Shiphrah!”
Shiphrah looked up in surprise. Unbelievable. Was Sarah actually speaking to her, the half-breed girl? Would wonders never cease?
Sarah panted as she caught up to Shiphrah. “Well, she wasn’t quite so good as everyone thought, now was she?”
She who? What was the woman talking about? Shiphrah searched her mind, wondering if she’d missed something.
“Don’t look at me as if I’m daft. You know what I’m talking about, don’t deny it. Elisheba, she was just like all the rest of us, maybe worse.”
“Elish—”
“Oh yes, Elisheba. I would never dream of stooping so low as to tell a young, impressionable girl like Lili that an Egyptian idol would get her pregnant.”
“What?”
“Your precious Mama Elisheba did, not that I’d ever speak bad of the dead.”
“Sarah, that’s not—”
“Don’t you utter my name! I mind my own business, never criticize, but I heard Lili tell Jochebed it was her mother that brought this evil from Pharaoh, the murder of infants, onto our heads.”
Shiphrah took a step back as Sarah taunted her. “It won’t be a secret long, not that I’d ever say anything. Guess this will bring Jochebed to her senses about that mother of hers. She wasn’t perfect after all.”
“Sarah, no, it wasn’t like that. You don’t understand. I—”
“I understand all too well.” Sarah shoved past Shiphrah.
“This last birth was harder than the others. I thought it was supposed to become easier, Shiphrah. Maybe it was because neither my mother nor Amram…” Jochebed swallowed.
Shiphrah studied the darkness under Bedde’s eyes. “Must you go to town today?”
“It’s quota day. I can’t risk another beating.”
“Then I’m going with you. We can carry the weight of the sling between us.”
“I’ll be fine, Shiphrah. The walk will hurt your leg. I’d rather go alone.”
“Bedde, I need to talk to you, tell you something … difficult. And you look beyond tired. Don’t argue.”
Lifting the sling of grass mats and baskets, they began the familiar walk to Pi-Ramses.
“Sooo…” Jochebed glanced at Shiphrah. “What did you need to tell me?”
Shiphrah bit her tongue. She dreaded the next few minutes.
“Sarah, well, really it was Lili, but Sarah told me, and if she told me—well, you know she avoids speaking to me, so if she said it to me, there’s no telling who else she told, probably Deborah for sure, and I know she still thinks—”
“What are we talking about? I’ve never heard you sound so scattered.”
“Sarah heard Lili tell you about the amulet.”
Jochebed stiffened. “Shiphrah, no!”
“She said it was Mama Elisheba’s idea.” Her voice trembled. “No one will believe her, Jochebed. Everyone knows Mama Elisheba would never … I hate that I brought Lili that horrible thing.”
The women walked in heavy silence. As they approached the town, the crowds increased and beggars lined the roads.
Jochebed turned to Shiphrah. “I remember something Mama said. Everyone knows how lonesome Sarah is and how she likes to talk. Maybe no one will believe her because they know what she’s really like. Even her own children stay away from her except to provide her food.”
“People believe what they want to, Bedde, and they mix up their stories so no one knows what is the truth. Remember how they accused your father of murder when he died trying to save that Egyptian baby?”
Jochebed nodded. “I know it was an Egyptian child he saved, but I’ve never understood why it mattered to Deborah.”
“You probably never will.”
Leaving the mats with the overseer, Jochebed and Shiphrah began walking home. They walked quietly, past the despair lining the road.
“Do you ever wonder what their stories are, how they came to be beggars?” Bedde rubbed a hand over her still-soft belly. “Once they were someone’s sweet baby, and now … Who abandons their old ones to the street? I’m glad Mother never had to suffer like they do.”
Shiphrah nodded. “So many beggars … Wait, Bedde. I stepped on something sharp.” Holding on to a low tree limb, she balanced herself and tried to dislodge the pointed stone by rubbing her toes against her other leg.
“I’ll never understand why most Egyptians carry their sandals outside and wear them inside. When I have sandals, I wear them outside.”
“Well…”
“Tell me while we walk, Shiphrah. Maybe talking will keep me awake. I’m so tired I’ll have to hold my eyes open soon. Let’s go.”
From against the tree trunk, a figure draped in rags moved, and out of the torn cloth a hand appeared. Shiphrah stopped midstep. Such stubby fingers with one missing, just like…
“Bedde, wait.” She stepped forward, her heart pounding. “Ati?”
The dingy huddle did not respond. Taking a deep breath and holding it against the odor, Shiphrah moved closer and parted the stained rags covering its face. The person cringing from her must not have bathed in months or eaten in days. Hair sprouted from scabbed patches on the beggar’s scalp, and the toothless mouth hung open. But the hands, caked with dirt, were familiar and loved.
“Ati.”
The eyes moved behind lids crusted shut but did not open.
“What are you doing here? Never mind, I’m taking you home with me.”
“Huh?”
Wide-eyed, Shiphrah turned to Jochebed. “Bedde, it’s Ati! I thought she was dead. Remember me telling you about Ati? This is … I have to take her … Help me think! How can we carry her home?”
“Maybe if I promise him extra baskets for next week, the overseer will let me reuse the sling.” Bedde turned back the way they had come.
Shiphrah crouched beside her old nursemaid. Oily hair, rank with aged sweat, framed the precious, square face. She touched the curved shoulder. “I’ll take care of you, Ati.”
Jochebed emerged from the crowd and unrolled the woven sling.
“I hope he didn’t think I meant more baskets every week.”
Together she and Shiphrah pushed and pulled until Ati lay in the middle. Carrying it between them, they started back to the village.
By the time they arrived at Jochebed’s home, lamplight streamed through the cracked door. Puah looked up as the door squeaked open.
“Thank goodness you’re back. Where have you been? I’ve been so worried about … What is—”
“Aunt Puah, it’s Ati,” Shiphrah interrupted. “We found her by the road.”
The sling opened as they lowered it to the dirt floor.
Puah glanced at the bundle of rags and then studied the two women. Jochebed swayed on her feet, looking ready to collapse at any moment, and Shiphrah’s face was drawn and gray.
Putting an arm around Jochebed, Puah led her to a mat. “Lie down.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue.”
Jochebed didn’t.
Taking Shiphrah’s elbow, Puah pushed her down on another mat and held her there as she tried to rise. “No, Puah, I need to take care of—”
“Yourself. And rest—you need to rest.”
Shiphrah struggled to stand. “Ati needs me.”
“Let me care for her tonight—to repay a debt.”
“No, I promised her I would care for—”
“Shiphrah, you are in no condition to help. Do you not trust me to care for her?”
Chagrined, Shiphrah nodded. “Of course, Puah, but I promised her—”
“Hush before you wake Ella. See, this is what I’ll do.” Puah poured water from a pot set near the fire, speaking in low tones as she worked. “The water is already warmed, and I prepared bandages and poultices and draughts in case Jochebed’s work was not acceptable and she was beaten and needed care.”
“I couldn’t leave Ati.”
“Of course not.”
Jochebed groaned in her sleep, and Puah’s voice was firm when she spoke to her niece.
“Both of you are staying put tomorrow. I’ll ask Old Sarah to help Lili with Aaron, and Miriam can bring the infant here when he’s hungry.” Puah smiled her crooked smile. “I’m ready. Now, let’s have a look at Ati.”
Bending over the huddled form and lifting one corner at a time, she studied the woman beneath the ragged cloth.
“I don’t see injuries, Shiphrah, and it’s not leprosy, but she’s starving, filthy, and covered with sores.”
She peeled away a tattered corner to uncover Ati’s face.
“Eyes first.”
Puah placed a warm, moist cloth across Ati’s eyes to soften the matted eyelashes. Taking another cloth, dripping with cool water, she squeezed drops into Ati’s parted mouth.
Shiphrah spoke into the silence. “I thought she died.”
Puah set more water to warm before asking, “How did you find her?”
As Shiphrah shared the story, Puah cleaned the old woman’s head and patted honey onto the sores. She washed the vein-streaked hands and wiped mud from Ati’s arms.
“Shiphrah, do you realize Ati will need as much care as Ella needs?”
“What else could I do?”
Puah smiled. “Nothing.”
After wiping clumps of filth from the woman’s legs and feet, Puah threw out the dirtied water and poured fresh into the shallow pot. Starting with Ati’s face, she cleaned her again, removing another layer of grime.
“That’s enough washing for tonight. I’m going to try to get her to drink something tonight, and tomorrow we’ll wash her again. What do you think?”
When Shiphrah didn’t answer, Puah turned and saw her niece sleeping, one arm tucked beneath her head, a rare smile resting on her face.
Puah tossed the dirty cloths into a bundle by the door and covered Ati with a blanket. She selected an herb and crumbled dried leaves into a cup of warm water. As the color deepened, she blew softly to cool the drink. She spooned a few drops of the liquid into Ati’s mouth and waited. At last, Ati swallowed.
“Come on, Ati,” urged Puah, “our Shiphrah needs you to live.”