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 hands stilled, and her eyes focused on the middle distance. “All that? I must say, I am both intrigued and at a loss. I can think of no one . . . at least . . .”
She turned her face to Esther, brows pulled together. “Surely not . . . ?”
Lips pressed together again, Esther wiggled her brows. She half expected Kasia to leap with excitement, giddy laughter on her lips. Instead, she went thoughtful and turned
back to her bowl. Not the reaction Esther had expected. Perhaps she should have held her tongue. Oh, Mordecai would be mortified if she had ruined things.
Kasia shook her head. “I thought . . . he grieved so for Keturah. And it has been so long since her death, I assumed . . . .” Her gaze, sharp now, found Esther again.
“You are certain? Serious? He is serious?”
Esther could only nod.
Kasia’s eyes went wide. “I cannot grasp it. He is so . . .”
“Yes. He is.”
Kasia used her wrist to smooth back a stray lock. “And I am only . . .”
“You are everything a man could want, Kasia.” Esther drew her lower lip between her teeth as she regarded her friend. “He did not want me to say anything. He intends to
speak to you himself before he approaches your father, to sound out your feelings. I wanted to . . . give you time to think about it, I suppose. I would hate to see either
of you hurt.”
Kasia drew in a long breath, looking at a loss for what to say. “You need not fear me hurting him, little one. If he is interested, there is nothing to think about. There
is no better man in Susa, and I would be honored if . . . and Abba. He would be so proud.”