Deborah was a little impatient with her for not knowing. “Nobody can see anything with a veil on, of course.”

“That’s how I like it,” said Rebekah. “I’m going to wear this always, whenever I’m out of my tent. So you won’t have to fix my hair up anymore, because no one will ever see it.”

Deborah burst into tears. “Why won’t you let me fix your hair?”

“Of course you can,” said Rebekah. “You just don’t have to.”

“But I want to.”

“Then you will,” said Rebekah. “Don’t you fret.”

“Take your veil off, then, so I can fix it.”

“No, I’m going to wear this veil all the time, so get used to it.”

“It’s time to do your hair,” said Deborah. “Don’t be a brat.”

So Rebekah took off the veil.

“Doesn’t that feel better? Don’t wear that silly veil.”

“I will,” said Rebekah. “Because that’s what God wants me to do.”

“Did he tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me not to,” said Rebekah.

Deborah thought about this as she ran a brush through Rebekah’s hair. “You mean if God doesn’t tell me not to fly, I can fly?”

“No, but I prayed and . . . never mind, Deborah. I’m going to wear the veil until I lift it for my husband.”

“I hate wearing veils. They’re heavy and they make me sweat.”

“Me too,” said Rebekah. “But I’d rather sweat than show my face.”

“What else isn’t God telling you not to do so you can go ahead and do it?”

Rebekah looked at her sharply, sure that this had to be ironic. But it was Deborah saying it, so there was no irony in it.

“I don’t know,” said Rebekah.

With her mind on God, as Deborah kept on brushing, Rebekah began to pray silently, the words forming on her lips but making no sound. “Let me not marry a man who wants me just because I’m beautiful,” she prayed. “Let me live my life with a man who cares nothing for beauty, but who serves thee. Like Sarai, the princess from the ancient lineage of Ur, who married Abram, the desert priest. Abram loved her through all the years that she was barren. Loved her even when she was old and had lost all her beauty. Let me be loved like that, by a man who will not replace me with concubines when I’m old and ugly. Let me be loved by a man who loves God more than me.”

“So?” asked Deborah, when she was done.

“What?” asked Rebekah.

“You talked to God, what did he say?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did you say to him?”