Shiphrah didn’t cry. Earlier than she could remember she had learned it was a noisy waste of time and energy. True, she cried the night Deborah’s boy was born—she shuddered recalling how she’d placed her hand over his face to suffocate him—but except for that one horrible night, she couldn’t think of another time she’d wept or many times she wanted to weep. Ever.
Until now.
If she were alone, she’d wrinkle up her face and bawl like a baby, maybe even throw a pot against the wall and watch the clay shatter into pieces. No, then she’d have to clean it up. Anyway, she wasn’t alone. Ati sat in the corner picking briars from a bundle of wool, and Puah would soon return with Ella.
Shiphrah clamped her teeth against the inside of her mouth to keep from crying, or worse, screaming. Growling, she pounded the mound of dough in front of her.
“You kill that dough, huh?”
“Oh, Ati, you startled me.”
“Why you mad at bread?”
Shiphrah rocked back on her feet. “I’m not mad at the bread, and I won’t kill the dough. I’m just thinking.”
“Angry thinking, huh?” In the dim light, Ati held the wool close to her eyes.
“I’m not angry!” Shiphrah growled. “I’m furious.”
“Who has your anger?”
“Jochebed and her plan—no, the pharaoh with his horrible command—no, me. I can’t stop her. Can’t make her see reason.”
“You want her go your way?”
“Her way is absurd.”
“Ah.”
“How could Bedde even think, ever consider, possibly dumping her baby into a basket and leaving it on the river? She grew up by the river. She knows as well as I do it’s infested with snakes and crocodiles. Anything could happen. The basket could tip over or get caught in the reeds. He’ll drown or starve.”
Shiphrah ripped a hole in the dough.
“Bedde has lost her mind. I wish someone would talk sense into that hard head of hers.” Shiphrah squeezed the dough together until it oozed between her fingers.
“She’s as good as murdering that baby. He’ll be crocodile bait. I could just wring her neck. We could leave Egypt or hide, but no, she won’t listen to reason. What kind of mother is she? What mother would ever do that?”
She pummeled the dough with her fists, neither wanting nor expecting Ati to reply.
“Me.”
Caught up in the horror of her thoughts, Ati’s answer did not at first penetrate Shiphrah’s anger. When it did, she slowed her kneading to a steady rhythm. What did Ati mean? Had she heard correctly?
Shiphrah forced her voice to be steady. “I thought you said your husband left the baby on the river. Is that what you mean?”
“No. The others, he sold as slaves. Last baby, I send on river and give chance to live free.” Ati shrugged. “Maybe live, maybe die, but free, huh?”
“Did you know she could die?”
“I know.”
“But how could you risk your baby’s life?”
“What choice I have, huh?” Ati slapped her thigh. “You tell me choices.”
“Did my father know? Did you ask him if you could keep your baby?”
“Not your father. No master, I free woman.” Ati grimaced as she pulled a thorn from her finger. She stuck the finger in her mouth and then rubbed it on the front of her tunic. “Always free woman.”
“I didn’t know, Ati. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a house servant instead of a slave.”
She left the dough and knelt in front of Ati. Pulling the wool out of Ati’s reach, she clasped the nine stubby fingers.
Ella’s laughter sounded in the distance as she and Puah returned from their walk to the river. They would move so slowly that Shiphrah knew she still had a few minutes to talk with Ati.
“Free woman.”
“I understand.”
“I do my way, not slave.”
“So you stayed because you…”
“Wanted stay.” Ati’s watery eyes focused on Shiphrah. “I stay for you.”
“Oh, Ati. I never knew.”
“Lots you don’t know, huh?”
Shiphrah nodded in agreement. “Lots.” Ella’s laughter sounded closer, but there was something else Shiphrah wanted to know.
“After all those years, what changed? Did you tire of caring for me?”
“Huh?”
“Ati, you told me you were dying. I wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t told me to leave. Why did you send me away?”
“Safer, huh? Old Ati couldn’t stand see you hurt more.”
“Ati…”
“You go, maybe live. You stay, die. One day your papa not stop hitting. Next time, maybe.”
“So you…”
“You hush now. Little sunshine coming in door to her Ati, huh?” Shiphrah looked toward the open door and laughed in complete understanding. Ella was her sunshine, too.
Puah released Ella’s hand as they crossed the threshold. Ella, grasping wilted flowers, hobbled to the two women sitting on the floor. She handed the limp stems to Ati and wrapped her arms around Shiphrah.
Shiphrah breathed in the tangy sweetness of sweaty child and reveled in the feel of little arms wrapped around her neck. She could never risk this precious life on the river of perils. She loved this child of Joseph’s more than life itself.
When Ella moved her affections to Ati, Shiphrah’s heart lurched. Did Ati ever love her this much?
She thought again of the fear that had hovered like storm clouds over her father’s house. Ati endured that for her. She remembered her father’s rages when he shoved anyone in his way—the broken dishes, torn scrolls, the hatred snarling from between clenched teeth.
Ati loved her.
Ella said something and Puah laughed, the scar twisting her smile into a grimace. Puah risked her life to rescue her from Nege. Puah and her scar of beauty loved her, too.
She could care for Ati. What could she do for Puah?
Pieces of conversations almost forgotten rose like a flock of geese, first one memory then another. It had begun on the banks of the river when she and Samuel, Lili’s brother, had watched over his distraught sister.
Samuel had started to ask her something and then Miriam had found them, frantic with worry. Jochebed was in labor. She’d never mentioned her conversation with Samuel to Puah. Maybe she should.
“Aunt Puah, will you help me outside?”
“Let me drink some water, and then I’ll come out. It is so hot, couldn’t it wait a bit?”
“It’s waited far too long, Aunt Puah.”
Shiphrah led her aunt to the shade of a drooping palm tree and, tugging on her aunt’s hands, pulled her to the ground. “Do you remember years ago finding me with Bedde and Lili when we were sitting beneath a tree?”
“Of course.”
“When you found me, I thought all my dreams had become real. I wanted so much to be with my own family, my own kin. Mama Elisheba was always good to me, but I wanted you, Aunt Puah.”
Puah looked puzzled. “I’m happy I found you, Shiphrah.”
“I want that for you, too.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, dear.”
“Some time ago, a man started to ask me if I would consent to you becoming his wife.”
Puah’s eyes widened until Shiphrah thought they might pop.
“He asked me because I am your next of kin and there was no one else to ask. Maybe he should have talked to the elders, but he didn’t; he talked to me. I mean, we started talking and then we were interrupted, so he never really asked, but I see him watching you and I know he still wants to make you his wife.” Shiphrah ran out of breath.
“Me? A wife? Wh–Wh–Who?”
“Samuel.”
“My Samuel? I mean…”
“Yes, Aunt Puah, your Samuel, Lili’s oldest brother.” Shiphrah chuckled softly at the look of wonder on her aunt’s face.
Shiphrah stood beside Puah under the wedding canopy. Though older than other brides, Puah glowed with a radiance that outshone younger women. Samuel stood straight and tall, gazing at Puah as if he would never tire of looking at her.
Puah’s linen tunic had been left in the sun to bleach for several days. Although not new, it was clean and white. Her veil had been lifted, the marriage cup shared and shattered. Tonight she would move her belongings into Samuel’s house and become his wife in deed as well as word.
Shiphrah glanced down at Ella and decided her own face probably reflected the same wonder as Ella’s. She was so glad to see Puah happy, to see her loved and treasured—honored as a wife.
Red tinted the evening sky, promising that tomorrow would be as hot and dry as today. Shiphrah knew her life would be as full and as lonely as the days before.
The ceremony was complete. The only disappointment of the day—the absence of Jochebed and Lili. She had hoped they would be willing to put aside their differences for Puah’s sake and be part of the celebration. She had dreamed it would be a new beginning for them as well as Puah and Samuel.
Shiphrah bowed her head in submission as the sky darkened its beauty. She would tell Jochebed to hide her son’s basket behind the Temple of Amun. They had stumbled upon it years earlier before Mama Elisheba died, but Shiphrah had not confided she knew it was a favorite retreat for the royal daughters. It would be her final gift in memory of Mama Elisheba, a thanksgiving for sheltering her. After this, she would never look back. She would share her future only with Ati and Ella.