Something roused her. Jochebed hovered between sleep and wakefulness, listening for what had awakened her, reassuring herself with all that was familiar.
Through the palm roof branches the moon hoarded its light but for a sliver of paleness. Still, she could see the two children curled together like puppies and Amram’s chest rising and falling with his uneven snore.
No one called from outside, and next door the neighbor’s baby did not cry. The glowing embers were safely contained in the basin dug into the floor. Nearby, her mother rested quietly, the fire’s warmth hopefully easing the pain in her hip.
In the distance a dog barked. Jochebed hoped it wouldn’t awaken her mother. Mama slept so lightly when she was finally able to sleep. The rumble of barking came closer, and she waited for her mother’s groan as she’d waken, turning to search for a comfortable position.
Mama did not stir.
Jochebed’s heart began to pound faster. Fully awake, she waited. Her mother would stir any minute now. But she did not move.
As Jochebed knelt beside her mother, she realized the ragged breathing had awakened her. Time stumbled, stopping between each breath, hovering between life and death.
Listening to her gasping, Jochebed matched her own breathing to her mother’s, desperate to help her draw in one more fragment of life—just once more to see her mother’s face light up, once more hear, “I love you, darling.”
“Mama, don’t leave me.”
Jochebed held her mother’s hand, feeling its warmth, clinging to her for as long as possible. “Mama?” Even in her own ears, her voice held the fear of a lost child. “What will I do without you, Mama?”
Who would love her unconditionally? For so many years it had been just the two of them, leaning on each other, dependent on each other for survival.
Who would pray for her? Who would guide her through life?
“Mama? I love you.”
The gasps tore at Jochebed’s heart. Mercy, Lord.
Lord. His ways were not hers. His mercy was not hers. His timing was not hers. And His will was definitely not hers.
“Motherrrr.” Did she voice a cry, or did her mother sense the anguish? Elisheba seemed to pause, linger at the edge of eternity, and turn back to Jochebed, opening eyes so tender-soft with love that Jochebed could only nod.
Mama’s breath slowed. Was this the last one? Jochebed stroked her mother’s frail hand, wanting to feel her skin, wanting Mama to know she was beside her, would not leave her, would be with her until the end.
Amram rested his hand on Jochebed’s shoulder. He had added a few reeds to the fire, and in its dim light, she smoothed the thin strands of hair away from her mother’s face, touching the long scar on her cheek. Jochebed cradled her head against her mother’s shoulder one last time.
And she was gone.
Gone.
How could Mama be here one minute and not the next?
One minute. Couldn’t she have had just one more minute? There was still so much Jochebed didn’t understand, so much she needed to ask, so much she wanted to say to her mama.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Jochebed pressed her face against the wrinkled cheek, refusing to accept this was happening. There was no response. Did Mama ever know how important she was to her … that Jochebed realized she had lived life loved because of her mother?
The warmth of her mother’s hand began to fade. Jochebed lifted the frail hand and held it securely against her face—such a thin hand. She pressed harder, memorizing her mother’s touch and the way the gnarled fingers curled against her cheek, inhaling Mama’s familiar scent before it, too, was gone.
Gone.
Amram awakened Miriam and sent her to summon the neighbors. Lili came to silently hold Bedde’s hand, and women, pulled from their sleep, prepared the body for burial.
Jochebed sat, eyes averted, wrapped in pain, her hair loosened and covered in ashes. Part of her died with Mama. Part of Mama lived on inside of her.
Mama had woven strength into her with each strand of faith, with the fiber of her beliefs. She had molded her daughter with deep love and hard work. Even in her dying, Mama had cared for her, waiting for her acceptance and farewell, assuring her of love, teaching her how to approach death. How well she knew her daughter’s strengths and weaknesses, fears and abilities.
They buried her at dawn. Even death dared not hinder Pharaoh’s work.
Amram and Joseph dug a hole in the hot silence of the Red Desert—land untouched by the Nile. The body was wrapped in a grass mat, her face hidden with a scrap of cloth. Jochebed watched, unable to turn away, needing to see her form as long as possible. Gently the men sifted sand over her stillness. Jochebed crouched, unable to stand, trying to breathe, haunted by the realization of never looking on her face again.
The wind began its work of shifting sand. Her grave would be unmarked, her name soon unknown. In Egypt, an unmarked grave, an unknown name, meant her life was insignificant, forgotten. She had ceased to exist for all time. But Jochebed knew that to say the word Mother would forever invoke vibrant memories rich with love. “Mother” would always mean “love.”
Somehow she must be as strong and wise and serene for her children as Mama had been for her. But how deep was the wisdom of one who’d not yet seen twenty years?
Grains of sand stung her face as the winds increased. Jochebed wrapped her headdress over her nose and mouth and fought Amram’s arm as he gently pulled her away.
She was not ready to leave this place, not ready to say farewell, not ready to forever lose sight of her mother’s grave, but the hot wind of a khamsin drove torrents of sand across the land. Again, she had no choice.
The wind hardened. She surrendered, allowed Amram to lead her as he stumbled through the gusts of murky brown, its stinging darkness a picture of her loss.
“I miss Grandmother,” Miriam said. “And I miss hearing her stories.” She paused and frowned at her mother. “But I think she would fuss at you because you haven’t been eating again. You know how she worried when you’re so thin.”
Jochebed stared at Miriam, aware of the concern in her eyes, the careful tone of her voice. When had her daughter become so nurturing, so grown up? In some ways, Miriam was so like her grandmother.
“I miss her, too, Miriam. Every day I think of more I wish I’d asked her.”
Aaron tossed a handful of dirt into the air. Jochebed sighed.
“Mama, at least lie down and rest.” Miriam moved to sit beside her brother. “I can watch Aaron.”
Jochebed wanted to reassure her that she was fine, but she wasn’t. She was so tired—too tired these days. She’d never understood the exhaustion of grief. Thankfully, Amram was patient with her in her sorrow. He had loved Mama, too.
Miriam had known her grandmother well, but she wondered if Aaron would remember her at all. He was just two—so little time with her…
Leaving the dough she had been kneading, she crossed to a sleeping mat, each step as difficult as wading through river mud. How heavy grief felt. Jochebed decided if she could just close her eyes for a little while, Miriam would care for Aaron and maybe she’d feel better.
It was dark when Jochebed pulled free from the nightmare battering her, threatening to choke her. She breathed deeply, repeating to herself it was only a dream—although a recurring one. Huge crocodiles would not thrash out of the Nile to snatch away her loved ones while she watched helplessly.
At least she no longer woke sobbing for her mother and lost child. If she could stop the dreams and sleep well, maybe she would not be so tired, so very tired and sick feeling. Turning, she curled over on one side.
Soft as a butterfly wing, it came, and realization flooded through her. Surely this could not be! Yet she knew this delicate fluttering, had felt it three times before. When had she last…?
Wide awake, Jochebed smiled. There was nothing so precious as the gift of life. She could hardly wait to tell Amram and see her mother’s face … Jochebed swallowed hard. Would she ever become accustomed to Mama being gone? “Mama,” she whispered into the night, “I carry your grandchild.” Tears flooded her eyes. Mama would not hold this baby. This child would never know his grandmother’s love.
Jochebed forced her thoughts from grief to joy. She could share the news with Amram. He had been so happy when Jochebed told him about the other three pregnancies and so sad when she miscarried. Jochebed imagined telling him—picturing the slow nod he gave when pleased and his lips curving into a crooked smile.
“Amram.” He turned in his sleep but did not answer.
“Amram, I need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait?” he mumbled.
Disappointed, she didn’t reply. He was right. It could wait. But the news was so exciting, so unexpected, she wanted to share its joy, wanted him to know, needed him to know. She sighed.
Amram grunted sharply. “What, Jochebed? You may as well tell me since you woke me.” She had forgotten how hard it was for him to fall asleep again. This was not a good time to tell him about the baby, but she knew he would be more irritated if she didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry, Amram. I didn’t think. I should have waited, but I just realized … I think maybe … Actually, I’m quite certain … I’m with child.”
The silence stunned her. Its length frightened her. She waited for a response, watching his chest rise and fall.
“Are you sure?” The sleep-hoarsened voice gave away nothing.
“Yes.”
Jochebed waited for Amram to take her in his arms and tell her he was happy, assure her he’d take care of them, and say everything would be all right. Without a word, Amram turned his back.
She had never felt so alone.
Jochebed picked up Aaron and pretended to wipe a smudge from his face. She couldn’t bear to look at Amram yet, so when Aaron squirmed out of her arms, she murmured an excuse and followed him outside.
“Go river, Mama.” Aaron caught her hand, and they walked down the dirt path to the water. Jochebed welcomed the chance to splash water on her face and cool it from last night’s shame and rejection.
Aaron squatted on the bank and patted a handful of mud into a lopsided ball. He flattened it with his little fist then pounded the ball into the ground until the shape was no longer discernible.
“Jochebed.”
After six years and last night, his voice still warmed her.
“I’m sorry about … I just don’t know how we’ll manage to feed another…” Amram stopped. “The Lord will provide. He always has. I trust He will provide for us; at least, I want to trust in that.”
Jochebed shooed a fly from their son’s ear.
“Sometimes I think I’m more like that glob of mud Aaron has instead of a man created in the image of the Lord,” Amram said slowly. “We’re being pummeled into nothingness by this time in Egypt. The land He promised—will we ever see it, or will our children and their children live and die under Egyptian heels? Perhaps we should leave this prison.”
He looked toward the north. “Others have fled. If we hide during the day, traveling at night … perhaps … We might still have relatives in Canaan, Laban’s family.”
“Four hundred years later? Really, Amram?”
“If we leave when the moon is new and there’s less light, I won’t be missed until—”
“Amram, it is not the right time with Aaron so young and now this little one coming.”
Shoulders drooping, he sighed. “I’ll think of something.” Amram rubbed his hand across his brow. “Jochebed, promise me you will take care? Let Miriam care for Aaron,” Amram urged. “I truly want this child, my dear. Help him to live. Somehow we’ll manage.”
That night while Miriam and Aaron slept, Amram pulled Jochebed close and yawned. “Who will attend you at this birth? Will you send for Shiphrah?”
“I don’t know, Amram. When we are together, I trust her. I can’t imagine her ever hurting me or mine.” Jochebed rested her head on Amram’s shoulder. “I saw her remorse at almost killing Deborah’s son. It tore her apart, frightened her that she edged so close to evil. But when I hear the other women talking about Shiphrah, it’s as if doubts like a flock of geese come alive and corner me, stretching out their beaks to peck apart my confidence.” She frowned into the night. “Does that make sense?”
Amram didn’t answer.
“Can I trust our child’s life in Shiphrah’s hands, and yet what choice do I have? Mother Is … gone. Lili thinks of nothing but the coming of her first child. Miriam’s too young, and Sarah is so slow. The other women are busy with their own babies or slaving on Egypt’s behalf.” Her voice rose in frustration. “Deborah still resents me for what Shiphrah almost did. Puah travels in the opposite direction, and the other midwives are farther away.”
Jochebed snuggled closer to her husband. “I hope my doubts are foolish. Surely Shiphrah will not hurt me—if not for my sake, then for Mother’s sake. Amram, Shiphrah carries so much pain. She still won’t tell me how her hip was lamed or how she came to be by the river with a broken leg.”
Amram wove his fingers through Jochebed’s. She loved the feeling of her hand nestled in his, loved being cared for and protected.
“I can’t imagine being treated as Shiphrah must have been.” Jochebed blinked back a tear. “How can anyone treat a child so cruelly? What is within them—what hurt, what pain festers—that can only be eased by harming an innocent? Are they really lashing out at their own suffering? Amram, what happens to the pain? Will it erupt and destroy everything it touches? Does it turn to dust and blow away when there is acceptance and friendship?” She waited. “Amram?” A soft snore answered her.
“What of my pain?” Jochebed whispered into the flat darkness. “Will I ever stop thinking of things I want to share with Mother or wondering who my lost child might have become? If only I could have told Mama about this baby.”
She eased her head to one side. Mama had trusted the Lord no matter what. And if Mama trusted Him, then should she maybe…? What about trusting Shiphrah? Too many hard questions, and she was tired. She would figure it out later.
She lay in Amram’s arms, their hands interlaced even as he slept. She was grateful for this man her kinsmen chose for her husband. With each passing year, they grew closer, accepting life’s scars, knowing each other’s ways, speaking without words. He was the Lord’s gift to her, unfailingly kind, ready to listen to Miriam’s girlish chatter, and willing to help when Aaron became rambunctious. His temper, though quick to flare, had only once been directed toward her.
Gray streaked through his thinning hair, making him even more dignified than when they married. His shoulders curved under the weight of years of hard labor, and his strong hands were rough, the knuckles knobby and often achy. Men aged quickly under Egypt’s ruthless sun and Pharaoh’s heartless demands. Jochebed thought Amram the handsomest man she had ever seen in spite of the whip scars on his face and back.
Jochebed felt safe, protected by Amram’s strength. What a dear man.
Within her womb, their baby moved, and she treasured the assurance of life. As she drifted into sleep, she prayed the baby would be a girl to name Elisheba, in memory of her mother.