Love Amid the Ashes

by Mesu Andrews

  Job lifted the goat’s chin and drew his flint knife across its neck. Nogahla gasped, and Dinah looked into her maidservant’s eyes just in time to see horror bubble up. “No, Master Job!” the girl cried, burying her head in Dinah’s chest.

  The men looked up in surprise, but Job spoke with compassion. “Nogahla, my little friend, this is the way El Shaddai allows His people, who deserve death, to be forgiven for sin.” Job’s hands deftly pressed the animal’s neck over the stone-carved drainage trough.

  Nogahla lifted her head, her face stricken. “The goat had to die because I hated your mean old steward, Atif?”

  Shobal hid a grin behind his big, callused hand, while the others worked hard to maintain reverence in the face of such unabashed innocence.

  “The goat had to die,” Job said with tenderness, “because each one of us has sinned in some way and needs to be forgiven.”

  Dinah listened in rapt wonder while the greatest man in the East, the priest of his household, explained El Shaddai’s plan of redemption to a young Cushite slave. Dinah regretted that she’d neglected to share her own forgiveness experience at Elath, the joy she’d felt and her fleeting moments without shame.

  Why were they fleeting? she asked herself, still listening to Job’s confident words of restoration. Glancing at Elihu, Shobal, and Lotan, she wondered, Why do I reclaim the shame of Shechem each time a man averts his gaze or looks at me scornfully?

  Job lightly touched her hand, and instinctively she jerked away, startling everyone. Her cheeks aflame, she lowered her chin. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Again, she heard only compassion in the gentle voice carried on the morning breeze. “It’s all right,” Job said. “I think we’re all a little anxious this morning.”

  She looked up then and noted the shepherd and herdsman walking away and Elihu’s hands skillfully completing the tasks of the offering. Job had taught him well. Her gaze wandered to Job himself, who was watching her intently.

  “I would like you and Nogahla to remain as members of my household,” he said. She started to protest, but he held up his hand. “I know all the reasons Jacob’s daughter will say she must leave.” He paused, seemingly searching for words. “You have a purpose in my household, Dinah. Will you try to discover what it might be?”

  Elihu’s hands momentarily stopped mid-motion, and his quick, sharp glance stabbed her like a bronze-tipped arrow. Job noticed it too and expelled a disapproving sigh, but returned his gaze to her, awaiting her answer. She could continue to run, keep hiding in tents beneath a mantle of shame, or she could step into the dawn of a new life in Uz.

  Dinah looked down at Nogahla. “Shall we make a life here in Master Job’s household, my friend?”

  The smile began in the Cushite’s eyes before creasing her lips. “Yes, and I’ll try not to kill any more goats with my sinful thoughts.”

  9

  ~Genesis 12:1–3~

  The LORD had said to Abram, “. . . I will make your name great . . . and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.”

  Job smelled the crisp morning breeze and felt the sun’s rays on his back, watching the flames lick up the fat portions of the offering. The grisly task of returning his servants’ bodies to their families lay before him. In honor of their loyal service, he would retrieve their bodies before unearthing his own children from the rubble of Ennon’s home tomorrow. Breathing deeply, Job absorbed the aroma of obedience from Yahweh’s altar as dawn gave way to morning. Though his world had been shattered, he knew God remained steadfast. Peace guarded Job’s heart.

  Elihu, however, was the antithesis of Job’s peace. The young man sat sullen, jaw flexing, hands restlessly kneading together. Elihu’s agitation had begun early this morning when he, Shobal, and Lotan inquired about the woman who had tended Lotan’s wounds last night. Job noted their silent recognition of Dinah’s name and how they spurned her during the sacrifice. The tension lingered after Dinah and Nogahla said their good-byes and returned to their chamber. A conversation needed to happen. What better time than amid the fragrance of God’s forgiveness?

  “You’re going to wear away your skin if you keep rubbing your hands like that,” Job said, trying to coax a grin.

  Elihu looked down, taking Job’s jest to heart, and then turned a scowl on his elder. “Abba Job, haven’t you taught me that the Most High hates sin?”

  Ah, so we’re going to have a spiritual lesson to work through your anger, Job mused. “Yes, El Shaddai hates sin.”

  “Then why did you bring a sinful woman into your household?”

  “She was to become Ennon’s wife.” Job offered the words with immeasurable calm but saw a fire ignite in Elihu’s eyes. “It’s a long story, my son, but I suspect you’re not interested in the details.” He watched Elihu struggle for control.

  “You’re mistaken, Abba. I desperately want to understand the reasons you would subject your son to such humiliation and then invite this woman to remain in your household when she no longer has a purpose.” His voice became a schoolboy whine. “She is an adulteress, Abba!”

  “Dinah is not an adulteress.” Job worked to maintain his level tone.

  “But she is a temptress.”

  Job eyed his student and would-be son. Had Dinah acted inappropriately somehow? Job had known her only a few days, but he’d immediately felt she was a woman of impeccable honesty and character. “Why do you say she is a temptress, Elihu?”

  The young man fell silent, staring at his hands again, his jaw beginning its sulking dance.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Job said, anger rising. “You started rolling this ball down the hill. Now you’ll unravel the twine completely.”

  When Elihu lifted his yellow-brown eyes, Job expected the same flashing fervor with which he always argued for the Most High, but the fire was gone. The windows of his soul were empty, hollow. “Abba, I loved Uzahmah with my whole heart.” Tears pooled, and the boy looked at the sky to keep drops from spilling over. He inhaled deeply and puffed his cheeks, exhaling emotion without words.

  Job’s heart ached at whatever battle raged in Elihu’s heart, but a man’s sorrow needn’t disfigure the truth. “I know you loved my daughter, Elihu, but why does that make Dinah sinful?”

  The vacant eyes blazed. “Dinah’s sin has nothing to do with my love for Uzahmah!”

  Job placed a calming hand on Elihu’s shoulder. “Then why speak of the two as though they were related?”

  “Ahh!” Elihu stood to pace. “I’ve heard about this Dinah from shepherds’ gossip and traders’ tales.” His arms gestured widely, his long legs giving him the appearance of an ostrich attempting flight. “I’ve heard she wore rings on her fingers and toes. That she painted her eyes like the Egyptians and went into Shechem to ensnare the prince.” He slapped both arms at his sides. “Abba, I never expected her to be wise. And compassionate. And naturally beautiful.” Elihu grabbed at his head where the thinning brown hair used to be, seemingly tortured by his admission. “Oh, I can’t believe I said such a thing about another woman, when my beloved Uzahmah lies under a pile of rubble . . .” He sat down hard on the carved stone bench, grieving quietly, his face buried in his hands.

  “Elihu, you haven’t betrayed Uzahmah by speaking the truth about a woman who was maligned and hated nearly all her life. In fact, I believe my spirited youngest daughter would’ve been proud of you for being sensitive enough to truly see Dinah.”

  Elihu lifted his head, lashes matted with tears. “I won’t be looking in Dinah’s direction again, Abba.” He stared at the roasting sacrifice, no doubt pondering more deeply than his words revealed. “But she acted nobly last night, with courage and wisdom, when I was driven purely by emotion.” He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Will I ever learn to respond to circumstances as you do? Will I ever turn to El Shaddai first? Or will my emotions always rule me?”

  Job clamped a firm hand on Elihu’s shoulder. “Tell me who you are, my son.” It was a comman
d Job often used, teacher to student, abba to son, reminding the boy of his worth and his purpose.

  A submissive smile stretched across Elihu’s face. “I am Elihu, son of Barakel. Of the tribe of Buz, second son of Nahor, Abraham’s brother. I am of the faithful tribe who sent generations of representatives to the House of Shem until my father became ill unto death. He was the last Buzite disciple of Eber, Noah’s great-great-grandson, and I am the first Buzite disciple of the great Edomite teacher, Job.” Elihu’s voice broke, and he looked up. In that cleanly shaven, ash-covered face, Job saw the boy of twelve he’d accepted from his friend Barakel. “Abba, may I remain in your household too?”

  Job grabbed the young man’s shoulders and pulled him into a ferocious embrace. “I would hobble any animal that tried to carry you away from Uz,” he said through sobs. Laying his heart bare before the Lord, he held Elihu and silently prayed, My household is broken before You, O God. Pour into it whom You will. Take out of it whom You wish.

  Quieting his mind and spirit, Job allowed his own grief to wash through him, when suddenly he remembered Abraham’s covenant promise.

  All peoples on earth will be blessed.

  He was so startled by the thought, he jerked away from Elihu, scaring the poor boy.

  “Abba, what’s wrong?”

  But Job was speechless. Had God just whispered to his spirit? Or was this Job’s own idea? God’s covenant promised blessing to all people through Abraham, not just to Abraham’s seed. Could the fulfilling of the covenant begin with Elihu, a Buzite from Nahor’s clan, marrying Jacob’s daughter?

  “You’re frightening me, Abba.” Elihu’s features were now riddled with concern. “What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me that way?”

  Job breathed deeply, spoke evenly, trying a subtle approach with his surrogate son. “Perhaps the Most High has called you and Dinah to my household for a greater purpose than we realized.”

  “Nada, you must go to Sayyid now, this morning.” Sitis spoke in hushed tones as they began their kitchen inventory. “Tell him I have something important to discuss, and he must come later this morning while Job is checking the fields with Elihu.” She pushed two large baskets of freshly harvested barley into the corner, fighting more tears.

  Nada peeked inside a few glazed clay crocks, wincing at the fermenting contents. “What was Cook thinking? Who could ever eat this many pickled olives?” Nada crinkled her nose and glanced at Sitis.

  “They were Leum’s favorite.” Sitis felt her face twist in sorrow.

  “Why do you fight your tears, mistress? Let them flow.” Nada reached out, but Sitis held up her hand in warning.

  “Don’t come near me. I can’t keep from crying if you hug me.” She picked up a polished bronze serving tray and peered at her reflection. “I’m all puffy, and I must look my best for Job.” But the tears won the battle and crept down Sitis’s cheeks. “Oh, Nada. I’m getting old, losing the woman’s red moon. What if I can never bear more children for Job? I saw the way he looked at Dinah. What if he takes her for his wife now that our Ennon is gone?” A sob escaped. She wavered between confiding fully in her maid and keeping the intimate details to herself. But in whom else could she confide? “Job would not lie with me last night, Nada. I must get pregnant quickly if I am to bear more children.” She melted into the soft, warm arms that had been her haven since her earliest memory.

  “Your husband adores you, my little Sitis.” Nada smoothed her hair and kissed her head. “He is mourning as his God commands, but he will never take another wife. He promised it on your wedding day.”

  “I know what he promised, Nada, but that was long ago, and now our children are gone. A man is nothing if he leaves no children on this earth.” She struggled out of her maid’s arms and held up the mirror again, trying desperately to repair the damage done by new tears. “Now a young and beautiful seductress sleeps a few chambers away from my husband. She can bear him children, and he cares for her.” She slammed the bronze tray against her leg and stomped her foot. “I will not be Job’s first wife but second best!”

  The maid removed the tray from her mistress’s hands and piled it with a few other items they had separated out for trade. “My little Sitis, you must calm down. If my master thought she was good enough for Ennon, he will simply find another honorable man in Uz to marry her.”

  “Who would marry a woman with Dinah’s reputation? Every man east of Egypt is afraid of waking with his throat cut—or should I say not waking!” Sitis’s voice was shrill and frantic.

  “Shh, hush now!” Nada whispered. “Master Job and Elihu could come down any moment from the sacred altar, and that woman is in her chamber. Your husband must never know your true feelings about her because he obviously has feelings for the girl.”

  Nada’s observation renewed Sitis’s tears, and the lady fell into her nursemaid’s cushioned embrace.

  Patting Sitis gently, Nada cooed, “All right, all right. What can I do to help my Sitis?”

  “Please, Nada. Just go to Sayyid and tell him I must speak with him today.”

  Nada’s hands stopped their slow and steady comfort on Sitis’s back, and she grasped Sitis’s shoulders, wrinkle lines of suspicion on her brown forehead. “What plans are spinning in your head, my girl? How can Sayyid possibly help?”

  “He will marry Dinah.” Sitis spoke so matter-of-factly, she left no room for debate or explanation. “Now go!” At Nada’s slight hesitation, Sitis stomped her foot once more and pointed at the doorway, reminding her protective nursemaid who commanded whom.

  Dinah and Nogahla peeked through the red tapestry kitchen door, watching the mistress and her failed attempts at grinding barley. Dinah hid a grin as kernels skittered over the sides of the trough. “Sitis looks as skilled grinding grain as a shepherd herding cats.”

  Nogahla’s giggle drew the mistress’s attention, forcing them to come out of hiding.

  “Good morning.” Sitis greeted them stiffly, returning quickly to her task.

  Dinah and Nogahla entered the airy kitchen. Sitis stood at the farthest of three large stone tables, near a tall archway that led to the kitchen courtyard. “Good morning, mistress,” Dinah replied, nodding her head in a respectful bow. “Nogahla and I have come to serve in whatever way might be most beneficial.”

  Herbs and drying flowers hung from the ceiling in bundles, filling the air with the scent of coriander, garlic, and cloves. Grain baskets of every size lined one wall, with shelves above them bearing kitchen utensils and dishes of varying shapes and sizes. Copper pots hung on another wall.

  Sitis lifted her gaze, her eyes welcoming though not warm. Dinah had hoped to ask about retrieving her midwife supplies from the Hebron caravan, thinking perhaps Job could refer her services to a few wealthier women in Uz. At least then she would feel of some value to his family for the protection he’d provided. However, the mistress had returned full concentration to her grinding. She poured another mounding cup of barley into the circular furrow and shoved the heavy stone wheel over the kernels.

  “Ahh!” A frustrated Sitis slammed the table with her fist, sending barley—ground and unground—into the air.

  Dinah cast a cautionary glance at Nogahla and stepped farther into the kitchen. “May we be of help?” Dinah offered, bowing slightly.

  “I was just grinding a little grain before making dough to bake in the public ovens.” Sitis smoothed her robe and calmly gathered the scattered kernels into the grinding trough. It was a poor attempt at appearing casual. “Job’s cousin Zophar has ovens in his own kitchen, but I’m afraid the merchants in Uz have not progressed to such conveniences.” Dinah noticed a slight quiver in the woman’s voice. “Does your maid know how to cook and run a household?”

  Dinah placed her arm around Nogahla’s shoulder to bolster her confidence.

  “I know some about cooking,” the Cushite said quietly, “but I cannot manage a household.”

  “We’re here to help, mistress.” Dinah winked at her maid
, offering her approval. “I’m sure you and Nada can give us direction.”

  Nogahla turned and mumbled, “I’m sure bossy Nada will tell everyone what to do.”

  Dinah’s breath caught. Feeling the blood rush from her face, she measured Sitis’s response. The woman glanced between her two guests and then released a good-natured chuckle, snapping the thread of tension. “Yes, Nada will no doubt give us all her opinion, little Cushite, but I fear she knows little more about this kitchen than I do.” Wiping a bead of sweat and a tear with the back of her hand, she exhaled and let her shoulders sag. “Do either of you know how to work this awful mill?”

  Nogahla’s big, questioning eyes sought Dinah’s permission, and a quick nod sent the girl to retrieve a basket of grain from the corner. Relief washed over Sitis’s features, and all three women pulled stools near the central basket. Nogahla and Dinah each lifted a hand mill from the shelf, and Sitis carried hers from the table. Nogahla adeptly leveled her mill on the stool and knelt beside it, while Dinah and Sitis sat on the stool balancing the mills in their laps, gawking as if the contraptions were two-headed camels.

  Nogahla stifled a giggle and shoveled a small cupful of grain into the trough. As she pushed the heavy wheel steadily around the groove, the tender kernels slowly and evenly yielded to the crushing.

  Dinah smiled and silently followed Nogahla’s example, kneeling and leveling the mill on her stool. She caught Sitis’s eye, and the mistress seemed equally moved by the Cushite’s gentle instruction. Soon all three women worked together, lulled by the sounds of grinding wheels and the swoosh of finely ground flour emptied into the jug. The peaceful rhythm surrounded them, lifted them, soothed them.