They were still sitting about the table at this hour? But Naomi said nothing. Nor did she tell Gilah that she had already eaten, for in truth she had eaten little. Her hunger had waned since Mahlon and Chilion died, and she saw no sign of it returning. But she followed Gilah into the sitting room and sat with the woman and Gilah’s mother-in-law and children.
“The men have already gone to the fields, so we were just finishing a few more bites of bread and dates. Here,” she said, passing Naomi a plate of those and more. “Eat.”
Naomi thanked her and took some of the food to be polite. She glanced around at the women and forced herself to smile. “I hope all is well with you this day,” she said, nibbling the end of the bread.
Gilah nodded. “Yes, yes. But we were up very late last night. You have heard the news, of course.”
Naomi nodded, not wanting to sound as though she was ignorant of what went on in Bethlehem. She lifted a brow. “I have heard there was a hasty marriage and that Melek’s son violated one of the young virgins in Melek’s fields. Surely you know more?”
She watched the spark of interest light Gilah’s face. Both sisters loved to tell what they knew. A sense of satisfaction crept over Naomi. She had come to the right place.
Gilah proceeded to tell her the entire tale much as Ruth had already told her, but with embellished detail. Naomi soaked it in, not because she enjoyed the horror of what had happened but for the camaraderie of female friendship. Whether the story was true or not—and she could never be sure that Gilah had all of her facts straight—Naomi enjoyed just being with these women. It gave her a sense of coming home. Something she had not felt in a very long time.
Ruth bent to pick up a sheaf of barley, then another and another, before straightening to put them in the basket on her back. The work was hard, and often she stopped to rub the small of her back to relieve the tension.
“You know, if you set the basket on the ground, you can work an entire row before having to straighten so much.” The woman who spoke, Nitza, had taken an interest in Ruth since the end of her first week in Boaz’s fields.
Ruth smiled at the younger woman. Might an Israelite consider a Moabite a friend? “Thank you. I had thought of that but feared the basket might not hold from my constant picking it up and moving it to the next row.” She patted the basket at her back. “I have mended it several times, but I am going to have to find time to make a new one soon. I only hope this one lasts until the end of the harvest.”
Nitza drew closer and examined the flaxen basket at Ruth’s back, then nodded. “I can see what you mean. I’m surprised it hasn’t torn already.” She moved back to her place in the line and continued to pick up the loose sheaves.
“Oh, it has,” Ruth said as she followed suit. “Naomi mends it often at night so it is secure enough for another day.”
Nitza glanced at Ruth, her gaze curious. “What was it like living in Moab?” She moved through the row as she spoke.
Ruth bent again for more of the wayward stalks of barley, pondering how to answer. “Much like it is here, I expect. We lived in a walled city during my childhood years, but when I married Mahlon, we lived in a home outside city walls, much like Melek lives just outside of Bethlehem’s borders.”
The mention of Melek caused the conversation to turn away from Ruth. “Did you hear what happened to that poor Hava and Melek’s son, Hamul? I heard it said that Boaz was in a temper about it and made them obey the law, like it or not.” Nitza glanced about and put a hand to her mouth. “There he is,” she whispered.
Ruth looked up to see Boaz walking the length of the field, stopping here and there to speak to his men, then conversing longer with his foreman, Ezra.
“I have never seen him in a temper,” Ruth said softly. “He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would grow angry.” Not like Mahlon had done. Not the kind of anger that sulked and yelled or wouldn’t speak to her for days when she refused to do something he wanted, like go to a Chemosh festival.
“You don’t know him well then,” Nitza said, darting her gaze between Boaz and Ruth. “He has not been the same since he found his wife fallen from a cliff, dead in a ravine while watching the sheep. I know it has only been three months, but they say sometimes even now he roams the hills and his cries can be heard all the way to Bethlehem.”
Ruth stopped and straightened. “I had heard he was recently widowed.” The very thought brought great empathy to her heart, and she wished she had the right to offer sympathy or comforting words.
“He lost a son too, many years ago, and his wife Adi—she was the nicest person—they say she could never carry another baby to term.” Nitza sighed. “Any man who loses so much is entitled to rage at the hills if he wants to.”
Ruth looked again in Boaz’s direction, then quickly bent to continue her gleaning. Heat filled her cheeks at the thoughts and feelings suddenly evoked by Nitza’s words. She had noticed Boaz’s strength and kindness, his lean, muscular build and dark, probing eyes. And that dark brown hair with the wayward streak of gray she had imagined sifting her fingers through on more than one occasion.
“His sisters have suggested he marry one of the town widows. It would be a kindness to one of them and to him, eventually.” Nitza interrupted her embarrassing musings. “But our master’s heart was so bound to Adi . . . I wonder if he will ever marry again.”
Ruth nodded. She could not blame him. His loss was too recent and far greater than her own, for though she had loved Mahlon, he was not as kind as Boaz seemed to be. And they had never lost a child to bond them in that way.
“You said the master is devoted to the law of your God,” Ruth said, changing the subject. “There is a law that forced Hamul to marry Hava?”
Nitza shrugged. “I guess so. Women are allowed to hear the law read when we go up to Shiloh to the festivals with the men, but most of us never learn to read it, and only the Levites have copies of the law itself. Boaz is an elder, and a respected one here. With his wealth, they say he hired a scribe to make a copy of the law for him, and he reads it or has it read to him daily. That’s how he knows to judge the cases that come to the elders.”
Ruth stood again and rubbed her back. The ache had grown with the weight of the basket. She glanced at the sky. It was nearly time for the noon meal. Relief flooded her. She could rest soon.
“Don’t all of the elders know the law?” In a town the size of Bethlehem, more than one man ought to know how to judge according to what Israel’s God had prescribed.
Nitza stood. “Sure they do. But not many take time to read it every day. At least I don’t think so, because Boaz knows more than most and the men respect him for it.” She looked up. “Come on. It’s time to rest and eat. We can talk more later.”
Ruth followed Nitza to the area where the food was spread and gladly set her basket on the ground. She straightened, and a deep sigh escaped.
“It looks to me as though that thing has seen better uses long ago.”
Ruth whirled about at the sound of Boaz’s voice, startled by his nearness. She took a breath to steady herself. “Yes, my lord. It was left in the house and filled with holes. Naomi and I patch it almost nightly.” She studied her feet. Why was she admitting such a thing to him? She didn’t want his pity.
He cleared his throat, causing her to meet his gaze. “See Ezra before you begin work tomorrow. He will replace the basket with a new one.”
She bowed low, but he stopped her with a touch to her shoulder. “Do not bow to me, my daughter.” He extended a hand toward the food. “Come, eat and be filled.” His smile nearly melted her heart.
32
How generous of Boaz’s sister to give you the lentils and cheese,” Ruth said as they finished their meal of flatbread and stew made from the lentils Gilah had given to Naomi. “How was your visit there today?”
“Pleasant. I did not realize how much I miss the company of my old friends.” Naomi smiled. “Though I wish you could have joined us, my daughter.”
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Ruth nodded. “Yes, but it is good that you could enjoy the day. And look how your God has provided for us.” She pointed to the sack of barley that she had beaten from the sheaves that afternoon. Boaz’s men had continued to drop more sheaves than they ought to, though she knew if she asked, they would not admit they were doing so on purpose. But Ruth knew from past conversations with Naomi that Boaz must have given orders to grant her greater provisions than the law provided in gleaning, for she always came away with more than some of the young women who worked farther down the row from her.
“Your relative Boaz is a kind man,” Ruth said when Naomi seemed lost in thought, her gaze on the sack Ruth had pointed to. “Please tell me about his wife.”
Naomi’s attention snapped back to Ruth. “Adi?” She shook her head as though the mention of the woman’s name brought Naomi her own sense of sorrow. She sighed. “Boaz married young, and he and Adi were so in love.” She paused.
Love was not common between couples who married. Marriages were made for convenience, for sustenance to survive, for companionship, to procreate. Rarely for love, though it sometimes came later.
“It sounds as though they had a rare gift then.” Ruth met Naomi’s gaze.
“Yes, they did. And everyone loved Adi.” Naomi placed a cover over what was left of the stew and hung the pot high above the ground. “They were married for two years when our judge Ehud killed your king Eglon.” Naomi glanced at Ruth, who sensed her hesitance to continue.
“I was a child when that happened,” Ruth said softly. “Governor Aali was our neighbor then, and when my father was feared lost, he rescued my mother—all of us—and fled with us to Dibon.” A small shudder worked through her at the memory. While she had always been grateful the man had saved her family, she had hated what he became. And yet . . . did the God of Israel want His people to hate others, even their enemies?
Naomi sat again, the food stored now, and poured Ruth more water from a jug. “Boaz fought in that war, Ruth. The one that took your father’s life.”
Ruth did not flinch as she held Naomi’s scrutinizing gaze. Was Naomi waiting to see her reaction? What if it was Boaz’s arrow or a stone from his sling that had killed her father? But they would never know.
“Obviously, the war was fought because of Moab’s oppression of your people,” Ruth said slowly. “Your people are my people now, Mother. You do not offend me by telling me the truth.”
Naomi watched her another moment, then nodded. “Boaz fought in the war and returned to Adi, and all seemed well for many years except that Adi could not bear a child. Some told Boaz to take another wife, as Melek has done in his desire for a son, but Boaz is a faithful man and refused. He said that if God wanted to preserve his heritage, God would give him and Adi sons. He wanted no one else.”
“That kind of man is hard to find in these times.” How well she knew it, for in Moab it was common for a man to have a wife, a concubine, and a mistress, and to visit the prostitutes during the festivals. To find a faithful man . . . Sometimes Ruth had wondered if even Mahlon was always truly faithful. Whether he stayed away from the prostitutes during festivals he attended without her. She shook the thought aside.
“Yes.” Naomi sipped from her cup. “And one day Boaz’s prayers seemed to be answered, because Adi was at last with child.” She looked beyond Ruth, and suddenly Ruth did not want to hear the rest of the tale. But she said nothing, for it seemed Naomi needed to tell her.
“Adi was the happiest woman in Bethlehem during those months. But when it came time to give birth, the Lord’s hand was as against her as it has been against me. The Almighty took her son before he could draw breath. Boaz was devastated—Adi too. But his sisters tell me that they tried again and again, and at times there was hope. But Adi miscarried one child after another until she grew too weak to conceive again. That’s when she took to caring for the sheep instead of the household. Boaz indulged her, for he found no other way to make her happy.”
Ruth’s heart twisted. Such pain for such a kind man to endure. His handsome face with that strong jaw he stroked when he appeared to be thinking flashed in her thoughts. Too much suffering. Oh God of Naomi, why? But she silently chastised herself for asking. She had no right to demand answers of Adonai Elohim—she, a foreigner, an unworthy one. But her heart ached for Boaz just the same.
“I am very sorry for him,” she said at last. “Thank you for telling me.”
“It was time you knew.” Naomi looked at her, her gaze curious. “I don’t wonder if God still has plans for Boaz.”
Ruth’s cheeks flushed at the twinkle in Naomi’s eyes. She did not need to ask what Naomi had in mind with that statement. And she could not deny that she might find the idea pleasing.
The following morning Ruth stood in the courtyard debating whether to trust Boaz’s word or take her old basket in case Ezra had nothing for her. She glanced at the road, gauging the distance from the house to the field and back again if she had to return for the basket. Precious time would be lost. But how silly of her to worry over something so small. Surely the man could be trusted.
“Is something wrong, my daughter?” Naomi came from inside the house, spindle and distaff in her hands. She would be off to visit another friend or relative while Ruth worked the fields, but she never went without some work to complete, even if it was someone else’s wool she helped to spin. They had no sheep of their own to shear or spin the wool into garments.
Ruth shook herself, wishing she could give Naomi more than her gleaning efforts. If only they could afford a few sheep, Ruth could shepherd them and breed them, and they would find greater sustenance.
“My daughter?” Naomi looked at her strangely, and Ruth realized she had not answered the woman’s question.
“He said not to bring the basket, that they would provide me a new one.” Ruth bit her lower lip. “But what if they forget? Should I take it?” She pointed to the old basket she had mended again the night before.
“Who said not to bring it?” Naomi’s eyes carried that same twinkle they had the night before, as if she knew a secret she was not yet ready to share.
“Boaz.” His name on her tongue brought joy to Ruth’s spirit. “He saw how worn this one is and said they would have a new one today.”
“Then the man will do as he said. Believe him, my daughter.” Naomi smiled and patted Ruth’s arm. “Go. Leave this here.”
“But I don’t want to appear presumptuous.”
“Did he not tell you he would provide this for you?”
Ruth nodded.
“Then why do you doubt?” Naomi slipped her arm through Ruth’s and began walking them both toward the outer court.
Ruth glanced back at the basket lying on its side against the courtyard wall. She hesitated but a moment, then allowed Naomi to lead her. “I don’t know. Perhaps because most men in my life did not keep their word.”
Naomi seemed to ponder this a moment.
“I did not mean to offend regarding Mahlon.”
Naomi shook her head. “No need to fear offense, my daughter. I know my son was not always as he should have been to you. But I can tell you that despite Boaz’s grief right now, he is not like most men. If he said he will do something, he will do it.”
Ruth blew out a breath and nodded. “All right.” She only hoped Naomi knew the man as well as she thought she did.
The following day, Ruth’s work ended early in preparation for the coming Sabbath. Boaz’s sister Liora had invited them to eat the Sabbath meal with her family, and Naomi was quick to accept.
Ruth pulled on a fresh tunic, separate from the one she wore for gleaning, and her best robe, the one she saved for special occasions. She followed Naomi through the winding streets to the house of Liora’s husband and family.
They arrived early, before the sound of the shofar called them to the Sabbath. Ruth had grown accustomed to the sound, and the day of rest to come was a welcome respite from the hard labor of her life. But a part of
her still felt a need to do something to show her devotion to Adonai. Surely He would be pleased with some kind of service on this day.
“Naomi, Ruth, you are here! I am so glad to see you.” Liora embraced Naomi in the customary way with a kiss to each cheek, though with Ruth she simply nodded and smiled. Would the people of the town never see her as anything but a foreigner, an alien in their midst? Though Naomi accepted her, and it seemed others did as well, Ruth did not miss the subtle glances, the curious looks, even the skepticism in the gazes of some.
She sighed, tucking the concerns aside as Liora led them into the house. No servant washed their feet. Instead, they were led to a large room, where it seemed all of Liora’s family and more had already gathered. Small tables were set with bread and platters of cheese and figs and dates and vegetables, all prepared the day before, according to what Naomi had taught her.
“Naomi, welcome, my sister.”
Ruth startled at the voice, for she would recognize it anywhere. But Boaz was not Naomi’s brother. “Sister” must be a term of endearment, as when Boaz had called Ruth “my daughter.”
“Boaz. I was hoping your sister would coax you to join us and meet together for a Sabbath meal. How good it is to see you again.” Naomi took the seat offered her, and Ruth sat near her, saying nothing. Though Boaz had seen Ruth in the fields and sent servants to Naomi’s house with food and some provisions, he had not been to see Naomi—at least not when Ruth was near.
Ruth’s pulse quickened at his closeness, but she fought the urge to blush. He was her benefactor, that was all. And Naomi’s relative. Ruth was simply a foreign woman—
“And Ruth, we are glad you could join us.” Boaz’s comment cut her thoughts short. She glanced up at him.
“Thank you, my lord.” She looked down at her hands, suddenly embarrassed to be here.
Boaz moved across the room and joined the men, and Liora and her mother-in-law and daughters sat with Naomi and Gilah and the women of Gilah’s family.
Redeeming Grace: Ruth's Story Page 19