The day was still, heavy with heat, when Jochebed felt the familiar tightening, signaling her time of labor was near. After she sent Miriam to find Shiphrah, she gathered what would be needed: water, cloths, and a small basket lined with combed wool to cradle the baby. Shiphrah had her own small knife to cut the cord binding mother and child.
The pain wrapped around her, tighter this time before releasing its grip. Jochebed picked up a half-finished basket, twined the strands in and out, crossing them in the middle. It was an easy weave, one that could be started and stopped without too much thought, one Mother taught her in the beginning. If only Mama were here.
Thankfully, Aaron slept, having finally cried himself to exhaustion. Even in his sleep he pulled his ear and tossed fitfully.
Jochebed gasped as the pangs came again. Shiphrah needed to hurry. Always before, Mother had been here, talking to distract her, wiping her head with a cool cloth, handing her a drink of water, telling her she was being brave. If only Mama were still here. Would she ever stop missing her? She would have been pleased to have another granddaughter to hold.
She finished another row and bit her lip. It was coming so fast. Her body wanted to push, wanted to bear down. She put the basket aside, no longer able to concentrate. Where was Shiphrah?
Shiphrah and Samuel watched Lili a short distance away. For a long time, neither spoke.
Lili stood in the same place as always, on the riverbank where the Egyptian soldiers had trampled the reeds before throwing the babies to their deaths in the teeming river. Some days she stood from early morning to late evening staring at the water as if expecting her son to reappear.
Lili’s husband had given up trying to keep her at home. At first the family feared Lili would walk into the water looking for the child and be swept away by its deeper currents. No trace of the killings could be found, and sometimes Shiphrah wondered if it would have been easier on Lili if she could have prepared and buried the tiny body.
“Will she always have these times, Shiphrah?” The chiseled lines on Samuel’s face deepened. “Sometimes I think she has finished grieving, and some days it seems she’s just begun.”
“I wish I knew.” The bleakness in his voice worried her. It was not just Lili who suffered from her child’s death; it was all of them. All of her family, her friends, everyone in the village ached for Lili who had finally borne a child only to have it torn from her breast. One never completely recovered after losing a child.
The families had gathered around Lili to care for her; the women baked extra bread, the men shouldered some of her husband’s work, even the children took turns caring for her sheep or standing guard as she stared at the river.
Everyone helped except Shiphrah.
When she arrived at the grieving village on the day of death, Shiphrah stitched Lili’s head wound and prepared a draught to calm her. She and Bedde sat with her throughout the night, keeping her quiet, allowing her body to heal and her mind to rest. Shiphrah finally insisted Jochebed lie down and sleep. Lili woke to see only Shiphrah and screamed until others came running and insisted Shiphrah leave. Lili had not spoken to Shiphrah since that awful night.
“Shiphrah, I know this is not the usual way our people approach this, but nothing seems usual anymore.” Samuel pulled at the neck of his tunic as if it had suddenly become too tight. “You and Puah have no living male relatives, and so I do not know who to tell that … I mean to ask if, well, might you consider allowing, or consent to marriage between myself and—”
Shiphrah heard her name being called and scanned the riverbank until she saw Miriam waving and running toward her.
“Aunt Shiphrah, Mama sent for you to come help. It’s time for the baby. Hurry.”
Awkwardly, Shiphrah dipped her head to Samuel in a quick apology and turned toward Miriam, who caught at her arm and began to pull.
“Babies take a while to arrive, Miriam. We’ll be there in plenty of time.” Shiphrah had not been sure she wanted to hear what Samuel was about to ask her, but now she would have to wonder what he had been about to say.
Breathless, Miriam panted. “I’ve been looking and looking for you.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t find you anywhere, and”—Miriam squinted at the sun—“it’s already been a long time.”
“Shiphrah, go on with Miriam,” Samuel urged. “I’ll watch over Lili. We can talk later.”
Jochebed clenched her teeth. This baby was coming with or without Shiphrah. This must be how Sarah felt. Jochebed wished she had listened more patiently to the old woman. She’d be glad to see even Old Sarah right now.
Jochebed gasped. She had been through this before and knew the signs, knew the increasing frequency as it became one long breath-stopping pain. Just as she was about to give up hope of someone coming to help, the door swung open. Shiphrah limped in behind Miriam and calmly began to give instructions.
“Miriam, take your brother outside. Either find someone to watch him and return here or find help for us. Hurry, dear. I need someone here as soon as possible.”
Miriam obeyed, speaking softly, insistently to Aaron as she pulled him into her arms. She had not left when a figure appeared in the open doorway.
“I’m here.” Lili spoke from the door, the hoarseness of her voice startling them.
Shiphrah nodded, and together the two women pulled Jochebed to squat on the birthing stones. Lili stood behind her so Jochebed could grip both her hands. With one last groan, Jochebed bore down, pushing the baby’s head out, and Shiphrah caught the squirmy infant in her hands, easing him from his mother’s body. Jochebed saw Lili and Shiphrah stare at the child and guessed why they had both become so quiet. She waited, praying she was wrong. She had to be wrong.
“Bedde.” Shiphrah’s voice cracked. “You have a son.”
Lili buried her face in her hands.
Shiphrah placed the freshly washed infant in his mother’s arms and began to clean away the remaining signs that a birth had occurred. Nearby, Lili sat watching her every move as if at any moment Shiphrah would lift the birthing knife and kill the newborn.
Shiphrah said nothing, enduring the shame of distrust, the humiliation of doubt, grateful that for whatever reason, Lili had come to help Bedde. She guessed Lili had come more to protect Bedde than to assist with the birth. Lili would be livid if she knew of the question her brother Samuel had been about to ask.
Venom slithered from Lili’s expressive eyes, and in spite of herself, Shiphrah stayed as far away from her as possible. It was not an easy task in the small room, and when she passed close to Lili, she saw her draw back as if avoiding a foul stench or a filthy carcass.
Thankful that Jochebed seemed oblivious to the tension, Shiphrah bit the inside of her mouth and continued to straighten the room. She would scrub the birthing rags in the river and lug jars of clean water to the house before she left. Miriam, at seven, could care for the little family. She doubted Lili would stay to help once she believed Bedde was safe from “the Egyptian.”
Jochebed could not look away from her son. Such thick eyelashes, such long fingers, just like Amram’s. A lump grew in her throat, and her mouth quivered. This child, perhaps the last gift from her husband, might never know his father’s smile, the strength of his father’s arms.
Kissing the tiny head, she sniffed his delicate baby scent. Was there any other smell so soft and pure as that of a newborn? Even the Egyptians with their endless array of perfumes could not compare with this elusive richness.
She stroked his skin, wrinkled from birth, softer than a warm southern breeze. His little mouth pursed as if returning her kisses, and Jochebed fell in love.
It was foolish. She knew that—and dangerous, she acknowledged. It was asking for a broken heart, she admitted to herself.
He nestled in her arms, completely vulnerable, totally helpless, and in his guileless power, her defenses crumbled.
Somehow she would think of a way to save this little one. He must not suffer the fate of so many other babies. Jochebed shuddered. The jagged teeth of a crocodile must not tear his tender skin. Never could she leave him by the river’s edge as Pharaoh ordered.
How evil could one person be? How could the slaughter of innocents please anyone? Rip her heart out, and still she’d fight before sacrificing this precious child to Egypt with its frog and crocodile gods.
Determination dug past fear, trenching into a fierce protectiveness. This infant boy would live, no matter what it took, no matter what it cost, no matter what she must sacrifice.
Jochebed set her mind to find a way, knowing she faced this alone. Mother was dead and Amram sent to another country. Lili seemed to be suffocating in grief. Miriam, yet a child, and Shiphrah—she didn’t know what to think about Shiphrah—how Egyptian was she? Would she alert the soldiers of another male birth?
There had been so many losses. She could trust no one with the life of her child, not even God. He had already taken so much from her.
A scratching on the door alerted Jochebed to hide her infant. Having just finished nursing him, she hoped he would sleep and not draw attention.
Lili cracked the door open, trying to avoid its squeak, and slipped inside. Jochebed greeted her cautiously. Was this a good day or a bad day? Sometimes Lili seemed lost, drowning in grief. Other times she was subdued but able to manage tending her sheep and caring for her husband.
Lili handed her a fish wrapped in sodden papyrus leaves. “Benjamin caught two this morning. He wanted you to have one.” Lili searched the room. “Where is your baby, Bedde? Is he sleeping, or can I see him?”
Jochebed took her son from his hiding place. “Do you want to hold him, Lili?”
“No. Yes.” She reached out and then backed away. “I can’t, not yet.”
Jochebed lifted him to her shoulder and began to pat his back.
“Bedde.” Lili examined her fingers. “I don’t know what to think about Shiphrah. Do you trust her completely?”
Jochebed busied herself with the baby and pretended not to hear. She wanted to say, “No. Yes. I can’t, not yet.” She said nothing.
“I’ve heard that after everything else she’s done, now she is throwing herself at Samuel.” Lili fumed. “She’s trying to trick him into marrying her.”
“Tell me you are not listening to Sarah. You know how she twists everything she hears or imagines she’s heard. I never realized Shiphrah liked Samuel. I always suspected…”
“Sarah heard them talking about it, and Sarah says she’s not really one of us. She’s one of those who—who took my baby away.” Lili chewed her thumbnail. “Bedde, sometimes I think, ‘She’s Shiphrah and I’ve known her forever. She would never hurt me.’ Other times I think, ‘What do we really know about her? She’s Egyptian. She went to their temples. She limps. Can we trust her? How do we know who to trust?’”
Once she heard the necessary burp, Jochebed tucked her son into his hiding place and turned back to Lili. What could she say? Jochebed wished for her mother’s wisdom in situations like this. What would Mama have done?
She sighed and tried to sift through her own ambivalence. “Lili, your hurt, your loss is beyond words, beyond my understanding. I lost a child, but it was different. I never held him in my arms, never saw his face. I don’t know how you bear such pain.” Jochebed reached for Lili’s hands. How cold they felt.
“Please hear my heart when I say this, dear friend.” She paused. “Shiphrah suffers with every step she takes. Her Egyptian father maimed her, you know that, but she suffers in other ways, too.”
Lili started to pull away, but Jochebed held her hands tightly.
“She loves this little family of hers, and if someone will care for her and accept them, how can we stand in her way? She feels she doesn’t fit in anywhere, neither with us nor with them. Yet she lives with us, worshipping our God, living with our suspicions.” Jochebed released Lili’s hands. “I trust her as much as I can, and I pray each day it will increase.” She looked steadily into Lili’s eyes. “She never left your side when you were hurt, Lili. She stayed until you were out of danger.”
Agitated, Lili shook her head and backed toward the door. “I don’t know, Bedde. Trusting her seems too hard, too impossible.”
“Walk with me to get water, while both Aaron and the baby are sleeping. Lili, if you would just talk with Shiphrah about your feelings, maybe…”
“Maybe someday, Bedde. Don’t push me.” Lili crossed her arms. “You couldn’t know what I have gone through because of her tricks.”
“Her tricks? Shiphrah?”
“She convinced me to ask the Egyptian gods for a baby and wear a charm, an Egyptian charm, knowing I would become pregnant and knowing Pharaoh wanted the baby boys … gone.”
Jochebed paled. “You wore an idol? You asked an idol for a baby?”
“Yes, and it worked.” Lili jutted her chin forward.
“Lili, you know that’s just stone or clay. How could you do that? You know they’re not real.” Jochebed shook her head in disbelief. “And that doesn’t sound like something Shiphrah would do. Where did you really get such an idea?” Jochebed grunted as she raised the water jar to her shoulder.
“From your mother.”
The clay jar shattered as it hit the ground, and a startled wail pierced the air.