Love Amid the Ashes (4 page)

“Get out!” Jacob’s angry voice accompanied sounds of breaking pottery as Job walked away from his uncle’s tent. He could only hope that in the days to come, Jacob would remember some of his words and the seeds Job had planted would grow and bear fruit.

“Thank you for asking Uncle Esau to allow us to travel separately.” Finally, on this third night of their journey, Dinah could move beyond her embarrassment and voice her gratitude. Her camel plodded beside Job’s. A canopy of stars sparkled above as torchbearers lit the way below. “And thank you for not being angry when I wasn’t ready to travel at dawn the next day. I hope waiting on a woman did not shame you in front of the servants.”

Job chuckled. “Dinah, those who think me weak for waiting on a woman would certainly find something to criticize, if not that. I am not shamed by what others think. My shame or innocence is settled between me and El Elyon.” He furrowed his brow and tilted his head in a distant stare.

Dinah fell silent, studying him. Tall and muscular, he was the epitome of Edomite strength. Yet this tender man was as different from Esau as the sun from the moon. In the throes of her nightmare, his copper hair and raspy voice had reminded her of her brothers, but his kind and gentle character had wiped away any resemblance to the men of Jacob’s tribe. The few silver strands in his wavy mane caught the glimmer of torchlight, and when Job turned to look at her, his dark eyes penetrated her soul.

“Thank you for agreeing to marry my son. You will make a beautiful bride.”

Dinah’s heart leapt into her throat. She searched his face for signs of ridicule—there were none. “Of course, I would never think of disobeying Grandfather.” Focusing on the caravan ahead, her cheeks felt as if they might burst into flames.

“The customs of Abraham’s daughters give you the right of refusal. Yet you didn’t refuse.” He paused.

Her heart raced. Did he wish she had refused?

“I’m glad you’ll be a part of my household now.” Job’s voice sounded like warm, honeyed wine. Dinah slowly turned and found herself lost in his brown eyes.

He thinks I’m beautiful, and he’s glad I’ll be a part of his household . . .
Had any man been so kind to her since . . . ?

Wait!

Wasn’t this the same trap that had ensnared her at Shechem? Was every man a betrayer? Dinah shook her head as if waking from a dream. For twenty years, merchants and shepherds had recounted the story of Jacob’s sons slaughtering innocent Shechemites, and most had blamed
her
for going to the city that day. Abba Jacob told the tale that Prince Shechem brought the trouble on his city by raping his daughter, defiling her without the proper marriage traditions of Yahweh. No matter which story Job had chosen to believe, she would never allow him—or any man—to deceive and betray her again.

Snapping her eyes forward, she said, “I’m anxious to meet your son.” Her words were clipped, her hands tight on the reins. Just ahead she noticed the night’s camp coming into view. “Just in time,” she whispered.

“You must be tired,” he said, pointing to a group of rocks amid the beautiful red cliffs surrounding them. “A warm fire awaits.” Job nodded graciously and prodded his camel on, speaking with the guide and greeting the rest of the caravan. Again tonight, he’d sent a few servants ahead to prepare the camp for all the weary travelers.

Nogahla waited patiently for Dinah to dismount. Abba Jacob had given the little Cushite handmaid as Dinah’s lone dowry. No traditional gifts to ensure her safe return if Job’s son refused her. No wedding gown or headpiece of coins and jewels to wear. Job had been gracious and offered Abba a bride-price, but preserving a measure of dignity, Abba had refused.

“Good evening, mistress,” the Cushite girl said, ushering Dinah into their tent as though she were the queen of the Nile. Were it not for Nogahla’s white teeth and sparkling eyes, she might have disappeared into the night.

Dinah reached for her hands, trying to settle her emotions yet still press her wishes. “Please, Nogahla, as I told you last night and the night before, there’s no need to bow to me. I am no better than a servant myself.”

The girl looked utterly stricken.

“Would it surprise you to know that one of my abba’s wives was a Cushite?” Dinah asked, tenderly brushing her cheek.

Nogahla’s eyes grew round, and she nodded. Dinah chuckled. The little maid could carry on an entire conversation without speaking a word—her expressions seemed a perfect reflection of her heart and mind.

“My ima Rachel’s serving maid, Bilhah, was just as dark-skinned as you are,” Dinah said, “and one day Rachel gave Bilhah to Abba as his wife.”

Studying her timid Cushite maid, Dinah tried to imagine how Bilhah must have felt entering into the intimate act of marriage as a servant, not a real wife. An adult sorrow gripped Dinah, a sadness of which children were blissfully ignorant. She remembered grinding grain and baking bread with her third ima Bilhah’s careful instruction. Her fourth ima, Zilpah, loved to weave and spin, but she had no patience for teaching Dinah the fine artistry of cloth and thread. Zilpah had been given to Jacob as a slave wife too—the handmaid of Leah—but Zilpah never regained her smile as Bilhah had.

“My mother was taken as a slave from our homeland in Cush when she was very young,” the girl said, interrupting Dinah’s memories. “I am the daughter of her master. My father was a wealthy Egyptian soldier, and my mother was a slave in his household. Though he had a wife, my father loved my mother and would sometimes let me ride with him on his fine horses.”

Dinah searched Nogahla’s expression for regret or sadness. There was none. The girl knew only a servant’s life. She spoke of her heritage as though it were a list for the market. “How old are you, Nogahla?”

“I’m not certain,” she said, tapping her chin with a graceful finger. “But just before I was taken from my mother, she told me I was five years old, and I helped prepare ten annual feasts in Master Isaac’s camp.”

Dinah’s heart broke at the girl’s sparse recollections and recalled the women led by chains and iron collars in the streets of Shechem. “Nogahla, I can’t keep you as my servant.”

The girl’s full, pink lips began to tremble. “Mistress, please. If you put me away, do you know what others will do with a girl my age?” Tears leapt over her bottom lashes. “If I have offended you, I’m sorry. I’ll—”

“No, you have not offended me.” Dinah sighed and reached for the girl’s hand. “I simply think it’s wrong to make you my servant. I have never needed a servant.”

“But I need a mistress,” the girl whispered, squeezing Dinah’s hand. “And my mistress needs a friend. Can we not take care of each other?”

“Excuse me.” Job’s voice was soft and tentative outside the tent. “Dinah, are you still awake?”

Nogahla pulled away, and Dinah hurried to the tent opening. “Is there something wrong?”

Job’s face was—well, indiscernible. She didn’t know this man well enough to interpret the subtle furrow of his brow or the way the right side of his mouth tilted up just a little.

“Will you follow me to the fire?” he said and then looked at the Cushite. “Alone.” Nogahla’s gaze fell to her feet and she backed into the tent as Dinah stepped into the night.

Dread twisted Dinah’s stomach. “What is it?” She gazed around the camp. All the servants were in their tents. She was standing in the moonlight alone with Job.
No! El Shaddai, no, not again.
The last time a man was kind and led her to a place alone like this . . .

“Dinah, don’t be frightened.” Job gently placed his hand at the small of her back and nudged her forward. “I simply want to talk with you. Will you sit with me by the fire?”

He had laid two rugs side by side. Dinah began shaking her head. “No, please. I can’t. I won’t. You’ve promised me to your son!” She turned and started to run into the darkness, anything to escape the betrayal of another man.

“Dinah, listen to me.” He captured her in his strong grasp, but when she fought him, he released her immediately. “I won’t hold you, but you can’t run into the desert at night.”

Trembling so violently she could barely stand, Dinah wrapped her arms tightly around her body and stared at the rocky, red soil.
No tears, El Shaddai. Please, I don’t want to shed more tears.

Job stepped toward her and reached out his hand, but she drew back like a frightened child. “I simply want to sit by the fire and talk to you about El Shaddai before we arrive in Uz.” His eyes were tender. Clear, as Nogahla had mentioned before. “I won’t hurt you. Look at me, Dinah.”

But how could she ever look at him again? Their first encounter had been her hysterical nightmare, and now she had accused him of planning a despicable act with his soon-to-be daughter-in-law. Why wouldn’t he pack her things and send her back to Abba Jacob’s camp right now? Suddenly she realized she and Nogahla were very much the same. They both lived in terror of being rejected by their masters.

Stiffly, Dinah moved to the fire and sat near the flames. She would listen to Job. She would even speak if required. But she could not look at him.

Job’s patience unnerved her. The fire popped and cracked. Several sparks flew heavenward before he finally broke the silence. “Tell me about Prince Shechem, Dinah. Did you love him?”

Her breath caught. She blinked hard, breathed fast, fought the emotion. No one had ever asked her—not even her imas had cared to know. She threw a piece of dried dung on the fire. Maybe he’d ask a different question.

“Dinah, please. I saw the way you cared for Grandfather Isaac in his last days. I know you have a heart full of love. You were so young when Simeon and Levi rescued you. Did you believe you were married when Prince Shechem took you to his bed?”

“How dare you ask me such intimate questions!” Her outburst startled even her. “Not even my abba spoke of such things!” Dinah balled her fists, willing their trembling to cease.

Job waited, but she couldn’t restrain her tears much longer. Panicked, she tried to scurry to her feet, but Job’s strong hand held her fast. “Stop running, Dinah. Stop hiding. Tell me what happened at Shechem.” His eyes pierced her. “I visited Grandfather Isaac at harvesttime and shearing every year, but I never knew you were in his camp until last week. Why did you hide for fifteen years, Dinah?”

“They made me hide because they were ashamed of me!” Her tortured scream echoed in the desert sky, racking her body with sobs. Job released her arm as if she were leprous. Was it revulsion on his face? Shock? Horror? Bowing her head, she let the tears flow quietly, too spent to care.

A screech owl called out in the distance. Job moved closer. “Dinah, listen to me.” He touched her shoulder, and she flinched. “I’m sorry,” he said, releasing a sigh. “Please, Dinah. Did you love Shechem?”

“Yes, yes, I loved him,” she cried, “and he loved me.” Dinah glared at the man who would determine her future. Replacing the shield of pain and bitterness around her heart, she wiped her cheeks. “He loved me, Job. Is that so hard to believe? Why can’t anyone believe a man could love me?”

Job placed one arm around Dinah’s shoulders, and she felt his tenderness but no passion. The simple act dismantled her fragile defenses. She hugged her knees tightly, burying her face in a private world of release.

Job let her cry, let the silence do its healing work. Then, when her tears had slowed, he said softly, “Dinah, I must ask you another hard question. It is not to judge you or chastise you but to ultimately free you from the pain you’re feeling right now.” He laid his cheek on the top of her head like a caring father with a small child. “Did you know it was wrong to submit to Prince Shechem before receiving your abba’s and El Shaddai’s blessing?”

Dinah closed her eyes and pulled away from his embrace. She started to stand and go back to her tent when Job grasped her arm. “Answer me, Dinah.”

She pulled away roughly and wiped the tears. “Will you at least send a guard to accompany me back to my abba’s household?” Laughing bitterly, she added, “Or do I deserve whatever a bandit gives me?”

Job reached for her again, rising to his knees, and this time he grasped her hands gently. “Please answer, Dinah. It’s important that you say the words aloud.”

“Yes. I knew!” she said, ripping her hands away from him. “I knew that lying with Shechem before receiving Abba’s blessing was wrong, but I did it anyway.” Tears came again. “This may be impossible for someone like you to understand—someone who has lived a blessed life without pain or struggle. But Shechem was the first person who ever loved me, Job, and I simply couldn’t say no.”

Job drew out a knife from his belt. A rush of fear coursed through her, and Dinah instinctively tensed to run. But just as suddenly, resignation settled like a shroud. It was the fate she should have shared with her husband twenty years ago. She closed her eyes and waited for the blow.

Instead, she heard Job rise to his feet and walk away. She watched him retrieve a lamb that had been tethered to his tent. He led the perfect little creature back to where she stood by the fire.

“Dinah, we all sin—every one of us—and sin brings death. But El Shaddai taught Adam and Noah and Abraham the way to atone for our sins through blood.” He knelt by the lamb, looked up at Dinah, and then slit the lamb’s throat.