After Judith arrived, Abram led the way from the tent and we followed slightly behind. He strode quickly across the center yard making it difficult for us to keep pace. Everyone seemed to be working in front of his tent; no one wanted to miss the chance to examine the Egyptian. Wondering if his deformity was readily evident, I imagined the gossip it would initiate. The idea of others insinuating that I could not attract a whole man because of my past did not upset me. My anger was for the injustice that would be done to Abram. How unfair it would be for him to be judged on a missing appendage. Someone with a narrow discernment might never experience his kindness, wisdom and humor.

Just outside the enclosure, Abram turned and said, "It will be difficult to talk with you back there. Father has told me something of your customs concerning women. Ours are very different. But we can discuss that later. Is there a place we can walk where we will be free from prying eyes?" Then smiling at Judith he said, "Present company excepted. I assume you are Judith, I understand you will be accompanying us to Egypt."

I spoke quickly. "I am sorry, Abram. I should have introduced you sooner. I was rattled by the size of our audience. Judith and I were raised together. She is a good friend and my handmaiden."

Bowing slightly, Judith said, "I am pleased to meet you. My eyes cannot be helped. I would have difficulty following you if they were closed. My ears, though, I can control. I will stay close enough to appease Dinah's father but far enough away that I cannot understand."

Grinning I said, 'You won't have to stay too far away, then. His speech is sometimes difficult to understand when you're right beside him"

Abram returned, "It's a good thing those cat eyes are smiling. I would hate to have to discipline you before the wedding."

Laughing, I said, "Come, I will lead you to my favorite place overlooking the spring.''

As we stood under the tree where I often went to think, a slight breeze lifted the edge of my veil. Turning to me, Abram said, "This place is so peaceful. Could we sit here and talk?"

Nodding, I sank to the ground. Judith sat in the grass out of earshot and began to make a garland of flowers. Giving a slight wave, she deliberately turned her back.

When Abram spoke, I realized how musical his voice sounded. Its deep resonance seemed to caress my ears as he spoke. "Would I be rude to ask you to remove your veil? In my country the women are not required to cover their faces, or even their hair. Many wear elaborate headpieces as ornamentation, but not as a sign of submission. Your eyes are green; is your hair tawny like a cat's?"

I replied, "Perhaps I will like Egypt. I have always hated veils. My rebellion has been a matter of consternation to my mother." As I spoke, I deftly removed both my veil and headpiece.

Reaching out and lifting a lock of my hair, he spoke as he rubbed it between his fingers. "It is beautiful, more beautiful than any cat's. I have never seen hair the color of molten copper." Dropping his hand abruptly he said, "I apologize for my forwardness. I just didn't expect... " he trailed off lamely.

With a smile I said, "Now we are even. Both of us have been caught staring. I think you might even have blushed now if you could have, I guess dark skin has its advantages."

Laughing he said, "I never thought of it that way, but you are right. I'm glad you can blush, though. It is most attractive." Becoming serious he said, "This is great fun, but it is not the reason I brought you out here. I told your father we would speak of Egypt because it was a convenient excuse. Later if you want to, we can talk about my home. First I must speak to you about a more important matter."

As he sat silently for a moment, I realized there was pain etched in his form. His clenched fist, taut brow and rigid jaw gave him a tense, foreboding look. When he began to speak, it was in a slow, deliberate manner. "When I gave you the jewelry, I told you that what I had to do was no longer difficult. At that moment it was not. What I must do now is very difficult, You see, I must give you the opportunity to end our betrothal."

When I gasped in surprise, he held up his hand and said, "Wait! Let me explain. When my father told me I was to marry a widow, I assumed you would be — how can I say it nicely — a little ugly — basically unmarriageable. When I met you at the well this morning, I fell hopelessly in love. You were everything a man could desire — beautiful, kind, intelligent, humorous.

When your father introduced you, I couldn't believe my good fortune. But I cannot ask you to shackle yourself for life to a one handed man. You deserve better. With your beauty and quick wit, your child and widowhood will not be a hindrance. I'm sure there will be many eligible men who desire to marry you."

As he spoke I was filled with both compassion and anger. He was too good a person to have been duped. I hated to tarnish his image of me as the perfect woman, but I could not deceive him. My anger was directed at Father. How like him to resort to deception. Reaching out and tenderly touching the stump propped against Abram's knee, I said, "I am sorry to cause you such pain. Your handicap is visible, but easily overcome by ingenuity. Mine is both invisible and ruinous. My Father has not been honest with you. He seems to have a habit of deception. I'm sure he meant no harm, but I cannot support his trickery."

In agony I told Abram of my past. I spared no detail in the story of deceit, love, murder, repentance and reconciliation. In tears, I ended, "So you see, I am the one who must offer to release you. When Papa told me of the promise of marriage, I was opposed to it. Then it was because of the pain of memory — an unrequited love.

I prayed for Yahweh to convince Papa the marriage was wrong, to free me from the commitment. I didn't want it to happen like this. Yahweh is supposed to act painlessly, not hold out the hope of a wonderful marriage to an understanding man only to withdraw the prospect. I am sorry you have come so far only to be disillusioned."

Ignoring the last remark, Abram said excitedly, "Did you say you prayed for Yahweh to release you from this betrothal? I did too! I had become reconciled to the fact that I would always be single. Both my religion and my arm were against an Egyptian marriage. When Father told me of the engagement, I was upset. I had no desire to inflict myself on some foreigner who had no choice. Today when I met you, I felt our meeting was a sign from Yahweh. He had started my day well as a sort of blessing. I dared not believe He had worked out things so I could meet and marry a self-assured woman who would be unashamed to be seen with me. Am I wrong in believing my deformity does not perturb you?"

"No, Abram, you are not wrong. I admire the way you have adapted. Your ability to put me at ease when I first noticed your loss was extraordinary. My only regret is that I am not the woman you thought me."

"But, Dinah, don't you understand? You are the woman I thought you were, and more. I am awed by your forgiveness of both Shem and your brothers. It humbles me that your anger at your father's deceit is because he deceived me. You too were deceived weren't you? Did you know your bridegroom had only one hand?"

"That hadn't even occurred to me. But I am not as wonderful as you think. If I hadn't met you at the well, I might not have handled the revelation of your handicap so admirably. I already knew something of your character from our encounter. Otherwise I might have been blinded by my own prejudice."

"Isn't Yahweh magnificent?" Abram exclaimed. "Had He not brought us together before the betrothal, we would have had this discussion without any knowledge of one another. I don't know about you, but without the earlier meeting, I would have been more formal. I wouldn't have felt free to tell you all I have. Now that we both have admitted to our previous feelings, I would like to ask of my own accord, "Will you be my bride, Dinah?"

Taking his hand and looking deeply into his black, gazelle eyes, I responded, "I would be honored."

Raising our clasped hands heavenward, Abram praised God for his goodness. Then he turned back and asked if I wanted to know about Egypt. We were still deep in conversation when Judith approached and hissed, "A servant is approaching. Put your veil back on." As I hastily donned my veil and Abram clumsily tried to help, Judith went to meet the servant. When she returned we were doubled over with laughter. Abram's finger was caught under the band that holds my headpiece in place. We were laughing so hard, he couldn't pull it out.

Abram and Necho stayed only two days before heading northward. With their return scheduled for early spring, they were wasting no time. Already they were later than originally planned. As I watched them go, I still could not believe my good fortune. I could only be thankful for Yahweh's goodness. Had He heeded my foolish prayer, I would not have met this wonderful man. I vowed to always put my faith in God's judgment. It was apparent that I didn't know what was best for me. He knew things that I could not begin to fathom.

After they had disappeared from sight, I turned to Papa. He and I were the only ones who had arisen before dawn to bid them farewell. Now that my anger had been tempered by time, I felt only hurt at Papa's betrayal. Quietly I said, "I am sorry you felt you could only arrange a marriage for me by using deceit. It hurt me deeply to learn you had tricked Necho by calling me a widow. I told Abram the truth about my past. It didn't matter to him. He admired my courage in telling. I was also hurt because you trusted me so little.

You could have told me he was unacceptable to the Egyptians because he was one-handed. You may have thought my initial startled reaction was to Abram's handicap. It wasn't; my shock was one of recognition. I met Abram at the well at dawn. I didn't know who he was then. That meeting had shown me how well he had adapted to his handicap, and something of the depth of his character. I couldn't believe my good fortune in being promised to such a man. So, Papa, we will wed despite your deceit, not because of it"

Reaching toward me, and then dropping his hand in shame, Papa said, "I did not mean to hurt you. All of the things I told you about Yahweh sending Necho to us, I believed. As usual I was afraid to let God handle these life-influencing decisions alone. I love you so much that I wanted a good life for you.

I thought the only way I could offer it was to explain away your child. I felt there would be no harm in a small deceit. I only wanted to give Yahweh some assistance. I should have learned my lesson by now, Dinah. I haven't. My deception almost cost me Necho's respect. When he told me of Abram's discovery, I expected a withdrawal from the betrothal. Instead he told me I could learn from my daughter's courage. He has forgiven me. Can you?"

Moving into his outstretched arms, I said, "Yes, Papa. I too had to learn the hard way that Yahweh's path is always best."

At rest time, I asked Sheerah to go with me to the spring. I had yet to tell her of the surprising discovery of Abram's love and the response from within myself. I was sure Judith had probably told her of Abram's and my strange behavior the day of our betrothal. I had to share with them both my happiness.

When we were lying under our tree, I began to tell them of my struggle with Yahweh and the unexpected outcome. They listened raptly as I told of the meeting at the well and the later discovery of Papa's deception. Both were delighted with the end of the encounter. Sheerah said with a sigh that it sounded like one of the romantic tales told by the women at family gatherings. Giggling, Judith said she was sure my grandchildren would one day beg, "Please, Grandma, tell us about when you and Grandpa met."

Drying her tears of laughter, Sheerah said, "I too have something exciting to share. My monthly curse was due weeks ago. I think I am pregnant."

After the excitement had died down, I suggested, "If it's a girl, I want you to give me your word that you will keep her for Shemaiah. If they are promised now, there will be no shocks on their betrothal day."

Smiling Sheerah countered, "No shocks and no excitement. Is it worth the trade off?"

"What do you mean no excitement? Not many of us have our men imported all the way from Egypt," I answered. "Your daughter will have all the excitement she needs when she meets her Egyptian cousin."

Becoming serious again, I continued, "There is one other matter left unsettled."

Picking up the sewing bag I had brought with me, I took out the dress from Shem. Hearing Sheerah and Judith gasp as they recognized the dress, I said, "Don't worry. I don't plan to wear it as a new bride. Ever since you suggested I burn it, Sheerah, I have been plagued by memories. I keep hearing Mama tell me to burn it because Papa wants no reminders.

Today I had an inspiration. I want you to keep it again. This time not for me, but for someone else I love very much. Someone who also loved Shem, but whose memories are not as painful. I will not be here when Hurriya obtains her womanhood. Will you keep this for her? Tell her it is a present from me. You can decide if you also want to tell her it is indirectly from Shem.

She was too young to recognize the dress. You will know if the story of its past will sadden her and detract from the occasion. I will have the comfort of knowing someone Shem loved is enjoying the dress. I realize now that I cannot take the past with me, except in my heart. A part of me will always love Shem, but it can never be the mature love I hope to have with Abram."

This time it was Sheerah who clutched the dress to her while tears fell. After the three of us had sat for minutes in a tearful embrace, Sheerah dried her eyes and said, "Your suggestion is wiser than mine. Hurriya loves you, and will miss you greatly. It will make her feel good to know you thought of her even as you prepared to leave. I'm glad you are at last free of the specter of the past. He was my brother, but I would not want his memory to deny you a full life."

Judith injected, "This is all so romantic. We're all the same age and I have yet to experience the love of even one man."

With an exaggerated sigh she ended, "I guess I am just destined to spend my life without a husband. I will have to be content with the crumbs from Dinah's table."

Putting on an exaggerated sad face, I said, "Poor, girl. Only fifteen and her life is already over."

When we recovered from our laughter, I began to tell them the things Abram had shared about Egypt. My most exciting discovery was the absence of veils and the inclusion of women in social gatherings. Both envied the freedom I would soon experience.