Miriam (19 page)

Then the
L
ORD
said to Moses, “Tell Aaron, ‘Stretch out your staff and strike the dust of the ground,' and throughout the land of Egypt the dust will become gnats.”

—
E
XODUS 8:16

E
leazar stood under the penetrating stare of Egypt's king, using every shred of restraint not to scratch the burning, itching bites that covered his body. Pharaoh used no such restraint. He sat on his throne scratching his arms and legs and neck and abdomen as he questioned Eleazar. “Do you know these Hebrews, Moses and Aaron?”

“Yes, my king.” Eleazar's voice echoed loud in the empty throne hall. He prayed they wouldn't press him further.

“Are they responsible for this infestation of biting midges?” Prince Kopshef shouted the question in Eleazar's right ear.

Eleazar paused, forming his answer carefully. “I saw Aaron strike the dust of the ground with Moses's staff, and the dust became biting gnats.”

“There, that's how you do it.” Pharaoh extended his flail toward Kopshef. “Take one of your magic rods and strike the dust.”

“I've tried that, Father.” Kopshef looked to the other magicians for support, but they merely bowed their heads, defeated.

Pharaoh's fury turned to quiet rage—a condition far more lethal. “Are you telling me that none of Egypt's gods can overpower this Yahweh?”

Kopshef's typical arrogance was suddenly replaced with trembling lips and hands extended like a beggar's. “Jannes and Jambres have tried every spell and chant. I, too, have called on every god and dark spirit, but our magic can't duplicate this plague.” He left Eleazar's side, ascended the steps of the dais, and bowed at his father's feet. “This plague is the finger of the Hebrew god. Please, mighty Pharaoh, Keeper of Harmony and Balance, what harm would come of letting the Hebrews go worship this Yahweh of theirs?”

“No!” Pharaoh shouted, slamming his flail on the armrest again. “Am I the only one strong enough to stand against a god of slaves? Must my sons and officials whine like old women every time they endure hardship? Get out of my sight, all of you!”

Eleazar joined Prince Ram as they exited the throne hall. The prince leaned close and whispered, “If you know these Hebrews, then go back to Goshen and beg them to lift this plague. My wife and children are suffering, Eleazar.” The ebony doors closed behind them, and Ram grabbed Eleazar's breast piece, jerking him to a halt, eyes pleading. “Make this stop, please.”

“I will try, my prince.”

Ram hurried away, rattled. He'd never spoken to Eleazar about his wife and children before. They talked only of weapons and battles and war. And when had Pharaoh's second firstborn ever begged help from a Hebrew slave? He hadn't even gloated over Kopshef's failure to duplicate the miracle.

Eleazar felt a peculiar peace amid the turmoil. Not because he or his family had been spared the suffering. No. Doda, Taliah, and the others were as miserable as the Egyptians, but the fact that the Hebrew God had proven His power superior to other gods had given Eleazar a sense of inevitability. Not today, and perhaps not tomorrow, but someday and somehow Pharaoh would indeed let Israel leave Egypt. Though Yahweh had done nothing for Eleazar personally—He might even punish Eleazar for years of rebellion—this Hebrew God was powerful enough to make Prince Ram beg. And that fact alone lightened Eleazar's step.

His journey to Goshen seemed shorter today. Perhaps it was because the mud pits and fields were deserted. It was the last month of Akhet, and the waters had reached their height. Whatever canals needed digging had been dug. The fields were too wet to plant. It was the perfect time for a plague.

Eleazar chuckled and let himself scratch his arms, moaning aloud at the fiery pleasure. He passed piles of frogs along the way and marveled at the amount of decay in only a week's time. They'd shrunk to half their original height, and the stench had become so familiar he now ceased to notice it. As he approached Doda's village, Eleazar saw a discarded robe in the tall grass. The robe groaned, and he hurried over to see an elderly man shivering and curled into a ball. Eleazar lifted him into his arms and carried him to Doda Miriam's.

“I need help!” he shouted as he shoved aside the curtain. Doda was applying some sort of balm to Moses's arms. “Hurry. I found him on the roadside.”

Sattar greeted him with the familiar growl, and Doda grabbed her walking stick to push herself to her feet. When she saw the man, she gasped. “Oh no, it's Hur.”

Eleazar looked at the man again and remembered the friend of their family who'd been unjustly exiled to Pithom when Eleazar was a young soldier. Every exposed surface of Hur's skin was covered in tiny red dots. The man's delirium was a blessing in disguise. Were he conscious, with so many bites he'd be more miserable than the rest. Eleazar laid Hur on Doda's sleeping mat with extra care. She appeared with a wet cloth, a bowl of water, and aloe. Moses followed with a basket of rolled bandages.

Taliah stood an arm's length from Eleazar. He felt her cold stare. “He's a friend of Miriam's from long ago. He's been visiting nearly every day. We were worried because we didn't see him yesterday or this morning.” She stepped closer and dug her fingers into his arm. “You'd know all this if you were here more often.”

Eleazar pulled his arm from her grasp but remained silent. She wouldn't understand a soldier's duty to his master. They'd been married less than two weeks, and already she was nagging. Granted, he had slept at the barracks a few nights, but he'd been home more nights than not. Didn't she see he was trying?

“Where did you find him, Eleazar?” Doda Miriam glanced over her shoulder, eyes glistening.

“He was lying in the grass between the city and Goshen.”

“Miriam?” Hur whispered the name, and every eye turned to Doda.

She knelt beside him and dabbed his forehead with the wet cloth. “I'm here,” she said. “What are you doing taking a nap in the tall grass, my friend?”

“I don't want…be a burden…Uri and Bezalel.” Hur turned toward the soothing cloth, his face covered with the fiery red midge bites.

“Do you suppose he's been sleeping outside all this time?” Doda spoke, it seemed, to no one in particular. “He's over ninety inundations old. He can't sleep outside in the night air—” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with the cloth she'd used to tend Hur.

Eleazar couldn't bear to see Doda upset, not after she'd just lost Saba and Savta. “Why can't Hur sleep here, with Moses in Saba and Savta's chamber?”

“Of course,” Moses said.

“No, he shouldn't. What will people say?” Her cheeks flushed instantly pink.

Since when had Doda Miriam cared what gossips said? Eleazar noted the grin exchanged between Taliah and Moses and realized he'd missed more than a few of Hur's visits while tending Prince Ram at the palace.

Hur lifted his hand to Miriam, and she cradled it in her own. “I don't want…to be a…burden.” He closed his eyes.

Doda swiped at her cheeks and took a deep breath. “Eleazar, get a cup of water. Taliah, start some barley porridge. He needs hydration and nourishment.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Moses, get your room tidied up. You've got a new roommate.”

Each one snapped to the assigned duty, while Miriam tended her patient with extra care. Eleazar delivered the water, bent to kiss the top of her head, then proceeded to find Moses in the adjoining chamber.

He was unrolling Saba's old sleeping mat for Hur and pointed to a basket of linen. “You'll find a wool blanket in that basket. Hur might need it as the nights get cooler.”

Eleazar followed instruction without comment, considering how he might present Ram's request to his uncle. He found the blanket and began unfolding it on the mat as he unveiled the prince's request.

“Ram sent me here to ask mercy for his wife and children.”

Moses stopped tidying and gave Eleazar his attention. “Has Prince Ram convinced Pharaoh to let our people go?”

Eleazar saw something of the war-hardened general in his uncle and didn't appreciate it. They were just having a friendly conversation. “No.”

“Then Yahweh will extend no mercy.” Moses resumed his preparations for Hur, cutting a new lamb's wool headpiece, rearranging the sleeping mats.

“But the women and children are suffering terribly. There's no need—”

“No need?” Moses stood suddenly, issuing the challenge in Eleazar's face. “Hebrew women and children have been needlessly suffering for four hundred years. I don't think a few midge bites on Egyptian royals are so ghastly. Do you?”

Fire raced into Eleazar's veins. He would have struck any other man. Through clenched teeth, he spit barely controlled venom. “It's always ghastly when it's your family.”

The reply seemed to dowse the fire in his uncle. Moses rubbed both hands down the length of his face and groaned. “And there's the heart of the matter, Eleazar, the very reason I want to rail at the God who has promised to deliver us.” The surprise on Eleazar's face must have provoked Moses to continue. “Why does Yahweh attack His own family?” Moses held out his arm and pointed to the fiery red dots that no doubt burned and itched as much as those on an Egyptian. “Why must God's people suffer along with those He's punishing? I don't understand it.”

Stunned at his uncle's confession, Eleazar grasped at his own reasoning. “I don't understand why either, but these biting gnats must be from the hand of Yahweh because Pharaoh's magicians couldn't duplicate it. And if the gnats are from Yahweh, they must be a part of His ultimate pla—”

“They can't duplicate the biting gnats?” Moses's eyes lit with surprise.

“Kopshef called this plague the ‘finger of the Hebrew god' because it surpassed the power of all Egyptian gods.” Eleazar chuckled. “Pharaoh was furious.”

Moses covered a laugh. “They are seeing His undeniable power. Surely, you see it too.”

Eleazar shifted awkwardly. Of course, he saw the Hebrew God's power, but there were too many unanswered questions for Eleazar to trust Him. “I see His power, Moses, but I refuse to place my life—and the lives of those I love—in the hands of another capricious god.”

“Excuse me.” Taliah poked her head around the curtain. “Miriam needs your help to move Hur. She'd like to get him settled in before she tries to feed him.”

Moses patted Eleazar's shoulder on his way toward the doorway. “Thank you for speaking honestly about Yahweh. Remember, He told us we'd know His nature by His actions, and those actions have begun, Eleazar. Watch what He does next.”

Taliah folded her arms across her chest, her eyes hard as flint stones. “It seems you open your heart to everyone but your wife.”

Eleazar reached for her, hoping to show the love his words had been so worthless to convey, but she bolted from the adjoining room alone.

Doda poked her head through the doorway a moment later. “I need your help too, Eleazar. Hur is too heavy for Moses to move himself.

Eleazar stepped into Doda's main room, looking for Taliah. She must have fled to the roof. With as much authority and precision as Egypt's generals, Doda directed her friend's transfer to the adjoining room, then kept him and Moses busy with Hur's care until dusk.

Taliah hadn't come back down, and Eleazar saw no reason to follow her to the roof. What would he say? She'd made her feelings clear. She wanted nothing to do with him.

While Doda and Moses ate servings of barley porridge with Hur and reminisced about the old days, Eleazar said his good-byes. He'd return in the morning with rations, but he'd stay in the barracks with Hoshea again tonight. At least there he didn't have to explain himself.

If you do not let my people go, I will send swarms of flies on you and your officials, on your people and into your houses.

—
E
XODUS 8:21

M
iriam rose before dawn again, stealing glances at the dividing curtain for any sign of wakefulness on the other side. Since Hur had moved in three weeks ago, Miriam liked to have her hair braided and head covering in place when the men emerged from their room. Moses usually woke first, but Hur followed close behind.

Taliah must have heard her stirring and groaned a sleepy, “Good morning.” She'd begun sleeping in the main room with Miriam since Eleazar had moved back to the barracks. Rolling up her sleeping mat, Taliah moved like those wooden shabti dolls in Pharaoh's nightmare—stiff, listless, and pale. Taliah seldom had a smile even during her classes—now filled with Egyptian and Hebrew students.

“Do you want to get water this morning, or should I?” Miriam reached for a jug, but Taliah beat her to it.

“I'll do it. I need the fresh air.” She coiled her single braid into a knot at the nape of her neck and snatched her head covering from the peg. “We should probably make a new supply of beer this morning as well.”

Their mornings were dedicated to daily chores, but after their midday meal, when Taliah gathered the village children for lessons, Hur and Miriam enjoyed their quiet afternoons reminiscing about dear ones they'd loved and lost.

“Good morning.” Hoshea peeked around the curtain carrying two partial bundles of rations. Taliah stepped back, her eyes downcast.

“Good morning, boy. Where's Eleazar?” Miriam asked the same question every morning and evening since her nephew had begun sending his apprentice to deliver rations. Didn't Eleazar realize they needed to see him far more than they needed his food?

But every morning and evening, poor Hoshea mumbled some sorry excuse he'd invented on the way to Goshen. “Eleazar sends his apologies, but he's coming tonight for the evening meal.”

Taliah choked out a laugh. “Why?”

Hoshea looked from Taliah to Miriam and back. “He uh…well, he…he misses his family.” He'd obviously hoped for a more favorable reaction.

“If he truly missed us, he'd wake up with me each morning and kiss his doda every night.” Taliah stared at him as if poor Hoshea had an answer to Eleazar's truancy.

“I must get back.” Hoshea offered her the bundle with an apologetic shrug. “Perhaps if you welcome him with a smile and…”

Taliah's fiery glare silenced the young apprentice. He slipped through the curtain before she ate him for breakfast. Poor boy. Eleazar had put Hoshea in an impossible position.

“Perhaps if you'd tell Eleazar how much you miss him, dear. You can draw more flies with honey than—”

“I know you're trying to help, Miriam, but I won't pretend I'm happy when I'm not.”

“Good morning, beautiful ladies.” Hur's cheerful voice intruded.

Taliah turned from Miriam. “Good morning, Hur. Sleep well?”

“I always sleep well because I'm well loved.” He alternated glances at the two women, his head cocked in question. “I'm sure you find the same to be true—”

“Don't. Don't speak of love to me—ever.” Taliah's eyes flashed dangerously, but Hur was undaunted.

Crossing the small room, he clasped her hand. “No matter who else disappoints you, Yahweh's love endures. We need never doubt His love—ever.” He winked and kissed her hand.

Miriam held her breath. Would Taliah berate him or accept his encouragement? She let out her breath when Taliah responded.

“Thank you, Hur. You're very kind.” Eyes misty, she removed her hand from his grasp, grabbed the water jar, and fairly fled out the doorway.

Miriam's heart broke for her. “Eleazar is coming for the evening meal.”

“Ah, so that's why she's especially sensitive this morning.”

Miriam nodded and glanced over his shoulder toward the dividing curtain. “We should warn Moses. He's usually awake by now. Is he ill?”

“No. He was gone when I woke up. I assumed you'd seen him.”

A gnawing dread rumbled in Miriam's stomach. She hoped it was merely hunger, but that was unlikely. Their household had eaten like kings since the biting midges had subsided. Not only had the Hebrews realized Moses was Yahweh's true messenger, but even some of the Egyptian peasants left offerings at their doorway. Their household now enjoyed boiled goose eggs for breakfast, goat cheese to share with neighbors, and fresh camel's milk to flavor their porridge. Yahweh had supplied what they needed and more.

But Moses's early-morning departure signaled trouble. Miriam sensed it.

“Bring the rations please.” Miriam grabbed the hand mill and took out her fears on the barley they'd been given by the family of one of Taliah's students. Her teaching responsibilities had increased since her pupils showed higher aptitude in bartering, writing, and geography—all of which improved a parent's worth in a given craft or market booth. The poor girl would no doubt have traded every accomplishment for a kind word from her husband. The most heartrending part of it all was that Miriam knew she and Eleazar loved each other. They just didn't know how to show it.

Hur stood behind her and leaned close. “What's bothering you?”

She stilled but couldn't speak past the lump in her throat. He knelt before her and removed the hand mill from her lap. The eyes looking back were the ones that had captured her heart as a girl. Even when he'd married Shiphrah, Miriam had respected this lighthearted, steadfast man. “I want Eleazar to love Taliah the way you loved Shiphrah.” The words were out before she realized how much of her heart they revealed.

Hur raised an eyebrow and grinned. “And how exactly did I love Shiphrah?”

Her face and neck were on fire. She wanted to hide but refused to run out the door like a skittish mare.

He tilted her chin up, capturing her once again with those eyes. “Shiphrah and I were married a long time. It may take years before Eleazar can share the depths of his emotion with his wife. A man's heart is more fragile than a woman's.”

How could anyone's heart be more fragile than the one in her chest, skipping like a stone on the Nile? Miriam forced words from her dry throat. “But a woman's heart withers over time.” She pushed his hand away and left the house, unable to staunch her tears. So many things to strike at her emotions in such a short period of time. Shaddai's absence and the deaths of Abba and Ima.
Why—oh Yahweh, why must I struggle now with loving a man when I'm old and my life is over?