by Mesu Andrews
She laughed through her tears. “You didn’t call me Puah.”
Confusion replaced his concern. “Why would I call you Puah?”
“Puah was so good, so pure and loving. I’m afraid I can never be—” Tears choked her, and she tried to turn away, the familiar wall of shame building inside.
Mered laid his lips against her ear. “And how can a linen keeper compare to Egypt’s premier soldier?”
Startled, she turned to meet his gaze as he smiled down at her.
“We are blessed and cursed to have known each other’s spouse so well. Let’s focus on the blessing.” He kissed her nose, each eyelid, and then her mouth, slowly. “The night Mandai brought you to me was the night I realized Puah had known of Mehy’s secret heritage all along. You know things about Puah I never knew, and you can share them when you’re ready. Likewise, I can tell you things only I knew about Sebak.” He kissed her forehead. “I believe he experienced victory in death, by the way.”
“Victory in death? That’s a strange phrase.”
“Horemheb and Pirameses had convinced Master Sebak that he must be Seth reborn to honor his ancestors, but his gentle spirit rebelled and the violence tormented him.”
“Miriam said they’ve told Mehy the same thing.” Bithiah’s heart ached at the thought of her sweet boy’s torment.
Mered brushed her cheek. “Yes. But I assured Mehy that I would pray to El-Shaddai for his protection as I prayed for his abbi Sebak. Before Sebak was sent to kill the Hittite prince, he and I talked about my belief in El-Shaddai—and his. I can’t know with certainty that Sebak waits for paradise in Abraham’s bosom, but our God is merciful. If Sebak believed in El-Shaddai’s promises, I will see my friend again.”
“Tell me more—”
“Father!” Jered appeared at the rooftop entry. “Nassor sent guards. Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt …”
Mered donned his robe and met his son at the rooftop entry. “Bithiah and I will be sleeping on the roof from now on, Jered. What were you saying about Nassor?”
Bithiah made sure the linen sheet covered her completely—including her flushed neck and face—and then tried to focus on Jered’s report.
“Mehy demands your presence to correct a problem with his byssus sheath for the Lotus Feast. The king’s barque arrives today.”
“Tell the guards I’ll report to Mehy’s chamber at once.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Jered, wait. How’s Miriam this morning?”
“Jochebed said she’s drinking clear broth and sitting up now. She can’t sing yet, but she’ll walk again.”
The world came crashing back, shattering the dream Bithiah and Mered had created, but somehow it wasn’t quite as overwhelming.
Mered returned to her side, sat down, and removed the sheet covering her. “I must leave you now, beloved, but we no longer hide behind anything. Nothing separates us. No lies. No fear.” He kissed her gently and turned to go.
“Wait, I’m going with you.” She stood and reached for her robe.
He helped her put it on, concern etched on his brow. “I’m sure Miriam will be glad to see you, but make sure you rest some today.”
“No, I mean I’m going with you to meet Mehy.”
The fear on her husband’s face matched her own. “No, not today, Bithiah.” He cupped her cheeks and stared into her eyes, barely a handbreadth away. “Not when you’ve been through so much. We’ll tell Mehy the truth when you’re feeling stronger.”
She traced his furrowed brow, loving this man for his concern, his integrity, and his faith. “I’ll feel stronger when we tell Mehy the truth. It’s one less lie we must live.”
Mered dropped his hands to his side and turned away. What was he thinking?
She slid her hands around his waist and laid her head against his back. “I want to tell Mehy I’m alive before Abbi Horem arrives. It’s easier to trust El-Shaddai before the son of Horus comes to Avaris.”
El-Shaddai, protect those I love.
Mered walked the long corridor toward Mehy’s chamber alone. He’d made the right decision to leave Bithiah at the workshop with Jered. Nassor was waiting beside the master’s chamber and would be the only Ramessid who might recognize Bithiah. He’d been utterly devoted to the amira and grieved her death violently.
“It’s about time you got here. Master Mehy has been waiting since dawn.” Nassor rapped his spear on the door and escorted Mered inside. “He’s at the bathhouse.”
The estate foreman pointed the way, and Mered continued down the tiled path alone.
Mehy lounged on faded pillows under the shabby three-sided enclosure. Evidently, the master didn’t spend much time here. “How’s Miriam?”
“She’s much better this morning. Sipping broth. Jochebed says she’ll walk again.”
Mehy covered his face, shoulders shaking. When Mered took a step toward him, Mehy waved him away. The linen keeper stood awkwardly beside the boy who’d made a man’s difficult choice.
“You did what you had to, Master Mehy. Ednah told us what happened. She explained the brands on their forearms too. Thank you.”
Regaining some composure, Mehy wiped his face but still didn’t look at his friend. “You’re thanking me for marking your daughter with the symbol of a concubine?”
Mered bowed his head and knelt near Mehy’s couch. “I’m thanking you for saving Miriam’s life and for finding a way to keep both her and Ednah safe while you’re away.”
Mehy shook his head. A single tear rolled into his wig, the kohl around his eyes wiped away long ago.
“Master Mehy, I need to confess another hard truth. I risk many lives in the telling because it will certainly cause you more pain.” Mered swallowed hard. “But it must be told.”
The young warrior pushed himself off the couch, towering over his linen keeper. “Do you really want to test my anger right now?”
“No, I don’t want to at all. In fact, I’d rather dance with a crocodile than tell you this now, but to wait any longer would betray our friendship.” Mered stood, meeting him eye to eye. “Like Miriam and Jochebed, I have kept a secret from you in order to save lives—yours and others.”
Mehy’s eyes narrowed. “A true friend keeps no secrets.”
“When you were a child, we kept secrets to protect you, but you’re a man now. Secrets will never separate us again.” Mered peered around the shelter to ensure no one else would hear. “Your ummi Anippe is alive.”
Mehy didn’t flinch; he offered no sign that he’d heard. His eyes remained fixed on the willow tree by the bathhouse.
Mered cleared his throat, inspected his sandals, and even adjusted his gold-braided belt. Still no response. “Did you hear me, Mehy? I said—”
“You’re lying.” Mehy’s cheeks quaked. “Jad Horem ordered Mandai to kill her. A Medjay never disobeys an order. I saw him kill Ankhe.”
“Ankhe is dead. Your ummi is not.”
His eyes sparked. “She’s not my ummi. Where is she?”
Mered hesitated more than a heartbeat, stoking the young master’s anger.
Grabbing Mered’s throat, Mehy nearly lifted him off his feet. “I said, where is she?”
“Only if you promise not to harm her.”
A moment of decision crossed Mehy’s face, and he loosened his grip. Mered gasped for breath while Mehy stared at him, expressionless. “I can’t promise that.” His eyes glistened, and he turned away. “I didn’t mean to hurt Miriam so badly. Sometimes, I can’t control it.”
Mered’s heart ached for the boy he once knew—and the man Pirameses was breaking. “Only one God can help you, Mehy. Your ummi has found safety and peace in El-Shaddai. Mandai brought her to the Hebrew village that night—the same night Puah died. Anippe became my wife, and her name is Bithiah.”
Mehy laughed—a harsh, mirthless sound. “Go, Mered. Go, live with Bithiah in your safety and peace, and leave me to my gods and wars.”
“Mehy, please. El-Shaddai can gi
ve you that same peace—”
“I said, go!” Mehy whirled, his eyes blazing. “Don’t make me prove I’m Seth reborn.”
Mered stood without flinching, feeling no fear—only pity. “She misses you desperately, Mehy, and we love you very much.” He took two steps and held the boy’s face in his hands. “Please, find a way to see her, but be careful. Nassor might still recognize her.”
He kissed Mehy’s forehead and walked away.
40
I am a foreigner to my own family,
a stranger to my own mother’s children.
—PSALM 69:8
ONE MONTH LATER
Bithiah watched her husband sop up the last bit of gruel with his nabk-berry bread. He loved their daughter’s cooking. Since Miriam’s beating, Ednah had taken over the cook fire, and both households were eating like Pharaoh himself.
Jochebed sat by Amram, helping him slowly spoon up the gruel when his hand shook too violently to lift it to his mouth. Mered’s boys were the exact opposite, slurping their gruel ravenously. Jered would join his father at the linen shop, grumpy as usual, still impatient to marry Sela. Heber and Jeki sat on Bithiah’s right and left—her constant helpers and companions as sowing season grew near.
Bithiah felt like the only unskilled worker among them. She could grind grain, haul water, and make beer, but she had discovered a week ago she couldn’t make a baby. Her red flow had come as usual, bringing a strange mixture of relief and sadness. For most of her life she’d been terrified of getting pregnant. Now that she loved Mered so thoroughly and had begun trusting God more fully, she dared to hope. Perhaps she was past childbearing.
Mered shoved his bowl away and pushed to his feet. “Come, Jered. We can’t be late today. The noblemen’s wives pick up their orders, and the troop ships …”
His words died as every eye turned to Bithiah.
Tears threatened instantly. “I know Pirameses’s soldiers need their war kilts before they sail today.” She tickled Heber and Jeki, earning their squeals and giggles. “We can’t have Pharaoh’s soldiers fighting without any clothes.”
Their laughter soothed her melancholy, and her husband’s kiss bolstered her courage. “Mehy knows the truth now.” He leaned down to hug her. “We’ve done all we can. The rest is up to him—and El-Shaddai.”
She nodded, but emotion tightened her throat. Mehy knew she was alive yet had made no effort to see her—and now he was leaving to fight the Hittites. Would she ever see him again?
“Mama, don’t cry.” Jeki patted her shoulder. “Heber and me will be good today.”
Bithiah squeezed her three-year-old tight. “You’re always good, my big boy. Now go get our special jar so I can draw your three dots.”
Mered pecked another kiss atop her head, and Jered waved before they both slipped through the curtained doorway.
“Time for my nap.” Amram tried to rock to his feet but required Jochebed’s help to stand.
“Come, I’ll get you settled before I start weaving my next basket.” Jochebed’s gentle spirit amazed Bithiah. She showed the same gentleness with her daughter.
Miriam still hadn’t recovered sufficiently to join them for meals, but she was steadily improving. Shiphrah visited daily, teaching Miriam the healing herbs and midwifery. The girl would need a skill if she and Jochebed hoped to remain in the craftsmen’s village. Amram still worked on jewelry in their home but could no longer work at the metal-and-gem shop.
Jeki appeared with the jar of henna and a small stick. Bithiah dipped the applicator into the reddish paste and smeared three dark-red dots on his right hand. Heber remained seated beside her, hiding his hands.
Bithiah raised a brow. “And what is this sudden aversion to our dots?”
Head bowed, avoiding her gaze, he mumbled, “I’ve seen seven inundations. I’m too old for dots.”
One son going to war and another refusing his dots. She kissed his forehead and stashed the jar, gathering Jeki’s dotted hand and Heber’s undotted one. “El-Shaddai is always watching over you, whether your hand has dots or not, but the dots are there to remind you.” She pointed to the first dot on Jeki’s hand. “Who is this one?”
“Jeki.”
“And this one?”
“Mama.”
“And this one?”
“El-Shaddai …” Jeki spoke the name of God as a whisper, reverent and holy.
Bithiah’s heart squeezed. “That’s right, little one.”
“I’ll remember, Mama.” Heber patted her hand, gazing intently at her. “I don’t need dots to remember Him.”
She pulled them both into a ferocious hug. “Let’s get started on our day. I promised Shiphrah I’d grind some herbs for her. If there’s no breeze, we can do it outside.” Both boys shouted and bounced, nearly toppling over the gruel pot. “All right, all right—let’s clean up our dishes before we celebrate.”
With morning chores complete, the three of them left the confines of their one-room home and walked the alley between long houses toward Shiphrah’s doorway. Bithiah called through her curtain, “Shalom … Anyone here?”
No answer. She shoved aside the curtain and saw two bundles of herbs—mint and dill—placed on Shiphrah’s single table near the grinding pestle and stone.
“She must have been called away for a birth and left these for us.”
“Can we help grind?” Heber picked up the bundle of dill, sniffed it, and wrinkled his nose.
“You and Jeki can help by going back to our house and getting two small jars. I’ll need something to hold the ground herbs when I’m finished.”
The boys ran off, Heber way ahead of his little brother.
“Stay together,” she called after them. “I’ll meet you under our favorite tree.”
Bithiah left Shiphrah’s home and walked down the path toward the Nile to a single willow tree. This area had been flooded last month when the Nile’s waters brought rich black soil from the south to nourish their crops. Now thick, lush grass grew around the trunk, so she propped herself against the tree, closed her eyes, and tried not to think about Mehy going to war.
Like the waters of the Nile, her fears had seemed to ebb during the past month. Not because her circumstances had improved or changed, but because she trusted more in El-Shaddai. She’d realized the despair that drove her into the Nile that day was the same hopelessness that had haunted Ankhe all her life. Her sister had seen nothing but the offenses, the fear, the pain of life. Bithiah’s heart broke for the little girl who never knew a father’s love, a man’s love—and never knew of El-Shaddai’s love. None of the people Anippe had loved—Amenia, Tut, or Senpa—knew of El-Shaddai’s power to heal a broken heart and restore shattered lives. How she wished she could tell Mehy of that God someday.
“Mama!” Heber’s panicked scream brought her to her feet.
“Heber! Jeki!” She ran toward her sons, who were being marched in front of four Ramessid guards.
The boys grabbed her knees, and she reached down to cradle them against her. They were trembling and crying, and it stirred her fury. “Why must you frighten little boys? Have you nothing better to do than—”
“Yes, this is the woman.” A male voice startled her, causing her to look up as the four guards parted.
Mehy stood beside Mandai, both threatening her with their stares.
Her mind reeled, tying her tongue.
Heber sobbed into her robe. “Mama, the master saw Jeki’s three dots and got angry. Are they going to hurt us?”
Indignation replaced her fear. Bithiah moved her sons behind her and lifted her chin. “Can’t a Hebrew mother place three dots on her son’s hand?”
“It proves you are the woman I seek,” Mehy said, stepping closer. “You are Bithiah, aren’t you? I believe you once lived at the villa. My chamber and bathhouse have recently been restored and need a thorough cleaning. I want someone who knows the master’s chamber and is careful to maintain my treasured past.” Mehy took another step closer and lowere
d his voice. “I knew when I saw the boy’s three dots I’d found my ummi’s favorite chambermaid. Ummi Anippe used to put three dots on my hand.” He bent down to show Heber and Jeki his gold wristband and then removed it, revealing three henna dots beneath. “My ummi used kohl on my hands, but I use henna under my band because it lasts longer.”
Bithiah’s breath caught, and she covered a gasp, quickly bowing her head to hide her reaction. He remembers the dots—and still paints them. Grasping at composure, she lifted her head. “Yes, I’m Bithiah, and I would be honored to clean your chamber, Master Mehy. May I take my sons to their father in the linen shop?”
“They can follow us to the villa, and my Ramessids will escort them to the shop.” Mehy turned to Heber and Jeki again. “Tell your abbi Mered I’ll stop by to see him before my troop ship sails this afternoon.”
The boys bobbed their heads, eyes wide.
“Follow me.”
He walked away, and the Medjay grabbed Bithiah’s arm as if she were a prisoner. Heber and Jeki followed, the guards falling in step behind them.
When they walked through the narrow alley between long houses, Mehy tossed a question over his shoulder. “Do you live in one of these houses, Bithiah?”
“Yes, our family lives through that doorway, there.” She pointed, and Mehy took note. Was he simply curious, or did he have other motives?
As she watched her son’s confident stride, she was startled by a revelation: she knew Mehy as a boy, not a man. Though he was still only fifteen, his body was a man’s and his military training had matured him too quickly. She looked over her shoulder at Heber and Jeki. She must guard her little ones from the son she once knew.
Every Ramessid, Hebrew, and merchant took note as they paraded from the long houses, up the hill, and toward the workshops, market, and villa. Whispers and pointing—sure signs of speculation of their crimes. What might they have done—a Hebrew woman and two little boys—to require four Ramessids, a Medjay, and the master to apprehend them?
Halting abruptly at the villa’s garden entrance, Mehy turned to the guards. “Take the boys to the chief linen keeper, Mered, and then return to the king’s delegation. I have no further need of you.”
