Yes . . . someday.
Two
Esther tore through her chest of belongings, tossing away each object to meet her hands. It had to be here. Somewhere, under something . . . she could not have lost her mother’s silver bracelet. Impossible. She rarely wore it, only when she wanted to look pretty for Zechariah. The last time had been—
No. She rocked back on her heels and pressed a hand to her mouth. Three days ago, when she spent the day with Kasia. When they went to the river. She did not remember taking it off again that night.
There was no need to think the worst. It was probably at Kasia’s house, that was all. Surely it had slipped off there, and not in the streets. Or, worse still, at the river.
“Esther?”
At her cousin’s voice, Esther scooped up the mass of her belongings and shoved them back into the chest, dropping it shut just as Mordecai stuck his head into her small chamber. He was so tall he had to duck before entering, though otherwise his build was slight.
He smiled. “There you are. I am not needed at the palace today, so Kish and I are going in search of some wood for his next project. Would you like to spend the morning with Kasia?”
Relief settled on her shoulders. “I would like that, cousin. Thank you.” She could ask Kasia if she had seen her bracelet, if perhaps her ima, Zillah, had found it . . . and if she had heard any more from the rich Persian. Unlikely, but worth a question.
She stood and followed her cousin through the house and out the front door. Mordecai drew in a deep breath of the fresh air, closing his hazel eyes as if to better savor it.
Esther smiled. She had never met him before her parents were killed, but in the three years since he took her in, she discovered him to be a man of depths that flowed down to his soul. Not often did he speak up in a crowd, never did he draw attention to himself. But he lived with a whole heart. He seemed to treasure each moment. Each breath of fresh air. Each bird song. It was no wonder he was the one chosen to represent the Jews at the palace. There was no man more respected in Susa.
She could not figure out why he never remarried after his wife died in childbirth five years ago, along with their babe. But at the same time, she was glad. Had he brought a new woman into the house, she may not have appreciated having to tend to a nearly-grown girl like Esther.
That was a selfish thought, she knew. Mordecai deserved the happiness a wife and children of his own would bring him. Besides, his heart was too large to necessitate pushing her aside once he had children of his flesh. He had told her more than once that she was like his daughter, and he meant it.
Just because she had lost one father did not mean she would lose this one.
He smiled down at her and took the first step onto the street. “You have grown again. We shall have to get you some more clothes. Perhaps Zillah and Kasia will help you with that next week.”
“They are always happy to help.”
Mordecai nodded, but his smile faded. It was so out of character for him that Esther stopped. “Cousin?”
He halted too, and drew out a smaller smile. “It is nothing. Only . . . Kish is still considering Ben-Hesed or Michael for your friend?”
“So far as I know. They are . . . cousin! Are you going to ask for her?”
“I . . .” Mordecai blushed—actually blushed. “She has grown into a lovely young woman. Beautiful, but so much more. Tender and caring, with a zeal for life. And she loves you. I know not if she could ever feel so warmly for me, though.”
“How could she not?” Esther tucked her hand into Mordecai’s elbow and gave him her brightest smile. “I doubt she has considered it, but I shall plant a few thoughts in her head.”
Mordecai groaned, but it ended on a laugh. “I do not need my twelve-year-old daughter approaching a woman on my behalf. I will try to find a few moments to speak with her to see if she would welcome further attention from me. If so, then I will speak with Kish.”
Dear, sweet cousin Mordecai. The Lord had surely been watching over her when he led this man to her door after the accident.
Well, she would do what she could to help, no matter what he said. Surely Kasia would forget about any other man when she realized Mordecai was interested in making her his own. She had expressed admiration for him more than once. And to have her dearest friend under the same roof—it would be a perfect arrangement.
They walked the short distance to their friends’ house in silence, but entered to the usual chaos of a large family. Kish bellowed instructions at Zechariah in the wood shop, and inside the family’s space the little ones shrieked and giggled and dashed about.
Kasia’s mother, Zillah, looked up and smiled. “Kasia is working on the bread, if you want to help her.”
“Certainly.” She turned first to Mordecai and leaned into him for a moment. “Have a good morning, cousin. When will you be back?”
“By the midday meal, I imagine. Have fun with Kasia and the little ones.”
“I will.” Smiling first at him, then at Zillah, she headed for the outdoor kitchen at the rear of the house. She found Kasia up to her elbows in bread dough. “Would you like some help?”
“Have I ever turned it down?” Her friend’s grin made Esther sigh. Kasia was so beautiful. Her hair was thick, so dark and rich, her cheekbones pronounced to set off her large almond eyes, and her curves . . .
Sometimes Esther despaired of ever growing up. It took so long. Here she was nearly thirteen, and she still had the figure of Kasia’s eight-year-old sister, Eglah. Or worse, eleven-year-old Joshua. How would Zechariah ever come to love her if she looked like his little brother?
But Kasia—it was no wonder the Persian had been unable to take his eyes off her. No wonder Mordecai had set his heart on her. Esther grinned as she pulled a second bowl of dough forward. “You will never guess the conversation I just had.”
Kasia lifted her brows. “Let me see. You told Mordecai how in love you are with Zechariah, and he promised to speak with Abba this morning to arrange for a betrothal.”
She laughed and bumped her arm into Kasia’s. “No, but a similar topic. Concerning your pending betrothal.”
“Ah.” Some of the brightness left Kasia’s voice. “Not nearly so interesting. Michael stopped by last night, and it was all I could do to stay awake through his prattle. If Abba selects him as my husband, I shall sleep through the rest of my life. Though he is better than Ben-Hesed, and apparently my mysterious Persian will not be returning.”
“As expected. But I have a feeling you need not resign yourself to Michael yet. There is another suitor lurking in the shadows.”
“Oh?” Without so much as pausing in her kneading, Kasia lifted a dubious brow. “And who would that be?”
Esther rolled her lips together and plunged her hands into the dough. “Hmm. I really ought not say. He did imply I should refrain from interference.”
Now Kasia halted and turned to face her. “What a tease! But no matter, there are few enough men you speak with. It must be . . . Abram the butcher.”
Esther laughed. “You think I consider him a better choice than Michael? He is ancient.”
“He is thirty-five.” Kasia chuckled and got back to work. “Surely anyone younger than the king cannot be called old. It is probably against the law.”
A snort slipped from her lips. “Perhaps. They do have some ridiculous laws. But it is someone much better than the butcher. More handsome, younger, and wealthier.”
Kasia’s