Rebekah waved back, determined not to let Mother annoy her today—especially not for something she had done long before. She went to the main hearth and picked up one of the large water jugs. It was a chore she often did. So much water had to be hauled from the communal well for each day’s cooking that it was like spinning thread—whoever had a free moment could always be of service by spending a few minutes doing it. Besides, for Rebekah it had the added benefit of giving her some time away from the annoyances of camp.

It wasn’t far to the well, but it put her within sight of the village of Haran on its hill, and there were several girls from town about Rebekah’s age at the well already. They had long since gotten used to seeing Rebekah without the veil, just as they had eventually gotten used to seeing her with it. Still, there was a little strangeness between the village women and the women of Father’s camp, and after a cheerful greeting, the girls ended their gossip and headed back to the village, each with a jug on her shoulder.

Rebekah heard and saw enough as she approached, however, to know that their gossip was about the dusty traveler who stood beside the well, murmuring to himself. He was an older man, not ancient but with a beard thick-streaked with grey. There were several heavily-loaded camels only a few rods back from him, and a few men with them. He could be a merchant, with that amount of cargo, but he wasn’t dressed like one. More like a servant, in fact. Like Pillel. Rebekah was intrigued, but of course it would be immodest to speak to a stranger, and instead she began lowering the pitcher into the well and raising it to fill her water jar. Each time she did, of course, she made the jar all the heavier, so that carrying it back would be harder. But what was the point of making the trip to the well, if you came back with the jar only half replenished?

“Girl, could I have a little water from your pitcher, so I can drink?”

She looked up and saw that he was now speaking to her. His request was so tentative sounding, so . . . shy . . . that she had to smile at him, to reassure him. “Of course,” she said. Never mind that he had called her “girl” as if she were not a daughter of one of the great wandering families. People were not always what they seemed. He might be a servant who took her for another, but then, he might be a man of such high birth that he assumed he could speak familiarly to anyone he met.