In the Field of Grace (5 page)

“The Lord,” he said.

“Yes indeed,” Naomi said, giving a broad grin of approval.

The interaction seemed to have exhausted the old man and before long he had sunk into a deep sleep.

The next day, Ruth rose before sunrise to fetch water. The well, located an hour’s brisk walk from their house, would congest with long lines of chattering women later in the morning. To avoid the lines—and the crowd—Ruth had grown accustomed to awakening early each day, and arriving at the well when most women were just rising out of bed.

She drew water into her large clay pot, grunting as she swung the heavy jar over and up to settle snugly against her slender hip. She had performed this chore so often since childhood that she could manage it with a wool blindfold.

Her mind roamed as she walked home. She thought of the chores that still awaited her: weeding and tending the garden, making bread for the evening meal, washing the floor mats, which had grown dusty with use. No doubt her mother had more work in store for her as well.

She wondered if she would be able to sneak a few raisins to her grandfather with his noonday meal. He had slept through the
night without having an accident. Ruth could not help but feel that Naomi’s visits had somehow helped the old man.

After washing the mats and sweeping the floor, Ruth turned to the hard work of helping her mother grind flour in the hand mill. When she finished, she checked on Grandfather and found that he had dragged in mud all over the newly washed mats. She groaned and threw her grandfather a vexed glance where he lay in the corner of the room. Bending, she started to wipe the mats clean again before her mother saw the mess and lost the last of her patience.

In truth, on occasion, even Ruth found it a challenge to contend with Grandfather’s unintended disarray. Love alone tethered her frustration and made bearable the numerous inadvertent blunders of the old man, which increased her already heavy workload. She cherished him too much to give in to anger. Because of that love, her heart never grew cold and resentful toward him the way her mother’s had done.

At noon, not only was Ruth able to bring Grandfather a small pile of raisins, but she also managed to fill his bowl with an extra portion of lentil stew, skimmed from her own share.

As she placed the raisins in Grandfather’s hand, the old man turned and looked full into her eyes. “My beautiful Ruth,” he mumbled and patted her cheek. “I missed you.”

Ruth felt her throat tighten. “Oh, Grandfather. I love you so dearly.”

The old man stuffed all the raisins in his mouth at once. “Good!” he declared after he had swallowed them.

Ruth wiped a thin rivulet of spittle from the side of his chin. “Sweet, aren’t they?”

A gnarled hand rested on her head for a fleeting moment. “Like you.”

Grandfather had not spoken so many clear words together in months. Ruth swallowed tears of joy. He was improving.

“Naomi will come and visit you this evening. Perhaps she will tell us more amusing stories.”

“The Lord,” Grandfather said.

“Yes!” Ruth felt a smile rise up from deep inside. “She will tell us stories about the Lord. Now, would you like me to tell you about Chemosh?”

“The Lord,” he said again. He laid his head against her shoulder. “My Ruth.”

T
he next morning Grandfather did not wake up at his usual time. Nor could they shake him out of his slumber. The sleep deepened. Lengthened. Lasted from sunrise to sunset and back around again.

And dissolved into death.

Ruth felt like someone had stolen the ground from under her feet. Her heart had turned into a gaping hole. Grandfather had seemed well toward the end, speaking so tenderly that she had convinced herself he was improving.

Instead, those words had been his final declaration of love and approbation. He had risen out of the ashes of his illness for one last blessing. A bittersweet goodbye.

She felt lonelier for him than she had thought possible. She had been losing him for years, bit by precious bit. His death should have been easy to bear in the circumstances. But she found herself missing even the shell, missing the hope of catching a momentary glimpse of his true nature flash out like lightning, fast and powerful. Now there would not even be a glimpse.

Mahlon and Chilion accompanied their mother to pay their respects to Ruth and her family. Mahlon looked at Ruth with eyes so warm they felt like the comfort of a fire in the dead of winter.

“Come and see us soon,” he said. “Come and see me.”

Ruth drew a perspiring hand against her sash. All her sisters had gathered in the house. Her eldest married sister, doe eyes darkened with kohl, moved about with her lush hips swinging languidly, serving guests honey-soaked bread. To her surprise, Mahlon’s gaze never strayed her way. He kept his attention on Ruth as if no one else existed in the world. It was a new experience for Ruth to be in the same room with her eldest sister—any of her sisters—and take precedence. They were so much prettier than she was that they left no room for her to be seen. Except by Mahlon and Naomi.

She gave a quick nod. “I’ll come when I can.”

Ruth found a refuge in Naomi’s house. Often, after her duties at home came to an end, she made the familiar trek to the Israelite woman’s home. Together, they would weave or bake as they chatted until the men arrived. Sometimes Orpah would join them, and the evening would pass in pleasant conversation.

Having so recently been touched by death, Ruth grew curious about Naomi’s loss.

“Do you still miss your husband?” she asked one afternoon.

Naomi twirled her spindle with mindless grace. “I will miss Elimelech all the days of my life. But the ache has become bearable. There are times I even forget it’s there.”

“I am glad he made you come to Moab.”

“Sometimes I wonder if we made the right choice.” Slender fingers worked the spindle. “House of Bread—that is what the name of our city means. But there was no bread to be found in Bethlehem. We could have lingered. Trusted the Lord for a miracle. Or taken the solution into our own hands.

“Elimelech was not a waiting man. He was strong and capable. He wanted to give our family the best. You never saw so much frustration in one man the year the famine hit Judah. All his effort availed nothing; what can you do to a land parched as the desert? You can work as hard as a young ox, but when the earth will not
comply, your work comes to nothing. So we came.”

Ruth twisted the wool and pulled. “Would you ever go back?”

“Not unless the Lord placed His foot on my backside and pushed. I loved Bethlehem, but moving was hard. I wouldn’t want to go through that upheaval again.

“Some years ago, one of my back teeth festered. I’ve borne two sons; I know pain. And yet the torment of that little tooth made childbirth seem like a mild fever. It had to be pulled, of course. Such relief, to be rid of that throbbing agony! Would you believe, I still miss that tooth? Moving from Bethlehem felt like that. A great relief to walk away from the threat of starvation, and at the same time, a gaping hole, which nothing will fill. We are strangers in this land, and always will be.”

The sound of heavy sandals announced the arrival of the men. Before long they had washed hands and feet and gathered to eat. Naomi had cooked barley stew, flavored with wild onion, garlic, and capers. They prayed before breaking bread. Ruth liked the sound of their prayers, full of thanksgiving and peace.

That night, as they walked back, Mahlon said under his breath so that only Ruth could hear, “I wish you didn’t have to leave ever again. I wish you could live with us. With me.”

Ruth gulped and sent him a searching look from under her lashes. She was not in love with him the way her sisters spoke of love. Her heart didn’t race in his company, nor did she daydream of him every spare moment. But he drew her like a shepherd’s fire on a freezing desert night. It wasn’t Mahlon alone. It was the whole family. Naomi and her caring ways, the considerations she offered without a second thought. The way the brothers looked out for each other. The lack of jealousy. The presence of easy affection that washed over the walls of the little house like scented oil.

Being with Naomi’s family was like an antidote to the bitterness of her own relations.

“You are silent. Do you not feel the same?” Mahlon asked, his voice hushed with strain.

“I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I’m not good with words.”

“I think you are. True, you are parsimonious with your speech. But when you say something, it’s always worth hearing. I like that about you. No needless chatter that would exhaust a man to death.”

Ruth adjusted her veil, which had slipped to the back of her head. “Now I’m sure to keep my mouth closed in fear of exhausting you.”

Mahlon laughed. “And here I thought I had given you high praise.”

They walked a few more steps. He said, head bent, “May I send my mother to your parents? To ask for your hand?”

Ruth’s mouth fell open. She thought of Grandfather—the only person in her family who had truly cared for her, gone from her forever. What had she left in her house? What tethered her to the family that bore her? Without a word, she nodded.

“A small dowry and one less mouth to feed. What more do you want, woman?” Ruth’s father screamed. The sisters had been sent out of the house to allow their parents privacy. They hadn’t gone far. Finding a spot as close to the open windows as possible, all the girls, including Ruth, strained to hear the conversation.

The fact that Ruth had a suitor had thrown the whole household into chaos. Her unmarried older sisters found it incomprehensible that anyone should want to marry their pole of a sister. Her mother found the identity of the prospective bridegroom an affront to her dignity and ambition. To Ruth’s relief, her father seemed quite happy at the arrangement.

“A man worthy of our name,” her mother said loud enough for everyone to hear. Ruth winced. She knew that her mother’s greed for better connections would put an end to her hope of becoming Mahlon’s bride.

“The last time we had one of those for your eldest daughter, I
had to mortgage everything but my beard to pay the dowry. This one suits me well. He doesn’t ask for much and he says he loves her.”

“Love! He may not expect a large dowry, but what manner of bridal price will he give you?”

“He has agreed to serve in my fields one whole day each week for five years. With no sons of my own, I can use his help. Sufficient bride price, if you ask me.”

“He is from the backwaters of Israel! No connections. No money. No advantage. We shall lose our standing with such a man for a son-in-law.”

“The first one you chose will make up for it. That one has enough high and mighty relations to please your requirements. He preens about like he owns half of Moab. I have yet to see much good come of it. It’s been a hard year, woman. If we are not careful, we will lose this bit of roof over our heads and my father’s land besides. Perhaps we can find another fine husband when it comes to your other daughters. Chemosh has blessed us with enough of them.”