Miriam

by Mesu Andrews

  The elders? A stab of fear cut through her emotions. The elders would never listen to Prince Mehy even if he looked like a Midianite shepherd. “What did Yahweh tell you to do?”

  “Aaron and I are to assemble the elders of the tribes and tell them what I told you. Yahweh has seen their misery and is concerned about them. He will deliver them from Egypt with mighty acts of His power.” He pointed to a walking stick in Aaron’s hand. “Yahweh showed me signs of His power by using that staff. Aaron will be my spokesman, and we’ll do everything God commanded to convince the elders before we confront Pharaoh.”

  Abba Amram placed his hand on Moses’s forearm. “You are my son, Moses, and we love you, but many of our people still see you as Master Mehy, Egyptian prince, vizier of Egypt.”

  Miriam wasn’t sure if she felt better or worse that Amram shared her concerns about the elders’ response to Moses.

  “No one finds it harder to believe than I,” Moses said, “but I find myself feeling like a soldier again—Yahweh’s soldier—and I must do as He commands.” He locked his gaze on Eleazar, the two engaging in some silent battle.

  What had transpired before they arrived? Sattar rose to his feet and began stalking Eleazar. “Leave it!” Miriam shouted, remembering Moses’s command. The dog looked startled but begrudgingly obeyed her.

  “I’d say he’s definitely chosen a new master.” Moses chuckled, relieving some tension.

  “If you’re going to meet with the elders, you’ll need to understand the traits of the various tribes of Israel and the leaders among them.” Miriam glanced at both brothers. “Did Aaron explain the nature of Israel’s tribes and their characteristics on your journey to Egypt?”

  “We spoke of other things.” Aaron shrugged, giving Moses a knowing glance. It seemed her two brothers shared secrets, and again Miriam felt ostracized, near tears.

  Ima Jochebed patted Miriam’s knee, sensing her daughter needed encouragement. “It’s probably best that Miriam describe the tribes to you, Moses. Aaron has strong relationships with many of the elders because most are skilled craftsman that he works with every day, but Miriam has been El Shaddai’s prophetess all these years. She’s dealt with all the elders—the meek, the harsh, and every disposition in between—and she’s gained a sense for how the elders are reflected by their tribes.” Ima winked at Miriam. “Your sister knows which tribes will help and which ones will hinder.”

  “I’d be grateful for your insights, Miriam.” The sincerity on Moses’s features was the same today as it was forty years ago. She could trust him. Could she also trust…Yahweh?

  Miriam breathed deeply and started from the beginning. “How much do you remember of the Hebrew lessons Ima Jochebed taught you before you were weaned?”

  “More than you might imagine.” Moses grinned, his neck shading a subtle crimson. Perhaps men were discomfited at spending their first three years at a woman’s breast. “But I’ve learned even more from my wife’s abba, Jethro, the high priest of Midian.”

  “You’re married?” Miriam and Jochebed asked at the same time.

  His eyes grew sad. “Yes. We had some trouble on the journey to Egypt. I sent my wife and two sons back to Midian.”

  Miriam wanted to ask more, but the set of Moses’s jaw told her the subject was closed. “I’m sure your father-in-law, as a Midianite priest, told you of Abraham’s descendants from his wife Keturah.”

  “Yes, but he also told me of my heritage through Abraham’s wife Sarah, whose son Isaac was given the firstborn’s blessing. Isaac’s wife gave birth to twins. The younger, Jacob, stole the firstborn’s blessing from his older brother, Esau. Jacob—whose name was changed to Israel—had twelve sons. One of them, Joseph, was sold into slavery in Egypt by his brothers. When Jacob and his sons experienced a famine in Canaan, Joseph brought the whole family to Egypt. Israel’s family grew quickly and has become a nation of twelve tribes.”

  Miriam raised her brows and glanced at Taliah. “Did you hear that, dear? I’ve been teaching you about Abraham for seven weeks, and Moses summed it up in one breath.”

  Taliah’s cheeks bloomed like a rose. “I would be honored to learn more from your brother. I’ve taught Pharaoh’s sons about the brave General Mehy for years. His life is fascinating.”

  Eleazar rolled his eyes and groaned. “More stories won’t help you bake bread or make baskets.”

  “Goshen has enough baskets,” she sneered. “Israel needs teachers and knowledge—especially if we’re to be free.”

  Moses looked to Miriam for an explanation, but she simply shook her head and returned to the tribes. “Let’s see if I can summarize the twelve tribes for you. The people of Reuben are forgiving. Simeon has dwindled but remains strong in faith. Judah is bossy and boasts many overseers. Zebulun always finds a way to win. Issachar works hard at serving others. Dan is harsh but logical. Gad always fights—and wins. Asher would rather dig in the dirt than breathe. Naphtali preserves the ancient stories of our people. Joseph’s sons, Manasseh and Ephraim, received the firstborn’s double blessing, so each has a tribe in Israel. Manasseh never holds a grudge. Ephraim is empowered by adversity. And the tribe of Benjamin is mean—but fiercely loyal if you can win them over.” She paused, sadness pressing against her chest. “And many of our people have adopted the gods of Egypt—either combining them with worship of El Shaddai or replacing Him altogether.”

  A look of utter terror washed Moses’s face. “How do we assemble them?” He looked at Aaron. “Will anyone come if we summon them?” If he’d returned to Egypt thinking Pharaoh his toughest audience, perhaps now he realized Israel might be the bigger challenge.

  “They’ll come,” Aaron assured him. “I’m an elder myself, and we meet regularly under the new moon. Occasionally, when we have a special concern like this, we send a messenger to all the elders during the day and then meet that night at the moon’s zenith. We’ll send my messenger tomorrow and meet at the designated spot on the plateau tomorrow night.”

  Miriam considered Aaron’s calm demeanor. Even as a child nothing rattled him, and as an adult he’d been steady to the cusp of tedium. Perhaps a little more emotion would have shown Eleazar and Ithamar they were loved—since their ima was too busy fawning over Nadab and Abihu to spare a kind word to her younger boys.

  “Will you come?” Moses asked.

  All eyes were focused on Miriam, and her cheeks warmed. “I’m sorry. Will I come where?”

  “To the meeting. The elders will be more inclined to believe if you stand with us.” Moses reached for her hand. “Maybe you could sing. Do you still sing, Miriam? Your songs were the only thing that could calm me before I went to war.”

  Her throat tightened, and the weathered Midian shepherd before her suddenly became the child she’d played with a lifetime ago in the Amira’s bathhouse. He was the boy Amira Anippe sent to the noblemen’s School of the Kap, the young man traumatized by King Horemheb’s blood-thirsty reign. He was Prince Mehy, torn between his Egyptian pharaoh upbringing and his Hebrew heritage. “Yes, Moses. I still sing.”

  But could she sing here? Now? She dropped her gaze and let tears fall with it. Miriam felt betrayed by El Shaddai, but perhaps more troubling—she felt like a betrayer for her selfishness. Why couldn’t she rejoice at God’s promised deliverance? Why did it matter that the instrument of deliverance would be Moses and Aaron—and not her? A sob escaped before she could restrain it.

  “Can’t you see what you’re doing to her?” Eleazar shouted, startling everyone, his gaze fixed on Moses. “Doda has been El Shaddai’s prophetess her whole life. She served Israel while you lived in a palace. She’s suffered in Egypt while you ran to safety in Midian. Doda should be the one to speak to the elders, not you, not Abba.”

  Moses was on his feet and in Eleazar’s face before Miriam could stop him. “I’ve told you, this is not my choice. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t even be here.” The words were like cold water thrown in Abba and Ima’s faces. Moses realized their effect an
d knelt again beside them. “The night you helped me escape from Egypt, I reconciled it in my heart that I would never see you again. I gained a wife and two sons in Midian, and I had planned to live out my life there quietly. But with Yahweh’s command to return came the precious gift of seeing you again. For that I’m grateful.”

  Miriam watched in silence as Abba and Ima whispered tenderly to their youngest son. Moses seemed utterly transparent and candid. Any pretense of the Egyptian prince who fled forty years ago gone.

  When she glanced at Eleazar, she found him still fuming. Her nephew was Moses—thirty-three years younger. Same height, same build, same stubborn nature, same protective instincts, but he would bite his tongue off before expressing any emotion but anger. Yahweh, if You still hear my prayers, help my Eleazar to find You, love well, and learn to obey You as his uncle has.

  She nudged Moses. “I’d like to go to the elders’ meeting, and Eleazar will accompany me.”

  Eleazar started to protest, but she lifted her hand and spoke directly to him. “I need your help climbing the plateau, and we both need to see why Yahweh has chosen your abba and Moses to deliver Israel. Perhaps then I’ll understand why Yahweh has been silent toward me.”

  The fire in her nephew’s eyes dwindled, and he nodded his surrender. “All right, Doda. I’ll escort you.”

  “It’s settled then,” Aaron spoke from the doorway. “I should go home. If Elisheba discovers I’ve returned but didn’t go straight home, I’ll eat dried fish and nuts for a week.”

  Miriam shook her head but smiled. Aaron would never change—nor would Elisheba—and somehow they lived together. Miriam joined him at the curtain and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for obeying El-Shadd—for obeying Yahweh and bringing Moses home to us.” Tears threatened again at the familiar name that must now be replaced by a silent God.

  Aaron held her face and whispered against her forehead, “Yahweh is the same God you’ve known, Miriam. He’s simply decided to let the rest of us enjoy the relationship you alone have experienced all these years.”

  12

  Anxiety weighs down the heart,

  but a kind word cheers it up.

  —PROVERBS 12:25

  Eleazar and Hoshea placed all the scraps of food they’d collected from the barracks’ trays on Doda’s small table. “It’s all we could find for you tonight. I’m sorry.”

  “It was my fault,” Moses offered. “I had no idea Eleazar saved his rations for this household.” Moses turned to his nephew, and Eleazar prepared for another confrontation. “You’re a fine man, Eleazar, and Prince Ram is lucky to have you at his side. No wonder your abba Aaron is so proud of you.”

  Eleazar felt the compliment like a blow. Abba proud of him? “You know nothing of my abba’s—”

  “Eleazar, walk with me.” Taliah looped her arm around his, tugging him toward the doorway.

  “We’ll see you in the morning.” Doda’s forced happiness told him to go. “And thank you for the food, dear.” Hoshea followed them outside.

  Still boiling, Eleazar let Taliah lead him into the cool night air. Her hand on his arm felt like a hot coal, sending warmth radiating in all directions. “What is it, Taliah?”

  “Don’t bite my head off because you’re angry at your uncle.”

  “I’m not angry at him. I simply don’t like him.”

  She waved off his reply and turned to Hoshea. “I’m glad you’re home safely.” He blushed like a ten-year-old, and Taliah giggled. “Would you mind if I spoke with Eleazar alone for a moment?”

  “Of course, yes. I mean, no. I mean…” Hoshea stumbled over a rock on his awkward retreat, lightening Eleazar’s mood.

  “I’m sorry,” Eleazar said. “I shouldn’t have been unkind to you because I’m upset about Moses returning.”

  Taliah’s dark eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “I’ve never heard you apologize before, Commander. I’m impressed.”

  “It’s not something I do often.” He felt warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. Hoshea wasn’t the only one acting like an awkward ten-year-old. “What was it you wanted to say?”

  “Now that my injuries have healed, I’d like to begin asking some of the parents in our village if I can teach their children. Since the Hebrews believe I was a harem concubine, I’m sure they won’t allow me to teach their children, so I’ll ask only the Egyptians. Can you recommend any of the families?”

  Had everyone in Egypt lost their senses? “And will the peasants be any happier about a concubine teaching their children?”

  The genial woman disappeared, and a chill wind blew between them. “I’ll assume you have no recommendations then.” She turned to go, but Eleazar caught her arm. Taliah wrenched it away with a wounded cry. “Don’t! Don’t touch me!” Her lips trembled, but she lifted her chin and fought tears. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask for your help again.”

  “Taliah, please listen. We should hear from your abba any day. I’m sure he’ll have a plan or perhaps even convince Kopshef to let him return to Rameses.”

  “You can’t know that,” she cried, losing the battle with tears. “I can’t hope, Eleazar. Give me truth, but don’t be cruel and give me hope.” She hurried through the curtain into Doda’s long house.

  Eleazar dragged his hands through his hair and pulled out the leather tie that bound it. The teeth marks Taliah made when Doda set her broken bone still scarred it. Putiel’s daughter was strong but not as strong as she pretended. If Putiel didn’t send word soon, Eleazar would have to make some hard decisions for the girl’s future.

  Putiel, why did I ever agree to care for your little she-camel?

  13

  Moses and Aaron brought together all the elders of the Israelites.

  —EXODUS 4:29

  Taliah had returned to the long house crying last night. Moses had excused himself immediately to Abba and Ima’s room, leaving Miriam to ask about her tears. When Taliah waved her away, Miriam settled onto her sleeping mat with Sattar beside her.

  It was the last thing she remembered until Moses emerged through the dividing curtain at dawn.

  “Good morning,” he offered, rubbing his eyes as he’d done when he was a child.

  Miriam rolled to her feet to greet her little brother. “Good morning. I didn’t get to introduce you to our new family member.”

  Taliah sat up and quickly stuffed riotous ebony curls under her head covering. Swollen eyes said she must have cried into the night, but a bright smile was firmly affixed now. “I’m not really a member of the family. I’m living with Miriam until I can support myself.”

  Moses looked distinctly uncomfortable, eyes darting from Miriam back to the girl. “Are you an artisan? A weaver or metal crafter perhaps?”

  “No, I was a tutor for one of Pharaoh’s sons, and I hope to begin a school for the peasant children so they can become more effective traders in the market booths.”

  “A lofty goal for one so young—and a woman. How many students do you have so far?”

  She cleared her throat and scuffed her toe on the packed dirt. “As a prince of Egypt, you must have been trained at the School of the Kap. I’d love to learn from you to gain more knowledge to pass along to my students.”

  Miriam hid a smile. Avoidance. Taliah was a skilled orator for sure.

  Moses grinned at Miriam. He’d caught it too. “How many students did you say you had?”

  Miriam jumped in to help. “Taliah was trained by the king’s tutors. She’s very gifted.”

  “I see.” Moses returned his attention to Taliah. “I look forward to comparing hieroglyphs and maps of the world’s kingdoms.”

  “But I have no scrolls.” Panic replaced Taliah’s cool confidence. “I was cast out of the palace when the prince broke his leg.”

  “We need no scrolls, Taliah. We have our fingers and the dust of Egypt to draw on. I am at your service when you recruit your first student.” He furrowed his brow, however, seeming puzzled. “But why would you live alone? Is it safe
? Things must have changed considerably for young girls since—”

  “Things have changed,” Miriam interrupted, “but for the worse. And no, it’s not safe for Taliah to live alone, but she’s stubborn like her Saba Jered.”

  “You belong to Jered’s clan?” Moses embraced her like a long-lost daughter and then held her at arm’s length. “Jered and I used to fight with wooden swords outside his abba Mered’s linen shop. Tell me about your family.”

  A deep line appeared between Taliah’s brows. “My father Putiel was Jered’s fourth born, and the whole clan has turned their backs on me.” She turned a piercing gaze on Miriam. “Safety is a lie told by the courageous to the fearful, and the gods are as inconsistent as the wind. Living on my own seems no more dangerous than entrusting my life to another.”

  Miriam felt largely responsible for Taliah’s cynicism but didn’t know how to help when she herself felt the sting of Shaddai’s apparent inconsistency.

  Moses reached for Taliah’s hand, cradling it gently. “I was forty before I felt the kind of loneliness I hear in your words, Taliah. I’m sorry you’ve experienced it so young. My heart was mended when I let people love me.” He kissed the back of her hand as if she were a princess and he a prince again in Pharaoh’s court.

  Taliah’s lips formed a tremulous smile that softened her granite exterior. Prince Mehy had always known how to sway the hearts of men—and women. If only he could charm the elders of Israel so readily.

  Moses glanced down and saw the harem brand peeking out from Taliah’s rough-spun robe. “Does this have anything to do with your family’s rejection?” When she nodded, he reached for Miriam’s arm and shoved up her sleeve to reveal the mark he’d burned into her flesh. “Miriam’s brand isn’t as ornate as yours, Taliah.”

  Wrapping his arm around Miriam’s shoulder, he held her tightly. “Did you know this brand kept Miriam from marrying? Though I’d hoped to protect her from estate guards, the brand made Hebrew gossips believe she was my…well…”