The word meant “rejected” and it could not possibly be her name. But whatever game these women were playing, Rebekah would take it all in stride. She had a game of her own, and now that she had met them, she decided to play it. She did not want to marry into a household dominated by these women. The falseness of the mother, the rude presumption of the grandmother, and the strangeness of the sister—what place would there be for her in their household?

They conversed about nothing for a little while—the journey, the good winter rains this year—and then the food began to arrive. The women said nothing, of course, either to praise or criticize the food; indeed, they ate in virtual silence and took only small portions, except for Akyas, who ate nothing at all.

Finally, though, the grandmother, Ethah, began quizzing her. The test was underway.

“Who really cooked this food?”

“Why, the servants, of course,” said Rebekah brightly. “Don’t you have servants do the cooking in your household?”

“I meant which of the servants chooses what will be served, and how?”

“No servant, Ethah, but the daughter of the house.”

“No child your age can do that sort of job,” said Ethah scornfully. “The servants would mock your youth as soon as you turned your back, and do what they wanted.”

“Perhaps your grandson can ask my father how he chooses and trains his servants,” said Rebekah. “In all my life I have never seen servants behave as you describe. Does the bean paste displease you? I see you have barely touched it.”

“Too spicy,” said Ethah coldly. “Which is to be expected, when you let servants do it—they don’t have to pay for the spices, so what do they care?”

Rebekah immediately sent the serving girl for simple bean paste. “I fear that I’m the careless, wasteful one,” said Rebekah. “Perhaps in my desire to make a good impression, I used too much spice and marred the dish.”

“No, no, dear,” said “Mother.” “I find it nearly perfect.”

“Then you must tell me how I can improve it, so that someday I might earn your judgment of perfection.”

“But I haven’t the faintest idea of how to make it better,” said “Mother.” “You use a kind of bean we never grow or cook with.”

“The meat’s too good,” said Ethah, complaining again. “What kind of woman serves this quality to the women? It should have been reserved for the men, if you knew your manners.”

“But this is the second-best meat,” said Rebekah. “If you prefer, though, we can trade this dish with the servants—I would not be ashamed to have you see what we serve to them. My father and my brother understand cattle, so I can hardly do ill when cooking meat they raised and slaughtered.”