In the Field of Grace (16 page)

“I’ve not seen anything like that before,” she said when they were on the road again.

“Yes. He is a dazzling child.”

“That is true enough. But that’s not what I meant. What you did, that astounded me even more.”

“What I did?” He seemed so baffled that she laughed.

“You turned that boy’s life around. With mere words.”

“Oh well, they are only children, Ruth.”

Ruth realized that he had no true concept of his effect on people. He did not comprehend that he influenced others by words and his mere presence in a way that other men could not. She shook her head. He wasn’t a mere landowner. Boaz was what the Israelites called a
gibbor hayil
, an influential man of might and courage, an extraordinary man who shone above others. A man, who in spite of his many responsibilities, took the time to improve the life of a broken child, and to walk a young widow to her door in order to keep her safe.

He stared into the horizon. “I probably won’t see you for some time. Harvest season places many demands on me. If you have need of anything, you and Naomi, please send for me. For the sake of Elimelech, my kin, I will do what I can.”

Several days later a new girl added to their company. She had dark skin and dark eyes and dark hair and she rarely smiled. Ruth found out her name was Mahalath.

“She works at the master’s house, usually. But when he is away from home for long stretches of time, she comes to the field to help,” Hannah said. Mahalath herself spoke little.

At first, Ruth assumed she was shy. But when Dinah bumped into Mahalath accidentally, the dark eyes flew open with a startled expression of terror, and the girl raised her arms over her face and head as if bracing for a blow.

“Calm down. No one is trying to kill you, Mahalath,” Dinah said sourly. The poor girl bit her lip and slowed down, so that she could walk alone behind the others.

“Should we try to comfort her?” Ruth asked Hannah.

Hannah grimaced, her dimples peeping out. “Best leave her be. She once suffered at the hands of a cruel man, and it makes her
wary of people. If not for lord Boaz’s intervention, she might not be here today.”

“I am sorry for her misfortune.”

Ruth did her best throughout that day to show Mahalath kindness and win her trust. She fetched her water, interrupted her own gleaning to give the girl a hand when she struggled with the larger bundles, and even offered her a piece of fig cake, which Naomi had prepared from the dried figs given to her by a neighbor. Mahalath refused, but at the end of the day, when they were leaving the field, she bestowed a shy smile upon Ruth. Ruth felt as elated as Deborah after the victory against Sisera.

Mahalath came again that week since Boaz had traveled to Jerusalem on a matter of business and would remain from home for some days.

“The master doesn’t require that I come to the field. But when he is away, I have little to do at home, and feel guilty taking wages from him when I give meagerly in return,” Mahalath explained to Ruth as they took their morning rest in the shade. “He did not need me when he hired me. He only did so to help.”

“I have tasted of his goodness also,” Ruth said.

Speaking of him made her aware of a hollowness that had dogged her steps since the week before, when he had stopped coming to the field. As if he were a dear friend and she missed him. She narrowed her eyes, annoyed with herself. He was a landowner, a man of high repute, with thousands of livestock and a large chunk of Bethlehem for property. Outside the bonds of charity, he had no time for the likes of her. He had as much as said so, when he had taken his leave of her. He would help her
for the sake of Elimelech
. What other reason had he to seek her company? What had she to offer such a man, poor, dependent, widowed, and barren as she was? She might as well try to swim the length of the Dead Sea than bridge the chasm that separated them.

“Best return to work,” she said, and Mahalath joined her.

As they walked farther into the field, Ruth’s foot caught on a
jutting stone and she fell, her face landing in the dirt. The acrid smell of sheep dung and cultivated soil filled her nose.

“Are you hurt?” Mahalath asked, concern coloring her voice.

Ruth pushed herself to her feet and beat the dirt from her clothes. Ignoring the stinging in her hands and knees, she said, “It’s nothing.” It occurred to her that life had landed her facedown in the dirt. She determined that she would rise up and move on. She would take one step at a time and fret no more about tomorrow or about Boaz.

T
he heat wave did not break. It intensified with each passing day, making gleaning more difficult. One morning, Mahalath did not come to work in the field and Ruth wondered if Boaz had returned from his journey. She missed the girl’s company. Mahalath never treated Ruth as an outsider. Instead, she acted as if Ruth’s presence were a precious gift. For her part, although she did not know Mahalath’s story, Ruth admired the girl’s sweetness, which had survived whatever horrors she had tasted in life.

The laborers were almost finished in the field; they had reaped and gathered row after row of plump barley until the lush land had been reduced to stubble. In a few days, they would move on to harvest a vast wheat field that had ripened and sat ready to be gathered.

Ruth felt tired. She had worked every day from sunup until late into the afternoon for four weeks except on the Sabbath, which Boaz insisted everyone should keep holy by resting.

The day after Mahalath did not come to work, Ruth awoke late. Weariness had leached her strength and she barely forced herself to leave her bed.

“Why did you not wake me?” she asked Naomi, as she rushed to get dressed.

“You seemed so tired, I did not have the heart. Here, take this bread and eat it on the way.”

Ruth took Naomi’s offering and thanked her. She put it on a stool while she wrapped her hair in a light covering and rushed out, forgetting to fetch the thin bread. When she remembered, it was too late to return. She would just have to work on an empty stomach until the midday break, when Boaz provided a repast for his workers.

Ruth was gleaning more slowly than usual. The heat sapped her energy. She looked longingly at the jugs of freshwater, drawn by the men. But they were far from her, and she felt she could not spare the time for a drink, having already stopped to rest once. She would wait until mealtime.

A nagging headache had dogged her every step for several hours and it was growing worse. Sweat trickled down her back. She wiped an arm against her damp forehead and straightened. The world tilted and Ruth gasped. She realized with sudden useless insight that she had been foolish not to drink water on such a day. Dizziness and nausea made her sit hastily on the ground. She gulped, putting her head on her raised knees, hoping the weakness would pass soon.

“Drink this,” a voice said close to her ear. She knew that voice, the deep, warm timbre of it. Swiveling her head, she came face-to-face with Boaz. He had knelt at her side, his face close enough to touch.

Without a word, he put a cup to her mouth. “Drink. It’s the sun. You have had too much of the heat.”

Ruth drank until she had to stop to take a deep breath. She felt foolish, half-collapsed on the ground, still unable to rise.

“Drink the rest.”

Ruth obeyed until she drained the cup. “Where did you come from?” she blurted, too sick to sort through her words.

“I returned from Jerusalem yesterday and decided to inspect the field today. It’s good that I did. I noticed you seemed unwell
before you collapsed. When was the last time you ate?”

Ruth remained mute.

“When?” he insisted.

“Last night.”

He frowned. “What were you thinking? You can’t do this work on an empty belly. I suppose you’ve had no water all day, either.”

Ruth reddened and pulled her veil forward.

“A hedgehog has more sense,” he muttered. Behind him, other workers had gathered, gawping.

Boaz rose. “Nothing of interest here. Everyone back to work.”

In spite of their curiosity, his laborers were quick to obey. He knelt back by her side. “I’ll take you home.”

With a gasp, Ruth raised her head. “No need, my lord. I am well now.” She forced her body into obedience and pushed herself to stand. To her mortification, her legs wobbled and she collapsed back on the ground.

Boaz put a steadying arm on her back. “Home,” he said, his tone brooking no argument, and Ruth did not dare protest again. He called for Abel to fetch his horse.

A wave of nausea almost proved her undoing; she felt hot and cold at once, and only willpower kept her from collapsing altogether. Boaz slid an arm beneath her knees and lifted her up. He swung her into the horse’s saddle. Dizzily, she grabbed what was in front of her to keep herself from slipping, and found herself clutching a fistful of Shakhor’s black mane. The unhappy animal pawed the ground and shook its head up and down. Ruth hastily loosened her hold and would have toppled over if Boaz hadn’t swung behind her and held her securely to him.

He quieted the horse and brought it under control. “Ready?”

“If you only allow me to rest in the shade for a while, I—”

“No.” He signaled Shakhor to start walking.

Ruth felt too weak to sit straight. When she tried, the pain in her head became unbearable, triggering more nausea. Giving up,
she subsided against him. His arm tightened protectively, preventing her from falling.

“I’m sorry to be so much trouble, my lord.”

She felt him shift as he shrugged. “I’ve had worse troubles. Now close your eyes and try to sleep. You are still shaking.”

Sleep! As if she could, held in his arms, bouncing atop his big horse, the world careening around her. How could she have been so witless? A child knew better than to allow herself to get into such a state by not drinking and eating, or taking appropriate shelter from the sun.

Boaz shifted in the saddle and drew her up a little. As if reading her restless thoughts, he said, “It has happened to me too. I suffered from heatstroke once.”

“You, my lord?” she managed to say.

“I was ten years old. But yes, I became very sick and almost died for lack of water. I can still remember how miserable I felt.”

Ruth’s lips felt dry and chapped. They stung as she licked them and she winced. He was trying to make her feel better, and succeeding. “Well, I am not going to die, unless embarrassment can kill you.”

He laughed. The sound washed over her like a balm, and even though she still felt sick and her head hurt as if someone had hit it with the sharp end of a plow, she wanted to smile.

Naomi saw them coming from where she sat in the yard, grinding flour, and ran into the road to meet them, her mouth trembling with anxiety.

“Fear not, Naomi,” Boaz said as he dismounted. “She stayed in the sun too long and was overcome. A couple of days in bed, and she will be ready to glean my fields until they are bare.” He lifted Ruth up in gentle arms and brought her inside.

“Oh, my poor girl. My poor girl. She seemed so tired this morning, I ought to have kept her home.”

“Don’t fret yourself, Naomi,” Ruth said. “I’m well.”

Naomi rushed to set up a mat with extra bedding and a pillow
for her head. Boaz laid her down. For a moment he lingered, looking at her. “I don’t want to see you in my fields until after the Sabbath.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Come to the new field when you are better. You can glean wheat there.”

Naomi thanked him, but he waved away her words and spoke a reassurance that Ruth did not catch. She lay back weakly against the pillow when he left and wondered why the room felt empty and bereft without him. Naomi stood at the door, a thoughtful look on her face. But as she fell asleep, it wasn’t Naomi’s face Ruth saw. The image of a man with brown eyes and a bright smile claimed her last waking thought.