“I’ll go.” I say with all the force of a hurricane.
My words immediately shut everyone up. Honestly, I’m a little glad. All the arguing was giving me a headache.
“You’re what?” My mother sputtered. “YOU CAN NOT BE SERIOUS!” she shouted at me.
My father started in on me then, too. “You’re not going. This old geezer just walks in here with some beautiful jewelry and a nice story, and you immediately fall for his persuasion tactics. You will not go. How could you just leave your mother and me? For what? It’s a nice story but that’s all it is.”
“Are you sure?” The old man asked. “It is up to you. But you only.” He said throwing a stern look at my parents.
“I believe you. I believe that this is a God thing.” I say. “I’ve got to do this. I’m not scared about going. Or about what awaits me once I’m there. I just know in my heart that I’ve got to go. That this is God leading me. I’m sorry. I love you guys so much. But I am going with him.”
“Alright. We leave in the morning.” The old man says.
Later, after many painful days on a donkey’s back…
The sun has burned into my flesh, all our food tastes old and stale at this point, and I never want to see another camel for the rest of my life.
I imagine the camel request is unrealistic though.
“Would you like some water,” asks a young maid riding beside me.
“No,” I say softly, “Thank you.”
“Miss, may I ask you something?” She says hesitantly. I nod my head. She looks over her shoulder, like she doesn’t want anyone else to hear her, before continuing in a hushed voice. “Do you still believe coming here was the right thing to do?”
The familiar question comes to my mind every day. But every day when I start to worry, I feel a peace flood me. “Yes,” I say finally, “I do.”
The old man is at the front of the procession. He starts yelling just then and waving his arms. I look to the horizon and I see it.
The first signs of my new life.
A ruggedly handsome man is coming from the fields to meet us. I feel the air catch in my lungs just at the sight of him, and I slow my camel to a stop.
The old man rides back to where I am waiting. “Who is that?” I ask.
“That is my master,” he replies with a grin.
I slide down from the camel’s back and wrestle my veil out of the bag slung over the side of the camel. I get it into place once the man reaches us.
“Isaac,” the old man says with a grin even wider than before, “This is Rebecca.”
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