Miriam (9 page)

“When I begin teaching peasant children, I might earn enough to have my own home. Perhaps even have an extra room where I can teach the students.”

Miriam inhaled deeply. This conversation had to happen. “Taliah, dear, life in Goshen is very different than you experienced in the palace. You've been protected in the safety of my little rooms and—”

“Protected? I've felt the sting of my family's rejection and the shame of a ruthless man's touch. I will fight, Miriam, for power, respect, and status so that I never need to rely on anyone—human or a god—again.” The girl swiped at tears that intruded on her strength.

The sound of footsteps outside their window stole their attention. Suddenly Eleazar filled the doorway wearing a strange expression evident in the moonlight.

Afraid to ask, but unable to remain silent, Miriam prepared for the worst. “Have you heard from Hoshea?”

Eleazar stepped inside, and Hoshea ducked around the curtain. Miriam gasped and jumped to her feet, covering a joyful sob, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight that followed. Two older men shoved aside the curtain and stood as tall as Eleazar. Aaron, the brother she knew, and Moses, a familiar stranger. Unable to decide which one to hug first, she ran to the middle and circled both their necks until they buried her between them. Tears ran freely, lost years forgotten.

“You're home. You're finally home,” she whispered. Before either brother could answer, a menacing growl interrupted. Startled, she turned and found a black-and-white dog moving toward her, snarling, hair bristled.

“Sattar, leave it.”

Moses's single command quieted the creature, but Eleazar and Hoshea huddled at the doorway, Eleazar looking like he'd eaten a bad fig. “That stupid creature threatens anyone who gets near Moses.”

Moses turned his head slowly, irritation evident. “His name is Sattar,
protector.
It is his nature to protect his master and the flocks in his care.” Moses and Eleazar locked eyes in a silent battle as the dog growled at his master's side.

“Well, this will never do.” Miriam marched between her brother and nephew, interrupting the dog's guttural rumble. She rummaged in a basket for a piece of dried fish and tore off bits for everyone, giving the largest serving to Eleazar. “Go on. Feed him, Hoshea. You too, Taliah.”

Sattar made his way around the room, gathering morsels from the hands of each new friend, but shied away when Eleazar offered his piece of fish. Eleazar crossed his arms over his chest. “See, Doda? The dog hates me.”

“And Sattar knows you hate him, so who's the master and who's the beast?” Miriam stood beside her nephew and demonstrated. “Now, hold out your piece of fish—and be nice.”

Eleazar scowled but held out the morsel, keeping his hand close to his side. Sattar stood his ground but stretched as far as his mouth would reach to capture the proffered meat. Two stubborn males brandishing wills of iron.

When Sattar finally latched onto the fish, he curled up at Miriam's feet. Her heart nearly melted. She reached down to stroke his rough black coat and gave him her last piece of fish. “That's a good boy. You know who's really in charge, don't you?”

Moses and Eleazar laughed first and loudest, draining the tension from the room. Moses opened his arms toward Miriam, but Sattar grumbled a low protest. Wide eyes and more laughter framed Moses's words. “I believe my dog has chosen a new master.”

Go, assemble the elders of Israel and say to them, “The
L
ORD
, the God of your fathers—the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob—appeared to me and said: I have watched over you and have seen what has been done to you in Egypt.”

—
E
XODUS 3:16

T
aliah heard it first. “Miriam, Amram is calling.”

Miriam realized she hadn't introduced Taliah to Moses, but now wasn't the time. Everyone stilled, listening for Abba's weak voice. “Moses.”

Moses's eyes welled with tears, and he tucked his bottom lip under his teeth. Pointing toward the curtain, he asked, “May I go?” Miriam bobbed her head, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

Everyone else stood like pillars, but Moses turned like a frightened child. “Come with me, Miriam.”

She fell in step beside him, the others close behind. She held aside the curtain and heard Moses's small gasp when he saw their parents' frail forms lying side by side. He hurried to them, knelt, and gathered their hands in his. Ima Jochebed touched his face, his hair, as if in a dream. Abba Amram patted his hand, whispering, “My son, my son, my son.”

Miriam and the others lined the wall, watching the holy moment in silence. Surely, there could be no doubt in any mind that El Shaddai had done this. Who else could rescue a babe from certain death, educate him in Egypt, refine him in the wilderness, and return him to his family?
No one but You, Shaddai.

“You will see freedom, Abba.” Moses spoke through his tears, stroking Abba's brow. “You have lived to see Abraham's promise fulfilled.”

“What are you saying?” Miriam hurried to the huddled trio, kneeling beside Ima's shoulder. Sattar followed her like a shadow.

Moses's expression was a mix of joy and sadness. “The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob met with me on the mountain of God. He has heard the cry of the Israelites in bondage and has sent me to command Pharaoh, ‘Let Yahweh's people go.' ”

Miriam felt the blood drain from her face. How could the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob
meet
with anyone? And…“Who is this Yahweh?” Her tone issued a challenge.

Moses sighed and dropped Abba's and Ima's hands. “It is the name by which the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob is to be called for generations to come.” He held Miriam's gaze, a slight grin replacing his weariness. “It is His secret name, Miriam, like the secret name of Ra in the story Ummi Anippe used to tell me—except Yahweh is real, and He will prove it in the days to come.”

Miriam's chest ached, and tears came without permission. Was it true? Had El Shaddai truly met with her little brother on a mountain in Sinai—while He'd been silent toward Miriam? Had her God told Moses His secret name? If Moses was telling the truth, Israel could be free. If what he said was false, he would tear this family apart.

She stared into the pleading eyes of a man she'd known since he was a baby in a basket among the bulrushes. He looked like any other shepherd—strong, tanned, weary—but the brother she knew best was an Egyptian master. She lifted her sleeve to reveal the branding scar. “Do you remember this?”

Moses ran his fingers over her wrinkled scar. “Yes. I hurt you.”

“You saved me,” she said, bowing her head to hide the mounting confusion. “And hurt me. Pain and protection aren't exclusive, Brother, and I fear that's what you'll do again.”

“Should I look elsewhere for shelter while Yahweh delivers His people?” She heard the tremor in his voice and looked up. His sun-leathered cheeks quaked with barely controlled emotion.

Abba and Ima awaited her reply too. Aaron, Eleazar, Hoshea, and Taliah—all were standing over them, waiting for the prophetess of Israel to speak. But she had no word from El Shaddai. She was empty, dry, abandoned. “You'll stay with us, here, in Abba and Ima's room.” Abba Amram squeezed her hand in approval, and Moses exhaled. Why were they worried about her approval? Ridiculous men. They do what they want anyway.

Moses, still kneeling between their parents, tilted his head to meet her gaze. “Aaron and I will need your help to speak with the elders.”

The elders?
A stab of fear cut through her emotions. The elders would never listen to
Prince Mehy
even if he looked like a Midianite shepherd. “What did
Yahweh
tell you to do?”

“Aaron and I are to assemble the elders of the tribes and tell them what I told you. Yahweh has seen their misery and is concerned about them. He will deliver them from Egypt with mighty acts of His power.” He pointed to a walking stick in Aaron's hand. “Yahweh showed me signs of His power by using that staff. Aaron will be my spokesman, and we'll do everything God commanded to convince the elders before we confront Pharaoh.”

Abba Amram placed his hand on Moses's forearm. “You are my son, Moses, and we love you, but many of our people still see you as Master Mehy, Egyptian prince, vizier of Egypt.”

Miriam wasn't sure if she felt better or worse that Amram shared her concerns about the elders' response to Moses.

“No one finds it harder to believe than I,” Moses said, “but I find myself feeling like a soldier again—Yahweh's soldier—and I must do as He commands.” He locked his gaze on Eleazar, the two engaging in some silent battle.

What had transpired before they arrived? Sattar rose to his feet and began stalking Eleazar. “Leave it!” Miriam shouted, remembering Moses's command. The dog looked startled but begrudgingly obeyed her.

“I'd say he's definitely chosen a new master.” Moses chuckled, relieving some tension.

“If you're going to meet with the elders, you'll need to understand the traits of the various tribes of Israel and the leaders among them.” Miriam glanced at both brothers. “Did Aaron explain the nature of Israel's tribes and their characteristics on your journey to Egypt?”

“We spoke of other things.” Aaron shrugged, giving Moses a knowing glance. It seemed her two brothers shared secrets, and again Miriam felt ostracized, near tears.

Ima Jochebed patted Miriam's knee, sensing her daughter needed encouragement. “It's probably best that Miriam describe the tribes to you, Moses. Aaron has strong relationships with many of the elders because most are skilled craftsman that he works with every day, but Miriam has been El Shaddai's prophetess all these years. She's dealt with all the elders—the meek, the harsh, and every disposition in between—and she's gained a sense for how the elders are reflected by their tribes.” Ima winked at Miriam. “Your sister knows which tribes will help and which ones will hinder.”

“I'd be grateful for your insights, Miriam.” The sincerity on Moses's features was the same today as it was forty years ago. She could trust him. Could she also trust…Yahweh?

Miriam breathed deeply and started from the beginning. “How much do you remember of the Hebrew lessons Ima Jochebed taught you before you were weaned?”

“More than you might imagine.” Moses grinned, his neck shading a subtle crimson. Perhaps men were discomfited at spending their first three years at a woman's breast. “But I've learned even more from my wife's abba, Jethro, the high priest of Midian.”

“You're married?” Miriam and Jochebed asked at the same time.

His eyes grew sad. “Yes. We had some trouble on the journey to Egypt. I sent my wife and two sons back to Midian.”

Miriam wanted to ask more, but the set of Moses's jaw told her the subject was closed. “I'm sure your father-in-law, as a Midianite priest, told you of Abraham's descendants from his wife Keturah.”

“Yes, but he also told me of my heritage through Abraham's wife Sarah, whose son Isaac was given the firstborn's blessing. Isaac's wife gave birth to twins. The younger, Jacob, stole the firstborn's blessing from his older brother, Esau. Jacob—whose name was changed to Israel—had twelve sons. One of them, Joseph, was sold into slavery in Egypt by his brothers. When Jacob and his sons experienced a famine in Canaan, Joseph brought the whole family to Egypt. Israel's family grew quickly and has become a nation of twelve tribes.”

Miriam raised her brows and glanced at Taliah. “Did you hear that, dear? I've been teaching you about Abraham for seven weeks, and Moses summed it up in one breath.”

Taliah's cheeks bloomed like a rose. “I would be honored to learn more from your brother. I've taught Pharaoh's sons about the brave General Mehy for years. His life is fascinating.”

Eleazar rolled his eyes and groaned. “More stories won't help you bake bread or make baskets.”

“Goshen has enough baskets,” she sneered. “Israel needs teachers and knowledge—especially if we're to be free.”

Moses looked to Miriam for an explanation, but she simply shook her head and returned to the tribes. “Let's see if I can summarize the twelve tribes for you. The people of Reuben are forgiving. Simeon has dwindled but remains strong in faith. Judah is bossy and boasts many overseers. Zebulun always finds a way to win. Issachar works hard at serving others. Dan is harsh but logical. Gad
always
fights—and wins. Asher would rather dig in the dirt than breathe. Naphtali preserves the ancient stories of our people. Joseph's sons, Manasseh and Ephraim, received the firstborn's double blessing, so each has a tribe in Israel. Manasseh never holds a grudge. Ephraim is empowered by adversity. And the tribe of Benjamin is mean—but fiercely loyal if you can win them over.” She paused, sadness pressing against her chest. “And many of our people have adopted the gods of Egypt—either combining them with worship of El Shaddai or replacing Him altogether.”

A look of utter terror washed Moses's face. “How do we assemble them?” He looked at Aaron. “Will anyone come if we summon them?” If he'd returned to Egypt thinking Pharaoh his toughest audience, perhaps now he realized Israel might be the bigger challenge.

“They'll come,” Aaron assured him. “I'm an elder myself, and we meet regularly under the new moon. Occasionally, when we have a special concern like this, we send a messenger to all the elders during the day and then meet that night at the moon's zenith. We'll send my messenger tomorrow and meet at the designated spot on the plateau tomorrow night.”

Miriam considered Aaron's calm demeanor. Even as a child nothing rattled him, and as an adult he'd been steady to the cusp of tedium. Perhaps a little more emotion would have shown Eleazar and Ithamar they were loved—since their ima was too busy fawning over Nadab and Abihu to spare a kind word to her younger boys.

“Will you come?” Moses asked.

All eyes were focused on Miriam, and her cheeks warmed. “I'm sorry. Will I come where?”

“To the meeting. The elders will be more inclined to believe if you stand with us.” Moses reached for her hand. “Maybe you could sing. Do you still sing, Miriam? Your songs were the only thing that could calm me before I went to war.”

Her throat tightened, and the weathered Midian shepherd before her suddenly became the child she'd played with a lifetime ago in the Amira's bathhouse. He was the boy Amira Anippe sent to the noblemen's School of the Kap, the young man traumatized by King Horemheb's blood-thirsty reign. He was Prince Mehy, torn between his Egyptian pharaoh upbringing and his Hebrew heritage. “Yes, Moses. I still sing.”

But could she sing here? Now? She dropped her gaze and let tears fall with it. Miriam felt betrayed by El Shaddai, but perhaps more troubling—she felt like a betrayer for her selfishness. Why couldn't she rejoice at God's promised deliverance? Why did it matter that the instrument of deliverance would be Moses and Aaron—and not her? A sob escaped before she could restrain it.

“Can't you see what you're doing to her?” Eleazar shouted, startling everyone, his gaze fixed on Moses. “Doda has been El Shaddai's prophetess her whole life. She served Israel while you lived in a palace. She's suffered in Egypt while you ran to safety in Midian. Doda should be the one to speak to the elders, not you, not Abba.”

Moses was on his feet and in Eleazar's face before Miriam could stop him. “I've told you, this is not my choice. If it were up to me, I wouldn't even be here.” The words were like cold water thrown in Abba and Ima's faces. Moses realized their effect and knelt again beside them. “The night you helped me escape from Egypt, I reconciled it in my heart that I would never see you again. I gained a wife and two sons in Midian, and I had planned to live out my life there quietly. But with Yahweh's command to return came the precious gift of seeing you again. For that I'm grateful.”

Miriam watched in silence as Abba and Ima whispered tenderly to their youngest son. Moses seemed utterly transparent and candid. Any pretense of the Egyptian prince who fled forty years ago gone.

When she glanced at Eleazar, she found him still fuming. Her nephew was Moses—thirty-three years younger. Same height, same build, same stubborn nature, same protective instincts, but he would bite his tongue off before expressing any emotion but anger.
Yahweh, if You still hear my prayers, help my Eleazar to find You, love well, and learn to obey You as his uncle has.

She nudged Moses. “I'd like to go to the elders' meeting, and Eleazar will accompany me.”

Eleazar started to protest, but she lifted her hand and spoke directly to him. “I need your help climbing the plateau, and we both need to see why Yahweh has chosen your abba and Moses to deliver Israel. Perhaps then I'll understand why Yahweh has been silent toward me.”

The fire in her nephew's eyes dwindled, and he nodded his surrender. “All right, Doda. I'll escort you.”

“It's settled then,” Aaron spoke from the doorway. “I should go home. If Elisheba discovers I've returned but didn't go straight home, I'll eat dried fish and nuts for a week.”