Shadow of the Storm

by Connilyn Cossette

  “You have been given a gift, Shira.” Her voice rasped low, so Bithya would not hear. “I could see it from the moment you walked into Hadassah’s tent that night. You were so calm. Like an unwavering flame in a whirlwind. Your hands were steady, not a twitch. And the strength with which you held that girl up was supernatural.”

  I blinked at her, astounded by her observations. It was true that, when Hadassah screamed, I had somehow willed my breathing to decelerate and my pulse to lengthen its pace—as if my rhythms could influence hers. “But I cannot understand the pain. I will never . . .”

  “No, you cannot. And that will be a drawback for you. I will not lie. But you have a gift, a gift of compassion. I have seen it in you since you were a young child.”

  I questioned her with a raised brow.

  “You were always bringing home other children or animals that needed special care, Shira. Even before you could speak words, your singing soothed others around you. You have maternal instincts, even though you have no children of your own.” Compassion was etched into every line of her wrinkled face. “And I will teach you, just as Miryam herself taught me many years ago.”

  “Mosheh’s sister taught you midwifery?”

  Reva nodded even as a shadow of pain crossed her face. “And now I will pass on the same wisdom Miryam gave me when I first became her apprentice.” She leaned close, her eyes steady on mine. “Stay here. Force yourself to watch. Focus, not on your own loss, but on the joy in Bithya’s eyes.”

  “But—”

  “No excuses. This is the only way, Shira. You were made to do this. And you will grieve. Every time you help a baby come into this world, you will mourn a little. But instead of letting the grief overcome you, allow the miracle to overcome the hurt.”

  Gently, she turned me back around to watch the new mother. Her reassuring grip on my arms tightened as she whispered into my ear. “Each life is a gift from Yahweh. And your gift is to help bring those miracles into the world. You may not have any children of your own body, Shira, but every baby guided to birth by your hands will be a child of your heart.”

  11

  7 ELUL

  6TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  Dvorah, this is Shira.” Reva pressed me forward. “She will be observing your examination of Leisha today. I must tend to a stillborn. I will leave her here with you.”

  Dvorah looked me over, head to toe, obvious skepticism in her almond-shaped eyes. Her dark hair was hidden beneath a severe turban that matched her ankle-length widow’s tunic, fashioned from rough, black goat’s wool.

  Her olive complexion and the slight hook of her slender nose marked her as Hebrew, yet Egypt announced itself in the haughty tilt of her kohl-lined brown eyes. A gold ring sparkled in one nostril. She waved a flippant gesture for me to sit next to her on the ground near the mother’s feet. A silver anklet on her leg, lined with tiny bells, jangled as she scooted a few inches away.

  I had observed Reva for two weeks now, trailing behind her at every waking moment, drinking deeply of her expertise like a thirsty seedling in a downpour. Being left in the hands of another apprentice midwife frustrated me, but Reva must have confidence in Dvorah’s skills to do so. Besides, I was not eager to watch another tiny, still body being swaddled for the grave.

  My mother had not explicitly forbidden me to learn midwifery—however much she frowned and huffed whenever I left to follow Reva. I attributed her reluctant acceptance solely to Kiya and her influence over my brother.

  Leisha lay on a narrow pallet with her rounded stomach bared and thick, gleaming black hair fanned around her. Only Kiya’s late mother, Nailah, could compete with this woman for beauty. Although she was Hebrew, I guessed that many an Egyptian had been envious of her high cheekbones and thick eyelashes. Her eyes were so light—an unusual shade of hazel rimmed with dark brown. They seemed to glow in the late-morning sun streaming through the tent flap.

  “How many have you given birth to?” Dvorah asked Leisha as she pressed on her belly.

  “Just my boys. Twins.”

  Her gesture, toward the other small pallet in the tent, piqued my interest. Assuming the boys slept there, I glanced about for evidence of her husband. The tent was sparse. Besides the two pallets, only a few baskets, a small cookfire with a few scattered utensils, and a thick sheepskin rug that reminded me of Ziba and her lamb furnished the space. There were no other sleeping arrangements, no male clothing, nothing to indicate a man lived here. Curious—Leisha did not wear widow’s garments like Dvorah.

  Dvorah placed her ear on Leisha’s stomach, one hand raised in a gesture for silence as she listened. “Have you felt much movement?”

  Leisha nodded, but her eyes drifted toward the back wall, as if avoiding closer inspection.

  A silvery shiver of intuition jangled in my head. Without thinking, I asked, “Were your twins born without complications?”

  Both women turned toward me, sour-faced, as if my question were an irritation. Dvorah lifted a thick brow. “I believe I can handle this. You are here to learn. Not interrupt.”

  Chastened, I looked down at my hands and mumbled an apology.

  Dvorah gestured for Leisha to pull her dress back down. “Everything seems normal to me.” Standing, she slung a leather satchel over her head and shoulder, similar to the one Reva carried containing her oils, herbs, and tools. I sprang up and retreated to the doorway.

  “There were . . . complications,” Leisha said to Dvorah, as though she were the one who had asked the question in the first place. “With the twins. They were born early. Of course they survived, but . . . I worry.”

  “I’m sure you will be fine. You seem healthy enough.” Dvorah swept Leisha’s concerns away with a flip of a hand.

  I wanted to press more, ask exactly what the woman had experienced, but as my curiosity was obviously an uninvited guest, I kept silent.

  Leisha sat up and smoothed her dress over her hips. “Back in Egypt, the midwife gave me . . . something . . . to ensure the baby would be healthy.” Her hazel eyes flicked to mine and then back to Dvorah. “I was told that you were not opposed to such things.” She lowered her voice, but the covert meaning of her statement was as loud as a shofar call. “It’s why I asked for you to examine me.”

  Dvorah, too, looked over her shoulder at me, eyes narrowed as if in warning. Then she reached into the satchel at her hip. “Here.” She handed Leisha something—a necklace perhaps? “Wear this inside your dress. It should protect you both.”

  Had Dvorah given Leisha some type of charm? An amulet of Tawaret or Hathor like the pregnant women in Egypt used to ward off evil spirits? She had to know better. One of the first directives Yahweh had spoken from the mountain specifically forbade idols. How could she risk such a thing, especially after the incident with the golden Apis?

  My mind raced. I feigned interest in the woven mat at my feet as Dvorah recommended herbs to prepare Leisha’s body for labor. Should I tell Reva what I had seen? She always spoke against such things. But after the dark looks Dvorah had given me today, it might be best to keep quiet. Perhaps Reva would find out on her own that one of her midwives was dispensing idols along with pregnancy advice.

  I followed Dvorah into the open air, but before we left the campsite, she stopped, spinning around to face me. Hands on her hips, she jerked her chin at the tent. “Go back and get my bracelet. I left it on the ground.”

  Dvorah was obviously set on putting me in my place as the new apprentice. Obediently, I returned to the tent, apologizing when Leisha startled as I came back inside.

  “Dvorah forgot something.” I pointed to the discarded bangle on the floor.

  Leisha scowled at me. “You are too young to be a midwife.”

  Surprised by her pointed tone, I stumbled over my words. “I am . . . I am nearly eighteen.”

  She scoffed. “Well, you’ve never had a baby.” She pointed at my midsection. “Nothing could come out of those tiny hips. How could you possibly understand what it feels li
ke?”

  Although I had learned that small hips made little difference during delivery, her sharp words met their mark. If only she knew how true they were.

  I took in a deliberate breath and met her haughty stare. “That is true. I’ve never had a child. But one does not need to bear a child to understand pain, or to be of service to a laboring mother.”

  Surprise widened her hazel eyes, and the set of her shoulders softened.

  “I only want to be of help.” My confidence sprouted a bit, and I stood straighter as I recited Reva’s words. “That is what a midwife does—helps the mother be comfortable so the body can do its job.”

  All hostility abruptly drained from her expression. “I am frightened.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “Last time was so painful . . . I can’t do it again.”

  “You can.” I summoned enough courage to step closer and place a hand on her wrist. “Yahweh will give you the strength. And we will be here, along with your family.”

  Her beautiful face contorted into an ugly sneer, and she jerked away. “I have no family.”

  I mumbled an apology for my careless words, but my mind buzzed with confusion. Why would she not have a family? She must have a husband, and she had spoken of other children. Had they not traveled with her husband’s family?

  Leisha peered at me, her peculiar eyes locked on mine. She still held the necklace Dvorah had given her in her palm, but she worried the blue and green beads between her long fingers. It slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor. The distinctive golden horns of Hathor lay exposed on the reed mat.

  “Leave.” Leisha’s body stiffened in defense. “Now.”

  Snatching up the turquoise bracelet Dvorah had left on the ground, I fled the tent, avoiding Leisha’s penetrating stare as I did so. I hoped that when the time came for her to give birth, I would be well occupied somewhere else. The woman’s changeable moods shifted directions faster than a shuttle across a loom.

  12

  15 ELUL

  6TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  My arms ached from stirring the simmering pot of heavy wool. Wisps of steam rose from the surface of the water, mingling with the sweat that soaked my tunic. Tendrils of wet hair clung to my skin, and I brushed them off my neck, wishing I could tighten my fraying braid. The acrid smell of the wool marinating in the blood-red dye made me ill. I was forced to breathe through my nose as I pushed the enormous wooden paddle around and around for what seemed like hours.

  “Do not stop stirring, Shira, or the dye will not take evenly.” My mother’s terse command made me bristle as she passed by with a bundle of fresh wool in her hands.

  I had hoped that offering to help today might soften the thorny demeanor she’d had toward me since I stood up to her. Instead, it only proved to emphasize the depth of my ineptitude with her trade. The enormous task of dyeing the wool that would be woven into fabrics for the new Tent of Meeting would drag on for weeks. I’d made it clear I could only help this one day since Reva insisted I needed a break from midwifery. But I was anxious to know everything, and taking even one day off might cause me to miss some important knowledge.

  Mosheh had descended from the summit of the mountain a few days ago, his face glowing with an eerie, terrifying incandescence. So with a veil to cover the strange radiance and new Covenant tablets in hand, he relayed clear instructions to design a grand dwelling place—a Mishkan—where Yahweh had mercifully declared his presence would reside. As one of the most talented master weavers in the camp, my mother was commissioned to create one of the ten-cubit-long panels that would hang at the entrance to the expansive courtyard.

  This morning, a caravan from Midian had arrived with another wagonload of madder root and crimson shani powder—made from the crushed remains of the kermes worm. The red wool would be woven together with brilliant indigo blues, Tyrian purples, and fine white linen into an intricate design fit for royalty.

  Soon after Mosheh’s return, the elders had outlined the reorganization of the tribes around a large rectangular clearing at the center of the valley. The chaos of moving thousands of tents was reminiscent of our first assembly beneath tribal banners, the night the Cloud appeared to lead us out of Egypt. It took days for the shuffle of animals, belongings, wagons, and dwellings to settle. Our new campsite lay along the western boundary of the clearing, closer to the mountain. We now lived with the other Gershonites, since my father was descended from the firstborn son of Levi.

  Ensuring that my mother’s back was turned, I hunched my shoulders to stretch and then brushed the perspiration from my forehead. I rocked forward on my toes, trying to catch a glimpse of the Levites who were working to clear and flatten the place designated for the Mishkan, wondering if Ayal was among them and where his campsite was located among the rearranged sea of tents.

  Regret for the way I had walked away from him that night nagged at me. If only I could see him again, apologize for my rudeness. His face, the sheen of his amber eyes in the firelight, even the low rumble of his voice, appeared in my mind without warning at all times of the day and night. Had he even thought of me since Kiya’s wedding?

  My new sister came up beside me, carrying a basket of hairy madder root against her hip. “Don’t let her catch you idling.”

  Flushing as if my friend could see the path of my thoughts and the tall man at the end of them, I gripped the paddle and swirled the musty stew with a groan. “Even working with Dvorah is better than this.”

  Kiya dumped the contents of her basket into another dye-pot hanging suspended over a fire. She added more kindling to bring the water to a boil. “What does that woman have against you?”

  “To tell you the truth, I have no idea. She is so cold. Indifferent. As if simply speaking to me is an affront to her. She hated me the first moment we met.”

  Kiya wrinkled her brow. “How could anyone hate you? It’s not possible.”

  I smirked. “You did, when you first came to Tekurah’s home.”

  Her expression turned somber. “That is not true. I did not understand you, and—” Her sun-darkened skin flushed. “In all honesty, I felt superior to you. You were Hebrew, I was Egyptian. Everything I knew back then told me that Hebrews were created by the gods to be our slaves.” She nudged at a large stone with the toe of her papyrus sandal. “It galls me to think that I ever considered myself so far above you.”

  “Well.” I bowed with a flourish. “Mind that it doesn’t happen again, My Queen.”

  Kiya’s bright laughter made my heart sing. Although the shroud of mourning that had hovered over camp for weeks had given way to an air of jubilant relief since Mosheh’s return, Kiya still could not walk through our camp without harassment, and very few women outside our family spoke to her with kindness. I could tell that it stung her to be cast out by the other Hebrew women, and I had apologized on their behalf. But she insisted that nothing anyone could say was worse than the daily verbal assault she had endured from Tekurah.

  “Are you here to giggle? Or help?” My mother’s chastisement lashed like a whip across my back.

  I stiffened but presented my mother with a smile. “I am glad to help you, Ima. Reva does not need me today.”

  She scowled. “Are there no babies being born?”

  “I am certain there are. I think half the women in this camp are expecting.” I winked at Kiya. “Perhaps the men have too much time on their hands since leaving Egypt.”

  Kiya flushed to her hairline at my blatant tease. I doubted it would be long before she would search out Reva’s services as well. Although the thought caused a small pang of jealousy beneath my ribs, I knew the healing a child would bring to Kiya after the loss of her mother.

  With a shake of her head, my mother nudged me aside. Using the broad paddle, she lifted the saturated wool from the pot. She compared the oozing lump with a sample tied to her wrist and nodded to herself, apparently satisfied with the depth of its color.

  “Squeeze the water from that batch now, before it darkens any m
ore. Then hang it to dry.” She pointed behind me, where crimson loops dripped from ropes strung between our tent poles.

  With an inward grimace, I reached for the mass, catching my breath as the sour smell wafted upward.

  “If this disgusts you so much, you are welcome to leave.” My mother frowned, her fists at her narrow hips. “I don’t understand how it could, after what you insist on doing with Reva.”

  We had danced around this issue for weeks now, my mother needling me with subtle comments that I pretended to ignore. Perhaps it was time to bring an end to the pretense.

  “I love what I am learning, Ima. I know you do not approve, but I wish you would at least try to understand—”

  My mother cut me off with a palm in the air. “I have indulged this foolishness only because your brother insisted. But mark my words, daughter.” She raised a finger. “No good will come of this. You will end up with your heart trampled on the ground.”

  “But Ima—”

  “That batch will be ruined soon. Do not waste wool.” Turning, she walked away from us, leaving me wounded by her dismissal and my hands stained a bloody red.

  13

  29 ELUL

  6TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  You are ready.” Reva’s strong fingers gripped my shoulders. “And I am here beside you. There is nothing to fear.”

  I glanced at the laboring woman whose loud moans overtook our whispered conversation in the corner of the tent. “It has only been a handful of weeks. You cannot expect me to be prepared.”

  “You are prepared. You have attended many births. And your intuition is just as I guessed it would be.”

  “But if there are complications—”

  My gaze flicked to Dvorah near the far wall of the tent. She turned away with a bored expression, but not before a hint of jealousy flashed in her eyes. Surely she had performed a birth on her own? She’d been working with Reva for weeks longer than I and seemed to have previous experience as well. What possible reason would she have to envy me?