Jochebed yanked the comb through the knots in her hair as Lili’s words snarled her thoughts. “Ask the Egyptian gods for a baby … the idea came from your mother.” It was possible her mother had said the Egyptians believed in the power of charms. Lili, however, had completely misunderstood Mama, just like she’d misunderstood Amram’s marriage intentions so many years ago.
Yes, Mama often said one must face fear, but she never would have condoned anything about idol worship. Their Lord was a jealous god, unlike the Egyptian gods who were somehow related—she could never keep them straight—and except for the evil one, Seth, they seemed to get along.
How had her hair become so tangled? Jochebed worked the comb through one small section and began on another, starting at the ends and working upward.
Odd that Lili had worn a crocodile around her neck. Of all the available Egyptian gods, why choose that one?
Everyone was afraid of the long-nosed crocodiles with their fierce teeth and sly ways, and nothing made people move faster than a glimpse of their scaly brown skin, but all of Lili’s many fears seemed centered on the creatures. Lili had always been terrified of losing one of her family to their savage cruelty. Her nightmare had come true.
This idol, the one she had chosen to worship, had turned against her—the cruel brutes devouring her only child. Lili knew better than to dabble in idol worship. It was no wonder she acted strangely these days. She had forsaken the teachings of the Lord.
Jochebed dipped her fingers in a bowl of kiki oil and rubbed them over a particularly thick snarl. If it didn’t loosen soon, she would cut the knot out. As bad as the oil smelled, she may have to cut it anyway to be rid of the odor.
Lili never thought things through completely. She never considered anyone besides herself and her desires. Immediately, Jochebed felt guilty. Lili couldn’t help being so pretty or being told about it all her life. It wasn’t her fault she was the only girl with three brothers who adored her and would do anything to hear her laughter.
And, Jochebed admitted to herself, she and Shiphrah seldom stood up to Lili. They usually did whatever she wanted to do. It was easier that way—a disgruntled Lili ruined everyone’s day.
Was all this part of Lili’s doggedness to have her own way? If she believed the Lord refused to give her a child, she must have been so determined to have a baby she’d do anything. In her willfulness to find something that would make her pregnant, she had embraced her deepest fear.
Jochebed turned her head in the opposite direction and started to unsnarl the hair on the other side. Sometimes she was glad to have such thick hair; sometimes it was such a bother.
What would it take for Lili to step outside herself? Jochebed pulled hard on the knots, glad she didn’t have a sensitive scalp.
Lili had lost her child. There was nothing worse. And although Mama used to say, “While it is yet dark, God is at work,” it would be nice to see a little bit of light. At least it couldn’t get much darker.
Jochebed chopped at the dirt, the wooden-handled hoe rubbing new blisters on her hands, and tried not to think of her aching back and legs. Maybe, she thought, it would be easier to say what didn’t ache.
When they’d kept more sheep, she’d lure one with a handful of fodder and the other sheep would obediently follow their leader, first loosening the dirt with their hooves and later pushing the seed into the ground. It had saved days of crouching in the dirt breaking down the dirt clods and then hours of standing in the hot sun as she threw seeds.
She straightened her back, arms and legs so sore she bit her lips to keep from groaning. This was not woman’s work, but with the few remaining village men building Ramses’s warehouses from sunup to sundown, there was no one else to plow and plant. If she didn’t work the fields, her family would have a lean year.
She worked quickly. As the Nile shrank into its banks, the ground dried rapidly, becoming harder to turn and plant. Tomorrow’s work would be more difficult than today’s work with an overwhelming stench of fish abandoned by the receding waters and decaying in the heat.
Jochebed eyed the water skin she’d left under the sycamore. A short break might help her work faster. She drank slowly, savoring each swallow of water trickling down her parched throat.
Before her muscles could tighten, she hoisted the two-handled basket of grain to her shoulder and hurried back to the field. She lowered the basket, tied a rope through the two handles, and slung the cord around her neck. This way she could use both hands to scatter the grain and be finished sooner.
She hated this season of perit, the time of planting; hated the flies in her face and the sun draining her energy; hated the smell of rotting fish, the constant thirst and the stickiness of sweat dripping in her eyes.
She’d detested this time since childhood, working the field with Mama. When Papa died, life changed so quickly. Was that why she hated it? They’d lost most of the sheep as well as the cow Papa used to pull the plow.
She and Mama had become the plowers, the sowers, and the harvesters. She had not minded the work quite so much when Shiphrah helped them. They chattered like monkeys, raced to see who could hoe the fastest, and stopped for as many breaks as possible. She could pretend it was almost fun.
When she married Amram, she’d worked beside him, glad for the time together. He had worked their fields until Ramses’s demands sent him away, deported with so many other workers to build Ramses’s temple in Abu Simbel.
Now she worked alone. And alone, no matter how fast she worked, the anger came.
Anger that she worked the fields alone, slept alone, raised their children alone; anger that Mama had worked so much harder than other women, who had big families to ease the workload; anger that Papa was gone and would never know Amram or his grandchildren; anger that her children couldn’t have the pretty things in the markets or the unguents to make their skin soft. It wasn’t fair.
But what Jochebed hated most of all were her feelings of helplessness and the constant fear. No one had ever guessed the anger layered and lurking beyond her fear.
Pain throbbed in her jaw, and Jochebed forced herself to unclamp her teeth. Returning to the sycamore for water and a piece of bread, she leaned against the trunk, stealing a moment of rest.
She wiped the dampness from her forehead and paused to watch a donkey plodding beside a young boy. Across its back, palm branches stretched wider than the animal was long, as if the little donkey had great green wings.
Behind her, the rush of birds rising from the fields alerted her to a presence, and with chills running up her spine, she straightened, poised to flee. The first month of perit, when the waters began to recede, were the most dangerous. Crocodiles, which had followed the spreading river, preying on fish trapped in stagnating pools or young animals mired in the muddy swamps, were once again seeking the safety of the water’s depths.
Although she searched for movement in the dirt and grass clumps near her feet, at first she was unaware of what had caused the birds’ flight. A growling caught her attention, and she spun to face the predator.
A creature, covered in thick river mud, uncurled itself from behind the tree. It moved slowly toward her. Enormous eyes sank into the bones of its head.
“Are you Jochebed?”
She stumbled backward, trying to scream, trying to understand how her name could come from a demon’s mouth.
“Woman, hush,” said the raspy voice. “The danger comes not from me.”
Staring at the creature, she recognized two arms and legs—a person.
The growling came again.
“Food.”
Jochebed held out the bread. It was snatched away and crammed into the mud-crusted mouth. Not even crumbs remained.
“I bring word from Amram.”
Uncertain her voice would ever return, she nodded, rooted to the ground.
“He is well and will return when he can. He prays for your protection and that you will never give up hope in the Lord. He said for you to trust no one, absolutely no one, except God with the child.”
“How…?”
“I escaped, but there is no safety. Ask me nothing. If you have more food, I would be grateful.”
“Where…?”
“No.”
Another flurry of wings warned of someone or something’s approach.
“Beware an Egyptian,” came a raspy whisper.
Almost afraid to look, Jochebed turned. Shiphrah walked toward her.
“Shiphrah? I’ve known her for years,” she said. When she looked back, there was no trace of the mud man. “I have more food,” she called, trying to tempt him back. There was no answer.
“Bedde, who are you talking to?” Shiphrah looked around.
“I was talking to…” She stopped. Jochebed studied Shiphrah’s profile with its distinctive Egyptian features. Perhaps she should not mention her muddy visitor.
“Myself.” Fear wedged between her thoughts. “Why do you ask?”
“Aren’t you a bit young to be talking to yourself?” Shiphrah laughed.
Jochebed spied the hoe she’d dropped and picked it up. She resumed chopping at the dirt. “Does it bother you?”
“Bedde, what is the matter with you today?”
“Nothing, I’m just tired.” She knelt to loosen a rock.
Jochebed saw the puzzled look on Shiphrah’s face and chose to ignore it. Why was she out here anyway? Had she seen the mud man? Had she been sent as a spy to report fleeing slaves? Mud man had mentioned danger. What danger?
“Where is the baby, Bedde?”
“With…” She sat back on her heels. The most recent infant annihilation of the Hebrew males haunted her thoughts. “Why do you want to know? Why are you here, Shiphrah?”
“Why am I here?” The Egyptian girl repeated the words, her voice incredulous.
Jochebed watched Shiphrah’s shoulders sag as understanding shadowed her face. Her head drooped.
“You don’t trust me either. Bedde, I never know when the soldiers will arrive. I am one of you now. Pharaoh no longer summons me. To him I’m dead. If I did have word when the killers were coming, I’d warn you. You believe me, don’t you? Bedde?”
Jochebed studied the mud at her feet and avoided Shiphrah’s eyes.
She knew when Shiphrah walked away, but she did not call out for her to wait. She knew she’d hurt Shiphrah, but she did not stretch out her hand to bridge the pain. She knew Shiphrah would look back in hope, but she did not watch her go.
Deafened by the ripping apart of a relationship, a friendship she had treasured since childhood, Jochebed bowed her head and wondered how much more she could lose.