Shiphrah beat the stains from the linen cloths, pretending it was Amram she was pummeling. She wished Amram ben Kohath had never been born, or at least had never returned to their village to marry Jochebed. His presence ruined everything.
If only she could find a way to make Amram leave, to stop the story she saw taking shape, to undo the damage he brought with him. Her arms began to ache, and she dropped them in her lap. She could not remove the stain any more than she could remove Amram. She hated feeling helpless.
Jochebed, sensible Jochebed, seemed to have forgotten how to complete the simplest task. She did not even finish her sentences. Several times Shiphrah had found her standing by the river holding an empty jar and gazing at it as if she’d never seen one before.
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.