Miriam (23 page)

“You may be the most cowardly soldier I've ever known.” Revulsion twisted Moses's features.

But Eleazar wouldn't be baited. “I will continue sending my rations. Please make sure Ram and Kopshef never discover Taliah is my wife.” He turned before his humiliation found new depths and immediately realized he'd failed to get the information Prince Ram had asked for. Eleazar had no idea when the plague of boils would end, but he wasn't about to beg answers from Moses. He'd heard enough self-righteous tirades to last a lifetime.

A child.
The thought burned and twisted in his belly. Taliah would make a fine ima. She loved children and had the knowledge to teach them well. What did Eleazar have to offer a child? Nothing. Moses was right. Eleazar knew nothing of compassion or love or grieving. He'd provide the practical items for the child to live and grow but no more.

Eleazar's sandals echoed in the empty hallway outside the throne hall. He pressed his forehead against the tall ebony doors, listening to the painful groaning within. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly and repeated his words, “A soldier's honor is his armor.” The life he'd chosen seemed hollow now, but he must convince Prince Ram—and himself—his life was worth living.

The magicians could not stand before Moses because of the boils that were on them and on all the Egyptians. But the
L
ORD
hardened Pharaoh's heart and he would not listen to Moses and Aaron, just as the
L
ORD
had said to Moses.

—
E
XODUS 9:11–12

T
he midday meal was quick and light, a few cucumbers, sliced melon, and bread with cheese. Miriam helped Taliah clear the dishes and roll up the reed mat. Hur and Moses sipped warm water and leaned against the wall, stroking Sattar who sat between them.

Hur had been kind but distant since he'd challenged her last week about losing her delight for Yahweh. He usually found an excuse to leave the long house after the midday meal, leaving Miriam alone to ponder her commitment to delight in Yahweh and dig out the root of anger from which her jealousy had sprouted. Hur's words had penetrated Miriam's soul and planted a small seed that felt as if it might be growing—even starting to blossom. At least now when she woke after a dreamless sleep, she looked forward to searching for Yahweh throughout her day and hadn't been disappointed. He'd shown her small glimpses of His presence each day—a sweet birdsong, a child's laughter, a distant memory that came to mind.

“Why are you smiling?” Taliah asked. “I could use some good news.”

Miriam set aside the plate she was scraping into the garbage pot and cradled Taliah's cheeks between her hands. “I'm smiling because Yahweh is revealing His presence in many ways.” Miriam kissed the tip of her nose. “And that precious life growing inside you is another proof of His touch. Eleazar's stubbornness won't rob us of that joy.”

Taliah nodded as fresh tears wet her lashes. Pregnancy brought all sorts of wild emotions, and if anyone deserved a few tears, it was this girl. Resuming her chores, Taliah banged spoons and pots with the fervor of a woman scorned. She'd alternated between anger and despair since Moses returned with Eleazar's plan for a divorce this morning.

“How can he abandon a pregnant wife?” she fumed. “Has he no heart at all?” She lost a short spoon in a large bowl of beer mash and growled her frustration.

Miriam cast a glance over her shoulder at Moses and Hur. They'd nodded off despite the noise, both of them softly snoring. “Why don't you go weed the herb garden, dear?” Miriam's suggestion was partly selfish. The girl had broken two cups and ruined one recipe of bread dough with too much salt. “A little fresh air will be good for the baby.”

Taliah had cancelled her afternoon classes because she didn't feel up to teaching today, but Miriam was running out of things to keep her busy. The girl had already ground herbs, spun wool, and made more bread.

Sattar perked his ears and growled, and Taliah shot a panicked look at Miriam. “He only growls like that when—”

Eleazar's heavy footsteps pounded the dirt outside their window, and suddenly his large form filled the doorway. He looked tired, haggard. Miriam wanted to give him a fierce hug and then offer him warm bread with goat cheese. It had been weeks since she'd seen him.

“Why are you here?” Taliah's tone sparked like flint rocks.

Hur snorted loudly, waking at the disruption. “Eleazar, good to see you, boy.”

Moses woke but offered no greeting.

Eleazar's gaze was fixed on Miriam, his expression pained. “Pharaoh has summoned Doda to treat his boils.” He turned to Moses. “I think it's a trap. She can't go.”

Miriam crossed her room and grabbed his hand. He was trembling. “Come over here and sit down, boy. What are you talking—”

“No!” He pulled his hand away and pinned Moses with a stare. “Months ago, I mentioned Doda to Ram. I know it's my fault she's in danger now, but you can stop this, Moses. Pharaoh and Kopshef are afraid of you. Neither will admit it, of course, but the king and all his officials are afraid of Yahweh and you as His prophet. If I tell Ramesses you won't allow Doda to come to the palace, Doda can stay here. She'll be safe.”

Moses stood, his features softening. “Why do you think it's a trap? Perhaps Pharaoh simply wants Miriam to treat his boils.”

“After you threw the soot this morning, I was ordered to follow you and find out when the plague would end and how to overcome Yahweh's power—or Ram would make me suffer as he was suffering.” Miriam gasped, but Eleazar didn't acknowledge it. “When I returned having done neither, Ramesses ordered me to fetch my doda, the midwife who was Isis in the flesh.”

“You see, dear.” Miriam patted his hands, trying to calm him. “That's why he's summoned me. Pharaoh called me
Isis in the flesh
when I interpreted his nightmares.”

“He has an army of physicians, Doda. He has no need for a Hebrew midwife.”

Miriam waved away his nonsense. “I'm going.” She began collecting herbs and balms into a shoulder bag.

“No, you can't.” Eleazar turned his pleading to Moses. “Please, stop her. I can't lose her too.”

“Yahweh will protect her.” Moses stood firm.

“Like he protected Saba and Savta?”

The venom in his tone stilled Doda's hands. He was right. Yahweh could choose not to protect her. What if Yahweh let her die today? Fear weakened her knees, and black spots blurred her vision. A deep breath cleared her vision, and with it came a calming peace as she turned to face her nephew. “I don't want to die, but if Ramesses kills me today, it will be after I tell him of Yahweh's power and faithfulness. There is a purpose in everything Yahweh allows, boy.”

Hur winked at her, his smile sending a lovely jolt of courage through her.

Desperate, Eleazar looked to his only remaining ally. “Taliah, please. You, of all people, know the gods can't be trusted. Yahweh let Kopshef kill your abba and a thousand Hebrews. Why should we trust him to protect Doda—to protect anyone we love?”

“I don't know if Yahweh will protect Miriam,” she said, “but Yahweh has done everything He promised, Eleazar. He keeps His word.” She stepped forward, moving the soldier back. “Which is more than you've done.”

Finished with her packing, Miriam shoved the bag into Eleazar's arms and grabbed her walking stick. Sattar was immediately at her side. She reached down to scratch behind his ears and motioned for him to stay. He whined and laid his ears back as she left—his version of arguing—but the journey to the palace complex was meant for Miriam and Eleazar alone. Her nephew needed to be reminded of a few things he seemed to have forgotten. Or perhaps told things he never knew.

Miriam nudged Eleazar out the door without a word.

He lagged behind at first, but she soon heard his footsteps shuffling behind her. “You must wait for me to escort you.”

“I knew you'd catch up. Do you still have the bag?” She glanced over to be sure he carried it properly. The last thing they needed was to arrive with aloe gumming up the turmeric. “Let's address this nonsense about Yahweh's part in killing Putiel, Abba, and Ima.”

“It's not nonsense. If your God is powerful enough to save them but chose not to, then isn't He responsible for their deaths?”

“It's not that simple, and you know it.”

Eleazar's voice rose. “Why isn't it that simple? Yahweh caused the Nile to turn to blood, so Saba and Savta died of dehydration. Yahweh killed my grandparents. That's simple.”

Miriam shook her head but didn't reply. Nothing she said would penetrate his heart right now. He was angry, scared, frustrated, and exhausted. He wasn't ready to listen. “I don't have all the answers, Eleazar. I don't even know all the questions. But I do know”—she remembered Hur's words that penetrated her angry heart—“God's presence is constant. When you stop fighting and flailing, you might just find Him waiting with some answers.”

“I've had to fight my whole life.” His gaze was fixed on the palace.

“And that's Yahweh's fault too? Couldn't your pain have something to do with human choice—you having to reap the consequences of others' poor decisions? Or perhaps some of your own poor choices?”

He lifted an eyebrow but didn't say a word. He didn't have to. She ached for the harsh life her boy had led.

“You have a wife now who loves you deeply, and you'll soon have a child, Eleazar. Will you cause your child to believe Yahweh is harsh because his abba chose to abandon him?”

Her words hit their mark. His nostrils flared, eyes misted. “I'm leaving them to save them. Kopshef hated Putiel with a singular passion. If he discovers Taliah is his daughter, he'll kill her. Prince Ram has caught me in one deception, and if he discovers I've hidden Taliah from him, he'll execute us both. Who will feed our child then?”

Miriam's heart flopped over in her chest. So Eleazar's aversion to Goshen was more than loyalty to Ram. He truly believed both his life and Taliah's would be forfeit if the royals discovered their marriage. “It seems you're more of a slave than the rest of us.”

His brow furrowed, his patience growing thin. “I'm Prince Ram's personal guard. I have more freedom and power than many Egyptians.”

“And yet Yahweh offers you
true
freedom. You said yourself the Egyptians were afraid of Him and of Moses. What makes you think Ram would dare touch you or Taliah if you were truly committed to Yahweh?”

Eleazar halted and grabbed her shoulders, eyes ablaze. “What makes you think I would ever be committed to a God who destroys a nation and sends boils to torture women and children?”

Startled, Miriam could only breathe her reply. “You mean the God who has seen our people tortured, raped, and murdered for four hundred years? The same God who has promised your freedom?”

“I never asked to be free.” He released her and stared into the distance.

“And your ancestors never asked to be slaves.” She nudged him, trying to ease his tension, but he wouldn't soften. So she snuggled against his side and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I love you with all my heart, Eleazar, but it saddens me that you insist on blaming God for the bad and taking credit for the good.”

With a begrudging rumble, he squeezed her closer. “And it angers me that you attribute to Yahweh only the good and ignore His responsibility for the bad.”

She looked up, still holding him tight. “I don't deny Yahweh lets bad things happen. We simply disagree on
why.
”

He peered down, uncertainty knitting his brow. His hesitation spoke louder than all his questions. Finally, he gave in. “All right, Doda. Why does Yahweh let bad things happen to the ones we love?”

There it was—that tiny spark of searching. He was finally listening.
Yahweh, please give me something wise to say.
“I don't know the reasons bad things happen, but I know—because of all the good things that happen in between—that Yahweh has good reasons.”

Eleazar shook his head and grinned, still unconvinced, but no longer contentious. They resumed their walk to the palace, lost in their own thoughts. Everything in creation needed a guiding force. Egypt had the Nile. Sailors had the stars. Miriam and her brothers had Yahweh. Eleazar must determine his. As long as he viewed Yahweh as the enemy or another capricious deity among Egypt's many gods, his course would never be steady.

They arrived at the palace complex under a shroud of silence. Eleazar brooding; Miriam praying.

The palace had changed dramatically since Miriam had visited four months ago. Eleazar escorted her directly to Pharaoh's private chamber, where two Nubian guards stopped him but invited Miriam in.

“I'm Prince Ram's guard,” he said, panicked. “This is my doda. I must accompany her at all times.”

The largest guard shoved Eleazar back. “Only the midwife.” He grabbed Miriam's arm and roughly dragged her inside.

“My bag!” she said, reaching for the supplies Eleazar carried. The Nubian grabbed the bag and unceremoniously shut the door on Eleazar's protest.

Ramesses lay moaning on a large linen pad stuffed with wool. A dozen men—presumably his physicians—knelt around him, hands clasped, barely able to lift their heads. They too were in severe pain with their own festering wounds. This would never do.

“Out!” she said. “I'll treat the physicians after I treat Pharaoh.”

Ramesses lifted a hand to wave them out, and she couldn't tell if they were relieved or resentful at her intrusion.

As Miriam reached for her supplies, she noticed the Nubian's face and chest were covered with boils. “I can soothe those wounds with the contents of my bag.”

He dropped his eyes and kept his voice low. “Thank you. I'm sorry I couldn't let your nephew join you. You'll be safe with me.”

She patted his arm in a spot where there were no boils. “I'm not afraid. Yahweh protects me, and He's bigger than you.”

A slight grin creased the guard's lips before Ramesses's voice rumbled through the room. “There she is. Lady Isis in the flesh. Come to heal me.”

Miriam rolled her eyes and coaxed the Nubian to follow her with the bag of supplies. “Don't be ridiculous, Ramesses. You know I'm not a goddess, and only Yahweh makes a seed grow into herbs.” She arrived at his bedside and looked down on the boy who'd become a man—who then proclaimed himself a god. How entirely human he looked now. “Let's tend these nasty boils, dear.”