In the Field of Grace (17 page)

Naomi pressed another glass of barley water, sweetened with honey into Ruth’s hand. “Where did you find honey?” Ruth asked, sipping the delicious concoction.

“Bartered for it yesterday morning. A woman who lives close to the city gate found a hive. You’ve brought home so much grain that I have been able to trade some of it for fresh supplies. How do you feel?”

“Recovered, thanks to your care.” Ruth had slept through the afternoon and into the night, and woken up ravenous. Naomi had filled her with bread and cheese and barley water in the hours since. “I’m as stuffed as the geese in Pharaoh’s kitchens. If I’d had all this food and drink inside me when I fell ill, lord Boaz would not have been able to lift me.”

“I wonder why Boaz did not summon a cart and have one of his men convey you here, instead? He would have saved himself an uncomfortable journey.” That strange, thoughtful expression settled on Naomi’s face again.

“Because I am Elimelech’s daughter-in-law. If not for that, I think he might have forbidden me to return to his fields.”

“Why do you believe that?”

“He was so angry when he first found me, his hands shook. He said I had the sense of a hedgehog.”

A hint of a smile touched Naomi’s lips. “Men sometimes hide their fear with anger. He must have been concerned when he saw you collapse.”

“Why would he be concerned for me? What am I to him but the poor widow of a long-lost relative?”

Naomi rose to fetch wool. She had taken to spinning again, which she had not done since Moab. “He watched his wife die, they tell me. So he is probably deeply moved by the sight of a sick woman.”

Ruth felt her throat close. “His wife?”

“When Elimelech and I left Bethlehem, Boaz was married. Happily married, though he and his wife had lost their only child, a beautiful girl named Sarah. But Miriam tells me that several months after our departure, his wife died in childbirth. He has shown no interest in taking another wife since, and not for lack of effort on the part of every mother with a young, unmarried daughter from here to the hills of Jerusalem.”

“That is why he understands so well.”

“Understands what?”

“The pain of grief.” Ruth related the lesson of Jacob’s ladder as Boaz had taught her. “The Lord has not forgotten you, Mother. He still rules over your coming and going.”

Naomi listened, her eyes red, her mouth tight.

“Shalom!” a soft voice called from the open door. The women turned to find Mahalath waiting respectfully outside, a large basket balanced on her head. “My master sends me with greetings. May I come in?”

“Come, child. How nice of Boaz to remember us.” Naomi offered Mahalath a cushion.

“The master bid me to bring you a few gifts, mistress.” She lowered her basket and drew out a goatskin.

“Wine!” Naomi tasted a little and smacked her lips. “It’s wonderful.”

“He had guests last night and they slaughtered a lamb. He sent you some of the leftover meat.”

Naomi examined the salted lamb and wrapped it back in the linen. “If this is the leftover, I wonder what the first portion might look like. He has sent us the best cut.”

Mahalath gave a shy smile. “And here are a few cakes of figs and raisins. He thought you might enjoy them.”

“To what do we owe so much kindness?”

Mahalath shrugged. “My lord thought with Ruth sick, you might be able to use extra provisions.”

Naomi nodded. “Please tell your lord that we are thankful. Tell him I pray I shall be able to return his kindness one day.”

Ruth nodded. “I am his grateful servant.” She would have preferred Boaz himself to all the lambs and figs and raisins of Judah. That thought made her blush and she sank abruptly on a cushion.

Mahalath rose to take her leave, empty basket swinging by her side. “Can’t you stay?” Ruth asked. “Your company would be a blessing.”

The dark-eyed girl hesitated. “For a little while. It’s quiet at home today. The master won’t mind, I know.”

“You are very faithful to Boaz, aren’t you?”

“He helped me when no one would. I was under the yoke of a cruel master. My father had many debts and had mortgaged our home to a man named Jaala. Unable to repay the mortgage, my father gave me to Jaala as a slave in exchange for the money he owed. We knew he was reputed to be a hard man and a fox in business. But what could my father do?

“I never knew why, but Jaala took a special dislike to me. He enjoyed punishing me for every small mistake. His threats were so cruel, I began to fear my own shadow. He was hard with all his workers. But toward me, he showed unbearable brutality.”

Naomi, who had been listening to the story with quiet intensity,
gasped. Ruth wondered what made her mother-in-law so pale and still, as if she were personally affected by the details of Mahalath’s account.

“I am pained to hear of your suffering, Mahalath. Why did no one interfere? Bring him to answer for his malice?” Ruth asked.

“Jaala is a crafty man. He never broke the law, but rode the edges of it over and over. What could anyone do? I was a slave and he a rich landowner.

“My mother worked for lord Boaz. One day, afraid that I would do myself harm, she approached him and begged for his help. Lord Boaz is kin to Jaala, you see. I don’t know what he had to do to persuade the man to let me go. But I expect it wasn’t cheap, though he has never mentioned the price to me. I am no longer a slave thanks to lord Boaz. May the Lord bless him all his days. And may He preserve others from being under Jaala’s power.”

Inexplicably, Naomi reached a hand and pulled Ruth to her in a tight embrace. Ruth could not help noticing that the older woman’s lips had turned white with distress.

T
he heat wave broke the day Ruth returned to glean in the new field. Row after row of ripe wheat waved in the breeze, like jubilant hands lifted up in a dance of praise. The color of the plants had changed from green to a bright gold that carried with it the promise of a bounteous year, a year free of hunger.

Three days at home had restored Ruth’s health. She worked with nimble fingers, her body satisfyingly strong and obedient to her demands once more.

There was no sign of Boaz. For days, Ruth had eaten his meat and drunk his wine, and finally had to admit to herself that she missed the man: his astute wisdom, his quiet kindness, his God-soaked prayers, his warm voice.

She missed Boaz and resented him for it.

Why had he stolen his way into her heart when he could never be anything to her? He was too high and she was too low. He owned the land and she gleaned it. She was lower even than a day laborer.

She let out an exasperated breath and picked up a few abandoned stalks of wheat with more force than necessary.

“What’s pestering you, Moabite?” Dinah asked, bending to gather a large clump of wheat with slow, lazy movements. “It’s like there’s a storm blowing through your insides.”

“My name is Ruth.”

“That’s what I said.
Moabite
. Poor as dirt and barren too. As if
Bethlehem needs Moab’s leftovers.”

Ruth went cold. She clenched her teeth to keep from returning Dinah’s comments with sour words of her own. She knew that would gain her nothing.

When she had turned thirteen, Ruth had gone through a season of rebellion. Tired of her sisters’ baiting, she baited them back, returning anger for meanness. Her harsh words won her nothing but misery. Her sisters grew sharper and more unkind. Ruth lost the little peace she had known among her kin. After several anguished months, Ruth learned to control her tongue. She stopped trying to repay her sisters’ torment. Sometimes, she even managed to return kindness for their evil. She was amazed by the change in her siblings. They never learned to love or appreciate her. But to her surprise, they stopped baiting her as often. They sheathed their claws and began to ignore Ruth instead of tormenting her. She had learned her lesson. Dinah would not push her back into the helpless wrath of a thirteen-year-old. She knew how to contend with women like her.

Just beyond them, a man straightened and turned toward them. Ruth recognized Adin, Abel’s younger brother. His wife had died recently of a wasting disease, leaving him the care of two young sons, which had kept him from work for several weeks. Ruth barely knew him as a result of his absence. She was surprised when he took a large handful of the wheat he had just cut down with his sickle and dropped it in front of her.

She picked up the sheaves and gave him a grateful smile. To her shock, Dinah grabbed the cluster of wheat out of her hold. “That’s not yours.”

Adin gave Dinah a measuring look. “Give it back. Now, Dinah.”

The young woman bit her lip, her skin turning a dark shade of red. She threw the sheaves at Ruth’s feet and stalked away.

“Pay her no mind. She can be tiresome.”

“My thanks, Adin.”

She noticed Adin gazing at Dinah where she slumped in the
shade of a twisted olive tree, her feet kicking the dirt. To Ruth’s surprise, it wasn’t annoyance or disapproval that marked his features. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said it was longing. Before she could be certain, he turned away and put his sickle to use again.

Ruth returned to her work. Hannah walked over and bestowed a dimpled smile. The girl had a talent for bringing sunshine into dark places and Ruth smiled back.

“What is the matter with Dinah today?” Ruth asked. “Her tongue is especially venomous.”

“It’s Adin.”

“Adin? Why should he cause her grief?”

“Dinah loved Adin when they were young. She was a sweet girl, then. Full of life and charm. It seemed to all that Adin returned her affection. But his father disapproved of Dinah’s family. They had an old feud between them. So his parents arranged a different marriage for Adin. He obeyed them, of course. Dinah never recovered.

“Now he is a widower. I think Dinah hoped that after the passing of his wife, he would turn to her again. But he has ignored her completely.”

Ruth rubbed her cheek. “Poor Dinah.”

“You might not feel the same by the end of the week. She won’t take kindly to Adin defending you.”

Ruth snorted. “It seems to me she doesn’t take kindly to anyone on principle.”

Boaz knew Ruth would return to glean, and kept away from the harvest for two whole days before succumbing to his need to be near her. He found her resting in the shade with some of the women. Her skin, ruddy with good health and activity, was smooth as polished marble. Long legs were bent, her arms wrapped around her shins, as she smiled at someone.

Adin.

Boaz swallowed convulsively as he studied the young man. Handsome, with no touch of white in his thick, black hair and beard, a blade of a nose as straight as the shaft of an arrow, and jaws square like the corner of an expertly made building. He had everything a woman like Ruth might want; virility and youth and beauty flowed out of him like a mighty river after the rains.

He noticed Adin laughing at something Ruth said, his head thrown back, his chest shaking. He wagged a finger at Ruth and she shrugged one shoulder. Boaz’s mouth grew dry and he turned swiftly, his back to the charged scene. He strode toward his horse, not caring how strange it might appear that he had come for a visit and not spoken a word to anyone before taking leave.