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Authors: Mesu Andrews

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BOOK: Love Amid the Ashes
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Zophar jerked his hand away. “Take caution, cousin. This woman will destroy your household.” He looked at Dinah and spit on the ground at her feet. “I don’t care if Grandfather Isaac believed you carry Abraham’s covenant blessing in your womb. Your abba is a liar and a thief, and your brothers are murderers. You’re no better.”

Dinah turned and grabbed Nogahla’s hand on her way back to their tent. Zophar marched to his horse without another word and disappeared with his Sabean escort in a cloud of red dust.

Job stood quietly, turning slowly in a full circle, amazed that his servants had dismantled his camp in the short time it had taken for him and Zophar to dismantle a lifelong kinship. Nearly everything was ready for travel into the port town of Elath, where they would trade livestock for gifts and gather supplies for the final three days of their journey to Uz. Only Dinah’s tent was still standing, but he wasn’t yet prepared for the confrontation sure to come. He decided instead to walk toward a beautiful outcropping of rocks about a hundred paces toward the sun, overlooking the city below. He needed some time with El Shaddai.

Many mornings during the past five years, on his journeys home from Grandfather Isaac’s camp, Job had found a comfortable cleft in the rocks and rested his back against the rough red stone until the whisper of El Elyon’s truth resonated in his soul. Of course, God Most High had never spoken to him. Such a miracle was reserved only for those who possessed the covenant blessing, but perhaps someday one of Ennon’s sons would hear the voice of El Shaddai.

What would it be like to hear You speak, El Elyon? Would a man ever be the same?

5

~Job 1:1–3~

In the land of Uz there lived a man whose name was Job. . . . He had seven sons and three daughters. . . . He was the greatest man among all the people of the East.

Nogahla, stop gaping out the tent flap and help me pack.” Dinah was too angry and humiliated to let the girl’s curiosity slow her busy hands. “If Job is determined to have his son reject me in front of the entire town of Uz, then we must be ready to leave with the rest of his caravan.” Tears still threatened, but she refused to let them spill over.

Nogahla gently took the sleeping mat from Dinah’s hand. “Let me roll it, mistress. Change your robe and tend your hair. Ready yourself to go into Elath today.”

Dinah’s hands shook. Images of Zophar’s angry red face flashed before her. She just wanted peace—the peace she’d had after last night’s sacrifice.

“Mistress, are you all right?” Nogahla placed a tender hand on Dinah’s arm.

A loud hand clap signaled a visitor outside their tent, and every muscle in Dinah’s body tensed.

“I need to speak with you for a moment, Dinah.” It was Job.

“We’re almost finished packing,” Dinah said, answering Nogahla’s silent questions with a shrug. “We’re working as quickly as we—”

Job’s face appeared at the tent opening. “I have a request,” he said, his expression kind but firm. He straightened, and his presence filled the women’s small tent. “Dinah, I would like to have your jars of herbs and medicines, please. The ones Grandfather Isaac gave you.”

Dinah waited for him to explain, but his silence was as empty as his expression. “Why?” she asked finally.

“After you marry my son, you’ll have little time for midwifery. I can offer your herbs to the midwives in Uz, and then everyone—both in my household and in our town—will benefit. Don’t worry, Dinah. I know what’s best.” His smile was genuine, but some strange emotion niggled at the corner of his mouth.

Dinah lingered between despair and indignation. Of course she should be willing to share her herbs with others, but these jars were gifts from Grandfather Isaac. Shouldn’t
she
be able to decide who used them, since she knew the healing power of each one? Besides, she’d not only issued new life through these potions, they’d resurrected her own dead soul.

“I’m sorry,” she said, keeping her gaze downcast. “I can’t give them to you.”

“You must.” His voice remained kind but insistent.

Dinah looked up, searching Job’s eyes for a soul she knew existed. “How can you ask this of me?” Her voice broke a little, and she hated her weakness. “When you know how much I treasure them?”

Job inclined his head and spoke gently as though explaining to a reluctant child. “I have made this decision for everyone’s good, Dinah. I’m asking you to set aside your selfish desires and think of others.”

Job’s words pierced her like a red-hot spear. He thought she was selfish? Maybe he was right. He was the honorable one, after all, the greatest man in the East. Who was she to question Job? She was nothing.

Stepping toward the woven baskets and leather bags containing her herbal treasures, she reached out to grasp the handles, but something deep within cried out against his demands. “I won’t!” she shouted. “Grandfather Isaac gave them to me, and
I
will share them when and with whom I choose.” She stepped toward him, and he stepped back as if considering a swift exit. “Why do people think they can just take whatever is mine? No! Not this time, Job.”

Dinah braced herself. Would he strike her? Wasn’t that what angry men did to women of their household who spoke so disrespectfully?

Silence hung like a wet wineskin, invaded only by Nogahla’s soft whimpers and Dinah’s heavy breathing. Finally, Job smiled. “Why didn’t you defend the gift of forgiveness as fiercely as you defended your herbs?”

Dinah could only blink, allowing the words to penetrate her anger.

“As surely as Grandfather Isaac gave you those pots of healing, Dinah, El Elyon healed your soul with the blood of the lamb. But when Zophar tried to steal your gift of forgiveness, you gave it up to his reproach.”

Dinah stared at him, breathless. She had no words. And Job’s eyes were once again warm pools.

He reached for her hand, and she allowed him to cradle it. “You are a strong and beautiful woman, Dinah,” he said. “The journey ahead of us is harsh. Both the mountains we’ll travel and the people you’ll meet can be dangerous and unforgiving.” He gave an almost imperceptible squeeze of her hand. “But neither the mountains nor the people can rob you of the forgiveness God has given—unless you let them.” Then he turned and stooped to exit her tent, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll send one of the servants to tear down your tent. Make sure you’re not in it!” His laughter rang out.

Dinah stood like a statue. The warmth of his touch still tingled on her outstretched hand.

“Mistress,” Nogahla said, her voice a hushed whisper. Even a young servant girl realized the moment was too holy to speak in ordinary tones. Dinah grinned and remained silent, savoring the moment.

“Mistress, we must hurry.”

Dinah finally let both hands fall to her sides but still moved as though lost in a dream—a lovely dream in which a good man continued to prove faithful to his word and his God.

Sitis gazed into the ocean of night sky from her bedchamber balcony and thought of Job. Was he counting the same myriad stars, staring at the same half moon? Pulling her woolen robe tight around her neck, she leaned over her balcony railing to see their children’s houses just beyond the canyon below. Nine of them owned homes of their own—eight married and one son as unfettered as a wild ox. Uzahmah, the youngest, slept snugly in her chamber down the hall but was all too anxious to marry Elihu, Job’s star pupil.

Sitis squeezed the bridge of her nose and released a weary sigh. Her youngest girl had always been a bit impetuous—like her mother. As Job’s caravan had left the city gates one full moon ago, he had promised Uzahmah the betrothal proceedings could begin as soon as he returned. A smile creased Sitis’s face.
She did just what I would have done.
Uzahmah interpreted her father’s promise as permission to schedule the betrothal banquet for the moment his caravan returned through the gates of Uz. The girl had pestered Sitis to send scouts and messengers, timing Elihu’s arrival with Job’s caravan. If her scouts were reliable, Elihu would arrive with a Chaldean trading caravan from the north. And Job’s caravan from Hebron would enter the city gates from the south—both about sunset tomorrow.

Placing her elbows on the railing, Sitis massaged her temples and wondered if indulging her daughter’s impatience would drive a deeper wedge into her marriage relationship. Would Job be angry that she had planned the banquet and made all the arrangements without asking him? Would this be just another argument to widen the distance between them?

She bent down and tipped the tiny pitcher of olive oil over the heads of her three Ishmaelite goddesses. After the yearlong betrothal, Uzahmah would have her own home to manage, and Sitis would be alone with Job in their cliff-hewn palace. What would they talk about? It seemed they could no longer say two words without arguing. She inhaled the crisp night air, and this time her sigh quivered a little. The emotions were getting harder to press down.

“Oh, ladies of life, hear my prayer,” she said, massaging the oil into each image. “May I soon hear the happy cries of grandchildren in my home, the gentle patter of little feet in these hallways.” Al-Uzza, the almighty goddess covered with a multitude of breasts, stood stately in the center of the low ivory table. Golden Al-Lat was on her right, perched on a camel, her morning-star necklace glistening with oil. Holy mother-in-law, Manat, on the left, had become Sitis’s favorite in recent years. The headless idol was seated, legs extending only to the thighs—a golden lap awaiting grandchildren. Her arms were crossed, holding up bare breasts as an altar on which pungent spices testified to her strength.

“Why haven’t you blessed my household with grandchildren?” she asked the goddesses. “My offerings helped rebuild your temple for the Ishmaelites in Chaldea after Job and his men destroyed it. What more do you require of me?” Clouds shrouded the moonlight, making the idols’ silence even darker.
Gods never answer
, she thought, straightening again at the balcony railing.

Looking into the black night, she remembered when she had believed Yahweh created all things. “Not so long ago,” she whispered. “But a lifetime ago.”

She was the daughter of Shuah, Abraham’s son through his concubine, Keturah. Ishmael married Keturah after Abraham’s death and adopted Shuah, making Sitis and her brother, Bildad, grandchildren of both Abraham and Ishmael—double royalty, doubly devoted to Yahweh, according to Bildad. Sitis’s brother had been Ishmael’s representative at the House of Shem. He had demanded Sitis’s devotion to Yahweh, even when their parents died and she grew up alone. She was a princess among servants. Bildad had arranged her marriage to Job—and then Job demanded her devotion to Yahweh, even when her babies died. She’d been a mother with full breasts and empty arms.

“Creator of all.” She laughed bitterly. “I don’t think so.”

The cool night air lifted her dark curls from her neck, the desert chill prickling her skin. She let her robe fall around her shoulders. Her third-story balcony was nestled in the western red cliffs of a private canyon in the refined second sector of Uz. Only one other home shared the canyon—Sayyid’s. It was a smaller palace directly across the canyon, carved into the eastern cliffs. But it was late. No one would see her. The lamps in Sayyid’s household had long been dark, and tonight’s stillness was her last chance at freedom until Job’s next journey. She let her robe fall to the stone floor, the frigid wind ravaging her body, making her feel alive before she resumed her living death.

Tomorrow Job would return with his shrouds of expectations. Sitis would again choose her words carefully and speak politely, avoiding her husband’s gaze. She would endure the loneliness because she loved her home, her children, her status as Job’s wife—the greatest man in the East. She glanced down at the oily glow of the golden goddesses in the moonlight. Tonight she would tuck them away safely so Job would never suspect their presence in his home.

She glanced across the canyon at Sayyid’s dark balconies and windows. Would Job suspect that Sayyid had been present in their home? She’d said a tearful good-bye to her friend tonight, apologizing again that she couldn’t see him until the next time Job traveled or they had a chance meeting in the city market. Tears sprang up unbidden. “Why must I choose between my husband and my best friend?” she whispered to the night. She knew the answer. Job still blamed Sayyid for her refusal to worship El Shaddai.

When Job had discovered Sayyid delivering Sitis’s offerings to the Chaldean temple on the day of Ennon’s wedding, Job ordered the temple destroyed and Sayyid banished forever from their home.
But you cannot banish him from my heart.

She braced herself against the railing and let her tears flow freely. Why couldn’t Job understand that Sayyid was like a brother? Closer than her own brother who had betrayed her heart. Sayyid always listened, really listened, when she was afraid or hurting—more than any other man in her life.

Sitis knelt to retrieve her robe and placed a kiss on each of the goddesses. Carefully, reverently, she wrapped each image in fleece and placed it in the sacred stone cube. She slid the cover into place and stood, pulling her warm woolen robe tightly around her body.

“We are all wrapped in some sort of shroud, I suppose,” she whispered, thinking of the golden images in their fleece-lined home. She glanced up at Sayyid’s eastern cliffs, dark yet alive with his presence. “Perhaps someday I’ll break out of my tomb and worship freely, speak freely, live freely.” Lifting the sacred cube, she turned toward her bedchamber. “Until then, I have a beautiful daughter to pamper and a betrothal banquet to prepare.”

After trading all the animals for merchandise at Elath, the caravan traveled much more quickly. Still, the heavily loaded camels and the few donkeys carrying servants meant frequent water stops as they climbed to higher elevations. Though the drought had diminished the flow of natural mountain springs, the caravan guide was adept at finding every drop of clear, cold refreshment. The sun’s rays peeked over the western sandstone cliffs, but the mountain heights also meant falling temperatures, and Dinah’s teeth chattered to the sway of her camel. Her speckled woolen robe would soon be no match for the chilly winds. Looking ahead, she saw a forest of trees and scrub covering a plateau and prayed the guide would find water there. Searching the back of the caravan for Nogahla’s white donkey, she found the girl, shoulders crouched and shivering, bouncing atop her little beast of burden along the mountain ridge road.

BOOK: Love Amid the Ashes
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