Free Rebekah by Jill Eileen Smith Page B

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 leastten 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 agold 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