Jewel of Persia

Zechariah soothed the plane over the wood. Sweat dripped from his brow, and he swiped at it with his forearm. His gaze went out the door, open to receive whatever

sweltering winds might blow in.

His throat tightened when he saw Esther crouched in the street. She laughed at something Ima said and swept barley seeds from the hot road into a basket. He wanted her to

glance his way. Wanted her to flash that perfect smile at him. Just to see if his heart would pound as it had every other time she looked at him lately.

Abba gave him a playful thump to the side of the head. “Watch yourself instead of her or you may slice off a finger.”

Zechariah swallowed and checked to make sure no siblings lurked about. Joshua was out making deliveries, and the rest were in the house. “How does this happen, Abba? A few

short months ago, I saw her as a sister. Now . . .”

“It only takes one stray thought.” His father grinned. “I knew your mother all my life, just as you have known Esther. I never expected to fall in love with her, but then

one day I saw her, felt a bolt of attraction before I realized who she was, and I was doomed.”

He laughed because Abba expected him to. “I feel doomed. So long I ignored her infatuation with me, and now I worry it is not as strong as this thing building inside.”

This strange, stretching thing. It was not just attraction. That was far too simple a word for the complicated mess his feelings for Esther had become since that night they

prayed at Mordecai’s house.

There had been a seed of it before then, he would admit it. A seed planted when he rescued her from that over-zealous Persian. But that had been attraction. Since he put his

heart right with Jehovah and refused to see Ruana again . . .

Esther glanced his way, perhaps sensing his attention, and grinned. His heart hammered. “Doomed,” Zechariah muttered. “Completely doomed.”

His father chuckled. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Please.” He smiled back at Esther then turned to Abba.

He found his gaze serious. “Take your time with her. She has loved you since she was a child and has been telling herself for years that you were not interested. While you

could go to Mordecai today and arrange a betrothal, she would doubt your heart and think you did it because we pushed you. Woo her. Make it clear you love her before any

arrangements are made.”

When had Abba gotten so wise? “Good idea.” He set down the plane and drew in a long breath. “Abba . . . I cannot marry her with secrets between us.”

His father’s hand stilled, awl poised over wood. “When you are the head of your own family, Zechariah, you may tell your wife what you please. But you will caution her not

to speak of it here.”

“Abba, it is ridiculous. Mordecai already knows she lives—Jehovah asks him frequently to pray for her.” He had learned of that the day Mordecai writhed in pain he claimed

was Kasia’s. Keeping that from Esther had grated, even before the blossoming attraction took root.

His father’s brows pulled down. “I did not know that. Even so, my decision holds.”

“But Abba—”

“If you are serious about marriage, Zech, you ought to get started on an addition for your bride. We have the revenue now to expand the house.”

Zechariah spun to look out the back door and into the open space behind it. Until his father’s parents both passed on, they had all been crammed into their small house, as

there had been no money for Abba to build extra rooms. But a space of their own . . . one with Esther puttering around inside, able to visit his family without being

overwhelmed by them . . .

Abba chuckled. “Go out, look around. We could get started next week.”

He ought to finish here, but the allure was too great. Knowing he grinned like a fool, he strode outside.

He could build there, at a right angle to the main part of the house. Esther and Ima could share a kitchen, but they could make it bigger, add a second hearth. He would not

put a door between the new and the old, not directly. But the kitchen would serve as a connection.

How large to make it? They had plenty of room, being on the outskirts of the city, but he needed to leave space for the rest of the boys to build too, as they married.

Still, he wanted room enough that it would not be so cramped as his parents’, no matter how many children Jehovah blessed them with.

“Zech? What are you doing out here?” Esther stepped out to the kitchen, where she set down her basket of roasted barley.

His lips tugged up. “Planning. Abba has decided it is time for me to begin the addition to the house. For my future family.”

She paled, eyes flashing distress. “You . . . you are to marry?”

“Eventually.” He sidled over to crowd her, under the guise of peeking into the basket. “First, though, I must win my bride.”