Jochebed’s arms ached as she paced with her writhing son. Aaron pulled at his ear, bellowing with pain and perhaps with rage that he could not stop the ache. Attempting to distract him, she wiggled a wooden toy within his reach. He slapped it away.
Aaron struggled against her as she rubbed his back, and pushed away the bread she offered. He writhed on her lap, arched his back, and shook his head from side to side. She lifted him to stand, but he bent his knees and fell, banging his head against her mouth.
In spite of her swelling lip, she crooned a familiar tune. “Aaron, loved one, hush now, hush.” He screamed louder.
“Aaron, loved one, precious child; Aaron, loved one, smile now, smile.”
The screams drifted into the fretful fussing of a child refusing sleep. Jochebed knelt on the floor and laid him across her lap. Aaron slid to the ground and cried until she stood him up. When he collapsed against her, she held him close and swayed back and forth to break the cycle of weary wails.
Aaron stiffened his legs, bucking against her, alternately clinging and fighting.
Unable to provide relief from his pain, Jochebed longed to cry with him. She kissed his tummy and breathed warm air into his reddened ear.
The sun rose as Aaron settled into a fitful sleep, sucking his thumb and holding his ear. Her day stretched ahead as dry and tired as desert untouched by floodwaters.
This was the day she was required to turn in her week’s quota of mats to the overseer; then she must take the extras to the market and barter for their needs.
Miriam, who had planned to go with her, would be disappointed when she awoke and discovered her mother had left without her. She had been looking forward to the trip. Maybe if she played her new sistrum, Aaron would stay quiet.
Jochebed tore off a corner of yesterday’s bread, washed her face, and worked her hair into one braid, cool and easy to cover. The door squeaked as she opened it.
She paused halfway through the door’s opening. If the noise woke Aaron … When he did not stir, she slipped through the narrow opening, fed the goat, checked the water level in his trough. Enough. Good, she would not need to make a trip to the river. It was time to leave for the market. The sooner she left, the cooler the walk would be.
She turned to hoist the sling of mats onto her back so her arms would be free to carry the stacked baskets. She stopped. Frowned. Disoriented, Jochebed turned again and then once more in the opposite direction.
A yellow butterfly blinked its wings, a ray of sunshine flitting through the air. Sweat puckered on Jochebed’s neck, and an eager fly tested her feet for crumbs. A chipped jar leaned against the corner, and the goat stared at her with his strange eyes.
Otherwise, the yard was empty.
Jochebed rubbed her eyes. She had not slept last night, but was she so tired she couldn’t see? Where were the stacks of mats and baskets?
Dumbfounded, she stared at the left side of the door where they had been last night. Someone must have moved them.
Without letting the door squeak, she stuck her head inside the house.
“Miriam, come here. Now.” Although she spoke softly, the tightness in her voice did not allow for any delay.
Eyes half closed, Miriam, still half asleep, managed to squeak the door at its full volume. Aaron fussed in his sleep. Jochebed gritted her teeth.
“Miriam, did you move the mats?”
“What? No.”
“You must have. Where are they? They’re due today.” Jochebed measured each word, trying to stay calm and keep the shrillness of panic from wobbling her voice. She failed. She watched Miriam scan the yard and saw her gaze stop at the sight of the goat.
Jochebed shook her head. “Impossible. He’s tied too far away.” She hesitated. “Isn’t he?”
As if in answer to her question, the goat ambled to where they stood, his sides distended, a rope dangling from his neck.
“I think we found the mats, Mama.”
The goat burped.
“Yes,” said Jochebed, “and perhaps someday I might laugh about this, someday when my back has healed from the beating I’ll get.”
Miriam stared at her mother, turned, and sped from the yard.
Jochebed watched her go, too tired to question her daughter’s behavior. She dragged herself into the house and knelt before the hand mill. Taking an extra handful of grain, she began grinding it. Tomorrow her back would be covered with rod welts. She would make extra bread today to spare tomorrow’s pain. It may not be fresh, but stale bread was better than none, and Miriam would need to spend the morrow caring for Aaron.
She had just begun to knead in the yeast from yesterday’s dough when the door was pushed wide open with its telltale squeak. Old Sarah ambled inside and closed the door with a firm shove.
“Well, your son kept me up all night with his noise, not that it’s the first time, mind you. Couldn’t sleep a bit, not that I ever complain. If I want to sleep tonight, guess I’ll have to take matters into my own hands, as if I didn’t have enough to do. Didn’t your mother teach you how to tie a goat?”
Jochebed leaned against the wall and burst into tears. She was pregnant, exhausted, her husband gone, her child sick, her week’s work goat fodder, and a beating awaited her.
“Never seen pity get the mats done.” Sarah squatted, pulled the wooden trough closer, and began to knead the dough.
The door swung open again, and Lili, still looking fragile with grief, slipped in the house. Through her tears, Jochebed glanced at Aaron. He must be feeling better to sleep through this racket.
“Miriam and Deborah’s oldest girl are gathering more grasses, and Benjamin has gone for Shiphrah and Puah. They’re already nearby because Judith had her—” Lili’s voice caught. She swallowed hard. “She had another son last night, and Deborah was keeping Ella. Come on, Bedde, we can make enough this morning so maybe the Egyptians…” She choked on the word. “Maybe they will only yell at you.”
But when Aaron woke and began to whimper, Jochebed cried harder. “I just can’t do it all. Mother could have, but I can’t, and I’m just so tired, I can’t think.”
“Good,” said Shiphrah from the open doorway, “then maybe you’ll let someone help.”
Lili watched Jochebed without acknowledging the midwife.
Puah, who had followed Shiphrah into the house, lifted Aaron before he could turn his whimpers to wails. She whispered into his ear, and Aaron nodded.
“Mama, here are some reeds for you to start with. I know it’s not enough. And Benjamin is building a pen for the goat.” Miriam dashed out the door, and Jochebed rubbed the tears from her face.
The weavers worked steadily, avoiding conversation, and the pile of mats grew quickly as Miriam kept them supplied with rushes. Sarah set the bread to rise and tidied the house, fussing cheerfully.
“Never saw such a mess in my life. I raised eight of my own and never was in such a fix. Not that I’d ever criticize, but I can’t imagine not knowing how to tie a goat.”
The sun began its descent before the women agreed the stack of mats was high enough and Jochebed might avoid a beating.
“You need to hurry.” The urgency in Lili’s voice was unmistakable. “And you shouldn’t be alone this far along in your pregnancy.”
“Bedde, I’ll go with you,” Shiphrah said. “Sitting all day is as bad for my leg as walking too long.”
“Do you want her with you if you have a boy?” Sarah sniffed and squinted at Jochebed. “She’s half Egyptian, and you don’t know what she’ll do.”
Shiphrah blanched.
“Nonsense! I trained her myself,” said Puah, thwarting Sarah’s inference. “I’ll stay with Miriam and Aaron.”
Sarah stopped her happy grumbling. “Well, I guess I know when I’m not needed.” She stomped out.
Lili glared at Shiphrah. “So that leaves me to soothe Old Sarah’s ruffled feathers.”
Jochebed brushed her tears away. “Please, my friends—I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Ground by countless feet carrying the burdens of slavery, the path to the overseer was lined with rocks kicked aside in anger and frustration. Each week the human beasts trudged with their goods—produce, cheese, baskets, incense—to beg and barter for ten more days of life under Egyptian bondage.
Each offering—measured, weighed, or counted—was recorded by the attending scribe, who sat cross-legged, his papyrus taut across his lap, a palette of inks and brushes by his side. Variance was unacceptable, as was mercy.
Dropping the slings of mats too close to the overseer’s feet, Jochebed cowered as dirt puffed up over his legs. The scribe coughed and waved at the cloud as Jochebed licked dust from her lips and tried to swallow. Arriving this late in the day was not in her favor either.
Arms crossed, the overseer regarded her from beneath lowered brows and tapped his whip against his arm. After staring at the bulge beneath her dress, he motioned for her to back away. The number and size of the mats were noted as well as the additional baskets she had brought, and although he frowned, the overseer dismissed her after nodding at a guard.
Standing in front of her, the soldier spat in her face. “Bear a boy. The crocs are hungry.” Jochebed stood with bowed head, not daring to wipe away the spittle until the man turned away.
She did not realize how nervous she had been until, walking away, she started to breathe again. Light-headed with relief, she searched the crowds for Shiphrah, waiting not far from the beggars’ well.
“He did nothing, thank God.”
“Yes, thank God,” Shiphrah echoed. “A beating would have hurt your baby.”
With trembling hands, Jochebed covered her belly and nodded, unable to voice her thoughts.
“If something happens to this last child of my Amram…”
“Let’s go home, Bedde. It’s been a long day, and you need to be away from these beggars. There is a smell of dead flesh in the air. I hope it’s not leprosy.”
“Shiphrah, I don’t want to think of what would have happened if you hadn’t helped…,” said Jochebed as they started away.
“But I did.”
“Sometimes when I feel most alone, missing Amram and Mother, I think God has abandoned me. Then there are days like today…”
“This was a good day?”
“No, Shiphrah, listen to me. Days like this show me God’s hand and why He brought you into our lives. Today you may have saved my child’s life just as Mother may have saved yours.” Jochebed gave a little shrug. “I think maybe He had a reason for connecting our lives.
Shiphrah, it’s almost as if”—she dipped her head and blushed—“we’re woven together.”
Shiphrah reached for Bedde’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, Bedde.”