Rebekah glanced at Mother to see how she was taking this. Maybe having her present wasn’t such a good idea. But she didn’t seem to mind hearing Father say these things.

“We argued about it. Back and forth. Wasn’t I going to dedicate my children with the priests in the city? She finally gave up with Laban, figuring that it was men’s business, whether he was to be presented before Ba’al or not. But when it came to you, she wouldn’t let the question rest. ‘She must be presented to Asherah.’ ‘Asherah needs to know her name.’ And I wouldn’t let her take you. And then one day I came in when I was supposed to be away for the whole day, and found her with a priestess she had smuggled into the camp, along with a tiny figure of Asherah to which they were in the midst of presenting you. Of course I was furious, at the deception, at the offering to an idol, and at myself for not realizing that just because I said a thing didn’t mean it was going to be obeyed. If God’s commandments are disobeyed all the time, why should I expect mine to be treated with more respect?”

Again Rebekah looked at Mother. But Akyas continued to gaze steadily—no, raptly—at Father’s face. Had she truly forgiven him completely for all this? Or was she merely pretending, so that she could be back with her family? And what about that very issue—Rebekah well knew that Mother still worshiped Asherah and had brought an idol into the camp. Was Father going to tolerate it? Father was talking about these issues as if they were ancient history, but it seemed to Rebekah that the same problems remained even now.

“I couldn’t see a solution,” Father went on. “At the moment, in my rage, I declared our marriage over and ordered her to pack and leave, taking her dowry with her.”

“It wasn’t much of a dowry,” said Mother. “My family was poor. It was my face that won me such a husband. My face and my prayers to Asherah.”

Father was watching her. Rebekah made as if to translate, but Father shook his head. “She was beautiful, but she still thought it was her goddess that had brought her a rich husband.”

Rebekah laughed. “Fifteen years apart, and he still knows just what you’re going to say? You don’t need to learn to write.”

Mother laughed. “I wish.”

It was the laughter that got to Bethuel. “All right, tell me what was said that made you laugh.”