Shadow of the Storm

by Connilyn Cossette

  But I was good at this as well. I never forgot anything Reva taught me, my arms and hands were strong, and each time I assisted with a birth I was more confident, more assured that I would soon be able to midwife on my own. Each delivery was a small victory over Shira, even if I’d never be Reva’s pet.

  Shortly after dawn, and what seemed like hours of the woman roaring and bellowing and panting like a chariot horse, Reva announced that the baby’s head had crowned. Gameliah slumped to her side in exhaustion, moaning and weeping as if she were a little girl and announcing that she would not, could not, do any more.

  Right as the next contraction hit, a thunderclap shattered the quiet, so close that it seemed to come from inside the tent itself. My teeth slammed together as the reverberation vibrated deep into my bones. A flash of light illuminated the tent, mimicking the flame of a million torches. Every hair on my body stood straight on end, and I was momentarily blinded by bright colors that floated in front of my sight.

  “What was that?” Gameliah shrieked. “A storm?”

  Rare storms sometimes slipped across the mountains, surprising us with drenching rains, but not since the day of the Covenant had I heard such violent thunderings. I shuddered at the reminder of that horrible Voice trumpeting in my ear, condemning me with its every terrifying word, reaching into the pit of shame inside me and finding no bottom. I had been glad when so many people begged Mosheh to stop the Voice from speaking to us again. It was far too invasive. I preferred Isis, my quiet goddess with the eternal smile and no voice of judgment.

  Reva’s face was nearly as pale as the laboring woman’s, but her voice was smooth as glass. “Gameliah, I do not know what just happened, but we must deliver this baby. Focus on pushing, or the little one will not survive. Push. Now.”

  Still reeling from the terrifying light, and ears ringing from the sound that had fractured the stillness of the camp so early in the morning, I followed my duties by rote.

  Overlapping noises came from outside—shouts from the direction of the Mishkan, the shrieks of children awakened by the crack of thunder against tiny ears, the bleat of goats and sheep startled by the commotion.

  Reva ignored the chaos and delivered the baby, a tiny Levite to follow in his father’s footsteps. The rap of jealousy knocked loudly as I watched Gameliah fawn over her son. My son barely remembered his father. The only legacy Tareq had left us was slavery to Hassam and his whims. Who would guide Matti on his journey to manhood? My bloodthirsty, depraved brother-in-law? The thought of my sweet boy imitating Hassam made me ill.

  A shofar blew. The call for the elders to meet was a distinct pattern familiar to all of us. What could have happened that the elders had been summoned? A shiver ran up my arms.

  Somewhere close by, a mourning wail began. Gameliah startled from her oblivious perusal of the baby. “Did that come from near the Mishkan?” She clutched him closer, panic in her wide eyes. “My husband! Yehuel was helping with the sacrifices this morning.”

  Although I cared nothing about her man, I welcomed an excuse to get away from the volatile woman and her gushing over the baby, so I offered to go find out what had happened.

  There was chaos near the Mishkan—men coming and going from the entrance, faces pale and drawn. I touched the arm of a woman who stood gawking nearby, clutching a satchel to her chest with whitened knuckles. She jerked as if I had poked her with a stick.

  I lifted a hand to steady her but caught myself and snatched it back. “What is happening?” I said.

  The woman’s brown eyes were so big they seemed to consume her face. She shook her head back and forth. “It is awful. So awful.” Her lips pressed into a tight frown.

  “What? What happened?” For the second time in as many hours, I had the urge to shake a woman by the shoulders.

  “Fire struck Aharon’s sons. Right from the center of the Holy Place. One of the priests who witnessed the awful moment said it happened so fast that the two men were dead before their charred bodies hit the ground.”

  I stifled a gasp of disgust. “Why?”

  “No one knows.” She shrugged her shoulders. “They must have offended Yahweh somehow. One man said he saw them drinking heavily last night.”

  I had never met Aharon’s sons, did not even know their names, but my mind automatically ascribed my husband’s face to theirs. I could not scrub away the conjured image of Tareq lying in their place, smoke rising from his fire-stricken flesh, the light snuffed from his eyes. How could Aharon’s own sons be killed? Weren’t they among the elite of Mosheh’s precious Levites?

  Disgust churned in my gut as I shivered at the implication. If even direct descendants of Levi received no mercy for missteps, then I—born of a Hebrew zonah and some nameless Egyptian customer—could certainly expect nothing better. I would have to protect myself—and my son, whose own Hebrew blood was even thinner than mine—no matter the cost.

  There had to be an escape from Hassam’s yoke. I was so tired of stealing for him. Tired of being bullied. Tired of seeing Matti wilt when Hassam cursed him for being in his way, or drinking more than his allotment of water, or being too noisy, or whatever other reason Hassam fabricated to scald my boy with his words.

  I had thought Ayal was my path to freedom. If he had married me instead of Shira, Hassam would have left me alone. But I was Hassam’s direct line to Hebrew tents and the treasures within. He would not let me walk away easily.

  I returned to the tent to tell Reva what had happened. Although Gameliah gasped at the news of Aharon’s sons, she was relieved that it was not her own husband dead on the ground in front of the altar.

  White-faced and silent, Reva went outside to wash her hands. Gameliah, suddenly the picture of sweetness and maternal doting, chattered to me about the baby and how beautiful he was, but my mind was on my escape.

  The timing must be just right in order to get away from Hassam while keeping Matti safe. But where could I go? The camp was so organized now that there would be nowhere for me to move without suspicion. Hassam would too easily find me in the outer camps. He must be satisfied that I was under his control and did not have the courage, or the intelligence, to break away. I must continue the ruse that I was little more than a simple-minded, easily manipulated fool.

  Realizing that Gameliah had fallen asleep with the baby at her breast, I strained to detect Reva’s graveled tones close by—but heard nothing. Perhaps she had wandered off to learn more about Aharon’s sons.

  After glancing again at Gameliah to ensure she was sleeping, I peeked inside the nearest basket. Clothing. Another trunk nearby held only sandals, a few empty pots, and a foul-smelling goatskin bag. I almost closed the lid. Wait. Perhaps . . .

  I opened the bag and nearly gasped with joy. A golden armlet sparkled inside the bag, along with two leather cords strung with silver deben. I tucked the deben inside my leather pouch and lifted the armlet. The gold was clear and smooth and studded with enormous pearls the color of snow. I ran my thumb over one, marveling at its perfect, soft sheen. This would certainly keep Hassam convinced that I had no ideas about running away, that my loyalty was to him.

  “What are you doing?”

  I dropped the armlet back in the bag, heart galloping at the censure in Reva’s voice.

  “I was . . . looking for . . . something. Another blanket for the baby.”

  Reva’s pointed glare shot straight to the center of my lie.

  “How long have you been stealing?”

  I flinched, surprised at how deep the accusation, and the truth, cut me. Reva had been good to me, even if she had ignored me when Shira was around. The explanation pressed against my teeth, its urgency making my eyes smart. I have no choice. My son is at stake.

  “I should have believed her,” she said, her hands on her hips and those gray eyes piercing me as she shook her head. “When she warned me you were up to no good.”

  Shira. I should have known she was speaking against me. Her cloying sweetness was no more than a mirage, j
ust as I had suspected. She and the rest of the Levites were nothing but murderers and thieves.

  “Well?” Reva urged. “Do you have anything to say?”

  I set my jaw.

  “Nothing? After I have spent the last few months training you? After I took you under my wing even though my every instinct fought against it? You have no explanation?”

  I stared her down for a moment, wavering between dropping to my knees and begging for mercy, or spitting in her face. What could I say that would alter the condemnation in her expression? My words were worth nothing. I pressed my lips tighter.

  “All right, then.” She turned away, flipping a dismissive gesture toward the door. “I have no use for a thief. Go.”

  Gameliah released a moan in her sleep, followed by a sigh of contentment, which caused the baby to stir and smack his little lips. The tiny sound gouged through my thin veneer of control, and I spat a curse to guard against its intrusion. Twice now I had been within reach of the peace that stupid woman had, only to have it ripped away, first by the Levites and then by Shira. Fury pulsed through me as I turned and left the tent. They would both pay.

  Thanks be to Isis, Reva had not searched me. The silver deben I carried in my pouch would at least be something to offer Hassam and soften the blow before I told him I was no longer a midwife. He would be furious that I had recklessly cut off his supply of jewels and gold.

  How long could I avoid admitting the truth? Perhaps I could part with a few small trinkets I had stowed away, to allay any suspicion and postpone the inevitable beating I would receive.

  Foolish. I had forced my own hand with my carelessness. Now I must get away. I would not let him take his anger out on Matti. Last week, I had found bruises on my little boy’s upper arms in the distinct shape of a man’s fingers.

  The wails of people mourning Aharon’s sons sprang up all around me as I picked up the pace toward my son. A fitting memorial to my hope.

  41

  Shira

  8 NISSAN

  13TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  My eyes flew open. I jolted upright in my bed, fumbling with the blanket that had wrapped me in a tight cocoon. Ayal called my name again from outside, a repeat of the sublime sound that had reached into my fitful dreams. My bridegroom has finally come for me.

  I had prepared every evening for a week in anticipation of this moment—washing in the stream, laying out my finely embroidered dress, braiding my rose-oil-scented hair tightly, and taking long, slow breaths to force sleep into my body—but still, the shock of his arrival in the middle of the night left my composure in shards.

  My mother must have known that he was coming for me tonight. Cross-legged on the floor, she worked her needle, even in the dim light of one sputtering oil lamp. She looked amused by my flustered state. “Breathe, dear one.”

  I gulped.

  “Let me help you dress.” She lit another lamp. The flame sizzled as it burst into being, and my nerves echoed the sentiment. Shoshana and Zayna awakened at the sudden brightness, jumping up from their pallet to fetch my veil. They carried it between them, chattering with excitement, discussing their own weddings someday and the impossible sheerness of the linen my mother had woven.

  My mother lifted the gown and slipped it over my head. The double-layered linen rippled down my body like water. Kiya had gifted me one of her mother’s lovely dresses and then she and my mother had altered its fit and embroidered a pattern of purple lilies and tiny bluebirds all around the neckline. I trailed my hand across the delicate design, fashioned by love and a small amount of Kiya’s hard-won Tyrian dye.

  Voices around the tent grew in number. Ayal’s late-night arrival had no doubt attracted witnesses. Panic fluttered against my ribs. Would his brothers be with him? Who else was here to gawk as Ayal escorted me to our wedding tent? Hopefully not those awful women who had interrupted Kiya’s wedding feast.

  Distinct voices distracted me from my worries—Eben’s smooth tones and Jumo’s low ones, joking and laughing with the bridegroom as he waited for his bride. For me. My brother called out my name again with a playful admonition that Ayal had waited long enough.

  My mother laughed and placed her cool palm on my face. “That he has. The way that man watches you, I knew it would not be more than a few days before he snatched you away.”

  With a quick kiss to my suddenly overheated forehead, she covered my embarrassment with the linen veil and guided me to the door of the tent.

  The grinning faces of Eben, Jumo, Yonah, and Tomek greeted me first, before Kiya’s lovely one appeared. She slipped a quick hug around my neck and a whisper of blessing into my ear.

  The filmy linen over my face could not prevent my gaze from colliding with Ayal’s, though I was grateful for its camouflage of the hot flush on my cheeks. His beard was already beginning to fill in along his jaw, and his dark hair, though short, was making a reappearance. A flash of remembrance—of my fingers weaving through his hair as I cut it—made my stomach ache with longing for the silken waves.

  Standing tall and silent, Ayal seemed to be drinking in the sight of me as a slow smile lifted into place. He reached out a hand and I gripped it, marveling at the way his long fingers wove perfectly into mine.

  With a wink and a tiny jerk of his head to warn me, Ayal turned and fled the campsite, one stride to my every two. Laughter bubbled up inside my chest, but I concentrated on keeping rhythm with his footfalls.

  A few teasing comments followed us out of the campsite, but my mind was so hazy with joy and anticipation that I heard little. Our families would be close behind us, torches lighting their way, ready to begin a wedding celebration that would last for days, but it seemed Ayal had little interest in the traditional escort to our marriage tent. I was grateful for it—my heart was in a race with my feet.

  Through the shadows and around the outskirts of campfires we moved, like two nightjars on wing. A cool breeze pressed the veil against my face and I longed to rip the fabric away, but I had played out this night in my mind a hundred times, anticipated the image of Ayal’s face as he lifted it himself. I refused to relinquish the suspense.

  The silhouette of the Mishkan stood black against the star-brushed sky. Although the Cloud had stood over it for days, tonight it perched atop the mountain, its blue-white light illuminating the path to our wedding tent. I glanced at its now-familiar brightness and imagined the Creator looking down at us from the heights and declaring this night tov, just as he had upon the union of his first children in the Garden. The thought filled the hollows of my chest with peace, leaving no room for fear or trepidation.

  I had not been inside Leisha’s dwelling since Dvorah had fled. Though I knew it was to be my new home, the fleeting thought that I would be intruding on someone else’s abode gave me pause. Distracted, I stumbled on a stone in my path.

  Ayal whipped around to steady me, chest heaving from our flight through camp. “Forgive me, I am going too fast.”

  “No. I am fine. Just clumsy. It’s hard to see in the dark with the veil.”

  “And a little nervous?” A tease lifted his voice.

  “A bit.” I chewed my lip for a moment, but truth flowed from my mouth in a desperate rush. “I thought you would never come.”

  Ayal’s rich laughter seemed to seep through my skin, soaking into my blood and raising my body temperature as he tugged my hand and led me to the entrance of the tent. Golden light seeped through the slit.

  He turned and pulled me close to him, his anise-sweet breath on my face. “I know. It has been too long. Work on the Mishkan took longer than I’d hoped. I was also preparing your new home for you. I wanted it to be . . . comfortable.”

  I placed my hand on his chest. “I am sure anything would be lovely, Ayal. I am pleased just to be with you.”

  “Perhaps. But all the same, the time was necessary.” He gestured for me to lead the way.

  With a trembling inhale, I pushed aside the flap and stepped inside, bracing with reluctant expecta
tion.

  All misgivings floated away like mist. This tent stood in the same place as it had before. From the outside it looked no different, but the inside was completely changed. The simple pallet Talia had been born upon was gone, replaced by a bed fashioned of layers of plush sheepskins, pillows, and linens, nearly calf high.

  There was not one familiar item inside. Every basket, every crate, every clay oil lamp was different. I recognized the rugs covering the floor as all made by my mother’s hand, their colors vivid even through the filter of my veil. Two of Jumo’s painted wall-hangings hung from the woolen walls—one a joyful scene that reminded me of the lush beauty that defined the Egypt of my childhood and the other a brilliant depiction of the Cloud stacked high above the mountain.

  Ayal slipped his arms around my waist, his chin resting on the top of my head. “I wanted this place to be your home. To chase the shadows from its corners,” he said with a hint of hesitation. Was he unsure that I appreciated his effort? That I understood the significance?

  His gesture gave me courage. I twisted my body around and wrapped my arms around him, laying my head against his work-hardened chest. “This is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.”

  “I want to see your face,” he whispered, his voice thick. The steady thrum of his heartbeat quickened. “I am desperate to see your face.”

  I took a step back, and he lifted my veil. His expression was even better than my imaginings. I tried to memorize the exquisite beauty of the moment, the curves of delight around his mouth, the way his eyes reflected the flicker of the oil lamp—as if the light instead emanated from their depths.

  All too soon, his smile tipped into mischief as he reached for me. “So it is you. I worried that Eben might pull a trick like Lavan did with Rachel in the days of old.” He smirked at his own joke and shook his head. “Poor Yaakov.”

  I widened my eyes. “Ah. But you have not yet fulfilled your seven years of labor. Perhaps I should go and find a ‘Leah’ to take my place.” I feigned an attempt to slip from his grasp.