hadn’t tried to hide her bigotry under a finely woven veil of good deeds.
The sun glowed round and orange just above the hills across the Nile. So close, she might reach out and touch it. Brick makers and field slaves still labored as she made the long trek back to her village. Slave drivers paced impatiently, waiting for the last glimpse of the sun to disappear behind the hills so they could return to the city of Rameses, to their wives and children, their white linen robes, and their finely carved tables and chairs.
Miriam wiped sweat from her brow, still clutching the small sack of barley. At least they’d have barley for bread tonight. It was perhaps the only positive thing about her day.
“Maybe You don’t want her to marry, Shaddai,” she said aloud, not caring who heard. “Is that what You’re trying to tell me?” Somehow hearing the words made the One God feel nearer. The audible conversation garnered a few puzzled stares from field workers, brick makers, and slave drivers, but most shook their heads and smiled. Did they accept it as an oddity of her calling? Or perhaps they simply thought her senile.
As she approached her long house, she felt the color drain from her face. How would she tell Taliah that not only had Miriam’s nephews rejected the betrothal but her own family had shunned her? Miriam had spent the past two weeks convincing Taliah that marriage was the answer to her dilemma and recounting the romantic story of Mered and Bithiah, their children, and their children’s children.
The bigger concern was the widespread perception that Taliah had been defiled in the harem. Miriam knew the damage such a rumor could cause.
Miriam arrived home as the last glow of dusk faded. She pushed aside the curtain and found Taliah in her usual spot, seated on Miriam’s sleeping mat, leaning against the wall, splinted leg outstretched. She was grinding fennel seeds in the mortar and pestle.
“You’re back,” she said, eyes hopeful. “What did Elisheba say?” Miriam’s face must have betrayed her discouragement. Before she could answer, Taliah returned her attention to the task. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I can always stay with Abba Putiel’s family. Surely they can find a husband for me among all the tribes of Israel.” She tried to keep her voice light, but Miriam heard the quaver.
“I wouldn’t have let you marry Nadab or Abihu anyway.” Miriam joined her on the mat. “You deserve a man who will appreciate your wit and beauty, my dear. Now pass me a hand mill, and I’ll grind this barley for tonight’s bread.”
They worked together in silence for a time, Miriam silently pleading for Shaddai’s wisdom. She heard Taliah sniff and glanced in her direction.
Her cheeks were wet with tears. “Abba Putiel’s family refused me as well, didn’t they?”
Miriam set aside the hand mill and gathered Taliah into her arms. “I wouldn’t let you live with them either. They’re as false as an Egyptian’s wig.”
The comparison wrested a chuckle from the heartbroken girl. She wiped away her tears and sat up. “Miriam, I need to get out of these rooms. It’s been four weeks. Please. It’s past dusk. The slave masters have gone home. I’ll walk down to the river and get fresh water. Just to the river and back.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “Please.”
How could she refuse? The poor girl had been cooped up far too long. “All right, but stay on the path and watch for crocodiles. They begin feeding at dusk.”
“I will!” She pushed herself up and grabbed her crutch in one hand and the water jug in the other before Miriam could change her mind.
7
With cunning they conspire against your people;
they plot against those you cherish.
— P SALM 83:3
L
ate again.
Eleazar hurried his pace, jogging on the dark, dusty path between Rameses and Goshen. At least he’d remembered a torch to stave off hyenas or jackals that might smell the rations he carried. Adding Hoshea’s duties
The sun glowed round and orange just above the hills across the Nile. So close, she might reach out and touch it. Brick makers and field slaves still labored as she made the long trek back to her village. Slave drivers paced impatiently, waiting for the last glimpse of the sun to disappear behind the hills so they could return to the city of Rameses, to their wives and children, their white linen robes, and their finely carved tables and chairs.
Miriam wiped sweat from her brow, still clutching the small sack of barley. At least they’d have barley for bread tonight. It was perhaps the only positive thing about her day.
“Maybe You don’t want her to marry, Shaddai,” she said aloud, not caring who heard. “Is that what You’re trying to tell me?” Somehow hearing the words made the One God feel nearer. The audible conversation garnered a few puzzled stares from field workers, brick makers, and slave drivers, but most shook their heads and smiled. Did they accept it as an oddity of her calling? Or perhaps they simply thought her senile.
As she approached her long house, she felt the color drain from her face. How would she tell Taliah that not only had Miriam’s nephews rejected the betrothal but her own family had shunned her? Miriam had spent the past two weeks convincing Taliah that marriage was the answer to her dilemma and recounting the romantic story of Mered and Bithiah, their children, and their children’s children.
The bigger concern was the widespread perception that Taliah had been defiled in the harem. Miriam knew the damage such a rumor could cause.
Miriam arrived home as the last glow of dusk faded. She pushed aside the curtain and found Taliah in her usual spot, seated on Miriam’s sleeping mat, leaning against the wall, splinted leg outstretched. She was grinding fennel seeds in the mortar and pestle.
“You’re back,” she said, eyes hopeful. “What did Elisheba say?” Miriam’s face must have betrayed her discouragement. Before she could answer, Taliah returned her attention to the task. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I can always stay with Abba Putiel’s family. Surely they can find a husband for me among all the tribes of Israel.” She tried to keep her voice light, but Miriam heard the quaver.
“I wouldn’t have let you marry Nadab or Abihu anyway.” Miriam joined her on the mat. “You deserve a man who will appreciate your wit and beauty, my dear. Now pass me a hand mill, and I’ll grind this barley for tonight’s bread.”
They worked together in silence for a time, Miriam silently pleading for Shaddai’s wisdom. She heard Taliah sniff and glanced in her direction.
Her cheeks were wet with tears. “Abba Putiel’s family refused me as well, didn’t they?”
Miriam set aside the hand mill and gathered Taliah into her arms. “I wouldn’t let you live with them either. They’re as false as an Egyptian’s wig.”
The comparison wrested a chuckle from the heartbroken girl. She wiped away her tears and sat up. “Miriam, I need to get out of these rooms. It’s been four weeks. Please. It’s past dusk. The slave masters have gone home. I’ll walk down to the river and get fresh water. Just to the river and back.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “Please.”
How could she refuse? The poor girl had been cooped up far too long. “All right, but stay on the path and watch for crocodiles. They begin feeding at dusk.”
“I will!” She pushed herself up and grabbed her crutch in one hand and the water jug in the other before Miriam could change her mind.
7
With cunning they conspire against your people;
they plot against those you cherish.
— P SALM 83:3
L
ate again.
Eleazar hurried his pace, jogging on the dark, dusty path between Rameses and Goshen. At least he’d remembered a torch to stave off hyenas or jackals that might smell the rations he carried. Adding Hoshea’s duties
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