“The name Abimelech suggests that he’s a worshiper of Molech,” said Rebekah. “And if that’s the case, then he believes, at least in principle, that it’s a good thing to burn children alive to please his god.”

“What does that have to do with the size of kingdoms?”

“It means that in the eyes of the only true and living God, Abimelech is a petty king serving the most vile of false gods. While Uncle Abraham has the birthright of God, which lifts him above all kings of all lands.”

Keturah got a strange look on her face. “You don’t really believe he’s above all kings.”

“You’re his wife, and you don’t?”

“I just . . . no one ever said it quite that way. But now I think about it, I suppose it’s true. What an odd thought. That here in this camp, the shepherds take their instructions from . . . the king of the world.”

“Let’s just call him the steward of the kingdom of God.”

“Now you are joking, to call Abraham a steward! That’s making him like Eliezer!”

“To God,” said Rebekah, “Abraham is like Eliezer.”

“My husband is no servant,” said Keturah, getting a little upset.

“All human beings are either servants of God, or servants of his enemies,” said Rebekah. “So I think your husband would prefer you to think of him as the servant of God.”

“Now I know why Abraham won’t let women even look at the holy writings,” said Keturah, and she turned her face a little, putting an end to that line of conversation.

Which was fine with Rebekah, because Keturah’s last remark stabbed her to the heart, though Keturah could not have known that it would. Uncle Abraham wouldn’t let women so much as see the holy writings? Keturah must have misunderstood. Or maybe she had been forbidden to see them because she was so flighty that . . . no, there was no use in speculating. She would simply ask him. He couldn’t refuse her. She could read, after all. And if she was trustworthy enough to be wife to one heir of the birthright and mother of the next, surely she could be trusted to look at the writings that were part of the birthright.