Amram reached the remains of the child. Kneeling in the pool of red, he gathered the limp body in his arms.
“Samuel, keep the girls away. Quickly! They should not see this. Zackary, take the other boys to Elisheba and leave the girls with Lili and Jochebed. Now, Zackary. Move! Send Deborah to find Puah—is she still the head midwife? Have her go to the child’s home. His mother will need a woman with her.”
Stunned, Jochebed sank to her knees, her thoughts as broken as the field where chariot wheels had knifed the earth. Slender stalks ripped and uprooted by countless hooves lay mangled in the dirt as if prostrated in grief for the child’s severed life.
The little boy had crumpled in the ruts of a chariot wheel. Only a moment ago he had turned his smiling face toward her, seeming so proud to have outraced the other bigger boys, and now his laughter was silenced, the brightness of his eyes lost, his life sliced away—a reminder of their paltry significance to Pharaoh, to Egypt.
Sobbing, the children clung to Jochebed, and she kept her arms wrapped around their bony shoulders in wordless protection, trying to block the macabre death etched in her mind.
“It hurt my ears. It was so loud.”
“Why doesn’t Gray Ear stand up, Bedde?”
“So many men…”
“… with whips and yelling. Why, Bedde?”
The girls cried from their fright, their calloused knees, the blisters and mosquito bites, the splinters and sweat as Jochebed listened. Nothing she could think to say calmed them. Her mother would have known what to do and how to comfort the single child who showed no emotion—the one standing alone, watching blood darken and disappear into the sand.
Ramses turned over the bracelet, weighing the gold, admiring the craftsmanship with its string of delicate wires wrapped around the brilliant jewels. It was worth a small fortune—a man’s life, so to speak. Such a thing of beauty should belong to only one person, Nefertari, his wise and beloved wife.
Did she realize her skill of asking seemingly innocent questions or making offhand remarks that led him to form new perspectives? A woman’s wiles were of inestimable value, an art form at which his dear one excelled.
Ramses knew Nefertari would come quickly upon receiving his summons. Since becoming his wife when she was thirteen, she had never failed to please him. He had been fifteen when they married, reigning as vizier with his father, Seti.
Ramses recognized the cadence of Nefertari’s quick steps. Other wives might be sent to the harem complex of Mer-Wer at the mouth of the Faiyum, but he wanted this one close at hand. He smiled, thinking of the night to come.
“My lord, welcome home.”
Catching her soft hand before she could bow, he pulled her close. “Now that you are here I am truly home, Nefertari.”
“You are well? I have been so worried. Merit-Amun’s dreams returned, and then I heard Hebrews attacked you. Dear one, tell me you were not injured.”
“An annoyance, a mishap, nothing more. Beloved, I have a gift for you. It will be enhanced by your beauty.” He held out the bracelet, enjoying her look of pleasure.
“Ramses, it’s breathtaking. Wherever did you find it?”
“In Syria. Fascinating place. Would you like to hear about it?” Ramses continued without waiting for her nod. “We stopped near a village in the mountains. These people build houses on, or into, or out of the mountains with no apparent plan. Their houses look as if they will fall off the rocks in the next windstorm.
“Sometime during the night, one of the village leaders entered our camp. The guards seized him before he reached my tent and were about to slay him when he cried for mercy and swore by all the gods he could ransom his life if I would allow him to retrieve his treasure. Curious, I stayed his execution and sent three guards to accompany him and return with this great treasure he promised.”
Nefertari turned the bracelet, admiring its sparkles dripping against her dark skin. “What a wonderful story.” She slipped the gift on her wrist and pushed it snugly against her arm. “Do you think he grieves the loss of it?”
“Beloved, I don’t think he misses it at all.”
“You are so generous to me, Ramses, and how kind you were to let the man ransom his life.” She leaned her head against his chest. “Truly you are a benevolent god, my husband. The gods showed their goodness to me by allowing me to be your wife.” She raised her face for a kiss.
Tendrils of blue-lotus perfume wafted around her, soothing him. “It is easy to be generous with one such as you, Nefertari,” he whispered as he kissed her smooth forehead. “Go now, return to your maids, consult your priest about Merit-Amun’s dreams, and see to our other children. You are too great a distraction for me. I have work I must attend to this day.”
Ramses watched his Nefertari glide from the room and nodded. Her name suited her completely. She was indeed a “beautiful companion” in spite of being too compassionate toward lesser beings and tenderhearted with the unworthy.
Eyes hooded, he smiled. He’d told her the truth. The man certainly did not miss the bracelet, the chalice of gold, or any of the jewels. How could he, when he lay rotting beneath the tree where the treasure had been hidden?
Jochebed’s shoulders sagged in relief. Finally she was home after taking the terrified girls to their parents and helping Lili corral the scattered sheep. She was tired of being an adult, tired of being a woman, and wanted nothing more than to hide her face in Mama’s shoulder and bawl until comforted. Mama always knew how to make everything right.
She pushed open the door. Her mother had returned earlier and now sat on the low stool, an island surrounded by waves of reeds and grasses. As usual she wove, working to fill the quota of baskets and mats that Pharaoh required, working to avoid the certain beating of an incomplete quota.
“Mama.”
Without a word, her mother dropped her work and held out her hands. Jochebed wrapped both arms around her mother’s neck. The familiar feel and scent of Mama’s skin broke through her shock. She began to shake, choking on her sobs, her throat aching from holding back her tears. They clung together, not speaking. Mama gently rocked her until her trembling eased.
“They saw us, Mama. I know they did, and they could have steered away but they came right at us and killed that boy like he was a fly. He didn’t do anything to them and now he’s dead and little Gray Ear was whimpering and looking at me for help but the men made me turn away and they—”
Jochebed choked on a sob. “It’s horrible. Everything is wrong. Why do we stay here? I hate them and I hate this place and I’d have taken care of Gray Ear until he could walk!”
Mama murmured her comfort, and Jochebed felt a calm settling over her. She looked up at her mother’s face. She looked as grieved as Jochebed felt.
Closing her eyes, Mama took a deep breath. “Gray Ear was a big help with the sheep, wasn’t he, dear? So much loss in your young life—too much, too much.”
Wiping away a tear from Jochebed’s lashes, her mother sighed. “Ah, dear one, it is hard to stay here, I know it is, but if we left, we wouldn’t get very far, now would we? The desert is even less forgiving than the Egyptians. It would kill us quickly.”
She pushed a wisp of hair from Jochebed’s face and kissed her forehead. “It’s not right, Bedde. It’s not fair. I don’t know how people can be so heartless, so cruel. I have never understood why there is so much sorrow for our people. But I do know this, child. We stay because we were led here and deliverance has been promised. It has not come yet, but it will.”
“No it won’t, Mama. Nothing’s going to change.” Jochebed wiped her face. “I don’t think deliverance will ever come. It is a dream, nothing more.”
“I know it’s hard to believe, Bedde, but by waiting on the Lord, we obey Him, and because we obey our people will survive. He will keep His promise to us.” She rubbed Jochebed’s back, her fingers gentle. “Can you listen a bit and let me tell you an old story a new way? It might help if you can hear it all the way through.”
Jochebed nodded, glad for the excuse to linger, and nestled closer, searching for the steady beat of her mother’s heart. Soothed, she hiccupped in the safety of her mother’s warm arms.
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. As each part of creation was complete, God said it was good. You know what happened next—the deceiver convinced Eve to sin, and Adam joined her. Evil slithered into God’s perfect place because Adam and Eve chose to disobey Him.”
“Yes, so they had to leave Eden. Mama, I’ve heard this a thousand times, a million times. It’s not helping.” Jochebed sighed. “I wish the Egyptians could be banished from here like Adam and Eve had to leave Eden. Egypt would be perfect without Egyptians. Well, not perfect.” She flattened a mosquito.
Her mother smiled. “Over time, people became more wicked, more corrupt—and violent. The thoughts of their hearts were evil.”
“Egyptians, huh?”
Jochebed’s mother ignored her muttered comment. “The Lord regretted creating people and determined to wipe them from the face of the earth. But there was one man God called righteous.”
“Noah and the ark…” Jochebed pulled away. “I know all this. This has nothing to do with that little boy and Gray Ear and those butchers. Everything is wrong, Mama. You are just fooling yourself if you keep thinking that somehow someone is going to rescue us. They’re just stories, Mama. Stories to keep us here until we’re all used up and die.”
Mama nodded slowly and settled an unfinished basket into her left hand, beginning to weave. “We’re almost there, Bedde. Noah had a choice to make when the Lord spoke to him. He chose to be obedient, and so his family survived when no one else did. When the rains came, the earth flooded and every living creature”—she winked—“even the mosquitoes, perished except for the ones taken on board and those people who obeyed God and stayed in the ark. Much of the Lord’s work from the fifth and sixth days of creation had to be destroyed because of the evil in man’s heart.”
Mama paused and selected a reed as thick as her little finger. “But He didn’t give up on mankind. He didn’t give up on us. He started over. He gave us another chance.”
“So you’re saying we don’t give up when they murder a child and an old one-eared dog?” How could Mama say such a thing? “No, you’re wrong. This is different.”
“Shhh, listen to me, child. I think the Lord wants us to keep trying with living, with each other, and with the Egyptians. By obeying Him, we choose life, we choose survival.”
Her mother bent over her work and waited.
“Survival? We’re choosing death, Mama. Death and slavery and beatings. Can’t you see the truth? That’s not life. What possible difference does giving them another chance make? Another chance to use us until we’re dead?” Had Mama forgotten the crisscrossed scars on her own back? The penalty for missing her quota?
But when her mother spoke, her tone was even. “The difference is we are the chosen ones. We follow the Lord’s ways. If He does not give up, if He is willing to start over, then that is the example we choose, too. Can you do that?”
Jochebed slid her gaze to the floor and shrugged one shoulder. She’d gladly give up on the Egyptians—and Deborah and Old Sarah, too.
Mama and her stories, always talking about how wonderful God used to be. Exasperated, Jochebed shook her head. She picked up a water jug and left the house, trudging through the mud to where water ran clearer.
As she climbed to the flat spot on a rock, her mind churned in time with the river. Her mother’s words swirled together—choices, chosen, chances. Jochebed had heard Noah’s story more times than she could count, but never the way Mama told it today.
She rubbed her eyes, still gritty from the dust in the field. The more she thought about Mama’s story, the less she liked it. Maybe the Lord—if He was even real—chose to give second chances, but she did not.
Besides, it was just a story.
What was real was that little boy who never had a second chance. If only she had run to him instead of standing still, would he be alive now? If she had called to him, would he have heard? She should have done something, anything but just stand there watching his murder. Jochebed fought against the sob rising from her chest and wished Gray Ear was close by, scratching his fleas.
Amram probably wished he had smiled at Lili.
Ramses read the message.
Once.
Then he tossed the paper into a smoldering brazier, watching its edges waver and darken. Still, no uncertainty shadowed the pharaoh’s mind. The man would die. It was not a choice or a decision. It was simply ma’at. And there was no changing truth and order.
No one distressed his beloved Nefertari and lived, be he slave or royal, Egyptian or inferior, child or adult.
No one.
Aware of the priests with their ears canted forward like prowling dogs, Ramses motioned the guard to step closer. He would not have his wife further disgraced and dishonored through court gossip. She had suffered enough.
“He is in custody, he who dares disfigure a statue of Pharaoh’s wife?” It was not a question, and the guard did not answer. “Foreigners, perhaps, unaware of the meaning of such a desecration?”
“A boy, my lord.”
“A vengeful slave?”
“A Hebrew.”
Ah, a Hebrew. Again. Red hatred snarled through Ramses’s veins. Was it not enough they lashed out at him? This time they dishonored his family, harming his beloved by striking her stone image until it was no longer the human face he most cherished.
“This boy is of fighting age?”
“A child.”
Ramses thought of the danger to his favorite stallion.
“And already a menace. They grow and propagate like beasts of the field. There is no end to their audacity. Chisel off his nose since he removed Nefertari’s.”
Bowing, the guard backed away.
Ramses pressed his lips into a tight line. No more delay. These Hebrews must be dealt with immediately. Who knew their weaknesses? Who would be best to consult? A general? A foreigner? Someone logical and indifferent or even someone with a grudge against the Hebrews would be ideal.
Ah! There was a local man, a priest known to hate the Hebrews. Tall man, thin—except for a stomach that preceded him like that of a pregnant woman … what was his name? Nabor, no, he was dead. Nekiv … Nee … Nege.
That was it. Nege.
He’d heard rumors about Nege—foul rumors.
Ramses smiled. All the better for his purposes.
Sun splintered the shadows of the one-room house as Jochebed slapped at a fly, swirling the dust specks, and then winced, gritting her teeth against the throbbing in her hand and the anger roiling in her gut. Again this morning, Deborah’s heel had pinned Jochebed’s fingers against a stone before the other girl strolled away as if unaware of her actions. Furious at herself for hiding the pain instead of screaming, Jochebed rubbed the base of her throat where a prickly ball of anger lodged. Someday she would stand up to Deborah.
At least Amram had not been there to witness it. When they were married, would he be protective or expect her to fend for herself?
Clenching her tongue between her teeth so she would not groan, Jochebed twisted the reeds around the basket’s stiff rib. She slid the stalks off two fingers, picked up a flat reed, and added it in the pattern.
Aware she was watched and anxious to distract her mother from questioning her unusual clumsiness, Jochebed pelted the silence with questions. “When will the betrothal be announced? I wonder what Amram will say to the elders tonight. Will they approve? What am I going to do about Lili? She has her heart set on marrying Amram, and she may never speak to me again when she finds out who Amram has agreed to marry. This pattern is so hard. Will I ever do it right, Mama?”
Elisheba nodded. “Pull out the reeds and try it again. These baskets will be used to store temple linen, so the weave must be perfect. It will become easier. Remember how simple braiding is now and how difficult it seemed at first?”
Rubbing her fingers to ease the pain and work out the kinks, Jochebed forced a smile. “I remember the game we played when you first showed me how to braid. You called it the family-weave.”
She shooed the fly, sat up straight, tilted her head, and tried to sound like her mother. “‘We’ll give each strand a name. The first one is Bedde. This will be Mama, and this one is Papa. Braiding binds us together like…’ Mama?”
Her mother dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye.
“Oh, Mama.” Jochebed’s shoulders slumped, and she watched the fly circling a pile of reeds as her mother sniffed and cleared her throat. She dropped the basket in her lap and rubbed a broken fingernail against her knuckle. Even the thought of Amram’s hands touching hers did not ease the sadness.
Since Papa died—had it been eight years?—there had not been many smiles and almost no laughter. Only quietness. The sun seemed hotter, the crocodiles bolder, the mosquitoes hungrier. She and Mama didn’t cry out loud anymore, but Jochebed knew the deep hollowness as surely as her mouth knew the tooth she’d broken last year. She didn’t mean to keep poking her tongue against the jagged edge. It seemed to go there on its own as if hoping the roughness had been smoothed.
Jochebed watched the fly try to escape the room. “Mama, sometimes I think the Lord cares nothing more about us than I do about the stupid fly.”
“Don’t say ‘stupid.’ You know slander is forbidden. There will come a time, Bedde, when His care will become as real to you as I am.” Her mother stopped working and rubbed her fingers. “Your ancestor Jacob and his grandfather Abraham both trusted the Lord’s care was real. Remember the stories, the promises?”
Jochebed nodded. Of course she remembered. But Abraham had been ancient when the promises were kept, and Jacob had been old, too. Perhaps the Lord only cared about very old people. It seemed only old people believed those stories.
What she’d said to Lili on the day the boy and Gray Ear were killed and what was in her heart were two different things. Maybe the Lord was a shadow god—not real—and deliverance was just another story like the ones she and Lili used to think up—pretend stories, like mud pies.
She bent over her weaving, hiding her face so it could not betray her thoughts. If Amram suspected she had such doubts, he would not have called her a godly woman.
And he most certainly would not be meeting with the village leaders.
Amram stood before the village elders and spoke slowly. He had asked both Lili’s father and Deborah’s father to stand with him. They would not be pleased with his decision, but there must be no question or misinterpretation of his words.
“Grant me another twelve months to mourn the death of my wife and son. Then I will return to live here and accept the woman my kinsmen have instructed me to wed.”
Lili’s father straightened his shoulders as Deborah’s father cleared his throat.
An elder studied Amram. “Why do you come to us instead of talking with the woman’s kinsmen as is our custom?”
“I have received the blessing of my kinsmen Merari and Gershon, but because there are difficulties and I must break with honored tradition, I wish to have your blessing also.”
The elders waited in silence. The two fathers stared at him.
He went on. “My mother is deceased, and my father may also be dead. I’ve had no word from him since he was sent to the mines, and there is no one else to speak for me other than these kinsmen.”
Nodding, the elders waited. This much was known.
“Nor have I a home to take a bride.” Amram spread his hands. “You remember much of my village was destroyed in the last flooding, and I have nothing—nothing at all.”
Deborah’s father began coughing and sidled away.
“Rebuilding your home will be hard with yet another increase of time demanded for the conscription.”
Amram nodded at the elder’s words. “I have a proposal for you to consider. If it meets your approval, I will have a home, a wife, and will assume the care and responsibility for one of your village’s widows.”
“Speak, we are listening.”
“My kinsmen have instructed me to marry the woman Jochebed, who lives with her widowed mother.”
Lili’s father sighed.
“We will be betrothed before I leave, but I cannot take her to wife while the thoughts of my son and his mother fill every night and every waking moment. I will go back to my wife’s village to grieve with her people for another year. When I return to this village, I will take Jochebed to wife and live in the house her father built. I will care for this woman and her mother, Elisheba.”
“Have you spoken with them about this arrangement, or is this for your ease only?”
This came from the eldest man in the circle.
Amram looked away. His words would be repeated to every wife in the village and eventually reach the ears of Jochebed and Elisheba. “We have broken bread together in their home. The deaths of my wife and son are only two years past. Jochebed knows this. I have observed her, and she is a godly woman who honors her mother and our ways. The three of us will work well together as a family.”
He looked at the old elder. “I am aware I have no gift, no matten, for the bride and that I cannot even offer her a home of her own, but I will bring to her my faithfulness and my strength. With the help of God, blessed be His name, I will give her many sons and my protection.”
The elders withdrew, conferring among themselves. Returning to Amram, they nodded.
“So it will be,” said the old man. “In one year, return to fulfill your obligation to your kinswoman, Jochebed. May you be fruitful and multiply, increase our people with a multitude of sons and daughters. Fill this corner of Egypt, this land of Goshen, with the descendants of Abraham and the followers of the Nameless One, blessed be His name.”
Amram bowed and left the gathering. Time. His promise to return and take the girl-child to wife had bought time to heal, time to shove the memories of his first love deep enough that no one could jar them loose.
Given the choice, he would have remained a widower. Amram clenched his jaw against the familiar wave of sorrow. Remarried or not, he would grieve his loss every day for the rest of his life.