Love Amid the Ashes

by Mesu Andrews

  The woman’s stony black gaze would have crushed a weaker man, but it was precisely Sitis’s regal air that drew him. “Perhaps my death was your intention when you sent your captain to burn my house this morning, Sayyid.”

  Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he noted a crack in her stately wall of control, a slight trembling of her chin. “You know I would never harm you, my love.”

  She tried to pull away, and in the tussle, Sayyid’s fingers became ensnared in her hair. She tossed her head and whimpered when his gemstone rings tangled around her black tresses. “Sitis, wait!” Frustration driving him, he grabbed her head and shook it like a melon. “Stop fighting me!”

  Eyes wide with fear, his Ishmaelite princess was struck dumb. A frightened dove in the fowler’s snare.

  The old nursemaid raised tremulous fingers to untangle her mistress’s hair from his rings. “Master Sayyid, my mistress has come seeking your help.” Nada’s hand rested on his forearm, a chastising glare reminding him that Sitis preferred honeyed promises to prickly threats.

  Slowly, gently, he released Sitis’s face, and she stepped back into Nada’s waiting arms. Sayyid studied his beloved from head to toe. Her feet were dust-covered and bleeding. No doubt the past two days had been more perilous than anything she could have imagined.

  “My Sitis-girl, how could you think I would ever intend harm against you?” Reaching for her hands, he studied every feature of her lovely face. “My heart is broken at the hardships I see written all over your body.” His eyes roamed every curve, every contour of her shape. He’d waited forty years for this day. He mustn’t ruin his long efforts with a short temper.

  Ever so slowly, she removed her hands from his grasp. “If you had nothing to do with the fire in my home this morning, Sayyid, explain why your captain was positioning bandits at every exit.”

  He watched a single tear slide down her cheek and dangle precariously from the point of her perfect jaw. Sayyid longed to catch the lonesome drop on his finger, taste its salty sweetness.

  “Sayyid, did you hear me?” Her slight stomp cleared his distraction and sent the tear cascading down her slender neck.

  “Of course I’m listening, Sitis-girl. I’m just stunned you didn’t know.” Sayyid gave his best impression of confusion. “But how could you know? You would have been sound asleep in your chamber at dawn.” Motioning Aban to join their conversation, he began his fantastic falsehood. “You see, Aban was the first to witness the same divine lightning that killed your sheep. It revisited the skies of Uz this morning just as dawn was breaking.” He eyed the young man, and Aban quickly registered halfhearted agreement. “My captain wasn’t positioning bandits at the exits of your home, my love. He was trying to force men into your house to save you from another divine tragedy.”

  A lovely v formed between Sitis’s brows. “Divine tragedy?”

  Sayyid realized the story sounded absurd, but hadn’t Job’s day of tragedy been just as astounding? Certainly Sayyid would tell this tale to all of Uz with as much believability as the rest of Job’s destruction. “Yes, the fire of the gods reached into your balconies and windows, setting your house ablaze. Those bandits, as you called them, were my hired men that Aban tried to force into the entrances of your home to save you.” He reached up, squeezing Aban’s shoulder with an authoritative hand. “My captain and twenty witnesses saw a shaft of lightning split the sky and ignite an inferno in your home, Sitis. I fear this is just more divine retribution for your husband’s sins against the gods.”

  “You liar!” She flew at him in a rage, fists flailing, but Aban rushed to subdue her. The mighty captain held Sitis draped over one arm, thrashing and kicking until her strength was spent and sobbing settled in.

  Nada stood like a statue, seething as her mistress lost all dignity. “My Sitis has endured enough without adding your lies, Sayyid.” She stepped forward, asserting her lifelong influence over a farmer’s son who was now a mighty merchant. “Order your captain to release her. My mistress has come to request your help.”

  Sitis stilled at Nada’s voice, and Aban responded, gently steadying Sitis’s feet on the floor. His hands cradled her, large and awkward on her back. “Are you all right, Mistress Sitis?” he whispered. A strange air of unease surrounded the young man.

  Sayyid’s eyes narrowed. How dare Aban obey Nada’s command without my approval? He owes loyalty to his master alone. “Sitis will be fine when she bows to my will.” Sayyid kept his voice low but leveled a deadly glare at his captain.

  Cupping Sitis’s chin, Sayyid grabbed the back of her neck and bent low, his whisper almost touching her lips. “Nada says you come for help, but all I’ve heard are accusations.” He could smell the fear in her warm breath. “If you want my help, ask. But remember my terms, Sitis-girl.” He felt her chin tremble beneath his grasp. He released her and stepped back, her brokenness creeping up his arm and into his heart.

  “Nada is right. I have come to ask your help.” She wiped her tears, smearing the soot on her face. “Job awoke this morning with seeping, smelly sores from head to foot. He’ll die if we don’t have bandages, shelter, and food, Sayyid.” Like a child working a ball of clay, she forced up the corners of her lips in a pained smile. “Can you help us until I can get word to our families?”

  Sayyid’s heart sang at the words “he’ll die,” but his world suddenly grew dim when Sitis mentioned their families. When Sayyid and Bela hired the Chaldeans to ruin Job’s camel trade, Sayyid’s only considerations had been winning Sitis’s love. Bela’s aim was to diminish Job’s wealth and secure Esau’s favor as successor to the Edomite kingdom. But if Sitis sent messengers to her Ishmaelite brother, Prince Bildad, or to Job’s great-abba Esau, Sayyid and Bela could both be destroyed by a unified Ishmaelite-Edomite army.

  “I can’t believe Job would dishonor himself and beg help from your families.” Sayyid’s sneer of disgust was genuine. “Didn’t you say your husband was dying, Sitis? Why shame the man among your families? Let him die an Edomite with some dignity.”

  “He won’t die if you help us,” she said, lifting her chin, her Ishmaelite streak of stubbornness returning.

  Sayyid studied her, considering the ramifications of his own heritage. If Esau heard rumblings that Sayyid—an Ishmaelite—had dealt wickedly with his favorite great-grandson, the Edomite father might call for all-out war against the Ishmaelites and break the treaty established by Job and Sitis’s marriage.

  He must post guards to be sure Sitis sent no messengers to either the Ishmaelites or the Edomites. Just to be safe, however, he must continue some semblance of goodwill.

  “Ah, Sitis-girl,” Sayyid cooed, “I will most certainly help you.” He watched her face brighten, relief softening her features. He saw his advantage and held out one hand. Let her step back to me if she wants my favor.

  Sitis cautiously planted her hand in his.

  “I will hire men to begin restoration of your home today, but it will take many full moons, my love.” He raised her hand to his lips, locking his eyes in a hungry gaze. She didn’t pull away but allowed him to taste the sweetness of her skin. “And I will provide a place for Job to recuperate from his illness if . . .”

  The fragile clay corners of her smile chipped away. “Sayyid, I will never marry you.” Her lips trembled, tears began anew. “I love my husband. I will always love Job.”

  Sayyid’s hand tightened around hers, and he nuzzled her hand, working his way up her arm, pulling her closer as his lips found her neck. Why must you defy me? Suddenly without concern for the Edomites and Ishmaelites, he tasted the salt and soot mingled on her throat. “So you would rather your husband starve than marry me, Sitis-girl?”

  She pulled away as though bitten by a serpent. “I don’t understand. What are you saying?” Sitis retreated, taking refuge behind Nada—as though the old woman could somehow protect her.

  “I’m saying if you continue to refuse me, I will not only deny Job food and shelter, I will make all of you wish fo
r death.” He circled his childhood obsession like a vulture and leaned in to shred the vestiges of her tattered dignity. “Elihu will be banished from Uz, disgraced and humiliated. Dinah and her little maid will starve, no one to marry and no one to serve. And you, princess, will spend your days cleaning slop jars and scrubbing floors like a common servant.” He laughed, expecting her to crumble under the weight of his new threat.

  Instead, her eyes probed his soul. Seeming to have found some inner strength despite her piteous existence, she whispered, “Sayyid, why are you doing this? You’ve been my best friend all my life. You opened my heart to Al-Uzza after El Shaddai closed my womb. If it hadn’t been for your kindness, I might have gone mad.” She reached up and gently placed her hand on his cheek. “This villain before me is not the companion who supported me through all manner of hardship.” She stepped toward Sayyid, boldly moving him back a step. “Please, my friend, do not ask me to dishonor my family by denouncing my husband in the city given to me as a dowry.”

  Sayyid’s heart melted at her touch. For forty years he had waited for her love. His heart warred with his mind. Could he wait a little longer? Find another way to woo her, to win her?

  No. He was finished waiting. He would simply possess Sitis—with or without her love. He dare not kill Job and risk Edomite revenge. The death of Esau’s favorite great-grandson would come naturally, as Sitis said. And if his plans continued to prosper, Sayyid might just rival Bela in wealth when all was said and done.

  Covering Sitis’s hand on his cheek, he turned it over and kissed her palm. She didn’t pull away. “Sitis, please forgive me if I seemed uncaring. I’d like to speak with you alone.”

  Panic-stricken, she reached for Nada’s comforting embrace.

  Sayyid stepped between them, his focus remaining on Sitis while he spoke to her maid. “Nada, my captain will direct you to the kitchen. You’ll be working for me now.” He sensed the old woman’s hesitation behind him, saw Sitis’s stricken face. “Sitis, tell Nada that you are grateful for my kindness.”

  Sitis glanced from Nada to Sayyid, lingering between an iron will and willing submission. The stunning wild mare was tamed by Sayyid’s bit and bridle. “Go, Nada.” She bowed her head. “We must be thankful for Sayyid’s help.”

  A slow, satisfied smile crept across Sayyid’s face. The first of many victories, he gloated.

  Just as Aban and Nada reached the chamber doorway, a messenger appeared, breathless. “Master Sayyid?”

  “Yes, who are you?” Sayyid demanded. He would find the maid who had allowed this stranger into his private chamber and have her whipped. Just then two guards, swords drawn, appeared at the messenger’s side. “And who are they?”

  “You and your captain have been summoned to the city gate to answer charges, Master Sayyid.” The messenger stepped back, his gaze measuring Aban’s height and breadth.

  Sayyid laughed and grasped Sitis’s arm. “There’s been a terrible mistake. I’ll go to the elders and clear up the confusion, but my captain has duties elsewhere. Job is ill and will be sheltered in his kitchen courtyard until his wounds heal, and Aban is preparing to escort Mistress Sitis to her new home.”

  The messenger looked as befuddled as the guards who accompanied him.

  “Yes, Mistress Sitis is the new serving maid for Master Bela’s wife.” Sayyid heard Sitis gasp and shoved her into Aban’s arms. “The two women with Job are beggars and should be treated as such.” Leaning close to his captain, he whispered, “I will take care of these charges. You take care of Elihu after the hearing, when he leaves the city gate.”

  13

  ~From Job 19~

  Though I cry, “I’ve been wronged!” I get no response; though I call for help, there is no justice. . . . He has stripped me of my honor and . . . tears me down on every side. . . . His troops advance in force . . . and encamp around my tent. He has alienated my brothers from me. . . . My kinsmen have gone away; my friends have forgotten me. . . . My breath is offensive to my wife. . . . All my intimate friends detest me; those I love have turned against me.

  Dinah lay awake, listening to Nogahla’s slow, steady breathing, waiting for dawn’s glow to seep through the tattered curtain covering Widow Orma’s cave entrance. The long winter had passed without life-giving rains, but the summer sun cast its consistent rays of dawn. The widow’s small cave in the cliffs of Uz’s impoverished first sector was a crowded little nest for three women, but with each passing moon and changing season, their hearts had melded together into a loving family.

  Nogahla slept along the back wall because she was the shortest. Dinah laid her fleece-scrap pillow next to Nogahla’s head and stretched her long limbs beside the eastern wall. The widow slept across from Dinah, her head at Nogahla’s feet—much to the little Cushite’s dismay, until the widow assured her no feet had ever smelled more like henna blossoms. A crackling fire lay between the three, warming them through the cold desert nights and offering light throughout their days.

  “Nogahla.” Dinah nudged her shoulder, and the girl stirred reluctantly. “Come, we should go early today and change Job’s bandages before Sitis arrives.”

  “It’s not even dawn yet.” The Cushite turned her back to Dinah and held her small patch of fleece over her ears. The wool-stuffed mattresses of days past lay in ever-growing mounds of ash and waste in Job’s kitchen courtyard. During the renovation of Job’s home, the Nameless Ones had created many ash piles, heaping insults and fine, gray ash into Job’s wounds. Sayyid compounded the disgrace by adding ash from his braziers and dung from his stables to the piles in Job’s canopied courtyard. The city elders, acting on Sayyid’s suggestion, sequestered Job on his own property, threatening him with death should he try to leave. Dinah wondered which fear dominated Uz more—Job’s skin disease or Sayyid’s threats of divine retribution if they helped the once great man.

  “Come on, Nogahla. Sitis plans a morning visit today, and we must try to finish our care before she arrives.”

  Nogahla didn’t move.

  “You know if she returns to work after Bela’s wife wakes, she’ll feel the woman’s whip.” Dinah pulled the fleece from her maid’s hands. “Nogahla, wake up!”

  The girl bolted upright, her frustration evident before she spoke her first word. “Why must we go so early? Bela’s wife sleeps until midday.”

  Dinah met her friend’s fury in silence. The little Cushite knew Sitis couldn’t bear watching Job’s pain when they moved him to a new ash pile. Each morning, they settled him atop the most sun-dried mound in hopes of averting infection and finding the most absorbent ash for his weeping sores.

  “Mistress, it’s embarrassing to bandage Master Job’s wounds without Mistress Sitis present.” Nogahla’s frustration was fleeting, but Dinah could see that more concerns lay beneath the surface.

  “You know Sitis doesn’t have the stomach to tend Job’s wounds,” Dinah explained quietly, “especially since his sores have become worm-infested.” The supplies of frankincense and myrrh that Aban had secured from Sayyid’s physician lasted only the first six moons. Now their bandage supply was running low, so many of Job’s wounds were left uncovered.

  “Sayyid’s guards make rude comments because Master Job is dressed only in a loincloth.” Nogahla looked into the fire, avoiding Dinah’s gaze. “I don’t want Aban to think ill of me.”

  “You what? Aban?” Dinah could feel the blood rush to her cheeks. She had noticed Sayyid’s captain inspecting Nogahla with his gaze. “Since when do you call Sayyid’s captain ‘Aban’? And why do you care what such a man thinks?”

  “Good morning, my lovely daughters,” came an airy voice from the darkness.

  Dinah turned and saw the bent silhouette, hawk-beaked nose, and tousled gray hair of the ima their hearts adored. “I’m sorry we woke you, Orma.”

  “Old women never sleep, my precious girl. We simply study the insides of our eyelids until we can stand it no longer.” The widow moved slowly in the morning, so Dinah waited pati
ently while she stood and took the six steps around the fire. Cupping Nogahla’s chin in her palm, she said, “Listen, my beautiful Cushite, I would consider it an honor to tend Master Job in your place. He’s like a son to me, and those guards would shame themselves if they spoke coarsely to an old woman.”

  “No, no!” Nogahla’s voice held a note of panic. “I want to go.” Dawn’s light peeked through the curtain holes, revealing the girl’s intense dark eyes.

  “Well, you two finish your haggling because I must gather what little herbs and bandages we have left and be on my way.”

  Dinah regretted her sternness toward Orma but didn’t have time to waste while Nogahla made up her mind. Casting a backward glance, Dinah opened the curtain and watched Nogahla kiss Widow Orma’s cheek.

  “Thank you, but I’m not ashamed to help Master Job,” Nogahla said. “I just wish Mistress Sitis could help us.”

  She waved at the old woman, and Dinah’s heart squeezed. She too wished Sitis could help, but Sitis couldn’t endure the heartache. The mistress often could visit Job only in the evening, after she finished her serving duties. By then, both Job and Sitis were exhausted from their daily battles. Job against the Nameless Ones, shielding himself from their cruel taunts and shovels of ash and dung. Sitis against Bela’s wife, trying to guess what would keep her from the whipping post.

  “I’m sorry my heart cares about Sayyid’s captain, mistress.” Nogahla’s soft voice intruded on Dinah’s brooding. “I can try to hate him if you’ll tell me why I should.”

  The words pierced Dinah’s heart. Were Nogahla’s emotions as simple as her wisdom? “Isn’t the fact that he destroyed Job’s home enough reason to hate him?” she asked, stepping carefully down the steep mountain path. The two always chose the hidden trail leading from Orma’s cave to the siq rather than the main road through the market.