Love Amid the Ashes (34 page)

“I need you to take care of me,” he whispered. It was the only reason he could imagine she would stay. Compassion had always moved her.

Her lips trembled. The mask was crumbling, but instead of compassion came fury. “Are there no nursemaids with herbs in Dinhabah to care for you?” She hurled his words back at him, the betrayal in her voice landing in his stomach like a dull sword.

She stood, and he tried to capture her but drew back his hand before it touched her perfect arm. “Dinah, wait!” But she was gone, the sound of her weeping whispering through the juniper trees.

Dinah ran no farther than the sweltering kitchen. “Why the tears, my girl?” Nada bustled to Dinah’s side, crushing her in a motherly embrace. “Tell me how you could be upset on a day when the whole town celebrates your name?”

“Ahh!” Dinah uttered her frustration, and Nada released her like a hot coal. “Renaming Uz 
Dinhabah
 was simply a sting to ensure I leave here, Nada. Uncle Esau is a wicked, conniving brute, but he’s my only transportation back to Abba Jacob’s tents in Hebron.”

The busy kitchen, humming with preparations for the evening meal, suddenly grew as quiet as a tomb.

“Who needs transportation to Jacob’s tents in Hebron?” The old woman’s eyes narrowed, daring Dinah to repeat herself.

“We cannot go!” Nogahla threw her bread dough on the stone table, crushing the heel of her hand into its center. Dinah thought the kindhearted Cushite might be imagining her face in the lump of dough. “We have a good home here with Master Job and Aban and Elihu and Nada. And your father is mean!”

“Nogahla!” Nada’s chastising came at the same moment Nogahla’s own conscience struck her.

“Oh, mistress!” Nogahla gasped, clapping her flour-covered hands over her mouth, leaving traces of white powder all over her dark brown face. “I should not have spoken of your father so disrespectfully.” She lowered her hands and raised her chin. “But we still cannot leave our home.”

Dinah couldn’t keep from grinning. 
Oh, how I will miss you, precious one.
 “We will not leave here, Nogahla,” Dinah said, tears beginning to betray her. “
I
 will leave, and you will stay, my friend.”

Every serving maid stilled her busy hands, eyes fastened on Nogahla.

“All right,” Nada said, breaking the uneasy silence, “we’ll finish meal preparations in the courtyard. Everyone out!” She gathered the girls like a mother hen with her chicks, and too quickly Dinah was left to face the shocked and betrayed expression of her best friend.

“Mistress, how could you even consider leaving me?” Her chin quivered and unshed tears threatened to overflow.

“Because I leave you with the man El Shaddai has chosen for your husband.” It was a fact they both knew but had never spoken. Though Dinah claimed no legal rights over the girl, nor did the women share a familial bond, it was understood that Aban would someday ask Dinah’s permission to marry Nogahla. Permission would be granted and a wedding celebrated—but without Dinah’s presence.

Heavy footsteps and a booming voice interrupted the tense moment. “What’s all the commotion?” Aban playfully yanked back the tapestry separating the banquet hall from the kitchen, but his smile quickly disappeared. Stepping into the kitchen, he allowed the tapestry to fall behind him and walked directly to Nogahla’s side. Taking both her hands in one large paw, he lifted her chin with the other. “Tell me why these beautiful eyes are weeping.”

She pulled away and turned her back on him, and Dinah watched the big man’s heart break. He looked to Dinah for answers. “I’m returning to my abba’s camp,” she said without adornment, “and I’d like Nogahla to remain in your household—because I believe you care for her, Aban.”

The big man sighed deeply and squeezed the back of his neck, as if doing so might release some deeply rooted wisdom to untangle the knotted emotions before him. “Dinah, I should have spoken to you before, but I am trained to lead men, not women.” Another sigh. He glanced at Nogahla and let one hand fall gently down her arm as he spoke. “I love Nogahla, but I wanted to wait until I was worthy before making her my wife.”

At this, Nogahla turned a questioning gaze on the mighty man. He smiled down at her. “I have my father’s wealth, but I want the wealth of God’s wisdom. I want to lead my family as Job led his—as a priest of the Most High.” Turning back to Dinah, he bowed slightly. “That’s why I’ve waited until now to offer Nogahla’s bride-price and ask your permission to take her as my wife.”

Dinah’s heart was so full, it nearly burst. She grinned, cried, nodded, and drew a breath to give her hearty approval, but Nogahla shouted, “No!”

Both Aban’s and Dinah’s celebrations came to an immediate halt. “What do you mean, ‘No’? You love Aban!” Dinah closed the gap between them, watching Aban’s features harden against the rejection he now feared.

Nogahla turned pleading eyes toward Aban. “I do love you, but I don’t want to choose between you and my friend.” She reached up to cup his face in her hands. “I know I have no right to ask it of you, but may I return with Mistress Dinah to her father’s camp and then come back to you, Aban, after her father leaves this world?”

Dinah interrupted. “Nogahla, we have no way of knowing how long my father will linger. I promise I’ll return to Uz for a visit someday.”

“No! No one ever comes back.” Nogahla’s temper flared, and she beat her fists on the table. “My mother promised she would find me, but she never did. You will wave good-bye, and I’ll never see you again!”

Aban gathered Nogahla in his arms, lifting her like a babe, cradling her against his well-muscled chest. “All right, my love, it’s all right,” he whispered.

Dinah’s heart was torn in two. She grieved for the pain she caused her friend, but she mourned for herself too. Oh, how she longed for a man’s tender touch. She curled to the floor, weeping for a husband she once knew, for a betrothed who had died before they met, and for the love of a man who saw her only as a nursemaid.

“Dinah?”

Startled, she looked up into Job’s frightened face.

“What’s happening?” he asked, casting a worried glance at Nogahla in Aban’s arms. “Nogahla, are you hurt?”

Feeling utterly foolish, Dinah stood and straightened her robe, but Aban spoke before she could offer an explanation. “Job, I’m going to escort Dinah and Nogahla to Jacob’s camp with Esau’s army. Will you watch over my home and holdings until I return?”

Dinah was too stunned to speak, and it seemed Job was too. Both of them glanced from face to face, silently asking a myriad of questions, but finally it all came to just one.

“When will you leave?” Job asked, his eyes penetrating Dinah’s soul.

“Tomorrow.” Dinah lowered her gaze and left the kitchen, entering a banquet hall full of celebrants chanting her name.

~From Genesis 46~

Then Jacob left Beersheba, and Israel’s sons took their father Jacob and their children and their wives in the carts that Pharaoh had sent to transport him. . . .
These are the names of the sons of Israel (Jacob and his descendants) who went to Egypt . . . Reuben . . . Simeon . . . Levi . . . Judah . . . Issachar . . . Zebulun . . . besides [Jacob’s] daughter Dinah . . .Gad . . . Asher . . . Joseph and Benjamin . . . Dan . . . Naphtali. . . . All those who went to Egypt with Jacob—those who were his direct descendants, not counting his sons’ wives—numbered sixty-six persons.

Job’s legs were becoming stronger each day, and it felt good to return to his fields with Shobal and Lotan. His shepherd and herdsman had eagerly returned to their duties, leaving the nearby towns where they’d fled to keep their families safe from Sayyid’s long and evil reach. In the six moons since Aban had left with Great-Abba Esau’s army, Job had purchased flocks of sheep for wool and teams of oxen to plow his fields. The drought continued its stranglehold, denying every region life-giving winter rains. Merchants’ gossip said the two-year dry spell would last five more years—this prophecy from Egypt’s mystical vizier, a man who reigned over all but Pharaoh himself.
But a seven-year drought? Never have the ancients recorded such a judgment from You, El Shaddai.
Despite Egypt’s dire prophecy, Job hoped for God’s merciful spring rains and hired Dinhabah’s first-sector beggars to prune his grapevines.

“Dinhabah,” he said aloud. Only the sheep grazing on scrub heard him, but it was better than talking to himself. He swiped his hand over the scraggly beard growing in patches on his uneven skin.
Protect her, El Shaddai
, he prayed. Every moment of every day, he thought of Dinah. No matter his activity or location, something reminded him of her face, her voice, her laughter. She was a part of him.

“Ahh!” He crawled to his cane and pushed himself to his feet. He used only one cane in his three-fingered hand now, so the maids no longer tied him to a stick. “Come, Bildad!”

Job had named his new donkey Bildad after Sitis’s brother. Uncle Eliphaz, who had stayed to help Elihu manage Job’s quickly growing wealth and Aban’s estate, laughed each time the stubborn mule refused to obey.
Dinah would have appreciated the humor too.
Job took a deep breath and fondly imagined that the beast hailed from Ishmaelite herds. For truly his stubborn Ishmaelite brother-in-law and Sitis shared the same fiery spirit. But he had loved his wife for it. He remembered the spark of joy in her eyes when she spoke of El Shaddai on the morning before she died.
Dinah saw the hoopoe bird and spoke to Sitis of Your love, Yahweh. Your ways are amazing.

Job’s thoughts kept cadence with Bildad’s hoofbeats, and they soon reached the city gates. While the rest of Edom, Moab, and Canaan wilted in the hot, arid weather, Dinhabah was thriving. The market bustled and merchants hawked their wares. Starving pilgrims who couldn’t travel to Egypt’s Black Land traded richly for the grain, earning Dinhabah the nickname Little Egypt. Job’s family and friends had unknowingly boosted the city’s trade economy when they bestowed lavish gifts of grain, which Job had in turn freely given Dinhabah’s new grain merchant, Aban. The city’s growing prosperity earned recognition for both men among local and traveling tradesmen.

Four-legged Bildad, most likely hot and thirsty, plodded directly to Aban’s stables. Job was thankful Elihu and Eliphaz remained with him in Aban’s home. Together they had decided Job’s newly renovated palace was perfect for lingering family members, widows, the homeless, and fatherless beggars in need of shelter. The drought had severely affected even Dinhabah’s water supply, but the solution came in reconfiguring the spring-fed fountain to produce more drinking water. Even the animals were well satisfied. Bildad sidled up to his favorite stable boy, who waited with a bucket of water. Job landed a firm and grateful hand on the boy’s shoulder and then turned toward the house.

Elihu stood at the courtyard gate, his face riddled with concern, a rolled parchment of their accounts in hand. “We’ve received no messenger from Aban again today. Should we send a small caravan to check on their whereabouts?”

“Elihu, perhaps you should come to the fields with me tomorrow. You have too much time to worry.” Job winked at Uncle Eliphaz, who rested in what little shade the sparse-leafed eucalyptus tree provided. Laying a fatherly arm around Elihu’s shoulders, Job steered him toward the banquet hall and tried to allay his fears. “Aban sent word that while traveling with Esau’s troops, they intercepted Jacob and his family in Beersheba on their way to Egypt. I’m sure they’ve had to travel slowly because of Jacob’s ill health, and they’ll send word as soon as they find sufficient pasture for their flocks and herds.”

Job tried to keep his own concern muted. Egypt was a dangerous place, its Pharaoh as unpredictable as blowing sand. And he’d heard endless merchant gossip about the vizier, an undoubtedly cunning schemer who rose to the second-highest throne in Egypt with one magical interpretation of Pharaoh’s dreams.

Elihu took a deep breath and slapped the parchment against his hand. “Our journey will be much more difficult if we don’t hear from Aban.”

“What journey?” Their leisurely walk came to an abrupt halt just inside the banquet hall.

“Our journey to find Dinah.” Elihu raised one eyebrow over his close-set eyes.

The words splashed Job like cold water from Bildad’s bucket. “Elihu, I cannot search for Dinah.”

“But Abba, you must! Your body is healing but your soul is wasting away.” The son of Job’s heart abandoned all attempts at subtlety. “You are a good and godly man, Abba, and Dinah loves you. Why do you let your shame keep you from the woman God has given you?”

Job looked at his hands, considered the twisted legs beneath his robe, the half man now called Job. “Yes, I love Dinah.” He felt a rush of panic. Never before had the confession passed his lips. “But you are wrong, Elihu. She doesn’t love me—not in the way a man needs to be loved by a wife. If you saw affection for me in her eyes, it was born of pity for a broken man.” Even as the words rolled off his tongue, they tasted rancid and bitter.

“Abba, you taught Dinah that when she was forgiven by El Shaddai, no man could shame her. Perhaps you need to learn a similar lesson.” Elihu drew close, whispering now. “When El Shaddai blesses you, no one can steal His blessing—except you.” He turned and studied the parchment, calling over his shoulder, “Nada has prepared the evening meal. The servants could have a caravan ready to leave for Egypt by morning.”

Elihu’s words echoed in Aban’s empty banquet hall. Job was alone again, and the sensation startled him. Alone.
“It’s not good for man to be alone”—isn’t that what You said to Adam, Yahweh?

Job’s heart beat wildly. He hadn’t allowed himself to willingly love Dinah. Or to believe it possible she could love him—truly love him the way a woman loves a man. What if Elihu was right?

“Ooh!” he groaned aloud. The thought of declaring his love to a beautiful woman like Dinah terrified him. What if she laughed? Or worse, what if she pitied him?
Oh, El Shaddai, I cannot do it!
But if rejection was his only stumbling block, then pride was his real problem.

“Job, it’s you.” Uncle Eliphaz appeared at the doorway. “I thought I heard a wounded sheepdog moaning.” The mischievous sparkle in the old man’s eyes told Job that compassion lurked in his motives.

“I think I’m going to find Dinah,” Job said haltingly, hoping to measure his uncle’s reaction. Eliphaz had offered a frail apology to Dinah and Aban after his outburst on the dung pile, but he had completely ignored Dinah in the days following.

“Why have you decided to go now?” His uncle’s raisin-brown face betrayed no emotion, gave no inkling of his opinion.

“I think . . . no, I know I love her,” Job said, the phrase becoming more familiar on his tongue. “And I’ve never told her. If El Shaddai has blessed me with this love, I must not steal it away and keep it to myself.” Elihu’s advice was nestling deeply into his soul.

Uncle Eliphaz lifted one bristly, gray eyebrow. “You and Elihu will leave in the morning. I’ve already prepared a list of provisions that should get you safely to Egypt. The chief steward will see that your caravan is ready by dawn. Yahweh told me weeks ago this day would come.”

“Why did you . . . ? How did . . . ? When did . . . ?” Job’s mind ran hopelessly ahead of his mouth.

“If you cannot finish a sentence, my son, how will you ever find Dinah in Egypt?” The old man chuckled, but Job was suddenly struck with the most glaring barrier to his departure.

“Uncle, I cannot take Elihu away and leave you with two busy households in the middle of a drought.”

“Yes, my son, both you and Elihu will go.” Uncle Eliphaz’s voice was gentle but firm. “I am quite capable of managing Aban’s interests and yours while you’re gone, and I hope by doing so to atone for some of the wrongs I committed against you—and Aban.” He placed both hands on Job’s shoulders. “You are the son of my heart, Job. After your abba was killed, I have watched you honor El Shaddai in every circumstance of your life. God blessed you with your Sitis and you loved her well, but this Dinah you now pursue . . .” Eliphaz pursed his lips into a pale, thin line, and Job prepared his heart to repel the venom he felt sure would come. “She is a gift from the Most High, and she will bring you joy for the rest of your days. Go in peace, my son. Find her. She is your future.”

Dinah reclined on a cushioned couch, listening to the trickle of fountains in Joseph’s garden ponds. Though she’d lived in her brother’s household for nearly seven moons, the sights and sounds of Egypt still intrigued her. And the miracle of Joseph’s life and position thrilled her.

She giggled, pinching herself. “Ouch!” No, this was not a dream. Her little brother, the firstborn son of Rachel who had been nursed beside Dinah at Leah’s breast, was now second in power to the king of Egypt. But second in name only—for it was Joseph who led Egypt after the young Pharaoh’s father had died two years ago. Advisors and servants alike lauded Joseph as the “father of Pharaoh” since Egypt’s eight-year-old king relied on the vizier’s wisdom to manage the unprecedented drought.

Dinah recalled the moment she had realized her brother’s importance. When she’d floated down the drought-starved Nile River, hundreds of Joseph’s admirers lined the banks of papyrus reeds to greet his luxurious felucca. Slogging through mud and avoiding crocodiles, Egyptians cried, “Hail, the mighty vizier, the judge of the high court! Grace and peace to the righteous gatherer of the king’s taxes! Honor and health to the keeper of Pharaoh’s granaries!” Dinah had marveled at the elaborate titles constructed for her little milk brother while she sat on the ship’s cushioned dais, watching in wonder as sixteen oars slapped the water and pulled them toward Thebes.

Dinah inhaled the scent of poppies, water lilies, and early acacia blooms, enjoying her few quiet moments while servants scurried about their busy tasks. She treasured these afternoons when her rambunctious nephews, Manasseh and Ephraim, were with their tutor. She adored the boys but valued the time alone to adjust to her new life in Egypt.

Browsing the colorful murals on the garden walls, she relived the honored history of her ancestors’ relations with the land of Egypt. Joseph had ordered his home decorated with paintings of Abraham’s travels, Isaac’s stories, and even some of Abba Jacob’s life as it related to the vizier’s own journey toward the Black Land.

Her heart stopped at a scene she’d never noticed before—an older girl and boy playing near a stream, with a pink-and-black-crested hoopoe bird perched on a branch, watching over them. Glancing at the scenes around it, Dinah realized the girl and boy were meant to be her and Joseph.
Why would he order a hoopoe bird?
She was suddenly dizzied by the overwhelming scent of lotus blossoms and the everyday reminders of Job.

“Ahh!” She pounded the cushion beside her. Would she live a day without thinking of Job’s smile, his kind heart, his caring eyes? Could she look at a painting or see a sunrise and not remember his voice or his godly character?
I suppose trying not to think of someone means I’m thinking of him
, she reasoned, curling her hands into tight fists and pressing them against her temples.

“Not a very attractive pose for the vizier’s sister.”

Joseph’s teasing imposed on her brooding, but she was grateful. Dinah looked up to find the brother she remembered as a youth gliding across the tiled path with his innate regal bearing. No kohl or malachite around his eyes. No red ocher mixed with gull resin on his cheeks and lips. On the rare occasion that Egypt’s vizier rested after his midday meal, he traded his fine Egyptian kilt for the speckled woolen robe of Jacob’s tribe.

Pulling an ivory stool close to Dinah’s couch, Joseph tilted his head and offered his most disarming grin. “What causes my lovely sister to pinch her face like a dried fig?”

Dinah couldn’t resist his charm. Without his royal wig or golden headpiece, his short-cropped hair curled handsomely at his temples. “I’m not just the vizier’s sister, you know.” She thrust out her chin with an air of superiority. “I’m now
nursemaid
to the vizier’s children.” Dinah chuckled at the irony of it. She had become neither Abba Jacob’s nor Job’s nursemaid but a caregiver to two young boys. But when she paused her pondering, she saw that her teasing had missed its mark and somehow pierced Joseph’s heart.