In the Field of Grace (26 page)

Ruth shook her head, beyond words. Fearful that her eyes would give her away, she stared at her sandals, trying to swallow tears.

“Come and sit.” Boaz drew her, his touch firm, and she found herself being pushed onto a stool. He crouched down until he was level with her. She kept her face lowered, refusing to look at him. A gentle hand grasped her chin, forcing it up. “Do you feel dizzy?” he asked. “You look a bit grey.”

“No.” Then to distract him, she asked, “May I see the horse?”

He frowned. “Tomorrow, maybe. You aren’t up to it, now.”

She felt torn between the desire to escape his presence, and the desperate need to clutch at the rare opportunity to spend a little time alone with him. Her longing to remain with him won. Later, she would hide in a private corner and think through the shocking discovery of her unreasonable attachment to him. She would seek a way to quash her feelings, and overcome what would only cause her useless pain. For now, she would linger close and enjoy the crumbs that she could have of him.

“It would be a welcome distraction, my lord. Truly. I don’t feel sick.”

Boaz sucked in his cheek, before rising. “Stay here. I’ll bring him to you.”

She could hear him whispering gently to the horse in the shadows of the barn. He came out leading Khaymah, one hand tapping the side of its neck. “Behave well for our guest, now,” he murmured, and the horse nodded its head up and down with comical vigor.

Ruth laughed and rose up to approach him. She stood a few steps away from Boaz, too shy to draw closer. He misunderstood her hesitation.

“He won’t hurt you. Would you like to pat his neck? He likes that.”

She had no desire to pat any part of the horse, for all his charm. There must be a reason he was called
fury
. But she stepped closer since it offered her an excuse to be near Boaz. With an awkward motion, she tapped the side of the horse’s neck and drew away quickly when the horse gazed at her with mild reproach.

“Not like that,” Boaz said, and she could tell from his tone that he was trying not to laugh at her incompetence. “Let me show you.” He took her hand in his long fingers and drew it lingeringly against the horse’s side, neck, and forehead. The horse blew air out of his nostrils and lowered his head.

“He likes you. He likes when you touch him.”

“Does he?” Ruth’s breath caught; without meaning to, she took a half step toward Boaz.

With abrupt haste, Boaz dropped her hand and stepped away. “I should take him back to his stall.” He pulled on the horse’s lead without another word of explanation and drew the beast back into the barn.

Ruth’s eyes widened. Had he sensed her attraction to him? Had his speedy departure been in response to her unintentional move to stand closer to him? Horrified shame made her stomach roil with nausea. She could not bear the thought that he had recognized her
feelings, and been embarrassed by them. What other explanation could there be for his hasty retreat? The horse had been content with their presence. Boaz had run from her, run before she shamed them both more than she already had.

Raising shaking hands to her hot cheeks, Ruth turned and sprinted back to the house. Climbing the stairs two at a time, she hurled herself inside the bedchamber. She had to get away from this place. From him.

Naomi walked in, a steaming bowl in her hand. Ruth threw herself at her mother-in-law in a heedless rush so that she barely avoided a scalding. “I want to go home,” she wailed. “I want to go now.”

Naomi managed to place the bowl down on a table, while clasping Ruth in one arm. “What’s happened? Why are you distressed?”

“Nothing! Nothing has happened. I just want to go home.”

Naomi pulled her back by the shoulders. “This isn’t like you, Ruth. Tell me what has upset you?”

Ruth turned her back, fearful that Naomi would guess her secret. She could not bear that final humiliation. “
Please
,” she said. “I’m homesick.”

“Peace, daughter. Sit yourself down while I go and explain to Boaz.”

Ruth whirled around. “Must you? Can’t we just leave?”

“No, we can’t. What has come over you? After his generous hospitality, he deserves a polite farewell.”

Ruth wiped the moisture gathering on her upper lip and nodded. She forced her knees to bend until she sat at the edge of the bed, her body as unyielding as a tree trunk.

Naomi found Boaz leaning against the wall of the barn, his arms stiff against his sides, his gaze faraway and unfocused. He had shed his mantle and rolled up the sleeves of his tunic as if the heat of the day had grown too much to bear. His dark hair waved at odd
angles, as if agitated fingers had pulled through the curls more than once. Naomi had to wish him shalom twice before he took note of her. He straightened with haste, blowing out a long breath.

“Naomi,” he said. He opened his mouth as though he wished to say more, and closed it again abruptly.

“I’ve come to take leave. It’s time we went home.”

His brows drew together and the color left his face. “Ruth wants to leave.” It wasn’t a question, Naomi noticed.

“She misses home.”

“Of course.”

Naomi’s shrewd gaze didn’t miss Boaz’s discomfort beneath his smooth reply. She shifted her weight from one foot to another. “She is a good woman, my Ruth.”

Boaz swallowed convulsively. “You will hear no argument from me, cousin.”

Naomi picked up a pebble from the ground and twirled it aimlessly, casting it from one palm into another. “I hope someone in Bethlehem will appreciate her worth and take her for a wife.”

Boaz lost the last trace of color in his face until he looked like a stone carving. “No doubt a young man of her own generation.” He turned his back to Naomi, for once displaying bad manners.

Naomi narrowed her eyes and studied his stern posture. No wonder he was famed to like stubborn horses. He was as bad as ten of them together. She gathered the hem of her garments and left his presence without the usual polite rituals. Boaz did not even notice.

If the fire that had burned a portion of his field came down and swallowed him up in its grip, Boaz could not feel more dried up and singed. A heavy haze had settled over his mind so that he could not think with clarity.

He had allowed himself to spend time alone with her, to hold her hand at any excuse. To pull her close. Dismay shot through him as he remembered his reaction to the proximity of her body, to they
smell of lilies clinging to her skin, to the strong, vibrant feel of her flesh under his fingers. The strength of his own ardor had shocked him. He had known from the first day that she drew him. But his response to her today had been at a different level. He had wanted her to be his. Wholly, completely his. He had wanted to shield her from every danger, to provide for her every need. He had wanted her for his own.

She had leaned into him with such trust, not understanding that all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss the shy smile off her face. The feelings that drove him had proven so strong that he had had to leave like a boy on the verge of manhood, unable to control the fire in his own blood. She must have been mortified. He knew that was why she had left so abruptly. Why she sent Naomi and did not come herself.

How was he supposed to face her now?

He sank down on the stool she had occupied earlier. Why did this woman have such an unaccountable effect on him? His head drooped. He prayed, asking the Lord for peace. For guidance. For help. For anything! He had not been this wretched since the early days after Judith’s death. Was this a death he mourned again? Death of hope? Hope to have her? Hope to be loved by her?

Because, the Lord have mercy on him, he could no longer deny that he loved her.

He sprang up from the stool and took several restless steps until he came to the well at the entrance of the field. He drew up some water and splashed his face. A little water remained at the bottom of the vessel. His reflection gazed up at him from the gentle waves on its surface. White at his temples, lines marring the corners of his eyes and mouth. Ordinary features touched by time and sorrow. She deserved more. Wanted more, if her flight was anything to go by. Even the thought of his interest had unnerved her enough to send her fleeing.

He knew that if he asked for her hand, she would give it. What choice had she? With his wealth and standing, she could not refuse
him. She would agree for Naomi’s sake, if nothing else. But he did not wish to give her material comfort while leaving her heart cold. He wanted her to have the joys of a loving marriage. Having once known that joy himself, he could not bear to think of her trapped with him, without love. Nor could he live with a wife he loved if she did not feel the same.

Boaz poured the rest of the water over his head.
Lord, wash away these unwanted feelings and restore tranquility to my soul
. It wasn’t a prayer. He was begging. He begged some more, beyond pride until the agony that had a hold of him receded a little and he realized that he had not been speaking to God. Not really. He had been running from the pain, like a child crying too hard to hear the comforting murmurs of its mother. He tried to pray again, this time focusing on the truths he knew about God rather than on the raw affliction of his feelings for Ruth.
Lord, my God, You are preparing a future for me that I do not comprehend. This is part of Your plan for my life. Help me trust You in the midst of the pain of it. Help me stand secure in Your steadfast love. Help me remain confident and strong that You will uphold my cause for the sake of Your covenant
.

“Boaz, what is it you’re mumbling under your breath? Lost your mind, have you?”

Jaala?
Boaz sprang to his feet. “What do you want, Jaala?”

“I want to sell you a piece of land. Unbelievable value. Came into my possession not long ago. But I don’t have the resources to cultivate it. With two wives and three sons, I have sufficient responsibilities, unlike a carefree man such as yourself. What do you have but land to occupy your time? No sons. Not even a single wife. Might as well accrue more property, though what good it will do you, I cannot imagine. A man without sons is more pitiful than a poor widow.”

Boaz kept his face expressionless. It was not the first time Jaala had tried to bait him for his lack of wife and sons. Nor would it be the last. “What land?”

Jaala described it. “Come, and I will show you.”

Boaz almost rolled his eyes. He was familiar with that parcel, which except for a narrow band of tolerably fertile soil, consisted mostly of a useless stony pit, worthless for farming or pasture. He knew the man’s dishonest ways well enough to realize that Jaala would lead him straight to the fertile portion and try to hide the pathetic state of the rest.

“How much?” he asked.

Jaala named a price that would have been suitable for a piece of land twice as big and ten times as lush.

“I’ll think on it,” he said, in no mood to enter a prolonged discussion with the argumentative man.

“Don’t think too long. I have many men desperate to get their hands on such a prize.”

Boaz’s smile did not reach his eyes. “I’ll take my chances.”