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What does it matter if I don’t marry? Please, Mama, please don’t make me go.”
    Jamilla looked worriedly toward the door. “The Mishwes will be here any minute.” Then, seeing her daughter so desolate, she threw back her shoulders defiantly. She wasn’t afraid of the Mishwes. “Let them come. They’ll see we’re not panting after them.” She took Miriam in her arms. “You think marrying doesn’t matter because you’re young. But in a few years, you’ll be the odd one.” She picked at the edge of Miriam’s undershirt. “You’ll get used to Nadeem. We’ve all gone through it and nobody went mad. Look at the Ajlouny girl. She hid in the fig huts for a week before marrying Hassan. She was covered with scrapes and thin as a rail at her wedding. But now, does she go around weeping? No. Even in the worst cases, things work out.”
    “What about Mary Salamy? She couldn’t marry the boy she loved.”
    “Mary Salamy was a fool,” said Jamilla decisively. “She made a big commotion. Her brother had to make a trip here from America to convince her. In the end she married her cousin anyway. Now she has three children and a winter home in Jericho. Don’t shed tears for Mary Salamy. Does she even remember the boy she loved? What does a young girl know about choosing a husband? This is a much more reliable method. Nadeem is part of our clan. He’ll act honorably.”
    “Honorably? What does that have to do with me? What does that mean?”
    Jamilla thought a moment. “This is the way things have been done for many, many years. We all survived. It will be all right in the end. Come and wash your face.”
    Would it be right in the end, she wondered? It was so easy to do what they wanted and so hard to resist. Surely her father wouldn’t consent to something that would make her miserable. She rose with a sigh, held up her arms, and allowed her mother to slip on the red silk wedding dress.
    When she was ready, Miriam stood in the center of the room she knew so well, with all of its familiar smells. The twins looked awed by her beauty. She wore a heavily embroidered vest over her wedding dress. A veil came down over her face and clasped in her hands was a sword, signifying that her family would defend her honor and her chastity.
    Daud poked his head into the room. “You’re going to ride the horse to the church? Watch out it doesn’t run away.” He grinned, uncomfortable in the role of well-wisher.
    Next came her grandmother to bid her a tearful farewell. At the last moment, Jamilla held her daughter in her arms and whispered softly against each cheek, “ Mabrook. ” Tears formed again in Miriam’s eyes. She took her mother’s hand and kissed it.
    Mustafa led her outside. Shyly he touched her veil and pulled out her dress to admire it. That familiar face that had contorted and grimaced to make itself understood looked suddenly unsure. They had walked together all those years pushing the cart. Miles and miles of silence. She stood perfectly still, not trusting herself to speak. She thought he was going to help her mount the horse but instead he walked a little ways toward a copse of oaks and, before she could protest, she saw that he was crying. She had seen him shed tears only one other time—when he was rubbing salve into the insect bites she had received in Philistia.
    Baba! Baba! For one thrilling moment, Miriam thought she wouldn’t have to go through with it, but then Mustafa came walking back to her, his face composed and smiling. He held her sword until she was safely mounted, then signed his message: “Every day, with all my heart, I will miss you. And each time I think of you, you will feel my blessing.” She opened her eyes as wide as possible to stop the flood of tears and bent down to kiss her father one last time. Then, looking straight ahead with her body erect—it was here that she determined to withstand whatever came—holding the sword across her lap with one hand and the reins with the