Miriam Read online

  Praise for

  Miriam

  “Mesu Andrews shines brilliant new light on the epic we only thought we knew, transforming the familiar biblical account of the Exodus with a narrative grounded in a deep love for God and his Word. Miriam illuminates the power and majesty of Yahweh, while weaving a story of real people waiting for deliverance from a God they have not yet learned to trust.”

  —STEPHANIE LANDSEM, author of The Tomb: a Novel of Martha (The Living Water Series)

  “Mesu Andrews’s novels have transformed my ability to hear the heartbeat of biblical figures like Job, Dinah, and Solomon. Miriam brings another cast of familiar characters to vibrant life—Miriam, Moses, Eleazar, Aaron, Hur—mingling them seamlessly with an imagined circle of loved ones that will have readers eagerly turning pages to witness God’s stunning power at work for his people, both personally and nationally. With skillful prose, impeccable research, and a clear devotion to the biblical account of Israel’s Exodus from Egypt, Mesu Andrews depicts these Old Testament men and women with a sparkling clarity, never shying away from what makes them relatable human beings—the failings, triumphs, and yearnings that are timeless.”

  —LORI BENTON, author of Burning Sky, The Pursuit of Tamsen Littlejohn, and The Wood’s Edge

  “Mesu Andrews’s engaging novel, Miriam, gives us a new and vibrant appreciation for life in Egypt as the Lord visits the land with ten unforgettable plagues. With fascinating insight into biblical history as well as the human heart, this story will capture your attention until the last page.”

  — TESSA AFSHAR, award-winning author of Land of Silence and Pearl in the Sand

  BOOKS BY MESU ANDREWS

  The Pharaoh’s Daughter

  In the Shadow of Jezebel

  Love in a Broken Vessel

  Love’s Sacred Song

  Love Amid the Ashes

  MIRIAM

  PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS

  12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200

  Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  This book is a work of historical fiction based closely on real people and real events. Details that cannot be historically verified are purely products of the author’s imagination.

  Trade Paperback ISBN 9781601426017

  eBook ISBN 9781601426024

  Copyright © 2016 by Mesu Andrews

  Cover design by Kristopher K. Orr; cover photography by Kristopher K. Orr (Miriam) and Lightstock (background)

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  WATERBROOK® and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Andrews, Mesu, 1963– author.

  Title: Miriam / Mesu Andrews.

  Description: First Edition. | Colorado Springs, Colorado : WaterBrook Press, 2016. | Series: A treasures of the nile novel

  Identifiers: LCCN 2015043817 (print) | LCCN 2015046476 (ebook) | ISBN 9781601426017 (paperback) | ISBN 9781601426024 (ebook) | ISBN 9781601426024 (electronic)

  Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION / Christian / Historical. | FICTION / Historical. | FICTION / Literary. | GSAFD: Bible fiction. | Christian fiction. Classification: LCC PS3601.N55274 M57 2016 (print) | LCC PS3601.N55274 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/​2015043817

  v4.1

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  Contents

  Cover

  Books by Mesu Andrews

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Note to Reader

  Prologue

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Part 2

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Part 3

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Author’s Note

  Readers Guide

  To Mary Cooley, my feisty eighty-six-year-old mama, a woman with Miriam’s strength, faith, and passion.

  NOTE TO READER

  Research for both The Pharaoh’s Daughter and Miriam sent me into a different world. Historians and archaeologists disagree on many things about Egypt, but on one thing they’re utterly united—ancient Egypt was unique, unlike any other nation on earth. Egyptians recorded their distinctiveness. They flaunted it, lauded it, and guarded it.

  Until the Ramessid kings came to power.

  The Ramessid kings were warriors, explorers, and builders who expanded Egypt’s borders, brought the outside world in, and caused Egypt to lose a portion of its distinctiveness. However, under the Ramessid’s New Kingdom, trade flourished and building projects surged, meaning the need for laborers in Egypt’s Nile delta increased a hundredfold.

  So they put slave masters over [the Israelites] to oppress them with forced labor, and they built Pithom and Rameses as store cities for Pharaoh. But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread; so the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites and worked them ruthlessly. They made their lives bitter with harsh labor in brick and mortar and with all kinds of work in the fields; in all their harsh labor the Egyptians worked them ruthlessly. (Exodus 1:11–14)

  Bible stories mean so much more when we understand the culture and political climate in which the characters lived. I pray that as Miriam’s story unfolds, you’ll be driven back to God’s Word to discover the truth behind the fiction.

  Prologue

  When there is a prophet among you,

  I, the LORD, reveal myself to them in visions,

  I speak to them in dreams.

  —NUMBERS 12:6

  I am Miriam, old but of use. I am a slave, a midwife, a healer with herbs. This is what I do, but El Shaddai makes me who I am.

  The Hebrews call me prophetess; the Egyptians, a seer. But
I am neither. I am simply a watcher of Israel and the messenger of El Shaddai. When He speaks to me in dreams, I interpret. When He whispers a melody, I sing.

  During my eighty-six inundations, His presence has swelled within me like the Nile’s waters, quenching my thirst, meeting every need. No relationship imprisons me. No task consumes me. No despair conquers me. I’m His alone, free to love others as He loves me.

  But as I dab my parents’ brows, creeping dread crawls up my arms like a living thing. Last night’s dreams have shaken our divine union. El Shaddai, Your messages have always been so clear. Why not give the meaning with the dreams?

  I know they portend death. But whose? Fear coils around my heart like a serpent. Please don’t take my parents, Shaddai. A ridiculous request, I know. Abba Amram has seen 137 inundations and Ima Jochebed, 109. They are the wonder of the tribe of Levi, and even the Egyptians whisper rumors of a slave couple favored by the gods.

  Abba’s chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. Ima snores quietly. My heart will break when I must say good-bye.

  A flash of light, and my mind grows dark…until Shaddai shows me a single soldier walking toward me. It’s Eleazar. Last night’s dream creatures dance around him, taunting, but he can’t see them. My nephew walks quickly, calling my name. As suddenly as it came, the vision is gone.

  Abba and Ima sleep peacefully while I lean into the constant presence of my Shaddai. Eleazar will arrive soon with our morning rations, but now I know last night’s dreams have something to do with him. Thank You, my Shaddai, for Your tender consolation. For though the evil creatures tested and taunted, they could not destroy him. But I know there’s more to the dreams than that. Show me, Shaddai. Show me more.

  A warm breeze stirs the stifling air within our mud-brick house, and I know it’s El Shaddai. All right, I’ll try to be patient. New-found peace grapples with niggling angst. I’ll sing. Singing always soothes me, lifts me, transports me deeper into His presence.

  The tune is the same. Haunting, groaning, yearning. But something changes. The breeze dies. A strange chill races up my spine. I hum a familiar melody, waiting for new words of praise that never come—like the dream without a message.

  Heart racing, eyes burning, my soul cries out, El Shaddai, are You there?

  Silence.

  I look out our window. The sun still shines. The birds still sing. But a chill breeze stirs in the hot sun, and I know. Change is coming. Change is here.

  The LORD said to Moses, “When you return to Egypt, see that you perform before Pharaoh all the wonders I have given you the power to do. But I will harden his heart so that he will not let the people go.”

  —EXODUS 4:21

  1

  [The Egyptians] made [the Israelites’] lives bitter with harsh labor in brick and mortar and with all kinds of work in the fields; in all their harsh labor the Egyptians worked them ruthlessly.

  —EXODUS 1:14

  Dawn’s haze barely glowed over the eastern hills when the first injured slave leaned against Miriam’s doorframe and peered around her curtain. “I’ve come from the plateau mud pits and have no way to pay you. Will you tend my wounds?” He averted his eyes, drew a breath, and held it. Was he waiting for rejection?

  “Yes, yes, come in.” Miriam rocked to her feet and hurried to welcome him before his courage failed.

  He stepped over the threshold but hesitated after two steps onto her packed-dirt floor. “Others told me Israel’s prophetess offered care for free, but I didn’t believe it.”

  Miriam guided him to her sleeping mat, inspecting his wounds on the way. Besides the obvious cuts and bruises on his face, he bore deep whipping wounds on his mud-caked back. “I’m certainly not opposed to payment, but I can’t turn away a child of Abraham in need.”

  He laughed without humor. “Well then, you’ll likely meet several of Abraham’s children today. The temperature is rising quickly, and the slave masters’ tempers rise with it.”

  Miriam eased him down on her mat, giving him only partial attention while she listened for El Shaddai’s guidance on proper treatment. Shaddai, You know I can’t minister to Your people without Your instruction. She’d been trained as a midwife by her friend Shiphrah, but treating injuries and wounds had come through years of experience—and revelations from God, who alone knew the intricacies of the human body.

  The man must have noted her hesitation and pointed to his left side. “I think my ribs are broken. The guard hit me in the face and belly after he whipped me and then kicked my side when I doubled over. I need to get back to work before anyone notices I’m gone.”

  “Let’s clean up your back first, and then I’ll check your ribs and belly.” She could apply honey to his cuts without a vision to direct her, but she needed Shaddai’s wisdom to detect internal injuries. Working quickly, she pleaded with God to speak, but He remained silent. Her heart pounded wildly. Shaddai, where are You? I feel like I’ve lost my right arm without Your breath on my spirit.

  “Lean back so I can check your belly.” Hands shaking, she pressed on the man’s abdomen and, though it was obviously sensitive, the tenderness seemed commensurate with a simple gut punch. “I don’t think you’re bleeding inside. I’ll wrap your ribs for support so you can keep working.”

  Before she could turn to gather the strips of linen, he grabbed her arm. “Thank you, prophetess. I’m sorry I have no grain or milk to give for your services.” He dropped his eyes in shame.

  Miriam cupped his cheek, as she had hundreds of plateau slaves before him. “El Shaddai provides for my needs. He is the One True God, and one day He will deliver us all from bondage.”

  The man’s look of shame turned quickly to a bitter smile. “I hope your healing talents are better than your prophetic skills. El Shaddai cast us aside when Joseph died.”

  “But He hasn’t cast us aside,” she said. “He speaks every day if we will only listen. We must never forget we’re His chosen people.”

  The man winced, struggling to sit up. “If this is what it means to be chosen by your God, I’d rather serve Anubis and take my chances in Egypt’s afterlife.”

  “Get out.” A deep male voice intruded, and Miriam knew without looking that her nephew Eleazar had heard the slave’s comment. “You came to my doda Miriam for help, but instead you insult her. Now, get out.” His size and bearing were even more imposing in Miriam’s small room.

  “I’m sorry! I’ll—” The slave tried to stand, but Miriam pressed on his shoulders, forcing him back on her mat.

  “You’ll sit there until I wrap your chest, and you’ll listen—without interruption—about El Shaddai and His good plan for Israel.” Miriam waved a finger at her nephew on her way to the basket of linen bandages. “And you will stop frightening my patients.”

  Eleazar crossed the small room in four strides. “Pharaoh has summoned you to the throne hall—immediately. You don’t have time to help an ungrateful slave.”

  “Pharaoh can wait. There will be more wounded today because of this heat. I’m sure Pharaoh would rather see bricks made than talk to a simple midwife.” She stepped around her towering nephew and began binding the slave’s chest as tightly as he could bear. “Now, this is why we are called Shaddai’s chosen people. When He chose to bless Abraham, He promised that all nations would be blessed through him and that Abraham’s descendants would one day possess the land of Canaan. But our bondage isn’t a surprise to El Shaddai. He warned Abraham that his descendants would become slaves for four hundred years in a country not their own before they inherited the Land of Promise.”

  “Doda, now.” Eleazar tapped his sandal on the packed-dirt floor. “Pharaoh said you must come now.”

  Miriam eyed her nephew beneath a scornful brow and returned her attention to the wayward slave. “If my abba Amram’s calculations are correct, we will see the end of the four hundred years in our lifetimes.” A shiver of excitement raced through her. “Can you imagine being free from this place?” She tied the last bandage a
nd expected the slave to share her joy.

  Instead, she saw only anger.

  “Your family lives in Goshen, in the valley, which means long life and plenty of provisions. Not so with families on the plateau. My abba died when I was four, and no doubt I’ll die before my son grows to manhood.” He turned to Eleazar. “I mean no disrespect to the prophetess, but I cannot trust a God who not only allows His people to suffer, but allows such disparity among us.”

  Miriam’s heart plummeted. She knew Eleazar’s response before he spoke it.

  “I don’t trust such a God either, friend. Now, get out.”

  2

  Amram married his father’s sister Jochebed, who bore him Aaron and Moses. Amram lived 137 years.

  —EXODUS 6:20

  Eleazar’s patience was wearing thin, but Doda refused to leave until he visited with Saba Amram and Savta Jochebed. “We appreciate that you share your palace rations with us each day,” Doda said, “but your grandparents are more interested in seeing you than your food.”