The Sons of Isaac by Roberta Kells Dorr

Even more important was the necessity of being well on their way before Nazzim discovered he had been robbed of his bride.
    While her handmaidens were busy, Rebekah’s mother took her to one side. Usually a prospective bride had hours of instruction. Rebekah’s mother was frustrated with the turn of events that gave her no time to give much advice. “Aye, aye,” she moaned, clutching her mantle across her trembling mouth. “If I had known how it would be, I would have been wiser. How you will manage I don’t know.”
    “Mother, I’ll manage very well. I’ll be quiet and demure, the perfect young bride.”
    The mother held her at arm’s length. “You are too young, too impulsive. How will you manage?”
    Rebekah saw the tears beginning to gather in her mother’s eyes. “So you wish I were marrying that old man Laban chose for me?”
    “Ayeeeee,” her mother objected, throwing her hands in the air. “I would rather see you dead than married to such a one.”
    “Eleazar says my young cousin is handsome, very rich, and generous.” Rebekah held her arm out and twisted the bracelets back and forth with obvious delight.
    “His mother, our Sarah, died. Who will show you what to do? How will you manage?”
    Rebekah shrugged and looked at her mother with amusement. “Look, I’ll show you.” With that she pulled her mantle around to cover her face so only her eyes were showing. She lowered her head and took small mincing steps as she had seen the local brides do so often. “I’ll be the perfect bride. You needn’t worry. I’ll be shy and quiet.” She spoke the words in a low, diffident manner that surprised her mother.
    “There, that is right,” her mother said, smiling. “That is the way. A bride must remember these things are important.”
    Rebekah stopped and looked with delight at her mother. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she reached out and hugged her. “I will do everything right until they are used to me and then … I may surprise them with my true self.” Here she flung back the mantle and with quick springing steps danced across the room.
    “Too much freedom. I gave you too much freedom,” her mother cried as she sank down among the colorful bedrolls all neatly stacked in the corner of the room.
    Rebekah saw that her mother was really disturbed and she felt remorseful that she had caused her so much concern. “Come, Mother,” she said. “I promise I’ll be shy, quiet, and modest just as you would wish.”
    “You’ll keep your face covered …”
    “I promise. I’ll do everything just the way everyone expects.”
    With that her mother struggled to her feet and brushed her gown to straighten it, adjusted her mantle, and then with one long, fond look at her daughter, said, “There’s one consolation, you’re going to close relatives. You’ll be safe—no talk of divorce, beatings, or turning you out.” She sighed and wiped two large tears from her cheeks, then in a burst of emotion she embraced Rebekah and clung to her sobbing.
    There was the sound of running, then voices low and insistent. Slowly her mother released her as she whispered, “It’s time to go. It’s bad luck to keep men waiting.”
    With that, the two went out to join the others in the courtyard.
    *  *  *
    At the very last moment Rebekah’s mother called Deborah, Rebekah’s old nurse, aside. “Here,” she said, handing her a small, tightly wrapped bundle. “These are the swaddling clothes I wove with my own hands for my daughter’s first child.”
    Deborah took the soft, flaxen bundle and was about to put it in with her things when she felt something hard slightly protruding from the cloth. She gave the mother a questioning glance.
    “It is nothing, nothing to concern you,” the mother said as she looked around furtively. She nervously pulled Deborah aside to where none of the others could hear what she said. “You understand. I will not be there to help her. She may need this.” She reached out