The Sword of Ruth: The Story of Jesus' Little Sister

by V. M. Franck

Ruth

  "How can you be sure it's your father?" Ruth said.

  Her husband's face was ashen, glazed with horror.

  "By his clothes and this." He unsheathed a metal object. It was larger than a dagger, smaller than the swords the soldiers used. "He was bringing it to you."

  "To me?"

  "Yes."

  His breathing was labored; his eyes held a look Ruth had never before seen in them. He paced in front of the cold hearth in his in-law's kitchen.

  "Father wanted you to have it. He told me you were going to need it," John said. "I know how you feel about hurting anyone. He felt that way, too. So, if he thought you should have it, you should have it. He knew things sometimes."

  "Like you do." Reluctantly, Ruth accepted the artfully crafted instrument.

  "Kind of. Please, carry it at all times. Father made this belt and holster especially for you. The last few months that's all he could talk about, you and your safety. He's been working on it for some time. He said, let's see what did he say exactly? Oh yeah, he said, 'It's imperative that Ruth is safe. One day people will come to know that truth is the sword of Ruth. They will one day come to know her by it, by what she says, by the way she cuts away the myths, leaving only truth. You knew that son. That's why you married her. She is the one.'"

  "The one what?" Ruth asked. A this-can't-be happening sensation invaded every part of her.

  "I don't know. He said he'd tell me later, but you know how his mind had gotten since that last bout of fever. I could see the frustration in his eyes. He hated living like that. It's the only thing that makes this tolerable. I just wish it hadn't happened this way, not this way."

  "Where is he?" In her mind she could see Zach's merry eyes, his loving face, his gentle concern for everyone he loved. The man was dead. Dead. It was impossible to believe.

  "Your folks are tending him," John said. "I'm going back to where we found him and see what else I can find, clues as to what happened."

  "I need to go help Mother and Father," Ruth said. She picked up Daniel from the cradle and headed for the door.

  "You don't want to see him," John said.

  "Yes, I do. This has to be way hard on Mother. She and your mother were close, and your father was such a dear man."

  "That's why I don't want you to see him like this, not like this," John said. He placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place.

  "John, let me go. I have to do this. It's important," Ruth said. "For some reason it's very important."

  Breaking free, she stepped out into the sultry air. He followed her and caught her in a hug. It was one of desperation, longing and burgeoning grief.

  "John, be careful. Please."

  "I will." He kissed her and strode out of the compound.

  She knocked on Uncle David's door. Mariam answered with Melanie close behind. The courtyard crawled with children, her sister Elizabeth's six, her brother James' two boys, along with Jacob, Mariam's son. Sarah, Elizabeth's oldest, was watching them.

  "I was wondering if I could leave Daniel with you," Ruth asked. "I'm going out to help my parents."

  "Sure," Mariam said, kindly.

  "We'll watch him real careful," Melanie said.

  "He just nursed and changed him. If you have any problems, I'll be out back," Ruth said.

  She exited the courtyard and followed the short trail to a lone stone hut used for crafting pottery, preparing seeds for planting and for other miscellaneous tasks. In front of the building was a kiln. Goats rested under a group of trees nearby. A girl carrying water headed toward them.

  Remembering when tending the milk goats had been her chore, Ruth sighed. During those years she thought being an adult would be grand. Now, she wanted to retreat into childhood myths. She wondered what kind of myths she was supposed to cut away. Prophecy was such a mystery, unprovable in foresight, and in retrospect colored by what people wanted to believe.

  Arriving at the hut she skirted the kiln and approached the door. She could hear her parents inside.

  "Mary, I'm sorry you had to see this. Why don't you go back to the house?" Her father's voice abounded with compassion. Compassion had always been his strongest trait. "I'll tend him."

  "No, I want to do this," Mother Mary said, her voice quivering. "Just give me a moment."

  It shook Ruth to hear her mother in such a state. She had always been the rock of strength Ruth counted on. That rock appeared to be crumbling.

  "It's just that, I tended that little girl last week, the one the soldiers raped and mutilated. Daniel left us and now this, now this. Joseph, I know we were born during this time for a reason. I know we are doing things to help, but sometimes it seems like it isn't doing any good."

  "I think about that, too," Father Joseph said. "But we're not responsible for what people choose to do. We're only responsible for presenting the highest truth we know in the most effective ways we can come up with."

  The door was open. Ruth peered in. On the table in front of her parents she saw him. Zach's flesh had been ripped, shredded. Very little of the entrails remained. His body was a bloody mass of torn muscles and exposed bones.

  Nausia crept up her stomach. Dizzy, she turned away and retched.

  Suddenly her father was beside her. "Ruth, honey, you're not up to this. Please, let me take you back to the house."

  "No, I need to help, Father. I need to help." Her hands, her entire body trembled.

  "But honey...."

  "Father, Zach was always good to me. And Elizabeth, she couldn't have been a better aunt and mother-in-law, even if she was a cousin. I've got to help."

  "Well.... " His eyes held grave concern. Protecting his loved ones was his solemn oath. He tried so hard to do it. But from this, he could not. It tore at him.

  "Faaather."

  "Well, okay," he said, reluctantly. "I'm sure it will comfort your mother."

  They climbed into the small room. It stank of spoiling flesh.

  "It was ghastly hot in the desert, yesterday," Father Joseph said. Revulsion rose in his stomach. He squelched it.

  "Where's Elizabeth?" Ruth asked, scanning the room for her mother-in-law's body.

  "In the family crypt. It's so hot. It was the best thing to do," Father Joseph said. "The messenger and one of the employees brought her yesterday when they came with the news. David and Mariam tended her last night."

  "Where did you find Zach?" Ruth asked.

  "In a crevice not fifty feet from the trail," Father Joseph said, sighing heavily.

  "How did he get like this?" Ruth said, astounded by the gruesome flesh.

  "It has to be the work of an animal," her father said. "We've washed him up as best we can. I'll get a little more cloth so we can bind him good."

  "There's a large piece folded next to my biggest loom," Ruth said.

  "It's not a burial cloth. It's a fine piece of fabric," her mother said.

  "Zach should have it. He should have it," Ruth said, tears in her eyes. "I'll go get it."

  "No, let me," Father Joseph said and stepped out the door. Flies had gathered. He swished them away.

  When he was gone Mother Mary's legs buckled. She dropped to her knees and sobbed.

  Kneeling next to her mother, Ruth laid her good arm about her mother's back. The only other time she remembered seeing her mother cry was with Daniel's death. Loss stacked on top of loss in such close succession proved nearly intolerable. What had taken hold of Ruth was dry grief, loss without tears.

  Finally Mother Mary cleared her nose and wiped her eyes. She returned to the task as Father Joseph came in with the fabric.

  "If you could move him a little, we could lay the cloth on the table, shift him onto it and wrap him," Mother Mary said.

  Ruth and Father Joseph moved the body. The three began wrapping and binding. Ruth's broken arm ached from all the jostling.

  "I'll never forget the first
time I met Zach," Mother Mary said. "I was just a little girl. It was before my sisters and brother were born. Mother was big with my sister, Ruth. My parents took me to visit Elizabeth and her new husband. They were trying hard to have a baby. Elizabeth thought she was pregnant. She glowed so. They were still living with his parents. Zach was an apprentice rabbi. They didn't have much money.

  "When Zach came into the sitting room, the way he looked at Elizabeth, you should have seen him. It was like he had the best prize ever. He adored her. I remember thinking that when I grew up, I wanted a husband who would look at me that way.

  "That's when Zach came over to me, picked me up and said, 'I bet you'd like to see the new lambs. They're ever so cute.' As he carried me out to the barn, he held me with such tenderness, I knew he'd be a good father. Of course, it took Elizabeth years to get pregnant. She took in other people's children, orphans and such and found homes for them, you know. Dear Lord, why did they both have to die? And why like this?"

  Mother Mary stepped outside and sank to the bench attached to the front of the hut. Again, she lost herself in grief. Ruth could think of nothing she could do to help. It was a helpless feeling, a need to be everything to everyone, yet unable to be anything to anyone.

  Ruth and her father wrapped the body, pulling, twisting and tugging until all the pieces of flesh were contained. They added a layer and another until only a little blood seeped through.

  When they were finished, Father Joseph said, "I'll go get Yeshua, David and the wagon. Don't worry about cleaning up. Yeshua said he'd do that. If you could stay with your mother...."

  Ruth nodded and washed clumps and streaks of blood from her hands and arms. As she stepped outside, a waft of overheated air hit her in the face.

  "Mother, let's go back to the house."

  Zombie-like, her mother allowed herself to be led from the body of the fatherly man she adored. On the path before them a ghosted image shimmied into view.

  "Use this as a stepping stone," the image said and faded.

  "Did you see that, Ruth?" Mother Mary said.

  "You saw it, too?"

  "Yes, he looked so good, so bright and happy."

  "Who was it? I couldn't make it out?"

  "Zach."

  "Really?" Ruth shivered. "Did you hear what he said?"

  "Yes. We're to use this as a stepping stone." Mother Mary straightened herself. She slipped back into confidence. "Daughter, we have much to do."

  "Have you figured something out?"

  "No, but it will come to us. All we need do is trust the process. The best solutions often come on wings of heartache, if we don't get in their way."

  ~~~***~~~