by Mesu Andrews
Nogahla gently took the sleeping mat from Dinah’s hand. “Let me roll it, mistress. Change your robe and tend your hair. Ready yourself to go into Elath today.”
Dinah’s hands shook. Images of Zophar’s angry red face flashed before her. She just wanted peace—the peace she’d had after last night’s sacrifice.
“Mistress, are you all right?” Nogahla placed a tender hand on Dinah’s arm.
A loud hand clap signaled a visitor outside their tent, and every muscle in Dinah’s body tensed.
“I need to speak with you for a moment, Dinah.” It was Job.
“We’re almost finished packing,” Dinah said, answering Nogahla’s silent questions with a shrug. “We’re working as quickly as we—”
Job’s face appeared at the tent opening. “I have a request,” he said, his expression kind but firm. He straightened, and his presence filled the women’s small tent. “Dinah, I would like to have your jars of herbs and medicines, please. The ones Grandfather Isaac gave you.”
Dinah waited for him to explain, but his silence was as empty as his expression. “Why?” she asked finally.
“After you marry my son, you’ll have little time for midwifery. I can offer your herbs to the midwives in Uz, and then everyone—both in my household and in our town—will benefit. Don’t worry, Dinah. I know what’s best.” His smile was genuine, but some strange emotion niggled at the corner of his mouth.
Dinah lingered between despair and indignation. Of course she should be willing to share her herbs with others, but these jars were gifts from Grandfather Isaac. Shouldn’t she be able to decide who used them, since she knew the healing power of each one? Besides, she’d not only issued new life through these potions, they’d resurrected her own dead soul.
“I’m sorry,” she said, keeping her gaze downcast. “I can’t give them to you.”
“You must.” His voice remained kind but insistent.
Dinah looked up, searching Job’s eyes for a soul she knew existed. “How can you ask this of me?” Her voice broke a little, and she hated her weakness. “When you know how much I treasure them?”
Job inclined his head and spoke gently as though explaining to a reluctant child. “I have made this decision for everyone’s good, Dinah. I’m asking you to set aside your selfish desires and think of others.”
Job’s words pierced her like a red-hot spear. He thought she was selfish? Maybe he was right. He was the honorable one, after all, the greatest man in the East. Who was she to question Job? She was nothing.
Stepping toward the woven baskets and leather bags containing her herbal treasures, she reached out to grasp the handles, but something deep within cried out against his demands. “I won’t!” she shouted. “Grandfather Isaac gave them to me, and I will share them when and with whom I choose.” She stepped toward him, and he stepped back as if considering a swift exit. “Why do people think they can just take whatever is mine? No! Not this time, Job.”
Dinah braced herself. Would he strike her? Wasn’t that what angry men did to women of their household who spoke so disrespectfully?
Silence hung like a wet wineskin, invaded only by Nogahla’s soft whimpers and Dinah’s heavy breathing. Finally, Job smiled. “Why didn’t you defend the gift of forgiveness as fiercely as you defended your herbs?”
Dinah could only blink, allowing the words to penetrate her anger.
“As surely as Grandfather Isaac gave you those pots of healing, Dinah, El Elyon healed your soul with the blood of the lamb. But when Zophar tried to steal your gift of forgiveness, you gave it up to his reproach.”
Dinah stared at him, breathless. She had no words. And Job’s eyes were once again warm pools.
He reached for her hand, and she allowed him to cradle it. “You are a strong and beautiful woman, Dinah,” he said. “The journey ahead of us is harsh. Both the mountains we’ll travel and the people you’ll meet can be dangerous and unforgiving.” He gave an almost imperceptible squeeze of her hand. “But neither the mountains nor the people can rob you of the forgiveness God has given—unless you let them.” Then he turned and stooped to exit her tent, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll send one of the servants to tear down your tent. Make sure you’re not in it!” His laughter rang out.
Dinah stood like a statue. The warmth of his touch still tingled on her outstretched hand.
“Mistress,” Nogahla said, her voice a hushed whisper. Even a young servant girl realized the moment was too holy to speak in ordinary tones. Dinah grinned and remained silent, savoring the moment.
“Mistress, we must hurry.”
Dinah finally let both hands fall to her sides but still moved as though lost in a dream—a lovely dream in which a good man continued to prove faithful to his word and his God.
Sitis gazed into the ocean of night sky from her bedchamber balcony and thought of Job. Was he counting the same myriad stars, staring at the same half moon? Pulling her woolen robe tight around her neck, she leaned over her balcony railing to see their children’s houses just beyond the canyon below. Nine of them owned homes of their own—eight married and one son as unfettered as a wild ox. Uzahmah, the youngest, slept snugly in her chamber down the hall but was all too anxious to marry Elihu, Job’s star pupil.
Sitis squeezed the bridge of her nose and released a weary sigh. Her youngest girl had always been a bit impetuous—like her mother. As Job’s caravan had left the city gates one full moon ago, he had promised Uzahmah the betrothal proceedings could begin as soon as he returned. A smile creased Sitis’s face. She did just what I would have done. Uzahmah interpreted her father’s promise as permission to schedule the betrothal banquet for the moment his caravan returned through the gates of Uz. The girl had pestered Sitis to send scouts and messengers, timing Elihu’s arrival with Job’s caravan. If her scouts were reliable, Elihu would arrive with a Chaldean trading caravan from the north. And Job’s caravan from Hebron would enter the city gates from the south—both about sunset tomorrow.
Placing her elbows on the railing, Sitis massaged her temples and wondered if indulging her daughter’s impatience would drive a deeper wedge into her marriage relationship. Would Job be angry that she had planned the banquet and made all the arrangements without asking him? Would this be just another argument to widen the distance between them?
She bent down and tipped the tiny pitcher of olive oil over the heads of her three Ishmaelite goddesses. After the yearlong betrothal, Uzahmah would have her own home to manage, and Sitis would be alone with Job in their cliff-hewn palace. What would they talk about? It seemed they could no longer say two words without arguing. She inhaled the crisp night air, and this time her sigh quivered a little. The emotions were getting harder to press down.
“Oh, ladies of life, hear my prayer,” she said, massaging the oil into each image. “May I soon hear the happy cries of grandchildren in my home, the gentle patter of little feet in these hallways.” Al-Uzza, the almighty goddess covered with a multitude of breasts, stood stately in the center of the low ivory table. Golden Al-Lat was on her right, perched on a camel, her morning-star necklace glistening with oil. Holy mother-in-law, Manat, on the left, had become Sitis’s favorite in recent years. The headless idol was seated, legs extending only to the thighs—a golden lap awaiting grandchildren. Her arms were crossed, holding up bare breasts as an altar on which pungent spices testified to her strength.
“Why haven’t you blessed my household with grandchildren?” she asked the goddesses. “My offerings helped rebuild your temple for the Ishmaelites in Chaldea after Job and his men destroyed it. What more do you require of me?” Clouds shrouded the moonlight, making the idols’ silence even darker. Gods never answer, she thought, straightening again at the balcony railing.
Looking into the black night, she remembered when she had believed Yahweh created all things. “Not so long ago,” she whispered. “But a lifetime ago.”
She was the daughter of Shuah, Abraham’s son through his concubine, Ketur
ah. Ishmael married Keturah after Abraham’s death and adopted Shuah, making Sitis and her brother, Bildad, grandchildren of both Abraham and Ishmael—double royalty, doubly devoted to Yahweh, according to Bildad. Sitis’s brother had been Ishmael’s representative at the House of Shem. He had demanded Sitis’s devotion to Yahweh, even when their parents died and she grew up alone. She was a princess among servants. Bildad had arranged her marriage to Job—and then Job demanded her devotion to Yahweh, even when her babies died. She’d been a mother with full breasts and empty arms.
“Creator of all.” She laughed bitterly. “I don’t think so.”
The cool night air lifted her dark curls from her neck, the desert chill prickling her skin. She let her robe fall around her shoulders. Her third-story balcony was nestled in the western red cliffs of a private canyon in the refined second sector of Uz. Only one other home shared the canyon—Sayyid’s. It was a smaller palace directly across the canyon, carved into the eastern cliffs. But it was late. No one would see her. The lamps in Sayyid’s household had long been dark, and tonight’s stillness was her last chance at freedom until Job’s next journey. She let her robe fall to the stone floor, the frigid wind ravaging her body, making her feel alive before she resumed her living death.
Tomorrow Job would return with his shrouds of expectations. Sitis would again choose her words carefully and speak politely, avoiding her husband’s gaze. She would endure the loneliness because she loved her home, her children, her status as Job’s wife—the greatest man in the East. She glanced down at the oily glow of the golden goddesses in the moonlight. Tonight she would tuck them away safely so Job would never suspect their presence in his home.
She glanced across the canyon at Sayyid’s dark balconies and windows. Would Job suspect that Sayyid had been present in their home? She’d said a tearful good-bye to her friend tonight, apologizing again that she couldn’t see him until the next time Job traveled or they had a chance meeting in the city market. Tears sprang up unbidden. “Why must I choose between my husband and my best friend?” she whispered to the night. She knew the answer. Job still blamed Sayyid for her refusal to worship El Shaddai.
When Job had discovered Sayyid delivering Sitis’s offerings to the Chaldean temple on the day of Ennon’s wedding, Job ordered the temple destroyed and Sayyid banished forever from their home. But you cannot banish him from my heart.
She braced herself against the railing and let her tears flow freely. Why couldn’t Job understand that Sayyid was like a brother? Closer than her own brother who had betrayed her heart. Sayyid always listened, really listened, when she was afraid or hurting—more than any other man in her life.
Sitis knelt to retrieve her robe and placed a kiss on each of the goddesses. Carefully, reverently, she wrapped each image in fleece and placed it in the sacred stone cube. She slid the cover into place and stood, pulling her warm woolen robe tightly around her body.
“We are all wrapped in some sort of shroud, I suppose,” she whispered, thinking of the golden images in their fleece-lined home. She glanced up at Sayyid’s eastern cliffs, dark yet alive with his presence. “Perhaps someday I’ll break out of my tomb and worship freely, speak freely, live freely.” Lifting the sacred cube, she turned toward her bedchamber. “Until then, I have a beautiful daughter to pamper and a betrothal banquet to prepare.”
After trading all the animals for merchandise at Elath, the caravan traveled much more quickly. Still, the heavily loaded camels and the few donkeys carrying servants meant frequent water stops as they climbed to higher elevations. Though the drought had diminished the flow of natural mountain springs, the caravan guide was adept at finding every drop of clear, cold refreshment. The sun’s rays peeked over the western sandstone cliffs, but the mountain heights also meant falling temperatures, and Dinah’s teeth chattered to the sway of her camel. Her speckled woolen robe would soon be no match for the chilly winds. Looking ahead, she saw a forest of trees and scrub covering a plateau and prayed the guide would find water there. Searching the back of the caravan for Nogahla’s white donkey, she found the girl, shoulders crouched and shivering, bouncing atop her little beast of burden along the mountain ridge road.
“This looks like a good place to rest,” Job shouted ahead to the guide. “If there’s water, we’ll stop.”
Dinah sighed with relief and noted Job’s kind smile. Had he noticed her discomfort?
“But Master Job, Uz is around the bend at the next plateau. Why stop now?” The guide turned and met Dinah’s gaze. She tried to still her chattering teeth but couldn’t. The man made no pretense of hiding his frustration, but upon reaching the forest and bubbling spring, he reined his camel to a stop.
By the time Dinah halted her weary camel, Job had dismounted and was waiting with blankets in hand. “A little colder than you’d expect in the desert, isn’t it?”
Dinah’s cantankerous camel spit and squawked its protest all the way to its knees and belly. Talking to the beast gently, she patted its neck and stepped free from her four-legged throne.
Job laughed. “You seem to enjoy travel far more than my wife and daughters.” He placed a blanket on her shoulders and walked toward Nogahla’s donkey with another blanket. “Sitis hates the smell of camels,” he said over his shoulder, “and our daughters think ‘sleeping under the stars’ means a tent, three layers of fleece for a bed, and servants fanning them with ostrich plumes.”
Dinah was two steps behind Job when Nogahla nearly leapt off her donkey. “M-m-mistress, I’m c-c-c-cold!” Job’s laughter echoed between the mountain peaks. He wrapped the second blanket around the girl’s shoulders, and she cuddled in its warmth.
“Thank you,” Dinah said, awed at his thoughtfulness. Job nodded, waving away her gratitude as if unnecessary.
Pointing the way toward a cozy campfire, Job had taken only a few steps when Dinah saw two fingers claw at Job’s shoulder. “We cannot waste time here. If we are to reach Uz before sunset, we must be on our way within the hour.” The guide stalked away, leaving Job gawking. Dinah silently marveled that a hired man would speak to his master with such disrespect.
“He’s up to something, Master Job. He’s no good.” Nogahla spoke offhandedly, as if anyone could have seen the truth had they been watching. “He’s had sneaky eyes since we left Elath.”
Dinah was unsettled by Nogahla’s candor. “Nogahla, Master Job chose his guide with much care, and he trusts him implicitly.” Watching Job’s expression, she hoped for some sign of confidence. None came.
“Actually, the man came highly recommended by my house steward, Atif.” Job glanced at the impatient guide, who was shouting orders at the camel drivers. “Atif and I have a long history of differing opinions. I’ll never take his advice on such a matter again.” Job effectively closed the subject by smiling and extending his hand toward the crackling flames. “Why don’t we sit by the fire so you two can warm up?”
Dinah and Nogahla fell in step beside him.
“Would you mind telling me about the rest of our journey to Uz?” Dinah asked. She and Job had spoken little during their last three days of travel. They’d enjoyed shopping for gifts and herbs in Elath and the short camaraderie of evening prayers before retiring to their tents. But Dinah had hoped Job would volunteer information about Ennon during the long days of travel. He’d been strangely silent. She was battling worry and losing the war.
“We’ll travel the ridge road,” Job said, pointing to the narrow watershed, “skirting the eastern side of the cliffs, and we should arrive at sunset.” He poked at the flaming dung chips with a stick. “Would you like to ask me what’s really on your mind?”
Dinah’s cheeks suddenly warmed, and it wasn’t because of the fire. Did this man read everyone’s mind, or just hers? She would start with something simple. “How old is your son?” Her heart was pounding. She tried not to cringe, but she’d been dreading this answer for days.
“Ennon is thirty-nine.”
Oh! He’s a child! Di
nah consciously slowed her breathing. How could a man only four years older look at her with love? She was an old goat compared to the young brides he could have married.
But wait . . . A thought occurred to her for the first time.
Dinah turned, but Job continued to study the flames. “I heard you tell Zophar that you promised to marry only one woman.” She paused. “Have your sons made a similar promise, or is Ennon already married?”
Job remained silent, awkwardly so. His expression lost all signs of joy, and her heart sank at the words he didn’t speak.
“Is he at least an honorable man, like his abba?” she asked quietly.
“You will be Ennon’s second wife, Dinah, but I believe you will win his heart,” Job said. “My first son is not unkind.”
“But he is not honorable,” she said, defeat and resignation lacing her tone.
“Ennon is still finding his place in the world.” Job was almost apologetic. Then, as if grasping at some hope, he said, “He is respected among his peers.” More silence. They continued staring into the fire. “But I fear his peers set the standard too low.”
Dinah slowly turned to Job in disbelief. “Why would you tell me this? I am merely a woman. He is your son and soon to be my husband. I am supposed to honor and obey him without question.”
A small smile worked at one corner of Job’s mouth. “I tell you this because I saw your love and compassion for Grandfather Isaac. Your tenacity with Zophar. You are not merely a woman, Dinah, and I doubt that you could ever obey without question.” He chuckled then and turned to meet her gaze. “Ennon has no children. Perhaps a child—a seed of promise—will strengthen his faith. Perhaps the love of a woman like you can teach him that a worthy woman is worthy of an honorable man.”