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.”
The girls gaped at her, and Shiphrah knew they saw the fear shivering in her eyes.
“You must never tell anyone of this place. Never! Do you understand me? We have trespassed onto sacred ground, royal ground. Forget we were ever here. Forget this day. Forget what you heard. Swear this to me!”
For a moment the faces of her friends blurred as she fought the pull of the past.
For once, her Egyptian childhood would benefit someone. Shiphrah chuckled as she stocked Mama Elisheba’s basket with vegetables to use in bartering for a sistrum. She knew which vendor to visit. His wares were a mixed lot, cheap instruments along with valuable ones. He cheated many people, but he would not fool her.
The market, littered with sounds and smells she hoped to avoid, was no different than it had been when she was a child—carts piled with foods, animals protesting their surroundings, and the ever-present flies and dust. She wove her way around the stands until she came to the heavy-eyed man she sought.
Flutes and drums, sistra and lyres hung on the poles. She paused as if to rest her leg and pretended the wares had caught her eye.
“Lovely lady, beauty calls to its own. You know art when you see it.”
Holding her breath, Shiphrah felt her face turning red. She hoped the man would think she blushed at his compliment.
“Look closely at this flute, feel it in your hands.”
Shiphrah lowered her eyes and shook her head as if embarrassed.
“No flute? Hold the sistrum. It is perfect in size, as perfect as your beauty.”
A tiny smile appeared as she fought the urge to laugh in his face. No one ever called her beautiful. The man must think she was a blind fool.
“Ah, you smile. It is the sistrum that speaks to the music in your heart.”
Shiphrah ducked her head in agreement and darted a look at a sistrum behind the vendor. She knew the ones within reach would have a thin sound and be easily broken. The ones behind him were those of value and would be more difficult for a thief to snatch.
The man slipped a sistrum from the pole and pressed it close to her. Shiphrah stepped forward but directed her gaze to the instrument in the back. Slowly she began to sidle away.
“Ah, I am a fool. There is another sistrum. Wait! Let me show it to you.”
Shiphrah took a step backward, and then, pretending to be drawn by the sistrum’s beauty, she inched forward. She stretched forth her hand as if unaware of her action.
Unhesitating, the vendor handed it to her. She turned it over, noting the weight was balanced, the metal disks correct in size.
She offered it back. He pushed her hand away. Again she tried to return it. Again he refused. The time was right.
Shiphrah set the basket on the ground, closed her eyes, and began to play. She spun the circles to mimic the gods clapping, loosened rain upon the river, and finished with the whisper of the wind.
Opening her eyes, she saw a crowd gathered around her. She nudged the basket toward the vendor and backed away before he could refuse. It had all gone as planned.