Love Amid the Ashes (20 page)

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.”

~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 patiently 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.

“Mistress, Aban is a soldier who follows the commands of his master, just as any servant must. However, he has told me he regrets the suffering Master Job and Mistress Sitis are enduring, and he is trying to find a way to help.”

Dinah rolled her eyes, safe in her snide reaction since Nogahla followed behind and couldn’t see. “Aban lives in Sayyid’s household, Nogahla, and is probably just as deceitful as his master. Come to think of it, you’ve barely spoken to Aban. He stands with the four guards at the wall of Job’s kitchen courtyard. How can you care about him, Nogahla? This is ridiculous.” Stepping onto level ground, Dinah hurried her pace, and Nogahla rushed behind.

“My heart doesn’t care about his household, mistress. It cares about the man.” Dinah heard Nogahla’s footsteps lag. “I see the way he gently leads Mistress Sitis to the top of the ash pile to visit Master Job. And have you watched him protect Master Job when the bandits try to throw ashes and dung on him?”

Dinah stopped in mid-stride and felt Nogahla’s nose bump her shoulder blade. She must have been daydreaming again. The girl’s giggle echoed against the red siq walls around them. Turning, Dinah fell silent and studied her friend’s innocence in the dim glow of dawn.
How can you see others so clearly when I barely even see myself?
she thought.

“I’m sorry, Nogahla,” Dinah said. “Forgiveness seems to be a lesson I must learn again and again.” Reaching out to brush the girl’s cheek, she said, “I still don’t trust this Aban, but I must admit he has treated Job and Sitis with kindness—under the circumstances.”

The two began their trek to the ash pile again, Nogahla’s brow knit together in thought. “Forgiveness is like an olive tree, mistress. Once it takes root, it will grow, and it’s hard to kill. You have learned to forgive once, and you will forgive Aban someday.”

Her friend’s words always seemed to blossom at just the right moment. Today they had revealed bitterness taking root in Dinah’s heart, but oftentimes her wit and wisdom were the soothing balm Job needed as Dinah’s herb supplies dwindled.

“I will try to see Sayyid’s captain through your eyes, my friend.” Reaching for the girl’s hand, Dinah added, “In fact, I’ll try to see the whole world through your eyes.” They walked side by side, emerging from the narrow siq into dawn’s light.

Nogahla gazed longingly at the spring-fed central fountain and cascading waterfall in Uz’s lavish second sector. “Mistress, perhaps forgiveness is more like taking a bath. We must be washed by it over and over.” Bouncing her eyebrows, she tilted her head toward the inviting pool.

Dinah chuckled at the sly plea. “Perhaps on the way back we can wash ourselves.” She too longed to feel clean again—inside and out. Both women were wearing the only robes they owned, having used every stitch of cloth and clothing for Job’s bandages. And it had been over a year since their inner cleansing of the morning sacrifice on Job’s mountaintop altar.
Your tears are your sacrifice
, she’d told Job.
God knows your heart.
But did the same apply to her? Did El Shaddai know her heart longed to be forgiven and to forgive, that she would offer a thousand lambs if she had them?

Servants walked quickly past the beautiful gardens and courtyards of the merchants’ homes, scurrying about their morning chores. Dinah averted her gaze from the rubble of Ennon’s home. The smell of decay had finally faded, but the wreckage was a reminder of Sayyid’s unrelenting wickedness. He had convinced the elders to leave the ruins untouched for fear of retribution from the gods, but Dinah was convinced he simply wanted to punish Job.

His relationship with Sitis still puzzled her. When Sitis had introduced them that day in the courtyard, Dinah thought she’d noted Sayyid’s deep affection for Job’s wife. But a man in love did not make his beloved a slave in another man’s home.

Dinah and Nogahla rounded the jagged corner of the private canyon, where Job’s and Sayyid’s homes were carved into opposing cliffs like soldiers arrayed for battle. “Mistress,” Nogahla whispered, “when will Elihu return with Master Job’s relatives? He’s getting sicker every day, and I’m not sure how much longer Mistress Sitis can work as a servant. She wasn’t born to it like we—I mean, like I was.”

Dinah smiled down at the girl. “Mistress Sitis has done remarkably well for a woman born to privilege, but you’re right, Nogahla.” Dinah placed a comforting arm around her friend’s shoulders. “I hope Elihu comes soon.”

At the sight of black-cloaked guards surrounding Sayyid’s home, Dinah remembered her relief a few days after Elihu’s departure, when she’d overheard a guard’s reported failure to capture the young man. “El Elyon is faithful!” she had told Job excitedly. “We must tell Sitis that Elihu escaped safely and that he will surely return soon with your relatives.” Job had tried to nod his head, tried to smile. But both elicited his now familiar face of pain—a quick breath, gritting teeth, and welling tears. She couldn’t remember him smiling since.

“Dinah!” A shrill voice echoed against the canyon walls, and both women turned to find Sitis running behind them. “Wait, I want to talk to you before you see Job.” The mistress arrived huffing and trembling, her eyes sunken and shadowed.

Dinah reached out to steady her. “Mistress Sitis, you are not well. Sit down.” Guiding her to a low-lying rock, Dinah wished she had some cool water to offer the woman. “Your face is pale and clammy. When was the last time you ate?” The woman had lost so much weight that her robe folded almost twice around her.

Sitis glanced at Nogahla, seemingly uncomfortable at the maid’s presence. Dinah winked at the girl, and the little Cushite smiled knowingly. “I believe I’ll go back to the waterfall for a quick bath.”

Relief washed over Sitis’s face when Nogahla walked away, but she seemed self-conscious, picking at a callus on one of her trembling hands. “I haven’t eaten a full meal since I began working for Bela.”

“What?” Dinah laid a steadying hand on Sitis’s shoulder and tried to peer into her lowered gaze. “Mistress Sitis, doesn’t he feed his servants?”

Tears sprang up immediately. “Please don’t call me mistress, and yes, of course he feeds his servants. He just doesn’t feed
me
.” She wiped her eyes before they overflowed. “He gives me only one piece of bread and a bowl of gruel each day. When I asked him why the other servants ate two meals a day, he said he was following Sayyid’s strict orders, and if I had any complaints, I should take them to Sayyid.”

Sitis pulled away and stared into the distance, her posture as straight as an arrow in a warrior’s quiver. Dinah wondered if this woman would open her heart to anyone ever again.

“Sitis, I want to be your friend.” Dinah understood the need to keep people at a distance. Sitis had lost her children, home, and social standing, and then Sayyid took Nada from her. “Tell me how I can help you.”

Sitis’s lips trembled as she spoke, every fiber of her being seemingly focused on maintaining the little dignity she had left. “I’ve been eating my portion of gruel, but I pilfer my piece of bread for Job.”

Dinah started to question, to ask why she must steal her own bread. But before the words were formed, Sitis suddenly fell into her arms, heaving giant sobs, bathing Dinah’s shoulder with her tears. Restraint was finally gone, the walls tumbling down. Dinah was so shocked, she said nothing for a long while, simply letting the woman release her seemingly endless sorrow.

When Sitis’s crying slowed, she sat back, and this time reached out for Dinah’s hands. “Sayyid has ordered the guards to give Job only broth because I’ve refused his repeated marriage proposals.” Sitis glanced over Dinah’s shoulder, whispering because of the echo in the canyon. Desperation set in. “Bela discovered I’ve been bringing my bread to Job, and now he’s cut my ration to only gruel. It probably won’t matter anyway. Job hasn’t been eating the bread.” She slammed her fist on her leg. “He can’t chew, Dinah. His gums are swollen, and he’s in so much pain. I don’t know what else to do!”