Shadow of the Storm Page 14

  Panic slipped between my ribs. Matti’s light hair and fair skin would give away his Hittite lineage in a moment. I could not chance it for now. “My sisters-in-law watch him while I am gone. It’s best that way.”

  A shadow of curiosity crossed his face at my too-harsh words. Frantic to recover, I looked up from under my lashes, smiling and pressing down the repulsion that came with offering up myself, and my son, to a Levite. “But I do think they would get along very well. Matti would adore Dov and Ari.”

  He returned my smile. Perhaps turning his head from Shira would not be as difficult as I’d thought. Obviously he was unfaithful to Leisha, why would Shira be any different? Before much longer, Talia would be mine. And my son and I would make a permanent move into Ayal’s tent.

  25

  Shira

  27 SHEVAT

  11TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  Tears streamed down Dov’s face, dripping off his quivering chin in quick succession. My own vision blurred and swam as I held his trembling body in my lap.

  Even Reva’s unflappable demeanor was affected by the painful cries of the little boy as she unfolded his fingers with her own. Applying a firm-yet-gentle grip on his wrist with one hand, she used the other to slowly stretch the scarred skin on his palms. She winced as he screamed again. My mother had asked Reva to check Dov’s progress, and she had declared it was already time to begin such ministrations. Although it physically hurt me to agree, I trusted Reva’s knowledge. She had trained with a knowledgeable Egyptian healer in Avaris many years ago.

  I kissed Dov’s salty face and swallowed my own sob before I spoke. “I am sorry, sweet boy.” I gripped him tighter as he squirmed and tried to yank his wounded hand from Reva’s grasp. “We must help your hands to heal correctly.”

  His eyes begged me to end the torture.

  “We have to stretch your fingers now, little bear, or you won’t be able to stretch them out later. You want to be able to throw rocks and play with your wooden sword, don’t you?”

  His lip quavered as he nodded.

  “Eben also injured his hand, remember?”

  He blinked confirmation.

  “The healers told him to stretch his hand and apply oils as well, and he is able to move it more and more each day. Eben is very brave, isn’t he?”

  Dov’s eyes grew wide. Eben was a favorite of his, and a kinship had formed between them due to their similar wounds.

  “Then can you be brave again? And let Reva help you?”

  He sniffed, every muscle in his body stiffening, but he lifted his chin. “Yes.”

  “Good. I knew you would. Maybe someday you will be as quick with a knife as Eben.”

  He sat up taller, as if considering that possibility. With a deep inhale, he lifted his arm, hesitated, then placed his hand back in Reva’s palm.

  “Now.” I forced my voice to lift. “Why don’t we sing while Reva rubs some oil into your palm?”

  Dov always responded to my little songs, and the corners of his mouth turned up, even as Reva poured the oil. The spicy scent of frankincense filled the tent, and I wondered where she had procured the highly concentrated and expensive oil. Perhaps it was a payment for a delivery?

  Although Dov jerked back a time or two as Reva worked the fragrant mixture into the thick scar that had begun to form across his hand, he sang with me. The song about chasing a wild desert cat was one I had learned as a little girl, and it got progressively louder and louder with each verse. By the time Reva was done with her ministrations, Dov was smiling and laughing at the outcome of the song and the ensnaring of the wildcat.

  “I’d like to have a cat. Have you ever had one, Shira?” He leaned against my shoulder and looked up, admiration in his gaze.

  “No, little bear. I have not had a cat of my own, although my mistress back in Iunu had many, and I enjoyed petting them when I had the chance.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. She had gray ones and black ones and even a golden-colored one with only one eye.”

  His brows lifted. “Truly?”

  “He was an ornery old cat, and I suspect he lost that eye in a fight. I called him Pharaoh when my mistress was not around.”

  Dov’s laughter was a song in and of itself. Fleetingly, I wondered what it would sound like when he was a man, when the timbre of it stretched long. Would it be a low, soothing tone like his father’s? A wave of longing pulled at me. The silken rumble of Ayal’s laughter still visited my daydreams far too often, especially in the past two weeks since he had been away on the hunt. I’d been almost relieved that he’d been unable to speak to me before he left; it had given me the opportunity to pretend his announcement would not split me in two, and to instead enjoy my fleeting time with the children.

  With a kiss to his forehead, I sent Dov off to play. Ari had been sitting near the entrance of the tent, waiting for his brother to endure Reva’s oil treatment. A cursory glance at his face before the boys walked off together to find Shoshana and Zayna told me that he was disturbed by the sounds of his twin’s distress.

  Since the incident with the campfire, Dov had awoken screaming a number of times, terror running in rivulets down his face, calling out for someone to take away the flames. Each time, Ari’s stricken expression beckoned me to comfort him as well. Although he said nothing, his dark eyes spoke of a burden that no little boy should have to carry. He blamed himself, I was sure of it. In the dark of the tent, I cuddled him and whispered again and again that it was only an accident, that it was not Ari’s fault Dov had fallen into the fire. Though he nodded his head, it was obvious that he could not absolve himself of his brother’s wounds.

  Jumo had informed me that Ari had indeed pushed Dov as they’d played a game of chase. It had not been malicious, only a sad fact of chance that Dov had backed over a log and wheeled directly into the embers.

  A four-year-old boy could have little understanding of such unfortunate and random accidents. His formerly carefree perceptions of life and the realities of a broken world had collided in his immature mind. A realization I remembered all too well from when my father died.

  “When can I expect you to resume your duties?” Reva’s direct query shattered my contemplation.

  “You know I have given it up.” I darted a glance away to break the intense stare she unleashed on me, but then, with a strange surge of courage, I met her eyes again. I had made my decision—no matter the yearnings that continued to haunt me.

  She frowned, the wrinkles around her mouth converging into a bow of displeasure. “No. You were discouraged, but you miss it.”

  “I do not.” The ripping ache inside my chest battled the falsehood. My heart still bled from the loss. Every pregnant woman I saw, every insistent newborn cry, every shadow that passed by our tent in the still night poured salt on the lacerations. But my desires were worth nothing. I deserved the pain Leisha could no longer feel. Although my insides curled at Reva’s perusal, I pulled my arms tight about my middle to hold my resolve together.

  “You cannot still be blaming yourself for that woman’s death,” she snapped.

  I busied my hands with brushing sand off the rug beneath me.

  “Shira, I told you that had nothing to do with you. She would have died whether I was there or not.”

  “You cannot know that.”

  “Yes. I do. Because it is not you or I who hold life in our hands. We are not Yahweh. We are only vessels to be used for his purposes.” Her tone softened, and she laid her hand on my arm.

  I tensed but held still. A broken vessel.

  “You have scars, Shira. Deep scars. You forget that I know you. I was there that day. I saw the depths of the wounds you received from that Egyptian. And I know that you blame yourself for what he did. You were thirteen, my dear girl. He saw you as a wolf sees a lamb.”

  Akharem’s eyes, warm and teasing, sparked in my memory, then transformed to black and predatory as the scene in our dark and empty home came at me like an avalanche, suffocati
ng me with the force of its intrusion, drawing hot tears from the fountain of pain that erupted to the surface.

  Reva’s soft hands were suddenly on my face, steadying me, drawing me back into the present with their firm pressure. “You see, precious girl? Leisha’s death deepened those scars, thickened them. I know you feel like that attack was your fault. I know you feel that Leisha’s death was your fault, but it’s not the truth.”

  I sniffed and tried to shake my head, eyes squeezed shut.

  “You are telling yourself lies and believing them. Instead of putting the oil of truth on those scars, you are allowing them to grow thicker. If you do not stretch those scars, tug at them, force movement into them, then they will continue to have a hold over you.”

  She brushed my cheekbones with her thumbs. “Open your eyes, Shira.”

  With reluctance I obeyed.

  “I believe—” Her penetrating gaze demanded my attention. “I believe that you will be a midwife whose skills far outweigh mine one day.”

  Disagreement formed on my lips.

  “But—” She interrupted before my argument could escape. “But until you accept the storms, and stop blaming yourself for them, you will not see how Yahweh has blessed you with them.”

  Blessed with storms?

  “Yahweh told Avraham hundreds of years ago that we would endure slavery under Pharaoh. Did you ever stop to ask yourself why he would do such a thing?” She raised a silvered brow.

  I shrugged. “To punish unbelief?”

  She pushed out her bottom lip and pulled her spindly knees up to her chest. “Perhaps it was a consequence for disobedience. Or for the egregious sin committed by the brothers of Yosef when they sold their own flesh and blood to Egypt for twenty pieces of silver. But I think that although Yaakov’s sons meant to destroy their brother, Yahweh meant to show his goodness.”

  “Goodness?”

  “Without witnessing the mercilessness of an evil king, we would not appreciate the kindness of our own. Without the bitterness of slavery, we wouldn’t know the sweetness of freedom. Without the blackness of the night sky, there would be no stars.”

  My attention was drawn to the summit of the mountain by her words. She was right. If I had not seen the miraculous, incomprehensible way Yahweh saved us from Pharaoh with my own eyes, I would not truly understand the heights of his power.

  “We have to endure the storms, dear one, so we know how deep our roots go. So we can appreciate the depths of our strength and the freshness of the gentle breezes afterward.”

  The things she said made sense. Had I been holding on to my wounds? Not allowing them to heal? Closing up my fist until I could not move? I inhaled, her wisdom spinning around inside my head, clashing against the broken pieces and flipping them upside down. Did my roots go deeper than I realized?

  26

  27 SHEVAT

  11TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  Southeast of camp, a group of traders had formed their wagons into a makeshift market, hoisting colorful awnings over their wares—one of the steady stream of caravans that saw opportunity in our numbers. The crush of people pressing toward the collection of goods was astounding; even the bone-chilling cold this morning could not dampen the atmosphere of anticipation.

  My mother had agreed to watch Ayal’s children so I could accompany Kiya to look for Tyrian purple dye. It came at a steep price, but Kiya had one of the last of her mother’s jewels, a gold bracelet studded with turquoise, which should be worth a decent amount.

  My satchel held one of my mother’s beautifully embroidered belts to trade. I hoped to find some trinket to distract Dov from his still-healing hands, and Ari from the gray cloud that seemed to hang lower over his head each day.

  How unfair it must seem to such a small boy that his only playmate could do nothing more than sit about the campsite or sleep. And with Ayal gone to hunt, there was little to spark excitement in either of them.

  My divided heart wished for Ayal’s hasty return at the same time as it cried out against it. Although Dvorah still met me at Ayal’s campsite to nurse Talia, having all three children close to me night and day seemed like a paradise. A delight that would soon be passed on to Dvorah. I would savor these last beautiful days with them.

  “Do you see any dyes?” Kiya stood on tiptoe, eyeing the adjoining wagons, her breath hanging in midair from the cold. We had arrived early. The sun was barely peeking over the eastern ridge between heavy gray clouds, yet we were still trapped in the center of the jostling crowd.

  I decided to needle her a bit, test my suspicions about her pregnancy. “What exactly do you need this dye for?”

  A smile formed in her eyes before it spread to her lips. “A special garment.”

  “Oh?” I teased. “For whom?”

  She pressed a hand to her abdomen. “You know, don’t you?”

  “About the baby?” I leaned close. “Of course. I have known for weeks. You do not hide your feelings well, my friend.”

  She elbowed me. “Why did you not say anything?”

  “I figured that you would tell me when you were ready.”

  Regret flickered in her eyes. “I did not want to hurt you . . . after what your mother said . . . and then after Ayal’s wife died, there did not seem to be a good time to share this sort of news with you.”

  “Kiya.” I slipped my hand into hers. “You are the sister of my heart. Regardless of my inability to have children, I am overjoyed that you and my brother will soon have your own.”

  “Will you—” She curled a lip between her teeth. “I know you have been struggling with the decision to return to midwifery. But I want you to deliver my child.”

  My knees wobbled, and my head shook of its own accord. “No, Kiya. I cannot.”

  “But Reva says you are a natural midwife. How can you turn away from the gift you’ve been given?”

  When Ayal and Dvorah married, there would be nothing left for me but weaving. And Reva had caused me to question how tightly I was clinging to my fears. I could not deny that I missed midwifery, sometimes to the point of distress. I missed the rush of excitement that accompanied each labor. I missed breathing in rhythm with the women, assuring them of their own strength as they pushed, the collective release inside the tent when the babe let loose its first cry—even the honor of mourning with the mothers whose little ones arrived without breath. Most of all, I missed the feeling of satisfaction after I walked away from a family with one new member whose entrance into the world I had witnessed.

  But still, Leisha haunted me. I could never put Kiya or her child in such danger. No. Only a true midwife—one not paralyzed by doubts—should deliver Kiya’s baby.

  By the time we reached the wagons, supplies had dwindled considerably. The stall in front of us held only bronze daggers, a few clay pots, and a variety of stone and wooden idols and amulets. More than a few of the carvings were quietly being purchased as I looked on.

  Hadn’t these people learned anything from the incident with the golden bull-calf? Why could they not leave the gods of Egypt behind them, like Kiya and Jumo had done? Why did they insist on clinging to their chains?

  The memory of Miryam’s rebuke—that I stand up against such foolishness—rang in my ears. A sudden urge to fly at the traders and knock over their stalls surged inside me. I tamped it down with internal rebuke for even entertaining such a strange notion. Who was I to say anything? I was not a prophetess like Miryam, or a leader like Mosheh. To distract myself from my silly imaginings, I focused on scanning the stalls.

  “There!” I pointed at a wagon to our left. “I see bright colors and dried flowers in those pots.”

  Kiya grabbed my hand and snaked her way unapologetically through the mass of bodies. I received almost as many glares as she did, but she ignored them all. If only I could be so assertive; my insides curled into knots at the pointed malice in many expressions.

  “Do you have any purple?” Kiya asked the Midianite trader as we reached his improvised marke
t stall.

  His bushy brows peaked momentarily, perhaps surprised at the sight of an Egyptian among a throng of Hebrews. But surprise gave way to a practiced expression of casual indifference. This man was ready to haggle.

  “Perhaps.” He shrugged a shoulder and scratched at his grizzled beard.

  “And how much do you want for just a cupful?”

  He named a steep price.

  Kiya shook her head.

  The trader glowered. “Even just a bit is precious. The dye I have is from the far north, made by the only ones who know how to harvest it from the snails.”

  Kiya was her mother’s daughter, and Nailah had been well known as an expert at finagling the best price. Kiya narrowed her eyes at the Midianite. “And how do I know you have the best? Just last week some traders came from the north and claimed just the same. You came up through Egypt.” She patted the leather pouch at her waist with a little sigh. “No, I think I will save my gold.”

  His eyes widened infinitesimally, and Kiya seized on the hesitation. With a dismissive wave of her hand, she turned away.

  “Wait!” The trader grabbed her sleeve.

  Kiya winked at me. I nearly jeopardized the deal by giggling but held my composure. My friend arranged a disinterested look on her beautiful face before turning back around.

  “Truly, this dye is from Tyre itself. Although we came by way of Egypt, we first came down through Edom, where we heard of this nation out here in the wilderness.” He stretched a gap-toothed smile across his weathered face. “And this many people in the wilderness . . . well, you can imagine we saw the potential.”

  “I’m sure you did. But, my friend, my mother was the best of the merchants in the market of Iunu. You will not find me as full of potential as many of these others.” She shifted her stance and lowered her eyelids. “How do I know you tell the truth?”

  “I tell you, this is direct from the shores of Tyre. The whole city reeks of rot during the process.” He blew air through pursed lips and waved a dirty hand under his nose. “I’ve never smelled such a stink. No wonder it’s so costly.”