Take This Cup Read Free

and your father have things to discuss. Business.”
    The women cleared the table.
    Rebekah heated water for washing. “Sarah,” she chided, “he is a good man.”
    Sarah lifted a brow. “He’s had too much wine and talks too much.”
    “Your father knows how to conduct business.”
    “Business! Do you think I don’t know . . .” Sarah exhaled heavily. “Mother, I am content to be who I am and wish to remain where I am. Amadiya! How many steps up the face of a mountain to reach the village? Stop plotting. Not one more word!” Sarah warned.
    They cleaned up the rest of the dishes in silence.
    Immediately afterward, Sarah retreated to her bedchamber on the rooftop. Storm clouds gathered, and the half-moon shone through the silver vapor. She had been in bed an hour when Boaz and Rebekah rapped softly at her door.
    “Enter.”
    Rebekah’s expression was wistful, hopeful, as she blinked at Sarah. Boaz’s lower lip protruded as it did when he was negotiating a sale.
    “Daughter, are you asleep?” Rebekah whispered hoarsely.
    “Not now.” Sarah sat up.
    “Good.” Boaz pulled up a stool and, sucking his teeth, sat down slowly. “The chicken tonight was . . .”
    “Just a chicken, Father.”
    “Lamsa enjoyed it very much.” Rebekah leapt in too quickly.
    Sarah did not reply at first, but a sense of dread filled her. “Father? What have you done?”
    Her parents exchanged a guilty glance. Boaz cleared his throat. “You’re no spring chicken.”
    “Not slaughtered and plucked quite yet, you mean, Father? Not stewed or roasted?” Sarah covered her face with her hands. “Just tell me.”
    “It’s good news, really.” Rebekah stroked her back. “He . . . Lamsa . . . likes you.”
    Sarah sighed. “Mother, everyone here likes me. I have only friends here. I have sisters and nephews and nieces who like me. Who love me. Strangers stop to watch me weave. They like me. I love my work.”
    Boaz cleared his throat. He smelled of too much wine. “Here’s the bargain. Lamsa came here looking for a wife. Here. I mean, to this house. My house. He remembered that I had five daughters. He is looking for a wife, you see, from Jerusalem. He is not finished having children, and he wants a wife from Jerusalem, which will add stature and authority to his descendants, since his people did not return from exile when the captivity ended. He came looking . . . for you.”
    “No, Father! Not for me. I am the leftover daughter. The only one of five who is unmarried.”
    “That may be, but that made his choice easier.”
    “His choice?” Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes.
    Rebekah glanced nervously at Boaz. “Yes. He is a good man. A rich man.”
    “He lives eight months in a tent with sheep,” Sarah protested. “Is this what you want for me?”
    “Here is the bargain,” Boaz reasoned. “His choice of my five daughters is you. No matter that your sisters are married. Lamsa chooses you. He came here for you. But he says . . .”
    Silence hung in the air like a large spider suspended from a web. Sarah looked from Rebekah to Boaz, then back again. “What?”
    Boaz continued cautiously. “Lamsa says he will not force you to marry him. Will not force you to leave your family and go back to Gan Eden unless you are certain you want to go.”
    Sarah blurted, “Then it’s settled. The answer is no!”
    Rebekah clasped her hand. “Sarah, your last chance . . .”
    “No, Mother.”
    Boaz drew himself up. His eyes simmered in anger. “He is a fair man. He says you should pray on the matter and ask the Lord if there is some way you might be happy. That is what Lamsa says, and I command you to pray!”
    Tears spilled. “What about my work?”
    Boaz’s chin lifted slightly. “Lamsa will take your loom to Amadiya. You will weave there. Your fabric, your prayer shawls, will be returned here to be sold in Jerusalem. I could not lose my most skilled weaver. For Lamsa, it is less raw wool to be caravanned. Thus, more