The Pharaoh's Daughter (44 page)

“Kiss her.” Elisheba's crass intrusion ruptured the dream, sending Bithiah's heart into an erratic beat. “I don't plan on nursing Jekuthiel for three years. Surely you two can produce a child before that.”

The familiar terror of childbirth consumed her. Mered appeared nearly as frightened when he leaned down for a kiss, Bithiah bolted for safety behind Miriam's curtain, leaving her wedding guests staring after her. Shaking uncontrollably, she backed into a corner and slid down the wall, listening to the commotion she'd left behind.

“Well, I didn't mean to frighten her. I was teasing. Can't the woman take a joke?”

Anubis, take me. My body breathes without permission. Take me. Anubis, search for my heart to weigh on your scales. You won't find it, for a heart melted in sorrow weighs nothing at all. Deliver me from this world of pain and confusion …

Elisheba's guilty conscience moved her to invite Jered, Ednah, and Heber to spend the night with her and Aaron. She was still apologizing for sending the sensitive bride fleeing when she left with the children.

“Are you staying in our rooms, or would you like to collect your wife?” Amram's grin softened his message, but he was no doubt exhausted. Late-night jewelry preparations for Mehy's feast, Puah's burial, and a wedding—Amram had earned his own bed.

“I'll get her.” Mered shoved aside the curtain and found his bride mumbling and staring, much as she'd been when Mandai had brought her last night.
El-Shaddai, what do I do?

He walked toward her, and she curled into the corner, fighting hysteria.
What was this?
“Shh, stop. Stop this.” He knelt beside her trembling frame and grabbed her arms, forcing her to look into his eyes. “It's me, Mered. Why are you so frightened?” Her eyes were tightly shut, so he shook her gently. “Look at me—Bithiah.”

Her struggling eased, then ceased. Her eyes opened slowly and studied him. Fear—no, terror—was in their depths. “I don't want a baby. I'll die. Like Ummi Kiya. Like Puah. They died.”

He lifted her to her feet, tucked her safely beneath his arm, and guided her into their rooms—giving Amram, Jochebed, and Miriam silent permission to leave them. When they were alone, he sat her on their reed sleeping mat.

“Elisheba was insensitive and will apologize to you personally—I'll make sure of it—but you'll come to realize she's an ox with sharp horns and a soft heart.”

He moved to sit beside her, and she skittered away like a shy lamb. Frustrated, he stood and lifted her into his arms, marching toward the only chair they owned.

“What are you doing?” She kicked her legs. “Put me down.”

He plopped down on the chair and held her securely in his lap. “Is this position sufficient proof that I intend to talk with you tonight—only talk?”

Her cheeks pinked instantly, and her neck turned splotchy. She crossed her arms in a huff. “Then talk.”

He rested his forehead on her shoulder.
El-Shaddai, thank You for this infuriating woman who knew and loved my Puah as I did.
Tears threatened to undo him. Puah wasn't what he planned to talk about, but he was exhausted—physically and emotionally. Both his and Bithiah's hearts had been ground like grain. Could they ever sift out enough flour to make a real life together?

“Mered, I'm sorry.” She brushed his hair with her fingers. “I've been afraid my whole life.”

A deep breath, a nod, and then he wiped his nose on her shoulder.

“Oh, stop that!”

He chuckled. “Do you know how to grind grain?”

The look on her face was priceless, appalled. She'd probably never touched a sieve either.

“I didn't think so. Do you know how to collect water with Heber—like you promised?”

She crossed her arms over her chest again. “No, but I knew it had to be done.”

“Bake bread, cook lentils, dry fruit?”

“No, no, and no.” She stared at the sleeping mat for a moment, her gaze
distant. “How will we convince anyone that I'm Hebrew, Mered? Elisheba will know within a single heartbeat, and she'll tell all those disappointed women in the village who are lining up to take my place.”

“The king has declared a three-day mourning period for Anippe and closed the linen shop. While you were sleeping this morning, I asked Nassor to place Miriam under my supervision since she's no longer needed as the amira's handmaid.”

Bithiah's gaze grew distant again. He assumed she was thinking of Mehy and Ankhe.

Drawing her chin toward him, he searched her eyes and issued the challenge. “That means Miriam and I have three days to make you Hebrew.”

“My son will grow up without his ummi or abbi.”

“My children will never hear their mother's sweet voice again.” Mered let the tears come and watched realization dawn on Anippe's features. “I will trust you to love my children, and you must trust me to keep close watch on Mehy's progress—as an Egyptian soldier, yes, but more importantly as a man of integrity.”

Tears pooled on her thick, black lashes. “You'll see him in the summer at the linen shop, but I'll never see him again.”

He brushed her cheek. “Never is a long time. Only El-Shaddai lives in eternity. We live today.” He stood abruptly, catching her before she toppled to the floor.

She squealed and clutched at his robe. “Don't drop me.”

He righted her and held her a moment longer than needed. “I won't let you go.” Her cheeks flushed the color of roses.
Thank You, El-Shaddai, for providing a friend to share my grief.
He cleared the emotion from his throat. “I'll get Miriam. We can start your lessons tonight.”

THREE YEARS LATER

Bithiah pressed the grinding stone around the grooved wheel, crushing and conquering the last kernels from her second basket of grain. Three-year-old Jekuthiel knelt beside her, poking at the bread dough Miriam was trying to knead.

They'd turned it into a game. Miriam leaned into the dough, shoving her hands deep into its middle. Jeki poked his finger into the squishy glob, trying to pull it back before Miriam caught him. His giggles and squeals made for more enjoyable chores but kept Miriam from the linen workshop too long.

“Shouldn't you be helping Mered by now, Miriam?” Bithiah asked.

The Gurob Harem ship and king's barque would arrive any day for the annual royal visit, and Mered had worked late every night for a week to prepare extra byssus robes.

With a casual smile, Miriam continued her kneading. “Your husband said I should help you this morning instead.”

Bithiah felt her cheeks warm.
Mered sent her to help because I'll never be capable of caring for his family as Puah did.
She swallowed back tears, keeping her head bowed to the task. In the early days after Puah's death, they'd all grieved her openly. Stories of her warmed their hearts as they sat by the cook fire late at night. But no one grieved Ankhe. Anippe alone felt the hole in the world left by the girl no one had loved. Mered had heard Anippe crying on her
sleeping mat a few times and tried to comfort her, but there was little time for sentiment in the Hebrew camp. If she'd learned anything in the last three years, it was that.

Once Mered and Miriam had started her training on their wedding night, Bithiah's hands had burned as if with hornet stings for a month. Blistered and bleeding, she'd worked through it, determined to learn, firm in her commitment to raise Mered's children. Jered and Ednah had been helpful but missed their mother terribly and resented Bithiah's intrusion. She'd begged Mered to let them work at the linen shop, finding it preferable to deal with blisters rather than the children's bitterness.

She inspected the hard, yellow calluses at the base of each finger, her dry and cracked knuckles, and remembered the feel of olive oil massages and salt scrubs.

“Are you all right?” Miriam had stopped kneading and sat back on her heels. “I don't mind helping, you know.” She tousled Jeki's hair, leaving his black curls coated with flour dust.

The floodgate of Bithiah's tears burst then, and she tried to wipe them away before they dripped into her grain.

Miriam reached over and stopped her hands on the wheel. “Talk to me, Bithiah.”

“I'm Anippe.” The name came out like a curse. Slowly she raised her eyes to the handmaid she'd known long ago. “Some days are easier than others to pretend I'm Bithiah. Today I'm Anippe.” She wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve. Disgusting, but who had time for a dainty cloth? “We still have clothes to wash, water to gather, grain to parch, and beer-mash to sieve. Let's not talk about things that don't matter.”

“You matter.” Miriam returned to her tasks. She worked at twice the pace and accomplished three times as much.

Bithiah poured finely ground grain into a bowl, but as quickly as she ground it, Miriam added a splash of water, stirred, and kneaded another batch of bread. She had several rounds of bread cooking on the hot stones and still had time to entertain Jekuthiel.

“Will Amram find a husband for you … since I never did?” Guilt still
clawed at Bithiah for taking Miriam to Gurob during her marriageable years. She could have been baking bread for her own husband and children by now.

“Since father's falling sickness started last year, I care for him while mother makes baskets for the villa. Add in my work at the linen shop, and I have no time for a husband.” Miriam's rhythm never slowed. Stirring. Kneading. Baking. She sounded so brave, so sure.

“Don't you ever want to be held, Miriam? Yearn for a man's touch?”

“Don't you?” Miriam leveled her gaze at Bithiah, a spark in her eye. “You've been married three years, and Mered's never touched you.” She pointed to the separate mats in their small room. “Ednah told me she sleeps with Heber on that one, Mered and Jered sleep on the roof, and you and Jeki sleep over there.” She went back to kneading. “Why does your husband sleep on the roof? Mered is the best man I know, Bithiah. You're blessed to have him.”

Was Miriam jealous? Did she want Mered? His family? “Miriam, I … we … Mered and I have an arrangement. I needed a place to live, and he needed someone to care for his children. He loves Puah—”

“Mered loves you, my friend. Can't you see it?”

“No. No, he can't. He doesn't.” Bithiah jumped to her feet, distancing herself from Miriam and her wild imagination. “Perhaps you love Mered and are simply jealous.”

Miriam leaned back on her heels, a slow, sweet grin on her lips. “I do love Mered.”

The words stole Bithiah's breath.

“I love him like a brother, but there's another who holds my heart.”

Relief swept over Bithiah like the Nile's cool waves. She returned to kneel beside her friend. “Who, Miriam? Is it the man you spoke of when we returned from Gurob? The one I hoped to match for your marriage?”

“El-Shaddai holds my heart, Bithiah. He's the One I adore. I feel His presence when I sing.”

“Oh, Miriam.” Disheartened, Bithiah ached at the girl's loneliness. “A god could never fill the longing for your one true love.”

“No, Bithiah. A man can never fill the longing for my one true God.”

Mered sat at his workshop desk, head buried in his hands. The rhythmic hum of his Hebrew brethren couldn't dull the pounding in his head. Nassor's threats had increased as the arrival of their royal guests drew near. The estate foreman had always been brutal toward the Hebrews, but whatever monster dwelt within him was unleashed after Ankhe's and Anippe's deaths. Violence alone no longer sated his amoral cravings.

Nassor now demanded a percentage of all linen production—his private wages to supplement a foreman's woefully insufficient pay. He also took percentages from the bakery, brewery, and every other workshop at Avaris. The bread and beer Nassor shared as bribes with his underling guards, but the other goods he stockpiled—waiting to use the Egyptian peasants as salesmen when the royals came to visit each year.