and came to stand beside Pillel with her head
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