Lili was even more difficult to be around.
“Amram was watching every move I made.” Lili repeated her claim. “He couldn’t stop looking at me.”
“You are betrothed to Joshua,” Shiphrah reminded her. “Be careful; he could divorce you for such thoughts. Why are you so stuck on Amram? Joshua is wonderful.”
“My parents wanted Amram to marry me. The village elders told my father they thought it would be wise, too. You know we should obey our elders.” Lili pouted. “That’s all I’m thinking, Shiphrah. He wanted to marry me until that Jochebed lured him away.”
Shiphrah wanted to shake her. “‘That Jochebed’? Really, Lili? Bedde has no idea how to lure a man, and she would never do such a thing if she did. Her kinsmen are making her marry Amram. Besides, she loves you like a sister.”
“You’re on her side. You always are. Neither of you care about me.”
“Not true.”
“Then if you do care, come with me to speak to Amram.”
“Why?”
“It’s only fair he should realize everyone knows what her father did.”
“What difference does it make what her father did? I don’t know, and it never seemed to matter to you before now.”
“He died to save an Egyptian—just let the crocodiles eat him to save one of our oppressors. He was a traitor. If you don’t go with me to tell Amram, Sissy will.”
“Are you still so friendly with Deborah that you call her Sissy? Have you forgotten how she treats Bedde? And if Deborah is the one telling you about Bedde’s father, I’m not sure I’d believe her. Besides, it’s who Amram agreed to marry that matters. As a widower, he could have refused the kinsmen and chosen his own wife.”
“I want to protect him. Forget I mentioned it to you, Shiphrah. I thought we were friends and you would understand. Sissy will help me.” Lili threw down the clothes she had been washing and stomped away.
Shiphrah sighed at the dramatics. Lili would do what Lili wanted to do.
Shiphrah had listened patiently as Lili pointed out she was the one the boys liked, the one they smiled at and talked to. Even when Lili worried that people would think something was wrong with her because Amram chose Bedde, Shiphrah tried to comfort her, but when Lili began to say Amram had settled for Bedde as second choice since he couldn’t have her, Shiphrah gave up. Lili believed what she wanted to believe.
That was the worst part of Amram’s continued presence, the tension between her two best friends. Their closeness vanished like mist in the morning heat. The friendship had been shredded before—that day in the market—and painstakingly rewoven, a single strand at a time.
Shiphrah thought it would never be ripped apart again.
The evening of her marriage to Amram, sharp terror rose in Jochebed’s throat and she forced herself to push it down, to swallow her fear. Why must she always be such a coward? Grateful the veil’s thickness hid her quivering chin, she buried her sweaty hands deeper in the folds of her clothes to conceal their trembling.
If she could escape, she would. If she knew how to slow the rapidly sinking sun and prevent the coming night or simply make herself disappear, she would. Marriage, even to Amram—known for his kindness—frightened her. For her people, the tribe of Levi, the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, it was a holy promise lasting forever.
Forever. For as long as they lived she would see his face each morning and night. Bound to him as surely as chattel, she knew her well-being rested in his hands. Their children—Jochebed blushed—would look like him, bear his name, maybe have his slow smile and wavy hair.
She startled as a shofar mourned the passage of another day in captivity.
“It’s time, Jochebed,” her mother whispered, urging her ahead.
For just a moment, she resisted, pulling back, refusing to step forward. Marriage was so … permanent.
Jochebed’s family and groom waited under a cloth hanging across four poles, a reminder of their nomadic days. She moved slowly, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other without stumbling. If only Lili and Shiphrah walked beside her. Were they here? Surely resentment would not keep Lili from sharing this day. They had promised to dance at each other’s wedding.
The village elder lifted his arms as high as his bent shoulders would allow. “Will you go with this man?”
Evening breezes rippled through the canopy, swirling dirt between her toes and cooling the tears beneath her veil. The sun, kneeling on the sand, cast its final golden glare before slipping away.
“I will go,” Jochebed whispered, and the people murmured their approval. Someone sniffled. She guessed it was Mama.
“May you be like Rachel and Rebecca.” The elder blessed them and then led the people to respond with, “You are our sister, may you be the mother of thousands of millions, and your seed possess the gate of all your enemies.”
Amram accepted a clay cup from the elder’s age-spotted hands and took the first drink to acknowledge the Lord’s blessings. He drank neatly, careful to keep any liquid from dripping onto his clothes. Offering the cup to her, Amram waited until she lifted her veil. By drinking, she accepted his provision and protection, his authority over her life, his belief in her as God-fearing.
The moment blurred into her betrothal night, and Amram’s words rang in her ears. “You are a godly woman, the one whose thumbprint I want on my children. Teach them the stories of our people, of the promised deliverance, of the Lord’s unseen ways.”
Jochebed sipped from the cup, swallowing the lie Amram believed—that she trusted in the unseen God’s deliverance, that she was a godly woman. Neither was true. Returning the cup to him, she jumped as he shattered it.
The remaining liquid disappeared into the ground, the broken shards of the cup a reminder of the fragility of life with its childhood beliefs in forever friendships.
“Go in peace, in righteousness, and in judgment, in loving-kindness and in mercies and in faithfulness,” intoned the men.
The tribal elder motioned for them to join hands and bound their wrists together. Amram turned his palm upward so Bedde’s cold hand rested gently in his clasp, allowing everyone to see their binding threads. As they circled the canopy, Jochebed kept her eyes lowered, seeing only feet.
She’d never studied feet before. In some ways they were all alike, brown, bare, dusty. She recognized her cousin Benjamin’s pudgy toes, Deborah’s toes—tapping as if to convey annoyance—Shiphrah’s bony ankles beside Samuel’s flat feet, and the twisted foot of a neighbor boy. The third time circling, she saw Lili’s rounded toenails—bubble-nails, Lili called them.
Looking up, she peered through the veil and searched Lili’s face, hoping for a smile, but Lili’s gaze was averted, her lips thinned, her arms clamped tightly across her chest. Jochebed’s shoulders drooped. If only friendships could be sealed as a sacred promise of trust and honor.
Mama led her to their home and helped her remove the veil that had covered her face during the ceremony. She kissed her gently and bid farewell. For seven nights Mama would sleep at a neighbor’s house.
Jochebed sat on a grass mat waiting for Amram to enter the room. She looked around and saw the patched holes and familiar cracks in the walls.
Amram would become the head of this home and care for her as well as her mother. With Amram as the man of the house, perhaps the shame of her father’s death would be forgotten.
Tonight would Amram think of his first bride? Would he compare them during … She fanned the heat from her face.
Determined to be a good wife, she fidgeted, tugging at her clothes and straightening her shoulders—trying to look perfect. Soon he would leave the wedding feast and come to her.
The hinges creaked. Jochebed caught her breath and looked up. Amram stood silhouetted in the open doorway.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then she lowered her eyes and hoped her mother and kinsmen had chosen wisely for her. There was no turning back.
Please
, God, may neither of us ever want to turn back.
Chapter 6
The Nile’s water teased her as it curled around her feet, jumped up to tickle her ankles, and then slyly soaked the hem of her tunic. Jochebed loved it. The slippery mud between her toes reminding her of a carefree time when Mama made everything right and always knew what to do. Thankfully, Mama would be with her during this newest uncertainty.
Sun stars played hide-and-seek, sparkling on the tips of the wavelets as if they could not wait for evening to make its appearance. Jochebed lifted her shoulders, threw back her head, and breathed in the freshness of a morning breeze. Was this not the most beautiful day?
After talking with Mother this morning, she was sure of her secret. Today she would hug the news to herself. Tonight as they lay together, she would whisper it in her husband’s ear, and tomorrow she would share her secret with Shiphrah and Lili. A little piece of her joy melted away as she thought of Lili. Maybe she should just tell Shiphrah, although it would be wonderful if Lili could be happy for her.
Jochebed scanned the riverbank. She was alone. Facing the opposite bank so no one who happened along could see what she was doing, Jochebed smoothed her hands over her stomach, hoping to feel the roundness beginning to form. No, her belly was the same as it had been yesterday—flat. The incredible change was still invisible.
Surely anyone who saw her today would question the smile on her face. Perhaps she ought to hide at home until she told those who should be the first to know. Jochebed glanced at the sun, knowing it must be time to go back if she hoped to escape scrutiny. Women came early to the river to avoid the heat, and they would arrive soon.
Jochebed returned to her task. She selected the reeds, studying the tips and each stem with care. Alone, a slender reed was fragile; woven together they would be a circle of protection for the little one growing inside her. He could not know it yet, but this would be the finest cradle ever woven in all of Egypt. Mother would twist the strands in an intricate pattern, creating a sturdy bed for her first grandchild and any who followed.
Giggling, Jochebed thought of the look on her mother’s face when she confided to her the womanly signs of new life. Didn’t Mama’s face light up brighter than the sun ever thought of being? Her mouth and eyes rounded, and she’d almost dropped the water jug she held.
Jochebed could still feel the warm hug she and her mother shared. It had been different somehow, Jochebed reflected. It was a woman-to-woman hug instead of being a mother-and-daughter embrace.
Their relationship had changed since Jochebed married Amram, and most of the time she liked it, although once in a while she still wanted to rest her head on her mother’s shoulder and step back into childhood. She hoped this little one would feel like that toward her—a sure comforter when he could no longer retreat into childhood.
From the direction of the village waddled Old Sarah, short, round, and busily taking care of everyone’s business except her own. Bedde groaned at having to share this most perfect day with Sarah.
“Jochebed, what are you, addled in the head like your father? Get out of that river before you’re crocodile bait like he was. Get out!”
Did the woman have to say everything so the entire village could hear? Why could Sarah never speak in a normal voice?
Jochebed eyed the reeds and decided she had enough for a good start on the cradle, and after one more look at the sun stars flickering across the surface, she left the river. Careful not to slip in the mud, Jochebed tucked the reeds under one arm before shaking the water from the edge of her tunic. She walked slowly; she must be careful not to fall. So much would be different now.
In these last few months, already there had been so many changes. She had left the remnants of childhood behind when Amram took her as his wife. Blushing, she thought of that first night—her ignorance, his patience.
Marriage had changed other things, too, even with her friends. She and Mama were closer than ever, but Lili barely spoke to her and Shiphrah didn’t understand what it was like to trust and care for a man.
And now, the greatest change of all, she carried a child inside her very own body. Jochebed let her arm rest against her belly, hoping the little one could feel her joy. When her son was born, she would be fully respected as an adult woman of their tribe.
“How long have you and Amram been married, Jochebed?” Old Sarah queried. “It’s been four months, and it’s past time you were expecting. Is that why you are standing in the water like you have no sense? Once you have a house full of babies, you won’t be wandering around with nothing to do. If you don’t have enough to keep you busy, you might help others a little more.”
Jochebed sighed. Some things never changed. “How may I help you, Sarah?”
“Well, I don’t want to be a burden, but if you could just fill this jar, it would help my poor old back. I fell, you know, back a few years, and it just hasn’t been right since. I’m not as young as I used to be, don’t have the energy I did when I was…” Sarah rambled on.
Lifting the jar, Jochebed walked back to the river and filled it. She had heard the story so many times she could repeat it for her, and Sarah could save her breath. Jochebed set the full jar beside Sarah.
“… and then when my husband died, I—”
“Sarah, I have to return to the house. Mother is waiting for this water.”
“Run along. Why are you dawdling? You shouldn’t keep her waiting. I manage for myself, you know, never ask for help. When is that baby due? You can’t fool me, child. I’ve carried eight of my own, and twice the midwife was too late getting there and I had to…”
Did she have to announce it to the village? Trapped, Jochebed groaned and searched her mind for a way to shorten Sarah’s life story. Catching a glimpse of a familiar figure in the distance, she seized her chance when Sarah paused for breath.
“Sarah,” she interrupted, “have you told Shiphrah about that last pregnancy of yours? She is midwifing with her aunt Puah and would be fascinated to hear the story. They both might want to know how you managed without any help.” Jochebed pointed. “Look, isn’t that her coming now? Wait here. I’ll run and get her for you. I’m sure she’d like to know.”
“That half-breed? Well, I don’t think it’s fit to talk…”
But Jochebed scurried away before Sarah could remind her she didn’t talk to Egyptians. Congratulating herself on a graceful diversion, Jochebed waved to Shiphrah and beckoned her to hurry.
“Sarah wants to tell you and your aunt the day-by-day story of all eight of her pregnancies,” Jochebed said laughingly to Shiphrah. “She’s waiting for you at the river.”
Shiphrah covered her heart with one hand, feigning shock at the news. “I’m honored. Since when did she start speaking to me?”
Placing her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes. “Tell me true, Bedde. Did you ever admit we added burnt lotus leaves to her hair oil? Does she know why her hair fell out? Is that the real reason she avoids me?”
The two friends shared a smile and darted into the open courtyard of the house where Jochebed lived with her husband and mother. Together they curved the reeds in a tar-lined basket filled with water. Once the grasses softened, Mama could begin her work on the cradle.
A few nights later, after testing the beams lying across the walls, Amram layered new branches over the ones already covering the house so no bats would swoop near their child. Jochebed began to twist hemp into a rope, making it thick and strong enough to bear the weight of the cradle. Their baby’s bed would swing from the rafters, protected against rats and the frequent snakes and scorpions that entered the house seeking refuge from the heat.
The cradle began to take shape under the skillful hands of her mother and the curious eyes of Jochebed. Amram watched, saying little, but the lines around his mouth seemed to soften as they prepared for the coming child. He had held her tightly the night she told him she was pregnant, and she thought his tears had moistened her hair. Maybe men did cry. He sel
dom spoke of the pregnancy, but he kept the water jars full and often insisted she sit down.
“I think you are making it too large, Mama. Babies are so small.”
“Babies grow faster than you can imagine, Jochebed.”
“He’ll be lost in that basket.”
“He’ll outgrow it in no time, wait and see.”
Jochebed loved watching her mother’s hands as she worked the reeds through the basket’s ribs. Mother’s fingers were always moving, creating beauty out of the limp grasses, twisting individual strands so their colors would show, forming something useful with each motion.
Jochebed laughed remembering Shiphrah’s squeals of excitement about the coming baby. Shiphrah promised to stay close by when it was time for her to deliver and then, changing her voice to that of a stern midwife, cautioned Jochebed not to lift heavy loads and to rest whenever possible.
It had been … awkward to tell Lili about the pregnancy. When Jochebed confided her precious secret, Lili said nothing but with a straight back had turned and walked stiffly away. Everything seemed more difficult with Lili.
Would they ever be close again, or was their friendship over, as distant as childhood’s carefree days? Jochebed wished she could dismiss the doubts as easily as she brushed away a swarm of flies. Of course the flies always came back—just like the doubts.
At least her worries about marriage had been ungrounded, the elders’ choice wise. Amram was good to her, their sole tension arriving with the river’s inundation and the memories he carried, but everything would change now that she carried their first child.
Her weaving for the conscription, complete for this week, was stacked against the wall, and this month she had evaded the overseers’ whip. Amram’s skill as a stonecutter kept him useful to the Egyptians. What could be left to worry about?
She would give her family sons and daughters, finally earning a place of complete acceptance among the village women that not even Deborah could dispute. The shadow of Amram’s first family would fade away, and someday she and Shiphrah and Lili would laugh together as their children played near the river.
Slender Reeds: Jochebed’s Hope Page 8