“You were not gold after all,” Rebekah murmured to the heap of fat at the bottom of the kiln.

She picked a sprig of mint and stuck it behind her ear to stave off the stink of the Devil.

4

The next day was hot. Even the sun could not find refuge behind the sweltering clouds. Rebekah ran out into the alleys. Clutching her daughter’s hand and tearing strands of her own hair from their roots, she wailed that the black plague had consumed her husband. He had shivered and sweated and vomited until his feet had turned blue. He couldn’t control his bowels; his skull had shrunk; his eyes wouldn’t shut. He couldn’t even drink a drop of water, she screamed. What an agonizing death! She addressed the populace as if her words were meant as a benediction. “May this never happen to you.”

Mothers snatched their children into the safety of their arms; men sneaked away, women slipped behind tree trunks.

“Jacob wanted to be buried in the privacy of his backyard,” Rebekah sobbed. “I need strong hands to wash the corpse and dig a grave.”

The crowd of many able, healthy men, and young women, who could help with the cleansing and burial ritual, averted their eyes. In fear of contracting the plague, no one came to Rebekah’s aid. Some sneaked away, others fidgeted with the tassels of their religious shawls. A few counted their prayer beads, their eyes raised to heaven in search of a savior. Some, like Heshmat the Matchmaker, who had found new cud to chew on, whispered that since Rebekah never had a happy marriage, the great show of distress she displayed was no doubt to hide some secret shame that time would reveal.

Eighteen-year-old Rebekah locked herself in her house, a seeming recluse from a pitiless world. She would dodge the curious questions of neighbors: How did the plague consume Jacob the Fatherless? Why didn’t his wife and daughter contract the pestilence? How did she manage to bury that heavy body? Time would cloud their memories. They would forget. When Gold Dust reached the marrying age, Rebekah would emerge into the bazaar, reappear with such splendor the community would have no choice but to acknowledge them. She’d flaunt her daughter’s beauty and find her a young man who had been taught to respect women.

Rebekah set to work searching the house for her late husband’s fortune. She tore the casings off the mattresses and pillows and emptied them of feathers. She pried loose the bricks from around the kiln in her bedroom and dug under the metal floors of her kitchen. She went to the stable and burrowed under the straw and mud. She descended to the basement and rummaged among the tools and molds her husband had used to fashion her jewelry.