Chapter 8: The Queen

From Abish’s first hour in Lamoni’s palace, she was put to work. Every several days she would be given new tasks. As she mastered each, more responsibilities would be added. She was never beaten, though it wasn’t uncommon for Kishay, the mistress of the slaves, to rap her knuckles sharply when Abish made mistakes. Though she was no stranger to such confrontation, these clashes reminded Abish of the tender ministrations her father used to give after especially bad days. He would talk soothingly to her, reminding her of his love and her worth. He seemed to have an endless supply of pungent salves that eased the bruising and scrapes on her knuckles.

But she did not cry. It seemed all of her tears had been spent that day back in her home so many months before. In place of tears there was just a dull ache that never quite resolved itself.
She slept in a large chamber with the other slave-women. Abish felt that learning her chores was easy compared to the difficult task of understanding the complicated hierarchy of the relationships among the women. Even when she said little and kept to herself she was fearful of giving offense or being misunderstood. The slaves spoke a variety of dialects and languages—communication was difficult. Many of the slaves grumbled and complained, at least to one another, and there were some who resented Abish’s ready willingness to work and her compliant application to new tasks.

Before the dry season returned, Abish was able to perform any menial task she might be given with complete competence. She always hoped the tasks would turn to something else—something more challenging. After all, Lemhah had asked if she could read and write. But it never happened. Once her attention was no longer wholly consumed by learning her duties, Abish realized the depth of her loneliness. She would lie in bed at night, willing herself to remember her father’s teaching and the more pleasant aspects of her other life so that she would never forget who she was—so that her soul would be her own even if her body was enslaved.
When she wasn’t too exhausted, dreams visited. They were often filled with blood and heat and great, headless masses of Lamanite soldiers bearing down on her. She would wake from these night terrors, finding herself huddled on her mat, biting down on her fist to keep from crying out. She would then breathe very slowly, flexing her muscles in and out in an attempt to relax her body into a state of sleep beyond where the dreams touched her. It nearly always worked.

Time passed, and Abish began to grow into her body and wasn’t as clumsy as she had once been. She knew that she was a plain and solid girl, but as she learned things about the palace and its rhythm, she knew that her plainness was a blessing. The pretty slaves were often taken as servers in the court. The tales of what happened to these young women shocked Abish. As she heard these stories, she began to understand the awful thing that must have happened to the un-named girl taken in the woods by Abish’s captors. The girl had not been sold; had the blue eyed man taken her back? Or turned her loose? What would become of a woman who’d had such violence visited on her? Even more confusing to Abish was that some of the enslaved women actually courted attention from men and seemed to enjoy their stray glances and occasional kisses. Even among slaves marriages sometimes took place and babies were born. Perhaps the coupling of men and women was not always violent or terrible, but it confused and embarrassed her to think about it. When the women would begin to talk of such things, Abish would bury her head in a task and try to think other thoughts, grateful for the plainness that kept her from notice.

Over time, she quietly gained a reputation for obedience and hard work. Though friends were rare, she did earn the respect of others—particularly those who made assignments and gave orders. It made her life easier.

Lamoni’s house was set apart from other Lamanite households because there was no mistress. His wife had died some years before, leaving behind three small children—two boys and a daughter. In the absence of a mistress, Kishay ran most of the day to day dealings of the palace. Then, in Abish’s fourteenth year, news came. Lamoni was to marry a woman from the city of Jerusalem. The information sent the entire household into an uproar. Abish was continually amazed at the preparation required for such an event. It seemed as though her workload doubled. Nightly, she fell into a deep and exhausted sleep.

At last the day arrived with hundreds of people flocking to the palace grounds for the wedding. There was no place to hold them all inside, so tables were set up outside in the gardens behind the palace and the guests were served outside. Abish spent the day running back and forth between the kitchen and the garden. She had been so busy that she had hardly even been able to catch a glimpse of the new bride. Then, late in the day, word spread like lightning through the kitchen that all slaves were expected to appear before the queen; she wished to speak to them. Everyone was anxious over the unexpected summons. What would she say? Would she criticize? Come down on them harshly?

Abish filed with the others into the garden, grateful the slaves had been given new clothing for the event. She held her head high, suddenly feeling self-conscious as the eyes of so many turned to them. Slaves were usually silent, part of the background, no more noticed than furniture that had been in a room for years. The queen sat to Limhi’s right. The slaves bowed low, almost in unison as she stood to address them. She motioned for them to stand and Abish nearly gasped.
Queen Zaria was beautiful. She did not carry the pure Nephite blood Abish had occasionally seen in the marketplace. Her skin was not fair, nor was it dark. But her hair was the most incredible thing Abish had ever seen—very dark with glints of red that caught in the light. As the sun set behind her, she glowed as if with fire. Her dress was the same color as the fabric Abish had seen in the marketplace at Middoni all those years ago, and her blue eyes shone to match. She was vibrant.

The queen opened her mouth to speak and Abish was momentarily struck that she seemed almost nervous, and that she was very young. Indeed, she did not seem much older than Abish herself, and certainly not old enough to be a mother to any of her three step-children.

“I would like to thank you all for the marvelous job you have done here today. My wedding day could not have been more perfect. I look forward to running such an organized household and hope to meet each of you.” Abish and her fellow-slaves were dismissed as she finished speaking. The silence left in their wake was palpable. Abish had never met a queen before, but she was sure such a thing was unheard of.


The queen’s coming did not interfere with the palace routine, as many had predicted. Queen Zaria changed little, and was a generous mistress. As promised, the queen did personally meet each one of them. Abish couldn’t shake the feeling, each time she was around the queen, that somehow her life was about to change. The queen was often in her dreams. Abish was always amazed at the familiar way the queen spoke to her in these night-time visits, almost as if she knew her. Although she knew that those living in Jerusalem had rejected the religion of the Nephites, her imaginings were filled with her sharing the gospel with the queen. She sighed as she scrubbed the floor, chiding herself for her foolish thoughts and her imagined friendship with the queen. Who did she think she was anyway?

She was speaking thus to herself when she heard a conversation in the hallway between two women. She recognized one of the voices as Kishay. The other voice was vaguely familiar.
Kishay said, “Are you sure you want one of my girls? We are a little short-staffed now as it is.”

“I’m desperate. Sindin is ill, and I’m going to have a busy week.”

“But she has been your apprentice for nearly two years. You cannot expect to train a girl overnight.”

“I know I won’t be able to train her, I just need an extra set of hands. I don’t need to teach her to deliver a baby.” Her voice was snappish and shrill.

Kishay sighed deeply. “I suppose if you must. There isn’t much going on here this week. Will you only need her for the week?”

“I have no way of knowing how long Sindin will stay sick.”

“So it could be more than the week.”

“It could be more than a week.” The other woman admitted. From their conversation, Abish realized she must be the palace midwife. Abish had seen her from time to time when one of the slaves delivered. The babies often resulted in Lamoni’s granting permission for the parents to marry. Though the parents stayed enslaved, Abish was pleased that Lamoni considered the children to be free. She knew that many of the children of older slaves had gone on to become successful citizens after learning skills. As much as she hated slavery, she knew that Lamoni was as just as possible. The midwife didn’t just work in the palace, but she supported herself by working throughout the city. With a young queen in her childbearing years, it was important that the palace have its own midwife, even if it was just for status.

These thoughts flashed through Abish’s head as Kishay said, “Isn’t there a girl you can hire?”

Abish heard the anger flare up in the midwife’s voice. “I should think that the queen’s midwife should be entitled to a slave from the palace instead of having to pay for my own help.”

Abish nearly held her breath; in her mind she could see the expression on Kishay’s face for being spoken to in such a way. But then, Kishay herself was a slave and the midwife was not. “I agree. That is why I sent you Sindin, even though she was one of my hardest workers.”

The midwife nearly snorted in derision, “Ha! Then she must be better suited to scrubbing floors than to delivering babies. If I have to see her turn up her nose during one more birth I think I’ll scream.”

“So let us be honest: you are really looking for a replacement?”

The midwife’s tone changed almost immediately. Much of her impatience was gone and mostly frustration was left, “I don’t know. I keep thinking that she will catch on, but she doesn’t like it any better now that she did the first day. Besides,” her voice dropped low and Abish strained to hear, “there is a young man she has become interested in. I would not be surprised if she herself is with child.”

Abish’s eyes grew wide. She remembered Sindin, vaguely. It was true she had worked hard and behaved very sweetly to the faces of those who were over them, but behind their backs she grumbled and gossiped and spoke often of the ways she had thought of to escape the drudgery of daily housework. Sindin had often found excuses to be with young men. She would titillate the girls later with shocking tales of her exploits. The news that she might be with child was not surprising.

She heard the sigh escape Kishay. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The voice in Abish heart that had often spoken to her over the years told her now that she needed to speak up. She stood, not knowing what to say or even how to say it, but she walked toward the hallway. Nearly four years of subservient behavior did not help her confidence but she knew what she wanted and prayed in her heart to have the right words.

Kishay was obviously startled to see her in the hallway. “Abish! Where on earth did you come from?”

“The kitchen, ma’am.”

“And where are you headed?” She could hear the stern warning and Abish knew the best way to respond was truthfully.

“I am not sure. I didn’t feel it was appropriate to listen in any longer on what was obviously intended to be a private conversation.” She kept her head low as she said the words. She had learned that Kishay did not like it when you looked her in the eye.

The midwife spoke up, “Wonderful. Now we can expect the conversation repeated to every slave in the city.”

Abish opened her mouth to say something, but Kishay beat her to it. “Abish will not gossip.”

The midwife then addressed Abish. “Look up girl, don’t sulk.” Abish did as she was asked, but as she lifted her head she saw the midwife was a very small woman and Abish was surprised to be looking down instead of up. The shrewd brown eyes pierced hers very closely. “Abish, eh?” She nodded slowly. “You don’t gossip?”

“No ma’am.”

“All slaves do.”

The corners of Abish's mouth nearly twitched into a smile and she suddenly felt bold; it was rare that she was addressed so personally or directly, “All slaves might, but I do not.”

Her small eyes narrowed further in her lined face, “Impertinent . . .”

Kishay intervened again, “Actually, Abish does precisely what she is asked and seldom complains. If her work is finished early she never stands waiting to be told where to go or what to do next. She either asks or she finds a way to keep herself occupied.”

“You might be useful to me, girl.”

With dismay, Kishay interrupted, “Now just a minute . . .”

“Reluctant to lose this one, are you, Kishay? She’s probably just who I am looking for then.” Kishay began to speak again, but the midwife held her hand up. “What say you, girl, would you like to come and work with a midwife?”

Abish looked at Kishay who nodded, encouraging her to say what was on her mind. Abish was careful; Kishay had been stern but always good to her, especially in recent months. Abish had no wish to offend. “I will go wherever I am asked to go and I will do the things I am asked to do. If I like it, then all the better for me, but if I do not, I will still follow through on my commitment.”

“You will do well enough then, slave. See to it that you have your belongings packed and are ready to meet me at the front gate at dusk. I will come for you when there has been a place prepared.” Abish nodded and the midwife turned to leave.

“Ma’am.”

She seemed startled at being addressed after she had obviously dismissed herself, but she still turned back to look at Abish. “Well, what is it girl? Out with it. I’m a very busy woman.”

“My name is Abish. Even as a slave in the king’s house, I have always been addressed by name by those who knew it.” She nodded her head toward Kishay who nodded in return.

The midwife gave a noise like “humph” but then she said, “Very well, Abish,” exaggerating the syllables, “my name is Mankara, but you may call me Mistress.”

“Yes, Mistress. I will be ready at the appointed hour.”

The tiny woman swept down the hall and the silence was palpable in the hallway. Abish bowed her head toward Kishay, waiting to be dismissed. Instead the older woman said, “You know, Abish, one thing I have always noticed about you is that even in slavery you have carried a dignity about you. You are different. It is a thing most of the others do not understand. Even a slave is a person.”

Startled, Abish looked up and caught the barest hint of wistfulness in her former mistress’s eyes. “Thank you for your kind words this day, and for your decent treatment these many years.”

“I came as a slave-girl myself to this house many years ago. I know it is hard to accept that everything you do goes unnoticed. I just wanted you to know, that you have not gone unnoticed.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Go. Get yourself ready. Do all you can to please her. It will be the way to a new life for you. A better life.”


During her first few weeks, Abish was unsure that Kishay was right. It wasn’t that the work was hard. In fact, Abish’s assignments were easier and fewer now than they had ever been, but Mankara was nearly impossible to work for. On her best days, she reminded Abish of her mother. On her worst days, Abish was belittled and criticized at every turn. There were nights Abish would spend long minutes on her knees, pleading with God to give her strength to hold her tongue and refrain from lashing out at the tyrannical little woman who now controlled her life.
As if the daily berating weren’t enough, the girl she had replaced, Sindin, was still living with them. In her sickness, she bossed Abish almost as though she herself were mistress of the house. The constant bickering between Sindin and Mankara was unbearable. Abish looked for excuses to go to market, purposely spreading her trips out so she could make several trips a week instead of just one or two. She could see that Sindin would not be a part of the household much longer. Mankara’s patience grew thinner by the day, and even Abish could see that Sindin’s sickness was not severe. Abish tended to agree with Mankara’s whispered confidence: Sindin was almost certainly with child. She believed that Sindin stayed in bed because it was easier for her roundness not to show that way. Once Mankara had unequivocal proof, Sindin would likely be sent back to the palace.

The only thing that kept her going through this time is that she really loved the work. She had begun to see that every birth was a miracle in its own way, and she never ceased to be amazed by the strength of the mothers she saw. She didn’t understand how Mankara was able to stay so businesslike over the process of birth.

After several more weeks, Sindin’s roundness did indeed begin to show and she was sent back to the palace. Although Mankara was domineering and even grouchy, the treatment she received from her mistress improved immensely without Sindin’s near constant whining. Abish was the new apprentice now.

She had been nearly six months with Mankara before she was allowed to actually handle a newborn. Mankara had been especially anxious about this. “With your big, rough hands, I’m not sure the babies will respond well to your touch.” Abish had said nothing, but seethed inwardly at the unfair assumption. But, early one morning, after several days of especially difficult births, Mankara gave the nod to Abish who carefully took the newly- born girl into her hands to wash the birth from her face and body and swaddle her tightly. She marveled at the tiny infant’s pink perfection and the way her thick, dark hair swirled in moist curls all over her tiny pointed head. As Abish held the tiny baby, the joy in her heart could hardly be contained. She cooed softly, comforting to the baby, feeling as if she had never done anything more natural in her life. Her hands didn’t feel awkward or large as they often did. Instead, they knew exactly what to do and the little miss was calm and quiet as Abish cared for her. She squeezed her little milky brown eyes shut as Abish wrapped her tightly in her blankets to settle in hungrily at her mother’s breast for her first feeding. Abish stood marveling at the sight until sharp words from Mankara brought her around and she immediately began cleaning the room and brewing the healing herbs into a nourishing tea for the mother.

When they arrived home Mankara went immediately to bed. She didn’t mind if Abish did the same, as long as the house was clean and there was something to eat for supper first. Abish worked quickly so that she’d have plenty of time for her own rest, but her thoughts were far away. She hummed softly to herself—a lullaby she had sometimes heard the slave mothers in Lamoni’s palace sing to their infants just before sleep. She lay down in the afternoon believing that between her mood and the heat she would be unable to sleep. She was wrong. Sleep came in almost an instant. It was filled with dreams of blue and brown eyed babies playing joyfully together.

Mankara could be a tyrant, but she was no fool. She could see that Abish had talent and dedication. She also knew, although the girl kept to herself, that she truly enjoyed the work of caring for mothers and babies. Even Mankara herself couldn’t remember a time she when she had ever enjoyed midwifing as much as Abish seemed to. The only thing that Abish did not deal well with was the death that was a near constant companion in their work. A month never went by that they didn’t lose some mothers and babies. Abish took each of these so personally. Mankara lectured her for her attitude, but she never seemed to get used to it.

Abish was nearing her sixteenth birthday. And although she usually just assisted, particularly during difficult births, she was nearly as adept at delivering a baby as Mankara. Abish knew that Mankara was thinking of soon expanding the reach of her skills so that she could make more money and that Abish would be an important part of this venture. As a slave, Abish received nothing more for her labor than room and board, but she had learned to accept it. Her real compensation was that she loved what she was doing. And, except for her freedom, there was little more she could hope for. She knew that if she had stayed with her mother all those years ago she would probably be married with a child or two of her own by now, with little reassurance that her husband would treat with affection or even kindness. She was grateful for having an opportunity to push that part of her life into the future. After all, it wasn’t impossible that a slave-girl could marry and have a family. Assisting Mankara had helped her to see that even this convoluted path through Lamoni’s household was part of God’s plan for her life.

And God had indeed been an important part of her work. Mankara would occasionally comment, without complimenting, on how good Abish’s instincts seemed for a person so young. But Abish knew better. She had learned to listen to the small voice that sometimes whispered to her heart. It was this small voice that had eased labors and saved the life of many babies. When she least expected it, Abish knew exactly the right words to say, or the correct way to move her fingers and hands to mitigate obstacles to birth. No matter how tired she was, she never forgot to offer prayers of thanks for the almost daily miracles she witnessed and the comforting inspiration she was given.

“Mistress?” Abish ventured one day after their simple lunch. Even after nearly two years together, she still addressed Mankara this way.

“Yes?”

“I have an idea about how we might save more lives in our work.”

Mankara was impatient. “We have been over this more times than I care to count. The sooner you learn that death is part of what we do then you will be better for it.”

Abish nodded and said nothing as she began clearing dishes. She knew that Mankara trusted her skills and intellect and would not forget until Abish had told her idea, but it had to be on her terms. Sure enough, about five minutes later, Mankara reentered the room. “Well, out with it. What is this great idea of yours?”

“Well, I have been thinking lately, where do we have the fewest deaths of babies and mothers?” It wasn’t just the birthing that was so difficult; many died of terrible fevers within weeks of birth.

“Easy. The palace.”

“Exactly. Have you ever thought about why that is?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think?”

“Easy. The gods smile on all in the king’s household.”

Abish nodded, “That is an idea.”

“But it is not your idea.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it. I remember from my time in the palace, everything was very clean. Dust was swept out and stone floors were scrubbed. The non-slaves in the household bathed at least three times weekly. Even the slaves were allowed water to bathe with every week. I washed more in the palace than I did in my days before I was a slave.”

“The rich can afford to waste water, I suppose.”

“It is true that water is a precious thing. But maybe the most precious gift of the water is that it fights sickness by making things clean. You and I bathe nearly as often as I did in the palace, and we are seldom sick. The poorer families we deliver babies for are the ones who have the most problems with the fever and the sickness. The houses we enter with no water for even our hands are the houses most likely to carry disease.” Abish finally stopped talking, realizing she had said many more words than she’d intended.

“It is an idea. But what to do about it?”

“Women, especially the ones who are mothers for the first time, look to you for wisdom and support after birth. What if we took the time to explain the importance of washing themselves and their babies, almost daily for the first weeks? We could also wash our hands more often as we work through a birth.”

“And who will carry our water to the homes too poor to have a ready supply; or the homes far from the well?”

“I will.” Abish bit her tongue before adding that she always did all the heavy, dirty, or difficult jobs.

Abish’s idea seemed to work. It took them several weeks to notice any changes, but fewer mothers died in the days following childbirth. There was still little that could be done during birth to prevent some inevitable deaths, but at least the fever was less common. Mankara said nothing to her apprentice about this, except to say, “Now if you could figure out a way to prevent babies from being born crippled, people would really call me a miracle worker.” Abish was silent about this backhanded compliment, knowing how her mistress often took credit for the work they both did. Mankara was vain and easily pleased by the whispered rumors of her great skill and her growing reputation. But Abish heard things that Mankara refused to hear, and she knew that in her own way, she was building a reputation too. Women would confide things to Abish they would never tell her mistress. Even weeks after a delivery, women would see Abish in the market and ask for her advice, or ask her to come and see how beautiful the baby had grown. Abish went with true pleasure; and as she began to build friendships with all types of mothers, she understood that there was much more to giving birth than just having a baby. It was a thing Mankara, for all her skill, knew nothing about.

Then came the night that would be a turning point in her life. She and Mankara were attending a birth when word came to them that a slave woman in the palace was in labor. Mankara was torn. Her first obligation was to the palace, but the woman she was attending was a wealthy woman of some influence who was paying her handsomely. Slave girls were tough and lent much help to one another during a birth. The woman in question was at the tail end of a easy pregnancy. In fact, Abish had seen her just yesterday after a full day’s work and all was well. The wealthy woman, on the other hand, was delivering early and the baby was turned the wrong way. She would need support and expertise to make it through the night. So Mankara sent Abish to the palace, knowing the girl was completely competent. With so many women using Mankara’s services now, it was only a matter of time before such a conflict had to happen. And this way, if something went wrong on Abish’s first birth, it would only be a slave girl and her bastard baby that suffered the consequences.

Abish was nervous. Although she knew her abilities were excellent and that she had done this very thing many times before, she had never done it completely alone. Abish was grateful to see so many supportive women when she arrived and Sasha in good spirits. Rather than resent her coming alone, they seemed grateful that one of their own had come. Abish knew the slave girls disliked Mankara’s condescension and superiority.

Sasha kissed Abish’ cheek and said, “ I’ll be glad when this little one is born. I think I’ll actually get more sleep!”

Abish smiled, “Active?”

“Very. In fact, last night was worse than ever. As soon as I lay down, I felt like I was having a wrestling match with myself. Are you sure I’m not having twins?”

Abish smiled again, but was mildly startled by Sasha’s off-hand comment. It wouldn’t be the first time a midwife had overlooked twins. And that kind of movement late in the pregnancy was not always a good thing. Sure enough, when Abish used her carefully washed hands to give Sasha an exam, the baby’s head was not down anymore, as it had been just yesterday. In fact, not even its bottom was down. Abish’s heart sunk when she felt the bottom of a foot. The difficulties presented by such a presentation nearly overwhelmed Abish and she fought to keep composure on her face. Bottom-first babies were not much harder to deliver than head-first babies, but babies with their feet down often crushed their cord once the pushing started. To survive, a foot-down baby had to be delivered quickly. Though they usually lived, damage to such a child’s head was not uncommon. Unwittingly, Abish had landed herself in the middle of one of the most difficult types of births.

Still, Sasha’s spirits were good and she was laboring well and steadily. Abish had occasionally witnessed Mankara deliver a foot-down baby, but had never done it herself. She briefly explained the situation to Sasha, downplaying the danger, but Sasha panicked. In the middle of her fear, another contraction came and gripped the poor young mother. Abish soothed and talked her through it while she clenched Sasha’s hands in the gesture that seemed useful; she helped her breathe and spoke with confidence she did not feel about the outcome. As the contraction subsided, Abish continued soothing and was able to give her new friend a small smile. The voice that had not failed her yet whispered the faintest glimmer of peace.

When the time came, Abish gently pulled and supported the baby’s first leg. The second leg was curled up and folded around its bottom, but dropped without too much trouble. As she caught the legs, she called out to Sasha that it was a boy. She heard Sasha laugh and gasp at the same time as she gave another mighty push, but the head and shoulders still needed to come. Something was wrong. Abish carefully probed, discovering the next difficulty: both arms were positioned above his head. The women supported Sasha while Abish pulled the arms down one at a time, being careful as she twisted the tiny, squirming body so his neck and head were not damaged, but still he didn’t come. His head was large and Abish knew that it was only a matter of minutes before he suffocated. Abish tried to control her breathing as carefully as Sasha was being coached to control hers, and she said a simple and desperate prayer. She pushed her finger along the baby’s jawbone, probing desperately for any means to pull the baby out that would not cause paralysis or other, more subtle damage. In a flash she knew what to do. She carefully slipped her finger in the baby’s mouth and turned his head slowly and carefully, supporting his tiny body with her opposite forearm. She gently slid her free hand to the back of his head and bit back a cry of triumph as she saw his chin emerge. “One more!” Abish shouted to the exhausted mother.

With a mighty cry, Sasha gave one last, groaning push and the struggling infant slid into Abish’s capable hands. The attending women were all suddenly laughing and crying at the same time as Abish triumphantly placed the wailing infant on his mother’s bare chest.

He was not large, but he was healthy. He had a slightly crooked leg that Abish had often seen, but it would likely straighten itself in a matter of days. Word was sent to the father who had not slept all night either. Abish helped the women bathe the newborn and they helped Sasha begin nursing him. Sasha’s face glowed with pride and joy over her prize. Abish had never seen a more beautiful sight. Then, just as the women left for their morning duties, Sasha and her little man fell asleep. Exhausted, but deeply happy, Abish sought out Kishay to let her know that she’d be one slave short for a week or two.

She returned home by midmorning. She straightened the simple house she shared with her mistress while Mankara slept. Abish wondered, for the first time in hours, how the other birth had gone. But even when she arose, Mankara said nothing and Abish didn’t ask.

It was the next afternoon before Abish would learn the outcome from the market gossip. Mankara’s delivery had ended in the death of both mother and baby. These words were followed up with praise for the miracle Abish performed. She was in deep shock by how deeply her own skills had been blown out of proportion, and was filled with curiosity to know what had happened at Mankara’s birth. Before she could speak to her mistress about it, however, both Abish and Mankara were summoned by Queen Zaria herself to the palace.

The interview was brief. The queen announced to the two of them that she was with child. Before Mankara could open her mouth to begin heaping praise, the queen said, “The reputation of your skills has long preceded you, Mankara. But I also know that since bringing Abish on as your apprentice you have had much greater success keeping mothers and babies alive.”
There was a pause and Abish began to grow uncomfortable with the way her mistress’ features were hardening. The queen continued, “What the slave-girl Abish does not know is that just months after marrying Lamoni I carried a baby for some time before losing it. My recovery required the attention of a midwife. You were not kind, Mankara; oh, you were indeed ingratiating and falsely sympathetic believing, no doubt, that such a display would win me over. I was disgusted. I am also not unaware of how my slaves have been made to feel in your presence. I have kept you on as palace midwife simply because there was no other choice.”

Abish fought the urge to squirm. What was happening? Still, neither of them spoke and the queen kept on. “I have spoken to the slave girl that was delivered in this palace but three days ago. She spoke about Abish, not as a midwife, but as a friend. Her healthy baby is evidence of Abish’s care and compassion. There are many women in Ishamel who whisper of how this slave girl has improved your business these many years with no more thanks than a couple meals a day, which she probably prepares herself.” Abish’s cheeks burned and she looked down. The queen was hitting the truth right on, but how could she ever again live with Mankara after such a speech?

The midwife finally spoke up, clearing her throat. “I have never denied that the slave-girl has skill. She has trained much faster than any other apprentice I have ever been given. I myself did not deliver a baby for several years after I was apprenticed.”

“It is good to hear you give some credit where it is so well-deserved. Obviously Abish has a real talent and love for the work of delivering babies. It is for this reason that I am replacing you with her as palace midwife.”

In shock, Abish looked up and gasped, feeling all of the color drain from her face. She ignored the sudden urge to collapse and instead just stared into the queen’s startling and steady blue eyes. Abish’s mistress flinched, “But you can’t,” is all the only response Mankara could muster.
“I can. And I just have. I have no intention of taking your practice from you. You were both busy the night Sasha’s baby was delivered. I am sure there is work for both of you. But work inside the palace will certainly be done by Abish. And, since she is actually the property of the palace anyway, all I am really doing is changing her assignment.”

As elated as Abish was for the change in her assignment, the spell of the queen’s beauty and her magical blue eyes was broken when Abish was referred to as property. Although such a change would have absolutely been her choice, it was clear that she wouldn’t be given one. Seeing that Mankara would say no more, the queen finished with, “Abish will be given a room next to my chambers. Her things will be collected from your house before the evening meal today. See that they are ready to be picked up. You may leave.”

With all the dignity she could muster, the little woman squared her shoulders and picked up the beautiful skirt of her long dress that Abish had especially laundered for this interview. Abish found her voice and spoke to the queen, “Queen Zaria, might I address my former mistress one last time?”

The queen nodded, “Of course.” Mankara turned to face Abish. Abish could see the deep anger that lined her face, but she launched ahead anyway.

She bowed low, “Mankara,” and she saw her flinch at Abish’s familiar use of her name, even though such a thing was totally proper now. “Thank you for all that you taught me. You have given me the most precious skill I have: a skill that has given my life much purpose.” She bowed again.

Mankara was only a few feet from her and she bridged the distance in a few, mincing steps. Abish tried to give her a half smile to show her sincerity and hoped for some show of friendship or at least cordiality in return. Instead, Mankara’s eyes narrowed, the way they had on the day Abish first met her. Without warning, Mankara slapped Abish as hard as she could.

Abish took a step back, recoiling from the shock as Mankara hissed, “May all her babies be born blue and dead and may she have you hung from the nearest tree for it. Filthy little Nephite half-bloods.”

Before the queen could react, Mankara walked from the room. Abish turned quickly to her new mistress to see if she had heard Mankara’s terrible words. She was seated, slumped and pale. Abish came quickly to the queen’s side. “It is all right, milady, her words cannot harm the life growing in you. This will be a strong baby—the best of two great nations.”

The queen smiled wanly into Abish’s earnest face. “I think I made a good character choice anyway; I hope your skills are as good as your reputation.”

“Gossip is a little bit of truth shrouded in make-believe. Only time and first hand experience can teach you the real way of things.”

“I am glad you seem older than your years. You are very young.”

Abish couldn’t help but smile, “As you are too, my queen. Maybe youth and enthusiasm will win the day over age and bitterness.”

The queen laughed this time and regained her posture. “I do like you, Abish. I have things to attend now. Kishay will make sure that you are comfortable in your new room and then tomorrow we will talk specifically about your duties.” Her formal tone was back and Abish responded likewise.

“Yes, your majesty.” She bowed low and backed from the room.


The transition was smooth. The only hang up was that when the servants went to pick up her items from Mankara’s house there was a bonfire in the front yard instead. Nothing could be saved and Abish was once again left with just the clothes on her back. She was only momentarily disappointed; there was little other than some sentimental trinkets passed on by grateful mothers that Abish would miss, but her accommodations were not large and there would be room for little besides a mat for sleeping.

The first night in her new quarters, Abish dreamed again of the queen. This time, however, the queen was pleading with her over some unknown thing. Abish could tell from her tone that the queen somehow trusted her to make whatever it was go away, but Abish could not. She could only stand helplessly by as the queen struggled. The dream disturbed her enough that she didn’t sleep again afterward.

Her days weren’t busy. The queen demanded a fair amount of her attention and Abish assumed many of the roles of a personal maid for her highness. Abish, as always, did as she was told, but it was hard not to chafe a little bit under the confinement and the monotony. She still delivered babies, but she did not range as far throughout the land as she had with Mankara. The queen wanted her close and insisted that she always know where Abish was. She also insisted that Abish travel through the city at all times with a guard.

She knew the queen’s past history, and it had taken her a long time to conceive this second child, but her pregnancy was progressing normally. The baby was still weeks away, but it seemed like with each day that passed the queen pulled her closer and closer.

While the queen had plenty of personal slaves, she often asked Abish to brush her hair first thing in the morning. Although far out of the realm of duties Abish had ever performed as a slave, it was not a task she minded. The queen’s tresses were as thick as they were lovely and the morning ritual took several minutes. She took advantage of this time to become better acquainted with the queen even though her gathered information only came in snippets. As was proper, the queen initiated all of these conversations. Abish could sense that Zaria was desperate for a real friend, instead of just slaves or fawning courtiers. But even as they became friendly, she would make comments or change her tone in such a way that Abish could not forget her real standing in Lamoni’s household. And while the queen was always forthcoming about herself, she never asked Abish any questions about her own life before coming to the palace.

The queen was the second daughter to the man who was the leader of the Amulonites and Amakelekites in the city of Jerusalem. She was an Amulonite, and her people had been there the longer of the two break-off groups. Despite the many generations her ancestors had been in the land, her people had strenuously objected to intermarriage with the Lamanites—at least in principle. It seemed that Zaria’s father wanted to secure a better relationship with Lamoni as he was the most powerful of the lesser kings whose land was adjacent to his. So, without having ever met Lamoni, Zaria had been promised in marriage and taken, by escort, to the land of Ishmael. Her family joined her after an acceptable engagement period, during which she only met Lamoni twice.

When Abish learned this latest piece of information, she had stopped brushing, stunned. The queen looked at Abish surprised expression and said, “What?”

Abish shook her head and resumed brushing, “Nothing, Your Majesty.”

She said quietly, “You may speak freely.”

Abish paused for a moment, for while the queen said she might speak freely, she was still unsure. “I was just thinking that you and I were both given in slavery. The price paid was just different.”

“Your words are harsh to your queen.” Abish held her head low and stepped away from the queen when she saw the fire flash through her blue eyes and heard the tone creep into her voice. Before Abish could apologize the queen spoke low and with all condescension quite dropped from her voice. “But you are right. I suppose neither of us chose the life we have.”

Abish now ventured, “Perhaps, then, we are blessed not to find ourselves in more difficult circumstances.”

Zaria nodded, “It is true. Although I would never have believed such a thing when I first heard of my fate, I have truly come to admire and respect my husband.”

“What of love?” The words came out before Abish could stop them and she nearly bit her tongue at the flush she saw spread through the queen’s face. At first she thought it was anger and she bowed her head again.

But the queen’s quiet, friendly tone was unchanged and she reached out to touch Abish under her chin and lift her face. “A queen and a slave are not free to love whom they want. But I hope that in time Lamoni and I will share that too.”

Abish finished her brushing, silently. The queen had included Abish in her statement—perhaps Abish would hope too that she might love one day. It seemed a strange thing in the world she inhabited that there might one day be a man worth loving and being loved by, but her life now was so different than anything she could have ever imagined for herself as a child in Lanishe’s home, that perhaps anything was possible.

As the queen’s time grew closer, Abish wanted to tell her mistress more of her own past so that she might find opportunity to tell the queen of the gospel. She knew the religion practiced in Jerusalem was very different than both the Lamanite form of worship and the Nephite, but perhaps there would be common ground. She knew that Zaria observed her husband’s customs, as a good queen should, but she wondered if the queen harbored beliefs she had not yet shared. Once these thoughts came to Abish, she knew that she wanted nothing more than to share her testimony with the queen. In all the years of her slavery, she had never dared do this yet. She knew it was presumptuous to begin with a queen, but she felt that the time was not far distant when she would have such a chance. She prayed mightily every day that all would go well with the birth, and that the Lord would show her the time when she might teach Zaria of the things her father had once taught her.