When she pointed this out to him as they walked toward Abraham’s tent, Isaac only laughed. “Still a matter of shepherding. People don’t understand what it means to be a shepherd. You aren’t master of the sheep. They’re too stupid to have a master because they don’t understand obedience—only imitation of the other sheep, and fear of predators. No, a shepherd is servant of the sheep, protecting them, bringing them to food. And that’s what we are to all our people—weren’t you shepherding those girls? And with the holy writings, well, they have a life of their own, much greater and longer than my own life could possibly be, and I will only serve them for a time.”

“And part of that,” said Rebekah, “is keeping them from danger.”

“There are predators,” said Isaac. “Sometimes I wish no one knew about the birthright. There are those who think that if they could get their hands on the holy writings, it would make them prophets, like Father.”

“Has anyone tried to steal them?”

“Father is a great man, and people fear his wrath. It may be a different story when a weaker man has the birthright.”

It took Rebekah a moment to realize that Isaac meant himself. “You’re not weak,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I was pleased to see how strong you are,” said Isaac, deflecting her reassurance. “There you were, speaking like a stern mother to a girl who has to be older than you.”

“Oh,” said Rebekah. “Well, yes, I am, but I . . .”

“But you have been mistress of your camp. Eliezer told me something of your life. To believe your mother was dead when she was not—I don’t know if I could ever . . .”

Forgive. She knew what word was next. She looked up, expecting to see anger. Instead, she saw that his eyes were full of tears.

“Isaac,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Just . . . my mother,” said Isaac. “Thinking of my mother.” He brushed away a tear. “As I said . . . a weaker man.”

“I hope,” said Rebekah, “that someday I have sons who love me so much they would shed a tear for me a year after I died.”

“I have no doubt that you will be such a mother,” said Isaac.

“And you will be a father like Abraham,” said Rebekah.

But to that, Isaac said nothing, and she wondered why not.

Uncle Abraham’s tent stood in splendid isolation, on the top of a knoll, and there were men whose sole duty, apparently, was to keep people from approaching, for unlike the tents of most great patriarchs, there was no busy coming-and-going. Yet the work of a patriarch was to deal with the needs of his people; how could Abraham rule if he saw no one?