by Tessa Afshar
Her forehead was damp with perspiration, and a streak of dirt where she must have rubbed her face ran down the side of one cheek. Hair the color of dark honey peeked from under her scarf, framing golden skin brightened with ruddy patches on each cheek. Her eyes, which she raised toward him for a moment, were an unusual tawny color. She was young and striking. Yet he knew instinctively that this woman had seen much in life. Sorrow clung like a seal to the lines of her mouth and filled her eyes. Sorrow and something elusive he could not name. But it drew him to look longer and still not be satisfied.
He turned his gaze away, turning red at his own unusual lingering inspection of an unknown female. “Who is that young woman?” he asked, pointing to her with his chin, hoping Abel could not sense his intense interest. “Who does she belong to?”
The foreman shaded his eyes against the piercing light. “She is the one who came from Moab with Naomi, my lord.”
“Naomi’s daughter-in-law? What is she doing in my field?”
“She asked me this morning if she could gather grain behind the harvesters. Polite as a princess of Egypt, with humble manners and a soft voice—I couldn’t refuse her. She is a hard worker and except for a few minutes’ rest in the shelter, has continued gleaning since early this morning.”
So this was Naomi’s Ruth. This tall, golden-eyed girl whose beautiful face was marred with dirt and sweat and suffering. Moabite or not, she had managed to win over Abel. “You did well, allowing her to gather barley here,” he said to his foreman.
Boaz thought of her gleaning in unfamiliar fields, exposed to the dangers that an unprotected woman might face, and winced. He found himself unable to bear the thought of her being hurt. It was like standing by and watching a helpless dove tortured by cruel boys.
“Abel, I want you to go and warn the young men away from her. Tell them anyone who dares to lay an improper hand on the Moabite will have to contend with me. Tell them I’ll punish them personally before I dismiss them.”
Chapter
Eight
The heart of man plans his way,
But the LORD establishes his steps.
PROVERBS 16:9
Boaz knew he sounded fierce, but could not keep the intensity of his feelings from spilling into his voice. The thought of this woman hurt, violated, besmirched in any way made his stomach turn.
Abel’s black eyebrows rose to the middle of his forehead. “Yes, my lord.”
It occurred to Boaz that Ruth’s gleaning would be the only source of income for her and Naomi. Why else would Naomi have sent her into the fields without protection?
He determined to provide for both women as best he could, seeing that Naomi was kin to him by marriage. Surely the widow of Elimelech deserved additional provision from his hand.
His mind whirled as he considered their situation. He would have to speak to Ruth in person. The thought filled him with unexpected pleasure. He frowned, disconcerted by his own eagerness to address her, but resisted the urge to examine his careening emotions too closely. His stride purposeful, he approached her where she bent to her task at the edge of the field. Rather than addressing her like a servant as befit her rank, he decided to use warmer language, conveying both his respect and his welcome. “My daughter,” he said, trying to put her at ease, and to extend to her the civility that the rest of Bethlehem had presumably withheld from her.
She lifted her face, eyes widening a fraction. The assurance in his words had obviously slipped by her. Something like fear flickered in the back of those extraordinary eyes, and he realized that she expected harsh words from him. She expected him to cast her off his land. Worse even.
Rushing to alleviate her anxiety, he said, “I am Boaz, master of this field. I wished to speak to you in person, because I want you to stay here with us, on my land when you gather grain. Not only today. Do this throughout the harvest season and don’t go to anyone else’s land. Stay right behind these young women. They all work for me. See which part of the field they are harvesting, and then follow to glean after them so that you are not alone.”
Her lips fell open. She rubbed her temple but remained speechless.
“I have charged the young men not to lay a hand on you. You shall remain safe on my property.” She still said nothing. He cast about, seeking some way of putting her at ease. Adjusting his light mantle over his tunic, he said, “It’s hot today. We have vessels of water sitting on the edge of the field. The young men keep them replenished from the well. Help yourself whenever you are thirsty.”
He was taken aback when Ruth fell at his feet with movements as graceful as a doe. She abased herself until her face rested on the ground. With the wave of a hand, he signaled for her to rise up. Instead of standing, she sat on her knees before him.
“What have I done to deserve this great kindness, my lord?” Her voice was sweet and feminine, with just a hint of tears, pushed down. She hesitated, as if trying to decide if she should say more. Taking a gulping breath, she added, “Why have I found such favor in your eyes? Why should you take notice of me? I’m not even an Israelite. I’m a foreigner in your land.”
“I know where you are from,” Boaz assured her gently. “But I also know what you have done for your mother-in-law since the death of your husband. I am aware that you left your father and mother and your native land and chose to come to a people who were complete strangers to you.”
He studied her kneeling form, her lowered head, her drooping shoulders and decided to say more. She deserved a little encouragement after what she had been through. “You chose to be an outsider for the sake of a hurting widow. You accepted loneliness so that she could have companionship. You did all this because you refused to abandon Naomi. I know.”
Ruth wiped a hand against her girdle. He noticed her nails were ragged and encrusted with dirt. Yet even the dirt could not hide the fact that her slender fingers were long and alluring. They were also shaking violently. “You know about me?”
What she really meant was: you know about me and still you show me kindness? He sensed her astonishment.
He felt a strange catch in his breath as he thought of her vulnerability. Other than Naomi, she had no one. She had even abandoned her gods, who reigned in Moab and had no part of Israel.
She had come to take shelter with the Lord, though the Lord’s people showed her little welcome. Without meaning to do so, he stretched his arms toward her. “May the Lord repay you for what you have done. May the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to take refuge, give you a full reward.” He said the blessing loud enough for everyone around them to hear, like a sort of public declaration of his approval. And of God’s mercy.
She blinked away the sheen of tears that had gathered in her eyes. He fisted his hands to keep himself from reaching out and gently wiping them away. The ram must have hit him harder than he realized when he wrestled with it. This unusual interest in a woman he had just met was the result of a head injury. Insanity brought on by too much sun. Perhaps he had ridden too fast and his brains had turned into stew.
He would make arrangements for her continued safety. That much was his duty. But from this moment on, he would stay away from her.
“I hope I continue to please you, my lord. Before coming, I prayed that I would find someone who would show me favor. Now I know the Lord led me to this field.” For a moment the heavy eyelids lifted and she gave him a look that he felt down to his toes.
“You have comforted me by speaking so kindly to me, even though I am not one of your servants.” Then she rose up with more regal dignity than the daughter of a king and returned to glean in the field.
Boaz gulped air as if he had been drowning. He forced himself to turn in the opposite direction. It occurred to him that he never meant to come to this field today. He meant to be on the other side of Bethlehem. But for the obstinate capriciousness of a brute animal, which delayed his leaving long enough for Miriam to catch him on her unannounced visit, and delay him further in her turn, he w
ould not be here. He would not have met her or helped her. The very things that had seemed like unwelcome interruptions earlier rose up before him like the most important parts of his day now.
Would she have been harmed without his hand of protection? Cold sweat covered him in a thin film at that thought.
What had she said? The Lord had led her to this field. Perhaps the Lord had led him to this field also, so that he could act on her behalf. The annoying interruption to his day might turn out to be God Himself interceding for Ruth.
But he would now avoid all further contact with her. She had a strange effect on him, and the sooner he evaded her presence, the sooner he would recover his usual unwavering calm.
As mealtime approached, Boaz forgot about that decision. He worried that Ruth had nothing to eat. Gleaning in the brutal heat of the sun was hard work. She could not maintain her strength by water alone. He ought to see to her. After all, she was Elimelech’s daughter-in-law, and Elimelech was his own kin. Family duty demanded that he care for her needs.
When the workers took their break, he called to Ruth. It did not occur to him until later that he could just as easily have asked Abel to fetch her and see to her needs.
He caught her attention and bid her to come to the meal. “Come over here and help yourself to some food. You can sit with my workers.”
His servants had spread a clean cloth on the ground and set it with plates heaped with freshly made bread and earthenware bowls of wine. Boaz spoke a blessing over the meal. The laborers who belonged to him were joining the spread, though as a gleaner, she had no right to his table.
Ruth sat at the edge of the cloth, her feet modestly tucked up against her. Boaz seated across from her to ensure that she would not be too shy to eat in the company of so many strangers. He glared at the young woman near her who grabbed a piece of bread without offering Ruth any.
He handed her bread from the plate before him. “You can dip it in the wine.”
She took the bread. “Thank you, my lord.” He noticed that she had washed her hands before sitting down to eat, and her hair was now tucked neatly behind its veil.
One of his servants brought Boaz a bowl heaped with roasted fresh grain, a delicacy for which he had a weakness. He took two large measures and placed them on a piece of bread before her. Startled, she lowered her head. He could see how hungry she was by the large mouthfuls she took. Still, she rolled half the grain in the thin, flat bread and tucked it inside her sash. For Naomi, he realized.
If it weren’t for the wagging tongues that would cause her more harm, he would have given her the whole bowl. Already, he had paid her too much attention. Yet he found himself lingering to ensure that she ate until she was satisfied.
Ruth returned to work before the harvesters had finished eating. Boaz realized that she could never gather enough grain, in spite of the bounty of the harvest, to see her through the rest of the year. A lone woman, unfamiliar with the work, would not be able to feed two mouths.
He turned to his laborers before they returned to the field. “I want you to let Ruth gather grain even among the sheaves. In fact, pull out some heads of barley from the bundles and drop them on purpose for her so that she can gather more. Let her pick them up and on no account are any of you to give her trouble.”
He addressed the women next. “You too. I expect you to be kind to her. Don’t shame her, any of you. She is unfamiliar with our ways. If she makes mistakes, be gentle in correcting her.”
He knew that for the sake of the respect they bore him, they would obey his instructions. He could not force them to like her. To welcome her. But he could demand that they refrain from mistreating her.
He had done all this for the sake of his conscience, he told himself, and for the sake of his kinswoman, Naomi. But long into the lengthening shadows of the afternoon, his gaze sought the Moabite beauty in the fields. He could not stop thinking about the way she had tucked the roasted grain into her girdle for Naomi.
Abel, noticing his regard, said, “She is a fast learner. Look at how much she has gleaned already.”
“Has anyone besides you and me talked to her since she arrived?”
“Not that I have seen. In Judah, we do not warm up to Canaanite women.”
“She is kin to one of us.”
“Which only raises their ire more. She had no business marrying a son of Bethlehem.”
“She didn’t bind his hands and feet and carry him captive into the wedding bower. He went seeking after her.”
Abel held up two lean hands. “I don’t agree with them.”
Boaz grinned, dragging a rueful hand across his forehead. “Nor I. Do you think she will ever find acceptance among our folk?”
“It would take a miracle, my lord. A man’s heart is no easy thing to change. Stones are softer, sometimes.”
“But that same heart breaks easily, Abel. It breaks and shatters and no one can put it together again this side of heaven.” He thought for a moment and added, “No one but the Lord.”
Abel rubbed his hands together. “That’s good enough for me, master Boaz.”
Chapter
Nine
Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.
JOSHUA 1:9
Evening had begun to descend when Ruth stopped gleaning. She beat out the grain that she had managed to gather. With disbelief, she examined the heap before her. She had gathered about an ephah of barley! Two weeks’ worth of wages for one day of honest labor.
She wrapped the barley in her spare veil, which she had tied around her waist that morning, and hefted it against her hip. It was heavy, but such a pleasant weight to hold against one’s side. The weight of provision. Of security.
As she began to walk back to Bethlehem, her thoughts lingered on Boaz.
He was a landowner—a wealthy man—judging by his fine clothes, his fancy horse, and the number of his servants. Clearly, he enjoyed the respect of his people. And something more. They liked him. They were drawn to him. The smallest sign of his attention brought on smiles, as if they enjoyed being in his presence. He had an inner light that drew every man and woman under his care to him. They were bound to him not just by wages but by something intangible though no less real. They were bound to him by his goodness.
And yet he had stooped to take note of a disheveled foreigner. He had provided for her needs. He had protected her from harm. And most curiously, he had praised her, as though he perceived her to be a woman deserving of admiration instead of a complete failure.
While the rest of Bethlehem looked at her askance and judged her deficient, Boaz proclaimed her worthy.
Ruth shifted the large bundle at her side and hastened her steps. She could not wait to show Naomi her bounty. Boaz’s generosity had multiplied the fruit of her work tenfold. His servants had practically thrown the grain at her in the field.
She still could feel the intense beating of her heart, the rush of heat to her face as he lifted sun-browned hands and blessed her. May the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to take refuge, give you a full reward.
He was an ordinary-looking man of middle years, with a touch of white at his temples, brown eyes neither too dark nor too light, lashes neither sparse nor full, a prominent nose, a firm mouth, neither thin nor full. But when he prayed, a light came into those ordinary features, a light so filled at once with power and compassion that his whole countenance was transformed. He became extraordinary.
Ruth felt an incomprehensible conviction that he saw through her, into her. Into her deepest heart. Into her secret longings and ancient hurts. He saw her. And he approved. She grew entranced. It was the prayer, she told herself.
She would tell Naomi of Boaz’s benevolence, and pray to God that Naomi would crawl out of the abyss of despair that paralyzed her. Ruth carried hope. Hope wrapped in a bundle provided by the unexpected generosity of a stranger.
She found Naomi sitting i
n the gloomy darkness of the house. She had forgotten to light a lamp and allowed the fire to go out. Not bothering to chide her, Ruth kissed Naomi on both cheeks before lighting the lamp. “Look, Mother. Look what I have brought you.”
She dropped the bulging bundle before the older woman and untied the corners of her shawl. “Here is an ephah of barley, just for you!”
Naomi straightened her slumped back. She stared, her brows drawn together in disbelief. With the slow motions of a sleepwalker, she sifted through the grain. “So much?”
Ruth flashed a grin. “You approve? How about some dinner to celebrate?”
Naomi bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I forgot about food. There is nothing left to eat but a little lentil and chickpea. If you wait, I can make a stew.”
“No need.” Ruth pulled Naomi up and twirled with her around the room. “I brought dinner too.” She pulled out the bread and roasted grain that she had saved from the midday meal.
Naomi sank to the ground, missing the cushion without noticing. “Where did you glean today? Which field?” She tasted a single grain of barley, plump and freshly roasted. “Someone must have taken special notice of you. Who was it? May the Lord bless the man who helped you.”
Ruth set a fresh mat between them and brought a skin of water to share. As they ate, she recounted the adventures of her first day as a gleaner.
“I had no idea where to go when I left Bethlehem this morning. I walked by one field busy with harvesters. I noticed the laborers seemed silent. I thought, there is no joy in this place, and moved on. The field stretched over a long distance, and I began to wonder if I had made the wrong decision. Then I came upon a new field, also large and well maintained. Men and women worked together, and I heard voices speaking, and snatches of song. Someone laughed and I told myself this is where I should work.
“The foreman, a young man with a pleasant manner, is called Abel. I asked his permission to gather grain in the field behind the laborers. He asked who I was, and I told him I belonged to you. He seemed to have heard of our story and gave me leave to pick the leftover barley. I watched the other gleaners, and followed them, hoping I would not unknowingly blunder and irritate them. At first, I made little headway, for I was behind everyone and most of the grain had been gathered by the time it came to me.