Redeeming Grace: Ruth's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “I’ve told you before, when it comes to that feast, we will not go. This one is not like those. Even you said so, did you not?” He backed a few steps from her, arms crossed. She’d seen his temper rise in a flash or come slowly like that of water boiling over the dung heap. She did not wish to experience that anger now. Would it be so bad to attend with them?

  “Your mother will be left alone.” Did he not care that his mother often spent too many nights by herself as it was? Naomi would worry over all of them attending a pagan feast.

  “My mother is used to having the house to herself. She prefers it so.” His scowl deepened, but she knew his words were not true. Naomi did not like the solitude and had confided so on more than one occasion. “Stop making excuses, Ruth. Either put on your best robe and come with me now, or I’m leaving without you.”

  She looked at him, their gazes locked for the space of too many racing heartbeats. Ruth stood, walked to the peg where her best robe hung, and quickly changed. She looped her grandmother’s earrings into her ears and wrapped a veil over her head. If she cared, she would have added kohl to her eyes, but she was going in protest.

  “I’m ready.” She stood in front of him, allowing him one scrutinizing gaze. He lifted a brow as though he expected better from her but said nothing.

  He turned on his heel, and she followed with a parting glance at Naomi, then caught up with Chilion and Orpah, who already stood pacing in the courtyard. Naomi was not smiling.

  The town of Dibon was alive with music, and torches lit every street corner. Vendors plied their wares despite the late hour, and a path to the center of town where the temple stood was lined with flowers and ornate vases of olive oil. Men held cups of wine loosely in their hands and stood in groups, laughing and singing.

  “Come,” Orpah said, pulling Chilion behind her. Mahlon was close on his brother’s heels, but he did not take Ruth’s hand, seemingly not caring whether she was lost or whisked away in the crowd.

  Ruth pulled her robe tighter and quickened her pace, fighting the tears his indifference wrought. If she had known Mahlon carried such an uncertain temper, if she had known he would not listen to reason, she would never have married him. Her heart thudded to the beat of the drum as one horrible, sudden thought took root inside of her. If their child was chosen, would Mahlon pay the high price to buy the child back? Surely he would fight for her, for any child she might bear. If she bore one. Enough time had passed to cause her to share Orpah’s concerns . . . and doubts. She stumbled, nearly falling to the stones, but the crowd pressed in, keeping her upright. She hurried to catch hold of Mahlon’s arm, grateful when he glanced at her and did not pull away.

  She released a sigh as Orpah led them to a place where her uncle had a shop not far from the main square. His business of selling images of Chemosh and other Canaanite deities had grown lucrative over the years, and his location allowed them to climb onto his roof with a grand view of Dibon’s blinking torches and colorful displays. Women in multicolored, revealing tunics twirled in the streets, lining the parade route toward the temple.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Orpah pointed to the priests in white robes following the twirling women.

  Trumpets from the horns of a ram blared at the head of the procession, and more priests followed, carrying golden vases of the first pressings of the olive crop. A hush fell over the crowd, and the women danced without the music as the priests moved solemnly to the steps of the temple. They stopped at the first golden landing and poured a circlet of oil before them, moved up to the next landing, and repeated the process for the entire thirteen steps. A collective sigh released from the people when the last drop spilled from the jar in the exact amount needed to enter the temple doors.

  The golden doors swung open as moonlight fell upon the oil one step at a time. The priests watched as though the moon’s light spelled either blessing or cursing upon the town, but this night the moon lit the oil in exactly the way they always hoped. Moments later, the governor emerged and climbed to a platform near the roof of the temple and spoke to the people.

  Ruth felt her breath escape. Sometimes, when the clouds hid the moon’s glow and the priests did not receive the omens they sought, an unexpected additional sacrifice was offered. Sometimes it was a virgin taken into the temple to couple with the high priest. Sometimes it was a newborn child offered on Chemosh’s brazen arms. But the governor spoke of no such thing, and by the time his speech ended, Ruth felt her body go limp, her energy spent.

  “There, see?” Mahlon bent low and spoke softly in her ear. Did he even notice that she had no strength left to stand? “What harm was there in that? No one was hurt or sacrificed. Simply oil poured out to give thanks for the harvest, much like we do in Israel in our drink offerings.”

  Ruth only nodded and offered him a tentative smile, praying—or at least hoping, for she did not know whom to pray to—that he did not notice her disapproval. When Mahlon took her hand and returned her smile, she wondered if her prayers were heard, but she did not question by whom or why.

  14

  Winter 1286 BC

  Naomi stared at the loom Elimelech had built for her, the colorful strands held in place by weighted stones, mocking her. She had barely worked on it since Elimelech’s death and the girls had come to live in her home. Her heart was simply not in her work. Will I ever feel normal again, Adonai?

  Her husband’s loss still caught her unawares at times despite the passing years. Sometimes the grief hit like a blow, sometimes woke her sweating and shaking from dreams she could not remember in the dead of night. But always the same thoughts accompanied her waking. If they had never moved from Bethlehem, might Elimelech still live? Would God have allowed the bear to attack him there?

  Of course not, for there, Elimelech would have stayed within the city’s gated walls. He would not have traipsed from their home to a town he did not know. Why had they ever come?

  The questions haunted her.

  She shook her head and went outside to clear her mind, something she did even in the still of night, fear of wild animals or not. She cared little what happened to her now. Her sons were wed. They did not need her like they did when they were young or sickly in their youth. Even now when Chilion suffered the strange maladies that came after eating foreign food in Dibon, it was Orpah who tended to his needs, not Naomi.

  You could demand your right to help them, an inner voice taunted. This is your home, and they owe it to you to respect you and what belongs to you.

  But despite the hurt or anger she felt surge within her from time to time, she also felt no right to demand anything. If she had carried any weight with her sons when their father died, she would have insisted they take her back to Bethlehem then. But she couldn’t then and she couldn’t now, for she was helpless against their pleading, their desires.

  She was more wretched than she ever thought possible.

  Ruth carried a basket of soiled linens over one arm, and the jug for water rested on her shoulder, held in place with her other hand. Orpah walked beside her, her basket and her step lighter than Ruth’s.

  “And what makes my sister so happy this day?” Ruth knew the question needed to be asked, but she feared the response she would receive. Two more years had passed—seven years wed to Mahlon and still no child. Yet with each passing year Mahlon’s wealth had increased, and his fascination with the festivals and culture of Dibon increased to match it. He hadn’t exactly blamed her for her barrenness as he did in the beginning—he seemed to just accept it—but he had courted the idea of offering sacrifices to Chemosh or taking a concubine. Ruth shuddered at the thought.

  “I finally do not have as many linens to wash in the river today.” Orpah’s smile reached her eyes, and her voice held a lilting quality.

  “And why would that be?” The sinking feeling inside of Ruth already told her the reason.

  “I believe I am with child!” Excitement seemed to fill Orpah’s whole being, and she nearly skipped as they neared
the Arnon. “It’s been two months since my last cycle, and I only have to confirm my suspicions with the town midwife before I tell Chilion.” She stopped abruptly, her gaze suddenly scrutinizing. “You won’t tell Naomi before I do, will you? I know you are closer to her than I am.”

  Ruth shook her head. “No. Of course not. It is not my news to tell.” She offered the best smile she could summon. “I would hug you, but my arms are rather full.” She laughed so that it would seem to Orpah she was happy for her, and she tried to be, truly she did. But deep down she felt only pain.

  Why Orpah and not me? “Are you feeling well then?” Ruth had heard the first few months often brought on certain nausea or inability to eat.

  Orpah laughed. “Never better. Though I am hungry all the time. I don’t understand it unless the child is also hungry.” She patted her middle. “I’m going to grow as big as Naomi’s house.”

  They had reached the bank of the Arnon, and Ruth set her soiled linens near the river’s edge. Linens that proved her barrenness. She forced back a sigh. Orpah had remained barren for nearly as long, so perhaps there was still hope for Ruth.

  “So tell me, did you do anything to help you produce a child? Have you found mandrakes you did not tell me about?”

  They both laughed as Ruth recalled the story Naomi had told her of the mandrakes Rachel had purchased from Leah’s son, hoping to become pregnant, but it was Leah whose womb bore fruit instead. Would Ruth be like Rachel, or like Rebekah or Sarah before her? Had she offended the Israelite god or the Moabite god somehow that Orpah should beget and she did not?

  “I hope my news does not sadden you or make you jealous.” Orpah set down her basket and filled the jug with water, glancing back at Ruth.

  Ruth was quick to reassure her. “Of course not! I am pleased that at last there will be the voice of a child in the household. Naomi will be pleased.”

  Orpah stood and set the jug on the ground. “Will she?” She rubbed the small of her back. “I think she would have preferred it be you. Mahlon is her firstborn, after all.”

  “A child is still a child. It matters little whose womb bears it.” Ruth bent to dunk the first of the cloths into the rushing waters and scrubbed the stains with a rough stone.

  “I hope you are next, and soon,” Orpah said, touching Ruth’s arm in a gesture of kindness. She laughed again and placed a hand on her middle. “And I hope it is a boy.”

  Ruth smiled. A boy. Yes, a boy. For all men wanted sons to follow in their footsteps. Daughters, as Ruth knew too well, were a burden more than a blessing until they were married off.

  But was she becoming a burden to Mahlon because her womb would not bear? She turned from Orpah as she dunked the cloth again, hiding her tears with the need to wash it clean.

  “Such wonderful news,” Naomi said a few days later. Orpah sat with her and Ruth, all of the women spinning or weaving. The town midwife had indeed confirmed Orpah’s hopes, and she nearly burst as she gave Naomi the news.

  “I’m sure it will be a boy,” Orpah said, lifting her chin in confidence. “I have offered grain and fruit to Chemosh at every festival, and Chilion gave gold to the priests to pray for a child.”

  The news came as a blow to Ruth, and one glance at Naomi told her this stunned her as well. Was that why Orpah had conceived? Should Ruth be doing the same? Perhaps she had offended her city’s patron god by her attitude and hesitance to attend the festivals and her refusal to participate in the monthly sacrifices.

  Naomi cleared her throat even as her fingers worked the loom, something she had only begun to do again in past months after years of letting it stand useless. Her grief was to blame, she had said, and Ruth had not faulted her. She and Orpah had looms of their own to keep the family’s clothing needs met.

  Naomi chose a black strand to weft through the warp and at last looked up to meet Orpah’s gaze. “I am glad you chose to pray for a child, my daughter. Though I must say that I believe only Yahweh gives life. Chemosh is simply a figure made of wood and stone. I do not think offering fruit and grain to a figure made with human hands has brought about the child in your womb.” She held Orpah’s gaze until at last it was Naomi who concentrated again on the loom.

  Orpah tilted her chin, and the look in her eyes remained defiant. “Do you think I would have gotten pregnant without the offerings?” Her voice held only the slightest hint of doubt. “Because Chilion had prayed to your god and he did not answer.” The proud look continued as the distaff turned in her hand. “So we took matters into our own hands.”

  Ruth stared at her friend, hardly recognizing her. But the truth that she was no longer barren while Ruth still waited could not be disputed. Why? She longed to pray but could not force her heart to obey past the ache and the inability to understand. If only one of the gods would explain it to her. If only someone would tell her what she could have possibly done wrong to be barren. She threaded another black strand into the weft and helped Naomi in silence.

  15

  Spring 1286 BC

  Lush green foliage lined the banks of the Arnon and spread through the fields, the barley ripening, the colorful flowers bursting upon the hillsides. Ruth walked alone from the river with the water, her third trip that morning, as Orpah had been in labor most of the night.

  Exhaustion weighted her steps. For though there was little she could do to help her sister-in-law, having no experience with birthing children, she had been kept awake by the girl’s screams.

  She approached the gate and closed her eyes for a moment. Orpah’s cries and the assurances of her mother and the midwife could still be heard through the walls. Naomi, though Ruth knew she was present in the room, remained silent. Mahlon met Ruth as she approached the entry.

  “Chilion left for the fields hours ago, and I can no longer get a moment’s peace.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “Pray this ordeal is over soon so we can all get some sleep.”

  She smiled into her husband’s shadowed gaze and brushed a hand near his forehead. “I fear this is just the beginning of sleepless nights, my love.”

  Mahlon’s brows knit in the slightest scowl. “That is not something a man wishes to hear.” He touched her arm as he passed her, sickle over his shoulder. They would begin cutting the barley today, and with little sleep the job would not be an easy one.

  Ruth watched him go, wishing for a moment that she could join him and glean among the sheaves. But Naomi would need her now more than ever to help feed and tend to the extra women—the midwife and her helpers who remained crowded around Orpah’s side.

  She set the water on the stones in the court and walked slowly into the house. A loud cry burst from the room where Orpah labored, followed moments later by a baby’s wails.

  A deep, relieved sigh escaped Ruth’s lips. She hurried to the chamber, which seemed overcrowded with women, and stood to the side, watching. Orpah’s exclamations went from laughter to tears, and Ruth felt an ache in her heart, both of joy and of pain.

  “It’s a boy!” the midwife exclaimed.

  Ruth looked on, happy for Orpah, but she could not deny her own disappointed pain mingled with the joy. She caught Naomi’s eye and smiled, glad that the woman at last had a grandchild. The house needed the sound of children. After nearly eight years, it was time.

  Ruth slipped from the room to begin grinding the grain when the sound of male voices came from beyond the courtyard. She glanced up, assuming Chilion had been told the time was near, fully expecting to see him rushing toward the house.

  But at the sight of the governor’s son, who had taken on many of the duties from his father these past few years and married a woman whom Ruth found arrogant and difficult, she paused. What was he doing here, followed by an entourage of dignitaries and priests as though he were a king?

  She swallowed hard as Naomi emerged from the birthing room, and somewhere in the distance Mahlon called for his brother. Chilion ran toward the house, but not in time to arrive before Te’oma and his followers. A knot the size of
a boulder settled in Ruth’s middle. Something was terribly wrong.

  “Chilion, my friend, I hear congratulations are in order.” Te’oma’s smooth voice grated like the grinding stone with no wheat kernels to soften the noise.

  How had the man possibly heard so quickly?

  Chilion’s face colored, and Ruth knew in an instant that it was he himself who must have told the governor’s son that the birth was imminent. Was that where he’d gone to escape the cries of birth?

  “Yes, I assume so. I just now returned from the fields to see for myself.” He tried to push past Te’oma, but the man’s guards halted his efforts.

  “Is it a boy?” Te’oma glanced at Ruth now, his gaze fixed with a gleam she well recognized and did not like.

  She nodded, unable to voice the words. Naomi and Orpah’s mother appeared at her side.

  Naomi touched Ruth’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  Mahlon rounded the bend and jumped over the courtyard wall. “Allow my brother to pass to see his son.” His commanding voice brought the first hint of peace to Ruth’s heart since she’d spotted Te’oma’s overstuffed body marching in their direction.

  Mahlon looked at Chilion, as if silently ordering him to also jump over the wall. But Te’oma stopped him with a look. “I’m afraid that is not possible.”

  His telling smirk made Ruth clutch her stomach, the pain nearly doubling her over.

  “You see, Chilion made a vow to the gods that if his wife would bear a son, his firstborn would be given in dedication. The priests’ men”—he waved a hand at the white-robed men with him—“are here to take the boy, to be sure Chilion keeps his promise.”

  “Given in dedication?” Naomi’s voice was high-pitched, agitated. “What does that mean? Dedication?”

  Naomi had told Ruth how the firstborn sons of Israel were given to Adonai with a special offering, how they belonged to him, but Ruth did not believe these men were here to claim Orpah’s son in that way.