“Then go in peace,” Naomi said, interrupting her thoughts. She touched Ruth’s shoulder, gently pushing her toward the door.
Ruth forced her feet forward, took a deep breath, and left the courtyard. She glanced back to wave only once, then hurried through the darkened streets, keeping to the shadows nearest the houses aglow with welcoming light. For the slightest moment she wished for a companion for protection, but she could not give in to her fears or deny that the Lord could be trusted.
But He could be. Couldn’t He?
A thousand thoughts filled her mind as she walked quickly toward the gates, then the threshing floor outside the city. She carried no lamp, but the moon was high and bright enough to guide her way. She glanced up at it as the gates grew smaller in the distance.
Oh God, who made the moon and stars, watch over me this night. I trust You. I want to trust You more, but I fear . . . I have feared much in my lifetime, ever since my father died and Te’oma turned so scheming and violent. Turn my fear into faith, oh Adonai Elohim. Please let me, Your foreign servant, be pleasing in Your sight.
She wondered at the strength of the prayer, so needy, so desperate, coming from the depths of her heart. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God. She had vowed it to Naomi the day they left Moab, and the words echoed in her memory, melding with this prayer for the ability to trust. How else was Naomi’s God to become hers if she did not trust Him? She had never trusted Chemosh, for she hated his festivals, his demands. But the God of Israel was not like Chemosh. Men like Boaz who trusted in Him were kinder, nobler men than any she had known before.
Surely Boaz would accept her proposal. Surely he would.
She paused, her heart racing with the impact of what she was about to do. To propose marriage to a man? Unheard of even in Moab. And yet here she stood in the shade of a tree, looking down on the wide threshing floor, about to do just that.
What if he didn’t accept her? What if he exposed her to all?
She swallowed her fear, reminded herself to trust, and slowly made her way down the hill.
Boaz watched from the sidelines as Ezra, Hamul, and even Melek laughed with the men around them and joined in a song of harvest yield. The winnowing was at last completed, and one glance at the piles of barley made Boaz feel a sense of profound relief. The people would not go hungry this year.
“God has blessed us, would you not agree, my lord?” Ezra, huffing and sweating, walked to Boaz’s side and drank water from one of the clay urns that lined the threshing floor. “The famine is at last behind us.”
Boaz offered his friend an obligatory smile. “Yes,” he said, realizing that despite his losses, he did have much for which to give thanks.
“Praise be to Adonai,” Ezra shouted, and the men in the group did the same.
More laughter and singing ensued, and Boaz felt the enthusiasm of the men nudging him. He should give himself over to it, lose himself in the merriment, but grief had taken root these past months, and even now he struggled to shake free of it. Why, Adonai? The constant question would not leave, even when he lost himself in work and closed his eyes in sleep. Even when he pondered his slight attraction to the Moabitess.
He stepped away, frustrated with himself for not being able to rise above his need to blame himself—and the Almighty—for not stopping Adi’s fall. His stomach churned as he moved toward the place where he would sleep. He had to stop thinking this way. God had been good to them at last. Why couldn’t he cling to that truth?
He glanced heavenward at the multitude of stars. Help me. How small he was in comparison to the One who had stretched out the heavens, who had called the stars by name. Surely Adi was in His presence with their lost children—at peace. He had always believed that when all the suffering was over, he would still live to see God.
Even Naomi seemed to believe it—at least she seemed more at peace than she had when she first entered Bethlehem after all those years away. Surely her losses compared to his. And yet his heart ached so.
Why, Adonai? Help me to see.
His gaze swept the heavens, and he could not stifle a yawn. The work had been backbreaking, and he could feel the twinges in his body from the extra exertion. He needed sleep, not disturbing thoughts.
Help me, Adonai. It is so impossible to understand why . . .
He glanced across the heavens again, then looked about the threshing floor. Movement—was it movement?—caught his eye near his sleeping area. Probably just one of his men. He squinted, but nothing moved now. Exhaustion was playing tricks with his thinking. Exhaustion and grief.
I can’t live this way anymore, Adonai. Forgive my anger, if You will. Cleanse me of the bitterness I’m holding against You.
The prayer surprised him, but as he stumbled to the end of the grain heap and rolled out the mat he had waiting in the corner, he felt a strange peace settle around him. Surely Adonai had heard his prayer. He glanced once more at the blinking stars. Awe filled him. Adi was at peace, and for the first time in months, he felt the same. Laying his cloak over himself as a covering, he closed his eyes.
Ruth stood in the shadows, listened to the men laugh and sing. Her heart lifted with the sound as she searched and at last found Boaz sitting with Ezra. Her heart beat hard within her chest, and she had to tell herself to pause, to slow her breathing. It would do no good to lie down near the man with her breath coming fast as though she’d run a great distance. No. She must be calm. Do exactly as Naomi had instructed.
Oh Adonai, give me courage and strength. Strength because never had she felt her knees weaken so quickly with just one glance at the man. She watched, willing her thoughts to take in the moment, to see what most women never saw, for women did not come to the threshing floor when the men were winnowing. At least not the kind of women who wanted to marry a respectable man like Boaz.
Laughter drew her thoughts to the men again, and her gaze caught Boaz rising from his seat. He stood staring at the heavens, and she nearly fled when she moved and thought he’d seen her. Her breath came fast again. Stay still. She watched, waiting, but he did not pursue the movement. He must have assumed she was one of his men, for a few moments later he half stumbled—probably from the merriment of the fruit of the vine—to a mat he laid out near the pile of barley. He lowered himself to the ground, pulled his cloak to his neck, and rested his head on some of the grain.
Voices of the other men slowly died away, until the only sounds were that of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. Winged creatures took to the trees, and the night sky and the moon glowed brighter as she waited.
Time slowed, yet too soon she realized the only sound besides the insects was that of snoring men. Carefully, she made her way down the incline toward the large stone floor and sought the place where Boaz had taken his rest. She stood over him for the briefest moment, making sure she had seen correctly, then uncovered his feet and lay down.
She listened to his steady breaths, knowing sleep would not come to her this night. Breath barely came and she dared not move, but how would he see her when he awoke, with the moon now hidden by clouds? But surely he would sleep until morning.
She held back a sigh, wishing sleep would come, yet . . . what if she startled him awake? What would she do if he shouted at her and woke the sleeping men?
She waited, aware of his feet so close to her head. She slowly lifted the edge of his cloak to barely cover her shoulder, and she could not help a slight shiver that worked through her from a mixture of nerves and the cool night air.
Then her worst fear was realized—he jerked all of a sudden and turned over. She scooted aside to avoid him kicking her. He sat up, staring. Their gazes held, but in the dark she could barely see the outline of his face. Did he know who she was?
“You are a woman! Who are you?” he said, his voice a low hiss.
“I am Ruth, your servant.” Heart pounding, she leaned closer, repeating Naomi’s words. “Spread your wings over your servant, for you are a redeemer.”
Silence followed her remark. Had he heard her? But of course he had, for her eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see the furrowed brow and the way he rubbed a hand over his face, as though he was trying to clear his head.
“A redeemer?” he said, as though making sure he had heard her correctly. “I should have realized sooner.” His soft smile allowed her to release the breath she had been holding too long. “May you be blessed by the Lord, my daughter. You have made this last kindness greater than the first in that you have not gone after young men, whether poor or rich.” He sat up, leaning closer, and glanced about as though fearful of waking the other men. “And now, my daughter, do not fear,” he said, his voice hushed. “I will do for you all that you ask, for all my fellow townsmen know that you are a worthy woman.” He paused a moment, met her gaze, his own wistful. Was he thinking of the wife he’d lost? Was he truly glad that this duty fell to him?
“Thank you, my lord.” She looked at him. “There is Elimelech’s land at stake in the redemption. Naomi thought you should know.” She waited, her breath holding tight within her again.
He seemed to ponder her words, and she watched him stroke his beard as he had done on other occasions. “It is true that I am a redeemer,” he said at last, his gaze suddenly tender. “Yet there is a redeemer nearer than I.”
The news fell like a heavy stone to her middle. She had come to hope . . . Why had she hoped?
“He is Elimelech’s brother, while I am only a cousin. But do not fear. Remain tonight, and in the morning, if he will redeem you, good—let him do it. But if he is not willing to, then as the Lord lives, I will redeem you. Now, lie down until the morning.”
His tone was kind, but the words dealt a blow she had not expected. He waited a moment, looking at her, then lay down as he was. She lay at his feet again, thoughts whirling. By his uneven breathing she doubted he slept either, but they both remained as still as possible.
At last the pale light of predawn crested the eastern ridge, and the threshing floor was bathed in shadows—still too dark to recognize each other. She rose to leave, but his words halted her.
“Let it not be known that a woman came to the threshing floor.”
“I will tell no one,” she whispered.
He stood. “Bring the garment you are wearing and hold it out.”
She pulled the scarf from her head and held the ends like a sack, while he bent to the heap of barley and counted out six measures. She tied the ends into knots, and Boaz helped rest the sack on her head.
“Thank you, my lord,” she whispered.
He nodded, and she slipped away back toward the city.
37
Boaz watched Ruth until she disappeared from view. Darkness still shrouded the threshing floor. He stood still, his head tilted, listening. Hearing little movement, just the steady snores of the men, he wiped sweat from his brow. Felt his pulse quicken.
To find a woman—and Ruth, no less!—at his feet in the middle of the night had sent his heart racing so hard he had not slept. He sensed she did not sleep either. Such boldness! Such courage it had taken on her part to enter a man’s domain and request marriage.
The thought moved through him with a mixture of dread and awe. He had promised himself he would not marry another. Adi had been his only beloved for so long . . . Oh Adonai, should I do this? Was it not showing disloyalty to Adi?
But Ruth . . . hadn’t she captured his attention from the moment he caught sight of her in his fields? Her beauty was darker than Adi’s, but her grace, her humility, were daily reminders of all Adi had embodied. How was it possible he had found these qualities in a foreign woman?
And now in the dark of night with this vulnerable woman at his feet, he had promised marriage! What was he thinking? Clearly he was not thinking at all, yet he could not imagine Ruth under Melek’s roof. Surely if anyone should redeem her, he himself was the logical choice.
Melek had done nothing to redeem Naomi from her poverty from the moment of her return. But now, with the promise of property, the man could find the prospect suitably appealing.
The thought troubled him, reminding him again how much Naomi and Ruth had both lost. Ruth knew sorrow. She would understand about Adi as he understood about Mahlon. Had Adonai saved her for this moment, to bring her to him and fill his lonely house with laughter once more?
He shook himself, pushing the hopes aside. Until he confronted Melek with what was rightfully his first choice, there would be no wedding feast or wife in his house.
Ruth rested one hand on the grain sack atop her head and hurried through the dark streets and through the side door of Bethlehem’s larger gates, staying to the shadows as dawn grew brighter in the eastern sky. Neighboring women were just beginning to carry their jugs to the well, while in the distance Ruth could hear the braying of donkeys and the steady turn of the grindstone.
Her heart skipped with every normal sound, heightened in her awareness of him. Of what he would say and do today. Of the way he had looked at her.
There is a redeemer nearer than I. Elimelech’s brother could only be . . . Melek? She nearly stumbled at the thought of marrying that man. Oh Adonai, please, no.
She had seen little to admire in Melek, and he already had three wives. She would mean nothing to him. Just one of many and another mouth to feed, another person to work in his household. Would he expect her to glean in his fields?
A shiver worked through her, and she struggled with the weight of that thought. When she had left Boaz, she could not move quickly enough to keep pace with her pounding heart. But now . . . now she wanted to crumble to the dust and sit in mourning. Why had she ever agreed to this?
If she had known . . . but didn’t she know?
Naomi surely knew.
Dawn splayed its pink and yellow fingers to dispel the last vestiges of gray, and Ruth hurried on again. She needed answers. Perhaps Naomi would give them.
She turned onto the lane to Naomi’s home and saw her mother-in-law waiting in the courtyard. Naomi rushed toward her and helped her lower the bundle to the stones. She straightened and took Ruth’s hand, pulling her into the house.
“How did you fare, my daughter?” Naomi’s words were as rushed as Ruth’s breath. Had the woman waited all night for the answer? One look into her shadowed eyes and she knew. Naomi had rested little more than Ruth had.
“He told me that there is another redeemer closer than he.” She held Naomi’s gaze. “Is that redeemer Melek?”
Naomi nodded, her mouth pinched in a slight scowl. “Yes. Elimelech’s brother has the first right of redemption.”
“Why did you not tell me this?” Ruth could not keep the worry from her tone. She did not want to marry Melek, but now what choice did she have?
“Do not fear, my daughter. I have seen for some time now the way Boaz looks at you. He will find a way. We must be patient.” Naomi patted Ruth’s hand as if she had not a care in the world, though by her furrowed brow, Ruth wondered.
“I do not wish to wed Melek,” she said softly, her gaze gentle on Naomi’s face. “But I will do as you ask.” She would do anything for Naomi, to give her a future, a hope.
Naomi touched Ruth’s cheek. “Trust, my daughter. Now tell me, what else did Boaz say?”
Ruth drew a breath and nodded. Trust. How simple a word, yet how hard a concept. But she would not let her mother-in-law see her worry any further.
“He gave me these six measures of barley,” she said, pointing to the courtyard where they had laid the sack, “for he said to me, ‘You must not go back empty-handed to your mother-in-law.’”
Naomi’s smile widened, all doubt swept from her lined face. “Wait, my daughter, until you learn how the matter turns out, for he will not rest but will settle the matter today.”
Ruth said nothing. Waiting with little to do after a sleepless night would not be easy.
The eastern sky grew brighter with each step as Boaz walked up the hill from the threshing floor and headed toward
Bethlehem’s gates. He glanced behind him. He could confront Melek here, but no. The proper way was to gather ten elders and have witnesses to the transaction. Otherwise, Melek could come back and claim he was defrauded. Boaz would not start a marriage that way.
Marriage. Was he ready to let Adi’s memories fade enough to make new ones with Ruth? The peace of the night before fell upon him once again. He tested it, searching for his past anger, but found it surprisingly gone. How was that possible?
He lifted his head, saw the sun rising in full brilliance. May Your will be done. The prayer left his heart with a sense of rightness. And yet a hint of anxiety remained. What if Melek claimed Ruth for himself?
Please, Adonai . . . No, he would not beg for something that might not be in the Almighty’s will. He would wait. Though his pounding heart betrayed the desire to do just that.
Ruth paced the sitting room, twirling the spindle and distaff. The work gave her hands something to occupy them, but her mind would not rest. Why had she come to this land? And why was that question one that still troubled her?
Images of her mother and sister merged with those of Te’oma and Governor Aali. Faces blurred as she thought of Orpah, her lost son. What was her friend doing now? Had she married again?
An ache for the familiar filled her, even as she glimpsed Naomi sitting in the courtyard talking with a neighbor over the stone wall that separated their homes. She was glad Naomi had her life here again. The woman had never felt at home in Moab even after more than eleven years. Though they had tried to observe the Sabbath in the early years of her marriage to Mahlon, in the few years before the men died, the sisters-in-law had stopped caring for the strict adherence to the law and had often gone into the city to purchase things while the men checked on the fields, something Naomi had begged them not to do.
A sigh escaped. How easily her husband had fallen into the grasp of her people and their ways, leaving the teachings of his childhood behind as though they were nothing. What had he possibly found so fascinating about Moab, about Dibon and its violence and sensuality and greed and more?
Redeeming Grace: Ruth's Story Page 22