Straining under the burden of carrying the two youngest children back from a morning stroll and bath, Shiphrah had no trouble walking slowly enough for their four-year-old sister to keep up with her. Thin as they were, together they were a heavy load, but one she gladly bore. She felt a special love for the youngest child, having ushered her into the world.
Joseph’s girls, long-lashed like their father and with the straight black hair of their mother, Elene, could not have looked more alike. Their personalities could not have been more different. Ella, the two-year-old, kept her face buried in Shiphrah’s neck, not responding even to gentle foot tickles. The three-year-old squirmed until Shiphrah thought her arms would break off from trying to hold her securely, and the four-year-old seemed never to stop talking—even in her sleep.
“Aunt Thifah,” lisped the oldest, “you come when Mama have baby?”
“Yes, Eleena, just like when Ella was born. It will be soon, too.”
“I don’t ’member when Elefa wath born, but I ’member Ella. Mama yelled. Aunt Thifah, did you yell when your baby wath born?”
“I don’t have a baby, Eleena.”
“Aunt Thifah, why—”
“Shiphrah! Shiphrah!”
Miriam hurried toward her and reached for the children she held. “Mama said Elene needs you. It’s time.”
“Joseph.” Shiphrah called into the dark, her voice soft but urgent. “Are you there?”
“Here, Shiphrah.” The shadows moved. “Has the baby come? Is everything all right? Elene, is she…”
“I need you to find Puah and bring her here.”
Shiphrah sensed Joseph staring at her and knew he understood the unsaid. Elene was not all right; the baby had not been born, and something was wrong.
“Is…?” Joseph did not finish his question.
She turned to go back inside and heard his gait change from long strides to swift running footsteps. The sooner he returned with Puah, the better Elene’s chance of survival. Maybe she should have sent for Puah sooner.
Shiphrah lifted the dim lamp to study the laboring woman. Strings of sweat-drenched hair clung to a face with no color, no hope; her mouth hung open, revealing a broken tooth. Exhausted from hours of contractions, Elene slumped against the wall, unable to sit on the birthing bricks.
Shiphrah rubbed her own tired eyes and pressed her fingers against her temple. Had everything possible been done? She’d tied ropes for Elene to pull against, rubbed the extended belly with salt and fish oil, and tightly bound Elene’s upper abdomen to force the baby down.
Shiphrah lowered Elene to the dirt floor and tried again to turn the child in its mother’s womb. Joseph needed to hurry if he were to see his wife alive. There wasn’t much time left.
Wiping Elene’s face, Shiphrah thought of the three little girls soon to be motherless. Poor wretches. Who would watch over them?
Joseph, with his work at the brickyard, would be unable to care for the children. He would probably ask Elene’s sister Deborah to care for them. Saddened, she realized she’d not be allowed to visit or have any contact with the children. Deborah did not trust her, and someday, if Deborah had her way, the three children would be taught not to trust her either. Not that she deserved it, but she still hoped for Deborah’s forgiveness.
“Shiphrah.”
The voice, so faint she almost missed it, pulled Shiphrah closer.
“I’m here, Elene.”
“My girls.”
“They’re fine and with your sister, asleep. Rest, Elene, Joseph will be here soon. He’s gone for Puah.”
“You…” A spasm racked the weakened woman. Shiphrah held her hands gently.
“Elene, hush. Save your strength. Puah is on her way, and she’ll know what to do.” She hoped she sounded calmer and more convincing than she felt.
“Girls love you.” Her voice rose. “You take them.”
“Elene, no, don’t think like that. Puah will be here anytime, and maybe she can—”
“Promise.” The murmured word faded, dissipating like smoke in the wind.
“You know I love your girls, but they need you. I don’t know how to—”
A deep voice interrupted her. “She promises, Elene. It will be as you wish, my love.”
Shiphrah had not heard Joseph’s return but knew he had come just in time. The gentleness of Joseph’s voice and touch as he crouched by his wife seemed to comfort her as she slipped into death.
Puah closed Elene’s eyes. “Quickly, Shiphrah, stand here and place your hands on each side, like this. Press and don’t release … now.” Grasping a single, tiny foot, Puah pulled, knowing Elene no longer suffered.
The infant emerged. Puah cut and tied the umbilical cord before giving Shiphrah the baby to clean. Shiphrah dipped soft wool in warmed water and wiped the tiny face. The infant’s long lashes were like his father’s. As she removed the birth stains from him and rubbed his limbs with oil, she wished Elene could have held him before she died.
Shiphrah wrapped the baby in worn linen. She crossed to where Joseph still knelt by Elene and handed him his newborn son. How long would this child survive?
Joseph carried the mewling infant to Deborah to nurse along with her own son, leaving the two midwives to wash Elene and prepare her for burial. They worked silently, knowing what was necessary without words. Death in childbirth came too often.
Rinsing and wringing out cloths before handing them to her aunt, Shiphrah relived each moment of the delivery. If she had done something differently, maybe Elene would still live.
“Puah? I wish you had been here. You could have saved them both.”
She shook her head. “It’s almost impossible when they’re turned like that.”
“But what if I caused it? If I’d sent for you sooner…”
“No, Shiphrah, you did nothing wrong. Sometimes we can turn the baby, sometimes we can’t. Joseph lost Elene but has a son. At least this time one of them survived.”
Life so quickly becomes death, Shiphrah mused, but even sorrow sometimes holds a shade of joy.
Shiphrah rose to her tiptoes to lengthen her throw. She grasped one corner of the fishnet and hurled the rest of the net into the river. When most of it sank beneath the surface, she waded into the swirling water to catch another corner and began to pull it toward her, trying to stay balanced in the slippery mud.
This was not something she enjoyed doing, but neither was being hungry. After the last few births, she and Puah had been paid less than their usual ration of corn, and Shiphrah did not want to eat papyrus bulbs again that night.
Aware of being watched, she turned to see who it was just as something jerked the net. Shiphrah fell face forward into the river. Spluttering, she tried to stand but fell a second time. As her knees gave way again, she panicked, fighting to keep her head above water while clenching the net with one hand. Unable to balance in the soft mud long enough to regain her footing, it became harder to catch her breath.
A strong hand grabbed her, lifting her out of the water as another hand pried her fingers away from the net. “Crocodile! Let go.”
Someone dragged her to shore and gently set her high on the riverbank.
Gasping for breath, Shiphrah turned and looked into dark eyes with long lashes.
“You,” Joseph said, “are a stubborn woman.”
Poised to flee, Shiphrah searched his face for any sign of anger. Finding none, she realized both of them were dripping wet. Was Sarah anywhere near? This story might be the most exciting reputation ruiner she ever told. Shiphrah groaned.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Joseph. I was just thinking that if, uh, someone saw us…”
“Sarah?” He slanted his eyes at her.
“Can you imagine the story she’d tell?”
They grinned, and then the smile slid from Joseph’s face. “Shiphrah, I’ve been wanting to talk to you alone.”
Shiphrah looked at the ground.
“I loved my wife and will honor her as best I can, but the children should be with family, and I…” He swallowed awkwardly. “I could not hold you to a promise you did not make. I wanted Elene to be at peace when she died and answered for you, thinking only of her. You have no obligation to us, but the girls do love you and want to see you.”
“Deborah does not approve of—”
“This is not about her. I am their father, and I know you care about my girls. They miss their mother. When you have time, if you are willing, please visit them. Their aunt has little time and no patience for four extra children. Deborah will not stop you from seeing them.”
Shiphrah blinked back tears. “Joseph, thank you. I do love your girls.”
“Then it is settled. Now, tell me why you were in the river.”
She blushed. “Fishing.”
“That I know. Why are … Do you not have … Are you and Puah hungry?”
“No! No, we’re fine. Truly, but I have to admit I don’t like eating papyrus bulbs so many nights.”
“Shiphrah, no more fishing. I’ll see you and Puah have food.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me. I’m sure you did everything you knew to help Elene. Allow me to repay you as I can.”
“But what will people think?”
“They will think I honor you and Puah for saving my son.”
“But Old Sar—”
“Will think whatever she wants to think. I will not allow her to speak of you dishonorably. Shiphrah, we are two adults who have known each other for years. Will you trust me in this?”
Shiphrah opened her mouth to argue but could think of nothing to say. Joseph was right, and she did trust him. She and Puah had trusted him for years. Besides, papyrus bulbs tasted terrible.
Jochebed knew she would work long after dark to complete the necessary baskets due tomorrow, but for now it was pleasant to sit with Shiphrah and watch the children playing.
They reminded her of ducklings, balancing with their outstretched arms as they ran, wobbling uncertainly from side to side, squealing and squawking until they tumbled into a pile of tangled arms and legs. Wanting to share a laugh, she turned to Shiphrah, but Shiphrah’s attention was focused on the one child who sat alone.
“Bedde, I wonder why Ella isn’t walking by now. She doesn’t even try.”
“Aaron and Miriam were walking long before her age,” Bedde admitted. “But Mother used to say some children take longer to learn.”
“I’m worried about her. Having never been a mother, I wasn’t sure, but something doesn’t seem right to me. Maybe Joseph knows when his other girls walked.”
Joseph frowned at Shiphrah and repeated her question as if trying to understand what she asked. “When they walked?”
“Ella’s left foot isn’t ticklish, and she isn’t trying to walk at all.”
“So?”
“I’m concerned about her. She sits alone and doesn’t play with the others.”
Joseph ran grimy fingers through his hair. “Shiphrah, my wife died recently; I haul bricks for Ramses’s gang masters from sunup to sundown and come home after dark to work my own field and care for my own flock. Each morning, I leave not knowing if I will survive the day. If one of Ella’s feet isn’t ticklish…”
“She may never walk.”
“God in heaven! She’s crippled!” Joseph swiped his hand across his mouth. “Like you?”
“Yes, Joseph, like me.”
Joseph’s shoulders sagged. He buried his face in his hands. When he raised his head, Shiphrah saw the strain around his eyes. “Then, Shiphrah, you take her.”
“What? You want me to what?” Shiphrah stared at Joseph, her mouth hanging open.
Joseph cracked the knuckles on both hands before starting over. “Elene trusted you, not that I don’t, I do, but Deborah can’t—or won’t—keep Ella if it’s true she can’t walk. I thought maybe since you are, too, uh, lame, you’d take her—Ella, not Deborah.”
Shiphrah blinked. “You want me to have Ella because we’re both lame?”
“I’d make sure you both have enough to eat.”
“You’re giving away Ella, your own daughter? How can you do that?”
“No, no, I’m not really giving her away. It’s just I can’t take care of her, and once Deborah realizes … You know Deborah. She won’t bother with Ella, and I thought you might like to have…” Joseph rubbed the back of his neck.
“She’s your daughter, not a sheep.”
“I know she’s my daughter. I would never deny her, but she’s crippled.”
Crippled. The word slapped her face and curled nearby, ready to strike again. Shiphrah stared at this man she thought she knew. His eyes avoided hers as if he was refusing the need to explain or show any remorse. Accustomed to being “the half-breed,” she realized it had been years since she’d been “the cripple.”
Joseph sighed and tried a different approach. “Shiphrah, I thought you loved Ella. I…”
She knew Joseph was talking to her, could see his mouth move, but the only sounds she heard were the taunts of childhood, the scorn, the hatred.
“Shiphrah must have fallen again.” The voice was unfamiliar.
“She ‘falls’ often when her father is here.” The rough dialect of a slave grated her ears.
“How sad for Nege to see her hurting like this. Poor man, having the burden of a crippled daughter and a wife, well, you know what is said about her.”
They had bathed her cuts with salted water that stung the deep, raw places before setting her shoulder. When she regained consciousness, only Ati sat near. Rocking back and forth, old Ati spoke without opening her eyes. Shiphrah breathed in through her nose, refusing to allow tears to form.
“You fool to fight your papa. You pull one way. He pulls another. Your arm comes out. You think you escape grown man, huh?” Ati jiggled her little finger near her ear. “You didn’t hear me last time, huh? Maybe you hear me now?” Shiphrah turned her head, feeling queasy from watching Ati’s constant rocking.
“What it going to take, child? Drink this, it cut pain.” Ati held a cup to Shiphrah’s swollen lips. “Maybe you want be dead, huh?”
“Ati, I’m sorry I made Papa so mad.”
The old woman paused and tsked twice before she resumed rocking. “Your papa not mad at you, child. He angry with self. You remember that, huh?”
Shiphrah scrunched her legs up to her chest and rubbed her hip. It still hurt from two years ago when she hadn’t ducked soon enough and Papa had knocked her down the steps. She’d just turned three and hadn’t known not to ask if she had a mama. Now she knew. She might forget to do her chores, but she always remembered to avoid the word mother. She remembered with every limping step.
“Ati, did Papa like me before I was cripple?”
“No.” His word punctured the air, making both Ati and Shiphrah jump.
Too late, Shiphrah had realized the house was again eerily quiet. Papa glared at her, and from across the room she saw the broken red streaks in his eyes, the tightness circling his mouth, and the telltale twitch of his left shoulder. In his right hand he gripped a small jug.
“Who would ever want you for a daughter?” He swiped his hand across his chin. “Ati, you take her, I don’t want her. She’s nothing but trouble. I have no time to bother with a worthless Hebrew, half-breed cripple.” Weaving slightly, he stumbled out the door. “Should have drowned you at birth. You’re too much trouble.”
Joseph’s voice faded in, echoing the words that still haunted her dreams, “She’ll be too much trouble for Deborah. She’s agreed to take in my other three, and with two infants, hers and Elene’s, she doesn’t have—”
“—time to be bothered with a cripple.” Shiphrah finished the sentence for him. “Yes, I understand.”
“Then you’ll care for her?”
“What I don’t understand is how a father can give away his child just because she will limp.”
Joseph stared at the ground, not meeting her eyes.
“You are ashamed of her, Joseph.” Shiphrah wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. She wasn’t sure if she spoke to Joseph or the father who had abandoned her. She only knew she needed an answer.
“No! I … It’s…” Joseph exhaled as his shoulders slumped. “Shiphrah, Ella doesn’t look much like Elene, but she has that same sweetness about her, and Deborah will crush it out of her. You know Deborah.” He gestured helplessly. “Ashamed? Yes. I cannot care for my own family or protect my own son, and Ella’s foot will remind me of that every day. I’ll look at her and think I don’t know how to help myself, much less a little girl who can’t walk.”
“Joseph…”
“Forget it, Shiphrah.” He waved her away. “I should not have asked you to take on my burden. I’ll think of something. I’m sorry I mentioned it.” Joseph turned to leave.
“Joseph.” Hearing the sharpness in her voice, he looked back at her.
She reached out to touch him in a gesture of peace. “Joseph, I’ll talk to Puah. She knows I’ve always wanted my own family, my own daughter. If she will help me with Ella, I would be honored to care for your child. I promise she will grow up knowing her mother loved her.”
“Shiphrah? Are you sure?”
“Joseph…” Shiphrah faltered. Taking a deep breath, she peered into Joseph’s eyes. “Will you come see her sometimes, let her know you care about her … even though she’s lame?”
“Yes, Shiphrah, I will.”