“What happened? I heard someone scream.”
“Mama fell.” The moment flashed in her mind. “She slipped and…” Bedde shuddered. “Shiphrah said her hip is broken.”
“Oh, Bedde, I’m so sorry.”
“Hasn’t she hurt enough, Lili? How can God let her suffer more? She never really knew her father, lost my papa when she was so young, and raised me alone; her fingers have twisted so she can hardly weave and now she won’t be able to walk. Wasn’t being a slave enough? She loves God so much. How can He let her suffer like this?”
“Your mama told me she didn’t understand God’s ways—”
“—but she trusts Him. I know. I’ve heard her say it, too. I’m not sure I can trust Him like she does.”
The two friends watched the tiny fire spark, listening as it popped valiantly in a battle against darkness.
Lili rubbed her rounding belly. “Let me keep Aaron for you tonight so you can take care of your mother.”
Jochebed agreed and, with a quick hug for her sleepy son, hurried back.
Sarah had left when Bedde returned, and Shiphrah was holding a cup to Elisheba’s lips. “This will dull the pain and help you sleep. I’ll leave more to see you through the next few days.”
“It might make her feel better if we locked Sarah out of the house, and I know it would make me feel better,” Jochebed grumbled. “You would not believe what she was saying. How can anyone be so insensitive at a time like this?”
“Bedde, Sarah was trying to help your mother.”
Incredulous, Jochebed’s voice rose. “By telling her she was a fool?”
“By distracting her with chatter, reminding her how she’d helped others and letting her know others would now help her.”
Elisheba nodded, already looking drowsy, and managed a wobbly smile for her daughter. “I’ll be all right, honey, don’t you worry. We’ll get through this.”
Not trusting herself to speak, Jochebed felt helpless, as frightened as if she were four, lost and alone in a strange, dark place. If something happened to Mama … She shook her head in denial.
Shiphrah motioned her closer and spoke in low tones. “She must be still for the hip to mend since it isn’t a place I can splint. It’s a bad place to break a bone, Bedde. She’s going to hurt a lot, and there’s always the possibility she could get—” She stopped herself and straightened her shoulders. “Our first task is to keep her quiet.”
Shiphrah settled herself on a mat while Jochebed went to sit by her mother. A few embers burned in the dirt basin, and in its flickering light, Elisheba’s lined forehead appeared smooth, unwrinkled. Her teeth looked unstained through the slightly parted lips. Bedde smoothed her mother’s sweat-dampened hair and stroked the age-twisted fingers.
If something happened to Mama, if Mama … Bile rose in her throat. She could not finish the thought, could not make her mind grasp life without…
For so many years, it had been just her and Mama, fighting to survive, fighting to go on without Papa, fighting to figure out how to make things work. She’d been so grateful that Amram had wanted Mama to stay with them, grateful to share mothering when both babies cried at once, grateful that her children could hear the Lord’s stories from someone who believed them so completely.
She traced the curves of her mother’s face. How could the Lord let someone who loved Him so much suffer like her mama did? She had never understood His way of doing things. Jochebed’s eyes blurred, and through the tears, her mother looked so young, it could have been her as a little girl, lying in the smoky light, sleepily asking…
“Mama, if we are the chosen, why does He leave us here as slaves?” The lamp’s oil burned with enough glow that she could just see Mother’s face through the smoke. She’d waited, confident her mother could answer. Mama always knew everything.
“I don’t know, Bedde. There’s so much I don’t understand about His ways.”
Jochebed, no longer sleepy, was stunned. Mama continued to speak, slowly, as if she measured every word like grain in a year of famine.
“The Lord does not need to answer our ‘why’ and ‘how’ or even our ‘when’ and ‘where.’ He does not answer to us.”
Mama reached over and pushed the hair out of her face. “How can you see with all this hair in your eyes?” They smiled. It was what Mama said every night.
“Bedde, think of the story of when the Lord told Abram to leave his home. He promised to make Abram into a great nation, but Abram became a very old man with no children. Even when it didn’t look as if the promise would be kept, Abram continued to obey.”
“The Lord takes an awfully long time to keep His promises.”
“Sometimes,” Mama agreed, “but He always does and often in a way we don’t expect. Remember, He came to Abram and promised him again that he would have a son of his body and who would be named—”
“Isaac, who had Jacob, who had twelve sons, who are the twelve tribes, and we are the tribe of Levi.”
“Right, but go back a bit. After promising Abram a son, He caused him to fall into a deep sleep and spoke to him again. He warned that Abram’s descendants would live in a foreign land and be enslaved for hundreds of years.”
Jochebed groaned. “That’s us, and it’s already been hundreds of years.”
“But He also promised, ‘They will come out with great possessions.’ We will not suffer forever; our slavery will end. He promised we will leave this place. You can ask ‘when’ and ‘why’ until you are as green as a little Nile frog, but it is your job to obey and trust His promises. Can you do that?”
Jochebed had nodded her head because that was what Mama wanted. Inside, she wasn’t sure at all and had eased into a restless sleep, dreaming she drifted down the river, away from all that was familiar, even though she struggled against the current, desperate to reach the shore, needing to…
“Wake up, go to my house, and ask Puah for the cloth bag tied with a double knot. The herbs are stronger than what I brought, and they’ll work faster. Hurry before Mama Elisheba wakes up. Run if you can see through the fog. It’s dark, but the medicine I gave her is wearing off. She’s going to need more soon.” Shiphrah balanced a pot on the three stones in the fire pit. “The water will be ready when you return, or before if you don’t move quickly.”
Her mother stirred, moaning in her sleep. Jochebed snatched her cloak and left without looking back. The Lord might let Mama suffer, but she was going to do everything she could to keep her from it. Seeing Mama in pain choked her with terror, and she knew a rage of helplessness. If He let someone as good and faithful as Mama hurt, what would He let happen to her?
Sarah was sitting beside Mama when Jochebed returned with the herbs. Shiphrah dipped a cup into the steaming water and crumbled a few leaves from the packet to make a tea. Setting it aside to steep, she pointed at a plate of food. “Bedde, take off that wet cloak and eat. You won’t help your mother if you are sick.”
“You eat that bread I made, as if I didn’t have enough to do for myself without taking care of you, too. And sit down. I can’t keep looking up at you. My neck isn’t what it used to be, not that I ever complain,” fussed Sarah.
Jochebed draped the damp wool over a basket and sat down. She was a grown woman, not a child, and did not need to be told when to eat and drink and sit, thank you very much!
Mama groaned, crying out in her sleep. Jochebed pushed the food aside and crouched beside her, soothing her as she would a child.
“I’m here, Mama, I’m here. I’ll take care of you, I’m here.”
Shiphrah hummed softly as she spooned tea through her patient’s parched lips. Mercifully, Sarah stayed silent. When Mama quieted, Shiphrah motioned for Jochebed to follow her outside.
For a while, they stood silently, comfortable in the familiarity of a long friendship. The sounds of daily life surrounded them, continuing as if nothing had happened.
Shiphrah released a long breath. “Bedde, when Miriam comes back, let her watch y
our mother some of the time. This will be a long recovery, and you must not wear yourself out. Your children need you, too. I’ll help when I can, but you need to let the other women help.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Are you listening to me?”
Jochebed looked back at the house, startling when Shiphrah caught her arm to stop her.
“She’s sleeping. She doesn’t need you now.”
“But I want to be there for her. I need to be with her. She’s always been there for me.”
“Bedde, do you believe the things your mother taught you? Because if you do believe them, act like it.”
Her attention snared, Jochebed listened to her friend.
Shiphrah took a deep breath before continuing. “Bedde, Mama Elisheba always says her God uses even the bad things that happen to us. This break is a bad thing and I don’t see how any god could ever use it, but maybe your God can.” She pushed at the dirt with her toe. “I don’t mean be glad it happened, but maybe something good can come of it.”
“Like…?”
“Maybe you’ll let someone help you, or maybe Old Sarah will think of someone other than herself, or … I don’t know. I’m just trying to think how Mama Elisheba would think.”
“I know you’re right, Shiphrah. Seeing her lying there hurting … I wish you could give me an unguent or herb to dull sadness. This is my fault. I never should have let her go out there. She’s been so tired lately and losing her balance. I just didn’t think, and now she is in such pain.” Jochebed brushed away the tears. “But you’re right, and although I can’t imagine what it might be, I want to believe the Lord is able to bring something good out of this. I want to believe He knows and cares.”
Shiphrah waited until the tears slowed and then touched her friend’s elbow.
“Puah will be sending Miriam home soon. While Mama Elisheba is sleeping and Sarah is watching her, let’s go to Lili’s, bring Aaron home, and make a plan.”
Inundation, the months of flooding, was almost over when Shiphrah allowed her patient to sit up. Together, she and Jochebed pulled Mama’s mat as close to the wall as possible. Gradually, they helped her sit, placing soft baskets behind her back to lean against. Soon she needed to lie down again, but each day she sat a little longer. When she began to fret over being a burden, Jochebed knew her mama was healing.
“You worried me, Mama.” With a gentle smile, Jochebed scolded her mother. “I was afraid you would not get well, but just look at you, sitting up, telling me what to do. Once you’re up and about, your cough will disappear and you’ll be running around before you know it, won’t she, Shiphrah?”
Shiphrah busied herself adding grass to the fire. “Let’s hope.”
“Don’t you think so, Mama?”
Mama kept her eyes fixed on the basket she wove, her right hand twisting the reeds as her left hand rotated the basket away from her. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful, dear?” She turned her head and coughed against her shoulder.
Chapter 19
Shiphrah peered through the partially opened door and pretended this was her family, her home, her life. Since word of her alliance with Pharaoh had circulated among the villages, she knew these joys would never be hers. She would never have children, as no man would want a near traitor. Thankfully, Bedde’s family still welcomed her.
Elisheba leaned against a wall watching over Aaron as he slept while Jochebed turned dough on the trough, kneading it in time to Miriam’s song. What a beautiful voice the girl had. The clear tones reminded Shiphrah of her music lessons and the sistrum she had played. She knew how Jochebed loved music and had heard her wish out loud that she could sing like her daughter.
She remembered hearing Bedde sing lullabies to the children, patting their backs with the rhythm of her songs as she urged their little burps up and out. She had even made up simple melodies, singing of her love for them and how cherished they were, how thankful she was to mother them.
Still, Miriam’s voice, even as a child, was already richer and lovelier than Jochebed’s had ever been. Jochebed never seemed to tire of listening to her daughter sing. She had told Shiphrah it was the sweetness of her day, the joy of her life.
Shiphrah thought Aaron would have a strong, full voice like his father. He’d at least have a loud voice if you could tell anything by his powerful bellowing when he was unhappy. Thank goodness Aaron was breathing better at nights and seemed easier to handle.
Moving from the trough and leaving the dough to rise, Jochebed reached for her weaving. Ill or well, the required quota hung over their heads. Did they need help this week?
She could weave if necessary. She pushed the door, and as it squeaked open, Jochebed waved Shiphrah inside.
“Come listen to Miriam’s music.”
Miriam switched to a familiar song and Shiphrah joined her, tapping the wooden trough with a stick. The two singers grinned at each other and began to sing faster, adding notes and altering the rhythm. Ending one song, Shiphrah started another as Miriam dropped her weaving to clap with the song’s beat.
Elisheba nodded in rhythm as Jochebed laughed and wove faster. Although Shiphrah knew she’d never have a daughter of her own, it was well worth that pang of grief to be part of such music and see the excitement on Miriam’s face. To share this moment with loved ones, this memory of laughter and beauty, was a time she could cherish throughout life. Happiness was a rare gift.
Aaron awakened, and with a grin at Shiphrah and a quick hug for her grandmother, Miriam hurried outside with her little brother.
“Bedde, she has a beautiful voice, incredible for one so young.”
“So do you, Shiphrah. I never knew you could sing like that.”
“I used to … well, once … I dreamed of playing the sistrum at the royal palace. It wasn’t long afterward that my father … that I came to live here.” Shiphrah tapped a rhythm on the trough. “I do miss playing the sistrum.”
“Was it difficult to learn?”
“For some people it is, but no, not for me. It wouldn’t be hard for Miriam to learn to play either.” Shiphrah leaned forward and touched her friend’s knee. “Bedde, if I can find something to barter for a sistrum, would Amram let me teach Miriam to play?”
“I will speak for him and agree. It would make Miriam very happy. Shiphrah, if you could help us weave these mats, maybe Mother would be able to make a basket nice enough for you to barter.”
“Hand me the rushes, Bedde. I’ll weave until I’m called to the next delivery.”
Long after the inundation, when the Nile had spread its wealth of dusky silt over the land, Elisheba, confined to the house, was still unable to cross the room. Racked with pain, she struggled to find a comfortable position sitting or lying and rarely managed to walk. Shiphrah feared Elisheba was becoming despondent and the coughing worse.
Sharing her concern, Lili offered to help Jochebed gather reeds for Elisheba. Hopefully, the aroma of freshly cut reeds would encourage her to continue weaving a basket for Miriam’s sistrum.
Elisheba asked them to cut the smallest reeds they could find, tender ones that grew nearest the water’s edge. Her fingers, swollen and weak, could no longer twist the thicker strands.
The three friends wandered along the marshy edge, making their selections with care. Lili’s time of sickness had passed, and though she moved cautiously, she chattered about nothing, seeming to be her old self.
“Lili, look just behind you.” Shiphrah pointed to a tiny clump.
“Where? I don’t see … Oh!” Lili shook her head. “If it were a crocodile, it would have bitten me. Have you ever seen such tiny reeds? Bedde, hold these while I cut. These are even smaller, maybe too small. What do you think? Will Aunt Elisheba want them like this?”
Jochebed curled the slender stalk around her finger and nodded. “Yes, but none smaller. Mother can use almost any size, but the tiny ones dry too quickly.”
“Size! Oh, that reminds me of your Aaron. You’ll never believe what he said just yesterday while you
were out in the fields. I was eating and almost choked, I laughed so hard.”
Shiphrah and Bedde smiled. Stories about Aaron were as funny as Lili’s little Benjamin stories had been.
“Well, Aunt Elisheba was telling Aaron about the Lord creating men and women, and she said that people come in all shapes and sizes.” Lili paused until both her friends turned and looked at her. “And Aaron asked her if some people have square heads and round feet.”
Shiphrah’s eyes crinkled, and Bedde grinned. Aaron was such a talker, always saying the funniest things. Yesterday, he had thrown his arms around her and announced, “I have a hug inside my body for you, Aunt Shiphrah.”
The women worked in silence for a time until, while bending to cut another clump, Shiphrah remembered Aaron offering to “fan you so you’ll be unwarm.” Hearing laughing and splashing in front of her, she looked up. Had she spoken the words instead of thinking them? But Lili, eyes wide, crouched beside her, holding her stomach protectively. Shiphrah reached around her and jerked Bedde down in the rushes.
“Surely you are teasing, mistress. Do you truly wish to take in another stray?”
“Did you not hear me? I have spoken!” replied a haughty young voice.
“You have such odd tastes, my lady, always choosing an unwanted stray when you could have the finest there is—whatever you might wish.”
“I wish this!” Arrogance laced the young voice.
“But mistress, this one is sickly. He will die soon, and then you will—”
“You dare question me? Bring the kitten now!”
Shiphrah knew that voice. She knew the face it went with. Shaken, she knew those glowing amber eyes absolutely must not see her.
Shiphrah motioned Lili and Bedde to a silent stillness. Long after the voices faded and her legs had fallen asleep, they sat staring at each other. Where were they? What had they done? Who was…?
“Shiphrah.” Heavy silence cushioned Jochebed’s whisper. “Was that…?”
“She is a highborn. Be glad her guards and maids did not see us.”
Slender Reeds: Jochebed’s Hope Page 16