Miriam by Mesu Andrews Page B

are teaching their sons to weave as well. We’ve lost a few to field beatings and one in the brick lines, but the remaining children and grandchildren are healthy and strong. Our family has grown to thirty-two, but somehow El Shaddai provides for our daily needs. Ephraim would have been proud if he’d lived to see his family grow.”
    “Your abba Mered would have been proud too,” Miriam said, hoping to remind Ednah of her family tie to Taliah. “Do you have much contact with your brother Jered’s children?”
    Ednah tilted her head, puzzled. “Of course. His family fills most of those three long houses,” she said, pointing. “Jered’s son, Gedor, is chief linen keeper and one of the elders with your brother Aaron. But, of course, you know that.” Concern furrowed her brow. “What’s this about, Miriam?”
    “It’s about Jered’s fourth-born son, Putiel.” Miriam paused, fretting about how to present her request. “Actually, it’s about Putiel’s youngest daughter. Who should I speak to about making a match for her?”
    Ednah’s demeanor suddenly cooled. “I heard she was sent to the palace as a harem girl.”
    “She was tutor to a ten-year-old prince.” Miriam heard the venom in her voice and regretted it when Ednah stepped back.
    “You know our village is the most committed to El Shaddai of all.”
    Miriam placed a calming hand on her arm. “I know, Ednah, I didn’t mean—”
    “Ten of Israel’s fifty elders are men of Judah,” she said, pulling her arm away. “The women of Issachar gather spare cloth and deliver it to your door for bandages, and the men of Naphtali have maintained our ancestors’ stories for generations. Miriam, we cannot defile our village with a woman of questionable virtue.”
    “Questionable virtue like the pharaoh’s daughter—my friend Bithiah, whom your abba married?”
    Ednah threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin, stretching her neck like a strutting goose. “Ima Bithiah shunned Egyptian gods. She loved Abba Mered and loved his children.”
    “Putiel’s daughter is hungry for knowledge, and she loves children. Isn’t there someone in this village who—”
    “No.” Ednah’s features grew hard. “There is no parent in this village who would join his son to a harem girl, nor a single man who would expose his children to a woman who worshiped idols.”
    Miriam shivered at the cold-hearted righteousness of her friend. “You would let Taliah suffer the plateau? A woman alone?”
    Ednah’s hard exterior faltered only slightly. “Why not make her your assistant if she’s so eager to learn?”
    “How long before one of the slave masters ruins her? She needs a husband and a home so she can become a common Hebrew slave, not a prize to be vied for by the slave masters.” Miriam feared she might claw this woman’s eyes out. “She has no idea what it means to be Hebrew, Ednah. Like Bithiah, she needs the love and patience of a man to teach her of El Shaddai’s love. She doesn’t need to be shunned by a family too busy being righteous to be compassionate.”
    “If she’s still of birthing age, perhaps the Reubenites and Simeonites would take her to bolster their decreasing numbers. Most of their men are field and brick slaves. They die quicker.”
    Appalled at her friend’s coldness, Miriam turned to go before she said something she’d regret. “Good-bye, Ednah.”
    “Miriam, wait!” Ednah reached for her robe, tugging her back. “I know I sound harsh, but…” She twisted her hands and stared at the ground. “We have no wish to anger El Shaddai—or His prophetess. If our God reveals in a dream or vision that one of our men is to marry Taliah, we’ll compel him to obey.”
    Miriam didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Why must they wait to be compelled? Why couldn’t compassion compel them? Miriam nodded and left the village saddened. The tribes she’d once thought the best place for Taliah now seemed worse than others. At least Elisheba