by Tessa Afshar
Dinah nodded. “He didn’t say two words to me. Just sat there and stared at me until I got up and left the room.”
“Of course he stared at you. You look so pretty.”
“You are kind to say so. But you are wrong. He wouldn’t avoid me if he cared for me. Everyone in town has stopped to ask how I fare. If I meant anything to him, he would at least ask after my health. Wish me shalom. Anything rather than this distance.”
Ruth thought of Boaz’s avoidance of her own company and could offer no comfort. She understood how Dinah felt, though she sensed that Adin was far from indifferent to the girl. For his own reasons, he chose to hide his feelings.
The door opened with a quiet burst of fresh air as Naomi came in, her arms full. There were dark smudges under her eyes and her skin had a sallow tint. She lit up as she spied the young women perched on the bed. “Behold, the two most famous women of Bethlehem resting sweetly on lord Boaz’s fine bedding. Or should I say hiding?”
Ruth and Dinah looked at each other and grinned. “You have caught us out, I fear,” Ruth said. “There are too many callers below. But I have a good excuse for hiding. You have stranded me in a stranger’s house without a stitch of clothing.”
Naomi dumped her handful of articles at the foot of the bed. “I have brought you a tunic and one of my own veils; both of yours were destroyed in the fire.”
Ruth thanked Naomi and wriggled into her clothes under the covers. “Can we go home now?”
“Boaz wishes you to stay until tomorrow. It would be rude to leave precipitously. Are you not comfortable? That bed looks very appealing from where I stand.”
“It’s a cloud,” Dinah said. “Not a bed. The problem with it—”
Ruth poked her in the ribs. “Don’t dare repeat what you said earlier.” She tapped the space to her other side. “Come and join us, Mother.”
Naomi nodded and sat next to Ruth’s other side, propping her feet up on the bedding. She heaved a sigh of contentment. With the three of them on the feather mattress, it was a cozy fit. Ruth wriggled farther under the covers. “Do you think Boaz will let us take his bed home with us?”
“If he does, I’m coming to live with you,” Dinah said on the back of a yawn.
“I think we all need a good nap,” Naomi declared. She reached out a thin hand and patted both women on the belly as if they were little children. “Bless you, my dear girls. And shalom to you as you dream.”
When Ruth awoke, she found herself alone. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. Leaving the bed, she stretched and straightened her twisted tunic. It was old, threadbare in places, and sleeping in it had not helped. She made a face and pulled on the grey fabric in a futile attempt to diminish the creases. Naomi had brought her a comb, and she sat down to untangle the knots that had worked through the long strands after lying on them for so long. A soft smell of lilies clung to her clean hair, courtesy of the soap Mahalath’s mother had applied to her the day before.
With efficient hands, she braided her long hair and covered it with Naomi’s scarf. In the brightness of Boaz’s luxurious room, it too appeared faded and long past its best. The linen belt grandfather had bought her so many years ago sat amongst the small pile on the bed, and she wrapped it around her narrow waist twice, then allowed the long ends to dangle in the front. Now at least she looked respectable.
She decided she could no longer hide in her chamber, expecting others to fetch and carry for her comfort. It was time for her to carry her share of responsibilities. Although she preferred to remain in the privacy of Boaz’s guest room, she realized that she needed to go below stairs. It was her duty to face the company who had come for her sake.
Perhaps going below could even offer an advantage or two; for one thing, she could sneak some solid food while Mahalath’s mother wasn’t watching. Most of the afternoon, she had smelled roast lamb and rosemary and frying garlic and wild onions. Sheba only allowed her to drink broth and almond milk. It was cruelty, she decided, to parade such smells right under her nose, but not allow her a single morsel.
A narrow, stone staircase led to the verdant courtyard at the center of the house. Ruth placed her foot on the top step when she realized that a man had begun to climb from below. She froze midstep. Boaz, glimpsing her, also came to a stop. They looked at each other, their eyes arrested, neither moving. Afternoon sun lit Boaz up from behind so that Ruth could not make out his features clearly. It was as if the length of the stairs disappeared between them, and they were face-to-face, close enough to touch. Ruth tried to swallow and could not. She ran a damp palm down the side of her dress and fidgeted with her scarf.
“My lord.” Her voice came out a croak.
“Ruth. Shouldn’t you be in bed, resting?”
“I feel well. Thank you. I thought I better come and greet the callers.”
Boaz climbed a few steps. Out of the direct path of sunlight, his features came into clear view. There were new lines around his eyes and a sheen of perspiration shone on his forehead. He looked like he had not slept well. He is beautiful. Ruth cringed as that extraordinary thought took hold of her. What was wrong with her?
Boaz smiled, the tense lines around his mouth relaxing. “Mahalath says you dread the visitors. No need to brave their company, yet. Everyone understands that you are recovering. Come down, and I will take you outside where you can enjoy the sunshine in peace. You probably long for some fresh air.”
Ruth let out a relieved breath. “Yes. Thank you, my lord.” She walked down the stairs, self-conscious of the way he gazed at her as she descended. He waited until she reached the step just above him. For a moment he hovered, their bodies separated by the merest whisper of air. He backed down one step with slow, distracted movements, then turned and clattered down, with Ruth following sluggishly.
“I have a small paddock outside the house, and a barn for the horses. No one but my men go there. You should be safe from inquisitive visitors.”
“Is that where you keep your new horse?”
“The one you called ugly? Yes.”
Ruth bit her lip. “I beg your pardon. That was rude.”
“That was honest. He is ugly. But he is no less astounding because of it.”
“What makes him astounding?”
“He runs like the wind. Only when he feels like it, I admit. His last owner used the whip too much. It has scarred him inside and out. The outside scars, we have treated with poultices. The inside scars are harder to contend with. At least he has stopped biting. And yesterday, he beat Shakhor in a race. I’ve never known another horse capable of doing that.”
“What made you want him in the first place? Seeing how damaged he was, why did you not walk away? What made you wish to purchase him?”
Boaz waved a hand in the air. He had long, narrow fingers that moved with an odd eloquence. “A damaged horse can be restored. That’s part of the challenge. Part of the joy. You need eyes to see beyond the scars, beyond the bad behavior and the temper and the laziness into the real horse. You need to figure out how to draw him out, how to turn him from a terror into a champion.”
“How do you do that?”
He shrugged. “Different with every horse. This one needs freedom. When I first found Khaymah, he had been relegated to a cart horse. His old owner saw no value in him.” Boaz’s voice grew rough. “He had come near to ruining him and blamed the animal for his own ineptitude.”
“But how did you know his worth? How could you tell that he wasn’t just an ordinary horse?”
Boaz grinned. “Every horse is unique. Valuable in his own way. But I knew this one as a champion when I looked into his eyes. He had wily, sharp eyes that grabbed my gaze and wouldn’t let go, as if challenging me to best him. I knew then he was worth the effort. Worth any cost.”
Something inside Ruth twisted and rose up with a roar of longing. If he could see the worth in a scarred horse, why could he not see the worth in her? Why could he not look past her poverty and her background to see that she lo
ved him? She loved him.
Chapter
Nineteen
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD,
Plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.
JEREMIAH 29:11
Ruth stumbled and almost fell when those words echoed in her mind. Boaz grabbed her arm to steady her. “You are not well. I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have brought you traipsing out here and exhausted you with talk of horses.”
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 J
udith’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.