His smoky eyes filled with pain for a mother who had to bear the shame of doing what no other had and to personally solicit a husband for her daughter. His heart filled with bitterness against himself. If he had had the courage of this woman, he would have approached her long ago, given her shelter, embraced her daughter, and spared them both this agony.

Rebekah shifted under his closeness. “Your Honor, I assure you Gold Dust is very different from me … you understand? I swear, she’ll never …” A hush fell over the hall. She was pleading. She had never done this before, and she would never again.

Rouh’Allah turned from her; his cloak agitated the air. He could not bear to watch this proud woman humble herself. He went to the window, glanced out, bent closer as if he had discovered someone there. Drawing the curtains, he paced back and forth, rubbed his hands, raising the screech of his worry beads.

Rebekah’s eyes followed him as though his every step were connected to iron chains that pulled at her heart. She took in the hardening of his jaw, the fast throb of his left temple.

“My dear lady, wait right here,” he said, and with long strides left the hall.

She should not have come. Now she had lost the man whose voice had embellished her life with hope. She did not know whether to mourn a loss or rejoice at a triumph. The merchant must have left to invite Gold Dust into the house. Yes. He had seen her behind the window. He would return, leading her by the hand, assuring her he would be the kindest father-in-law. Rebekah hugged her knees to her chest, counted the peeled fruit, the roasted pistachios, the warm sweetmeats on every plate. She picked imaginary threads from the folds of her skirt and wove a wedding veil for her daughter. She searched the colors on the Kashan carpet and identified each with the feelings they symbolized to her.

She lowered her knees as Rouh’Allah’s determined footsteps approached. There was such ease in his stride and understanding in his eyes that the knots in her insides loosened. He would invite her daughter after he had discussed the matter with Rebekah. She prayed her nipples would not respond haughtily to that instant of relief.

He dropped a pouch in her lap. The jingle of coins broke her. The flash of yellow blinded her.

“Add this to your daughter’s dowry. Ebrahim is seventeen. He’ll soon leave for faraway countries to complete his education. By the time he returns, your lovely daughter will be happily married and raising children.” He buried her hands in his. “We are all victims of our rigid beliefs.” He bowed from the waist, offering his arm and thinking of his own hypocrisy. If she ever changed her mind and wanted him, for her, he would break his strongest convictions.