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 seldom 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.
Jochebed pressed her hands against the pain in her lower back. Why had she ever been in a hurry to look pregnant? She waddled like a duck, looked like a cow, and was cross as a hungry old goat.
She balanced against a wall, slid down, and stuck her legs out. Her slender feet and ankles had become tree branches—stumps, not twigs. Would she ever look like she used to look? Maybe she’d be the first woman to be pregnant forever.
Her mother came in with a basketful of cucumbers and melons. Jochebed eyed the melons. It hadn’t been so long ago that she’d stuck a melon under her clothes to see what she’d look like pregnant.
“Mama, when you were pregnant with me, what did you think about?”
The lines in her mother’s face softened. “How I could hardly wait to hold you, how much I loved your father, and how greatly the Lord blessed me.”
“I think that, too, of course, but what if it never comes or what if it won’t stop crying or what if I drop it or—”
“Bedde, the baby is not an ‘it’ and you can what-if yourself to death. Stop borrowing trouble.”
Jochebed sulked a bit and then set herself to the unending weaving, begging, “Tell me a story like you used to when I was a little girl.”
Mama nodded and settled herself to finish the birdcage she wove to barter at the market.
“When the time came for you to be born, I didn’t tell anyone the pains had started. I swept the floor, shook out every mat, and emptied the pot of dirty water. Between contractions, I set bread to rise and somehow carried fresh water home.”
Jochebed smiled, watching her mother’s eyes crinkle as she chuckled.
“That water jug almost didn’t make it back from the river. Then, and only then, I called Sarah to find the midwife.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
Her mother knotted the strand connecting the door to the cage. “Because if Sarah saw my house untidy, the entire village would have heard what a slovenly housekeeper I was.”
Jochebed laughed. “So she’s always been hateful like that?”
Mama sobered. “Sarah has always talked faster than I could listen. She could never keep a secret and has always been curious, but no, Bedde, she wasn’t malicious. She married a man who cared for her, and they seemed happy enough. He never said much, a hard worker but not a talker.” She glanced up and winked. “I guess that was a good thing.”
Her mother looked back at her work. “The babies who lived to adulthood started families of their own, her husband died, and she was lonesome.” She shrugged. “There’s always someone willing to provide gossip and someone willing to listen to gossip. Sharing stories gave Sarah the company she needed.”
“Well, she’s awful now.”
“She wasn’t really cruel, but years ago a woman about my age bore a child out of wedlock and Sarah didn’t know how to respond. She was less than kind to them. The woman is dead now, and the child grew up to be…”
“Sarah was mean?”
Her mother searched for her cutting stone. Not finding it, she bit off the extra length and continued. “She forgot.”
“Forgot? Forgot what?”
“Sarah forgot God has a plan for everyone even when troubles come.”
Jochebed bit her lip, being careful her mother didn’t see.
“She forgot that when we don’t know what to do, His answers wait for our questions.”
“And that made her mean?”
Her mother raised her eyebrows without looking up. “It robbed her of where to turn when life is uncertain.” She bit her lip. “And life is always uncertain.”
Determined to avoid a lecture, Jochebed scooted a basket under her feet and changed the subject. “Did you ever think you would be pregnant forever?”
“Mmm, no, but there is a story I don’t think I ever told you.” Her mother reached for the basket Jochebed held. “If you are not planning to finish that, let me work on it. The quota is due in a few days.”
Handing over the basket, Jochebed settled in for a story.
“Is it a true story?”
“Quite true, and it’s about you and Queen Nefertari.”
“Pharaoh’s Nefertari? Really?”
Her mother nodded. “I finished my quota of weaving and took it to the overseer early in the day. Since he was pleased with the work, he allowed me to keep three baskets for barter.” Picking up a handful of reeds, she frowned over the selection.
“Mama, don’t frown. It makes you look old.”
“I am old, child. Anyway, it was a festival day for one of the Egyptian gods and the roads were crowded with people. I decided shopping would be easier another day and started to leave town … only everyone else was entering the town. It was like paddling against the current. You were feverish and teething, and the baskets were being crushed—”
“Which bothered you more?”
Her mother smiled and continued. “So I slipped into an alley and followed it until it ended, hoping to find a place to nurse you and wait until the crowd cleared so we could leave more easily.
“What I didn’t know was the alley led to the royal stables. The courtyard was full of horses. You’ve never seen such finery, Bedde. Those horses wore more gold and silver than I’d ever seen in a crowd of people.” She shook her head and tsked.
“I stopped before stepping into the courtyard, and no one noticed me or at least no one told me to leave.”
“And then?”
“And then two things, no three things, happened all at once. Ramses’s Nefertari, she wasn’t queen yet because Pharaoh Seti was still alive, came into the courtyard. Oh Bedde, she was a lovely thing.
“While everyone was bowing to her and attending her, one of the horses reared and struck out at a little boy who’d run up too close. He fell backward, and I squeezed you so hard you screamed and kept on screaming … and screaming.”
Jochebed covered her face, pretending embarrassment.
“My, my, but you could scream.”
“Mama!”
“The boy was not hurt, just frightened, but I didn’t know that at first, and I guess neither did the queen. She turned and looked in our direction just as I looked back at her. Guards came and escorted us out of the town. They didn’t question us, just hurried to push us through the gates. You were making such a dreadful racket, I think they simply wanted you gone. Whenever I pass a tiny alley, I think of that day.”
“Why have you never told me that story before?”
“I haven’t quite finished it, Bedde. The most remarkable part was when Nefertari’s eyes met mine. For a few breaths, we were not queen and slave, Egyptian and Hebrew; we were two young mothers fearing for the safety of a child.”
“How did you know she was a mother?”
“Because of her reaction to the boy’s danger—she immediately shielded her belly from any harm.”