Love Amid the Ashes

by Mesu Andrews

  He affectionately laid his hand on her leg, and she instinctively flinched. The dirt on his hands and around his fingernails would most certainly stain her fine linen robe. “Sorry,” he said, starting to pull away.

  Suddenly realizing the great gulf her elegance had carved between them, she enfolded his soiled hand and wiped it with her robe. His eyes misted, and he gazed at her longingly. I do love you, she thought, I just haven’t been very good at showing you.

  “It was worse than we’d expected, Sitis. Hundreds of our servants—men, women, children. Their families are refusing to touch the dead bodies for fear of retribution from the gods. Elihu, Shobal, Lotan, and I tried to just heap dirt over the bodies, but we couldn’t even begin to bury them all. We’ll unearth Ennon’s home and take our children’s bodies to the family tomb tomorrow, my love.”

  Sitis listened long into the night while Job described the horrors he’d seen. He held her, and they wept for all the children lost to Uz. At some point, they fell asleep in each other’s arms—the filth, the stench, all part of their shared experience now.

  Sitis turned in her sleep, vaguely aware of the birds’ morning chatter. Eyes still closed, she sensed darkness jealously yielding to dawn’s first rays, and at the same moment Job gasped and wheezed beside her. A lazy grin stretched across her lips as she wondered why her husband would begin snoring after forty years of slumbering bliss. She rolled toward him and let her arm fall across his strong, broad chest.

  Her bloodcurdling scream split the morning silence.

  Sitis bolted upright, staring at her husband—the man she thought was her husband—now lying paralyzed in pain, covered on every visible surface with seeping sores.

  “By the gods, Job! What has happened to you?”

  The first rays of sunrise streamed in from her balcony, the light breeze mingling the putrid odor of the death field with a new rotting stench from his sores. Sitis turned away and retched on the floor. Wiping her face, she stared at Job. He was shaking uncontrollably. Unable to speak, he began to grunt and gasp for air.

  Revulsion stepped aside and fear seized her. Remembering Sayyid’s words that the city elders had spurned them, she wondered who in Uz would treat Job’s wounds. No physician would come near them. She covered her mouth, silencing the panic that threatened to overtake her.

  And then she smelled it. The gum-yamin ointment on her bandaged hand.

  “Dinah!” Sitis screamed. “Dinah!” She slid off the bed and ran down the hallway, uncertain which chamber housed the blonde beauty and her maid. “Dinah, get your medicines! Come quickly! My husband is dying!”

  11

  ~Job 30:13–15~

  They succeed in destroying me. . . . They advance as through a gaping breach; amid the ruins they come rolling in. Terrors overwhelm me; my dignity is driven away as by the wind, my safety vanishes like a cloud.

  Elihu sat atop the middle mountain ridge by Job’s sacred altar in the early glow of pre-dawn stillness. Crystal-clear nights sharpened the desert chill, and his chattering teeth sang a remorseful tune to the lonely blanket still in his bedchamber. When Elihu had first arrived at Job’s home as a boy of twelve, he dreaded the pre-dawn climb from his fourth-floor bedchamber each morning. Abba Job’s chamber had been next to Elihu’s, and they’d often made the climb together, counting every step in the tower passageway. Four hundred thirty-two rock-hewn, steep-grade, narrow-walled stairs led to an immense porthole in the mountaintop. As an adolescent, he’d found the tower climb to be a nuisance. As an adult, he saw it as a wonder, the gateway to Elihu’s most holy place—the only place on earth he felt Yahweh truly heard his prayers.

  This morning, they could bring no animal for sacrifice, but Abba Job would undoubtedly arrive at dawn for morning prayers. The two herdsmen would most likely join him. Would Dinah come too? Rubbing his bald head, he gazed at the amethyst sky, trying to focus on the miracle of God’s wonders rather than the mystery of God’s plan.

  Last night sleep wouldn’t come, and Elihu couldn’t eat after arriving home from the death fields. Even more unsettling than the smell clinging to his robes were Abba Job’s words churning in his mind. Perhaps the Most High has called you and Dinah to my household for a greater purpose than we realized.

  Elihu smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “For what purpose, Abba?” he had asked. Like a camel with its bridle and tail knotted, Elihu’s naïveté had marched him in a senseless circle. He was mortified when Abba Job bounced his eyebrows, giving his slow-witted student a moment to absorb the implications.

  El Shaddai, if it’s truly Your will for me to marry Dinah, why didn’t the thought occur to me? Why do I still love Uzahmah?

  Elihu fought tears. His emotions had gotten the better of him the night of the tragedies. He couldn’t let it happen again. He needed to be strong for Abba Job and Ima Sitis.

  But is it weak to mourn Uzahmah? Is it weak to doubt that I could ever love a woman like Dinah?

  Of course, she was stunningly beautiful, and her devotion to El Shaddai seemed genuine. But her past would forever stain the man who married her. Could Elihu live with the questions for the rest of his life? Was he as certain as Abba Job of her innocence? He felt like a jackal for even admitting his doubts, but could he defend Dinah publicly when so many for so long had accused her?

  He was suddenly distracted by movement in the canyon below. Elihu crouched, hurrying to the edge of the cliff. In the infancy of dawn, he watched several men leading pack animals near Job’s kitchen courtyard. Startled, he realized dozens more hammered at the courtyard wall, creating a gaping breach through which more men filed into the house! His heart slammed against his chest. Who would break down the wall when the gates were unlocked? What evil were they plotting, and how could he stop them?

  If he hurried down the sharp eastern cliffs, where the mountains met and the canyon ended, he might reach the sleeping Shobal and Lotan in the stables. Surely they could find swords still packed in the Hebron caravan. But how could three men fight fifty, and what about Abba Job and the others still in the house? He must take them to safety first!

  He saw a shadowy figure standing at Job’s main courtyard gate, positioning guards at every exit of the home. Who are you? Elihu thought. The man turned slightly, and dawn’s early rays revealed the chiseled features of Sayyid’s captain. Elihu’s mind raced with devastating possibilities. Uzahmah had once mentioned the tension between Sayyid and her abba, but Elihu couldn’t imagine Ima Sitis’s old friend organizing an attack on his neighbor.

  Regardless of Elihu’s doubts, the fact lay before him. Sayyid didn’t even sneeze without his captain offering up his sleeve to wipe his nose. Elihu must act quickly to stop whatever Sayyid had planned.

  Running toward the hole in the mountaintop, Elihu jumped down the tower stairs two and three at a time. His heart pounded in his ears, his breathing hard and fast. “I must get to the women in time. They’ll attack the women first,” he whispered, coaching his feet to move faster.

  Finally reaching the bottom step, he burst through the heavy wooden door and was suddenly aware of a woman screaming. Am I too late? He ran faster and stumbled through the fourth-story hall, nearly tumbling headlong down the remaining stairs. Then he saw her—Ima Sitis hysterically screeching as she ran down the hallway in her night robe.

  “Dinah, where are you?” She was running from door to door.

  “Ima Sitis, quiet!” Elihu half-whispered, half-shouted. She turned, having obviously heard him, but then bolted in the opposite direction. “Ima, what are you doing? You must come—”

  Nada burst from an adjoining third-story chamber, knocking Elihu’s wiry frame into the wall. “What’s wrong, my Sitis?” she asked, her eyes wild. Elihu recovered from the jolt and motioned her to be quiet, but she ignored him and chased after her lady instead.

  At the sound of Nada’s voice, Sitis turned. “I must find Dinah! Job has sores. He can’t speak, his pain is so great. Help me find Dinah.”


  “This way,” Nada said. The two continued down the hallway, Elihu pleading behind them.

  “Ima Sitis, Nada, come back!” Exasperated, he wondered if he had become invisible.

  “Mistress?” Dinah emerged from a veiled doorway down the hall, her small Cushite maid peeking out beside her.

  “We have no time for this!” Elihu exploded, his whispering forgotten. By now, the bandits had no doubt heard the women’s screeching. “Ima Sitis, all of you, don’t ask questions. Just follow me. Now!” His deep, resonant voice echoed against the sandstone walls.

  “Don’t talk to me that way, young man. My husband is ill!” Sitis said, stomping her foot.

  Nada placed a balled fist on her hip, no doubt preparing to scold someone, but seemingly confused at where to start.

  “Ahh!” Elihu hoisted Sitis into his arms, surprising everyone, including himself. “I said now!” Whirling toward the stairway, he said, “We’ll collect Abba Job on the way.”

  “Elihu, put me down!” Sitis kicked her legs in protest. “I’m too heavy for you to carry. Put me down! Job needs Dinah’s medicines!”

  Elihu gritted his teeth, partly from frustration and partly from the strain of carrying someone matching his own weight. “Ima, we can tend Abba Job’s wounds later,” he whispered. “Right now men are entering your house and sealing off the exits. We must get to the mountaintop altar.” Sitis stopped kicking, and her face finally registered the concern Elihu had tried to convey. “We have to go up the tower stairs and escape across the mountain path,” he said, more gently now that fear scarred her features.

  “But Job’s pain is too great,” she said. “He won’t make it.” Sitis glanced over Elihu’s shoulder and began flailing again. “Stop! Dinah is going back to her chamber. Put me down, Elihu.” He nearly dropped her but managed to land her gently on the tiled floor. “Nada and I will go to my chamber and get Job on his feet,” she said, “but you must get Dinah or Job will die.”

  “Nogahla, hurry,” Dinah said, grabbing the two baskets of herbs and potions they’d unloaded from the caravan earlier. “Take this basket, and I’ll gather the linen bedcover for bandages. I heard Mistress Sitis say Job has sores and needs medicine, so we’ll take everything we have and hope for the best.”

  Nogahla was already moving toward the door, basket in hand, when Elihu arrived with panic in his voice. “Hurry!” he said, and then suddenly stilled. Dinah heard raucous laughter and sounds of breaking pottery coming from the floors below. Elihu whispered, “There’s no time to bring the supplies!” He motioned them down the long hallway toward Sitis’s chamber.

  “I’m bringing my medicines,” Dinah whispered adamantly, encouraging Nogahla in front of her. Elihu either chose to ignore her or didn’t hear. He flattened his narrow body against the wall, snuffing the oil lamps as he passed them, leaving Nogahla and Dinah to follow in a trail of near darkness.

  Nogahla began to whimper, and Dinah nudged her from behind. “No crying!” The words registered familiarity between the women, locking their gaze, prompting tremulous grins. Dinah had given the same stern warning when they’d ridden the camel through the narrow siq.

  Nogahla had been brave then, but this time she added a little humor. “Well, we certainly didn’t stay long at Master Job’s house, mistress. It’s a good thing we didn’t unpack.” Dinah grinned and nudged her a second time. Nogahla rewarded her with a brilliant white smile that lit the darkened hallway.

  “Shh!” Elihu scolded and glanced behind them.

  Dinah lifted an eyebrow, convinced Elihu’s hissing-snake impression made more noise than their quiet whispers. Tensions were high, but he acted much too serious for his age. His newly shaved head, slender nose, and close-set eyes gave him the look of a man approaching forty, but Sitis said he would have turned thirty just before marrying Uzahmah.

  Nogahla reached back, needing a little comfort, and Dinah took her hand. “It’s all right. We’re almost to Mistress Sitis’s chamber.”

  Elihu sighed, and before Dinah had time to wonder what new frustration vexed him, he turned, stepped around Nogahla, and faced Dinah. “I asked you to be quiet because I’m trying to get us out of here alive. If you’re going to be my wife, you must learn to heed my words.” Without so much as a nod, he slipped through the billowing linen veils of Sitis’s doorway.

  Dinah froze. Nogahla turned slowly to face her, and in the darkened hallway, Dinah saw only Nogahla’s wide eyes, glowing like eclipsed full moons. “Mistress, did he say you were going to be his wife? When did he find time to like you?”

  Dinah could barely breathe, and as usual, Nogahla’s innocent words encapsulated the bold truth. She had last seen Elihu when he’d shunned her at the altar yesterday. Their only words had been angry, their only glances awkward. What had happened to make him think . . .

  “Nogahla, go inside. We must check on Master Job.” Dinah peeked once more into the dark hall behind her. She didn’t know if her heart was thudding wildly at the threat of danger or the thought of marrying a mere boy who obviously disliked her. Seeing no glimmer of light approaching in the darkened hallway, she turned to enter the chamber but was met with a ghastly sight.

  Job’s body writhed in pain, his face and hands covered in sores.

  The torturous searing of his flesh was relentless, surreal. Caught in the hellish divide between consciousness and sweet oblivion, Job prayed for death. He was thrust in and out of miserable awareness like a dirty garment plunged into the river and scrubbed against a rock. First came Sitis’s scream, and then he was alone. His next recollections were tinged with the distorted perceptions of darkness, agony, and terror.

  “Abba, can you hear me? Abba Job?”

  He gazed into Elihu’s frightened face, the bright blue sky above him. Job tried to move his head, to take in his surroundings, but the pain cut through him like a dull-edged dagger. Every movement, every point of contact—flesh to flesh, flesh to cloth, flesh to air—burned like the fires of Sheol. Eyes wide, hands clutching his robe, he felt the cold stone altar bench lying beneath him. They were on the mountaintop. How? Why?

  “Sitis?” His voice emerged a mere croak, and the effort scraped his throat like a blade.

  “Nada is tending to Ima Sitis.” Elihu leaned down, whispering, glancing nervously toward the porthole of the tower stairs.

  Panic rose in Job’s chest. The memories were returning slowly. Elihu and Dinah carrying him up endless stairs. Men’s ribald laughter echoing in the darkened hallway below them. Crashing pottery. Women crying. “Dinah?”

  “I’m here, Job.” A soft voice. The smell of frankincense and myrrh. “I’ve wrapped some of your wounds with herbs,” she said. The warmth of her whispered words burned the sores on his cheek. “They should give you some relief from the pain.”

  A tear slid from the corner of Job’s eye, the salty drop like lava on his tender flesh. Unconsciousness threatened to claim him again, but he heard Sitis’s wailing intensify and Elihu’s frustrated sigh. “Dinah, stay here with Abba Job,” the boy was saying. “I must keep Ima quiet. We still don’t know what Sayyid’s men are doing in the house or if they’ll try to attack us up here.”

  Job’s eyebrows rose at the mention of his enemy. “What? Sayyid?” More words wouldn’t come. His tongue moved painfully over open wounds. El Shaddai, what is happening to my life? Why have You allowed this? What sin have I committed? What sacrifice have I neglected?

  Dinah’s face appeared before him, her golden hair pulled over one shoulder, the sun aglow around her. “Try not to talk, Job. I know you’re frightened. We all are.” She smiled and reached out to touch his face but stopped short. Was it because of his wounds or because he was a married man? Both were good reasons. “It seems you have sores in your throat. Blink if that’s true.”

  Job blinked and marveled at the simple but effective communication she devised.

  “All right,” she said, “I’ll brew mint tea as soon as possible. It should help.”

  She
moved away to sit down, and Job grunted. The only sound he could make. He needed to know what had happened, but he couldn’t ask. He couldn’t reach out for her—the pain of touching another human being would blind him. So he grunted. Like a baby. Like an animal.

  “What is it, Job?” The pity in Dinah’s expression shamed him. He had promised this poor young woman a new life, but what did she have now? What did he have now?

  “Sayyid?” he croaked again.

  Dinah cast a hesitant glance in Sitis’s direction. Job tried to glimpse the spot, only a stone’s throw away, where Elihu was working to quiet Sitis and Nada. “Elihu saw Sayyid’s captain leading a raid on your house this morning,” Dinah began. “They’ve broken down the courtyard wall near the ash pile, where we worshiped on the night of the tragedies. We escaped up the tower stairs before the bandits arrived on the fourth story. We’re praying they don’t come up to the altar.” Dinah covered her trembling lips, and for the first time, Job realized they were still in very real danger.

  “Send Sitis.”

  Dinah snapped to attention. “What? Do you mean send her to speak with Sayyid?”

  Job blinked hard, deliberately.

  “Elihu!” Dinah called out in a shouted whisper. “Bring Sitis over here.”

  Job heard the scuffle of feet and a mournful cry. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sitis’s reticence, and then Dinah approached her with some sort of pouch and mask. Sitis calmed as Elihu led her to Job’s side, her face covered by the linen mask, the pouch of herbs held tightly under her nose. Job smiled, though the action caused searing pain through his cheeks and lips. His Ishmaelite princess could never suffer a stench, and his seeping wounds would sorely test her senses.

  “By the gods, Job, there you are smiling again,” she said, frustration and relief mingling in the fine lines around her eyes. “I know I look ridiculous, but—”