Redeeming Grace: Ruth's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Ruth hurried to the adjoining room, grateful for the short reprieve. Naomi must have noticed her flushed face and wide eyes. She hurried past the man before he could sit and stopped in the cooking area to retrieve the flask of water keeping cool in a hole in the ground. She pulled two clay cups from the shelf and poured the water. Her hands shook so badly she nearly spilled it. What was wrong with her? She had been less anxious at the threshing floor, which was far more dangerous and bold an action!

  She breathed in and out slowly until at last she could manage a smile, then carried the water to Boaz and Naomi. His hand slightly brushed hers as he took the cup from her.

  “Thank you.” His smile warmed her straight to her toes.

  She nodded.

  “But you did not pour any for yourself.”

  “I could only carry the two. I will get some now.” She hurried from the room before he did something completely outlandish like serve her! She found a chipped cup, one that she could fill at least halfway with water, and then replaced the flask and carried it to the sitting room. She settled in the seat opposite him, nearer Naomi.

  “I came,” he said, looking directly into her eyes, “to tell you that all is well. Melek has declined his redemption rights, and I have legally declared that I will redeem you and your husband’s property.” He glanced at Naomi. “To raise up a son to carry on your husband’s name.”

  Naomi beamed, and Ruth nearly laughed at the delight in her eyes. They had done the right thing. And look how well God had answered!

  A feeling she had never known before filled her at the sight of him, at the gentle kindness of his words. Was this love?

  “I had hoped to take you to my home this night—both of you—to give you a place to live that is fitting for what you deserve.” He smiled, his look reminding her of an uncertain boy. “But my servant informed me that there must be a betrothal and a wedding feast, and we have the wheat harvest and the Feast of Weeks upon us.”

  “This is true,” Naomi said, nodding. “And we will need time to prepare new garments for Ruth to bring to your home, new bedding, and a wedding robe if there is enough time to weave it.”

  “Oh, Mother, I can wear the robe I have.” Ruth didn’t want to sound disagreeable, but she couldn’t imagine asking Naomi to go to so much work on her behalf. Besides, the two of them could never finish in a few weeks, especially if she was out gleaning. “I won’t have time after gleaning to do—”

  Boaz held up a hand. “You will do no more gleaning.” His tone was kind but firm. “My sisters will be happy to help you prepare, and I will provide whatever you need—wool, a new loom, servants—everything that will help you be ready. Harvest should last about three to four weeks. Then we will travel to Shiloh for the festival and return to the wedding feast. Can you be ready in a month?”

  Naomi spoke before she could. “We can. But we must hold the betrothal by this week’s end.”

  Boaz nodded, while Ruth’s head spun. So much of this was new to her. The customs in Moab were similar in some ways but not all.

  “Good. Then it is settled.” Boaz rose to leave. “At week’s end we will have the betrothal ceremony here. I will send servants to help you prepare the house, the food, everything, and we will plan it the day before the Sabbath.”

  “But you will be working the fields.” Ruth looked at him. He couldn’t very well leave the harvest, though she supposed Ezra could handle things in his stead.

  “We will stop early that day. The workers will want to attend the betrothal.” He smiled and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Legally, I could kiss you,” he said, bending close to her ear. “But I will wait.” He touched her cheek lightly, his look intimate. He wanted her, and in that moment she knew she wanted him like no other.

  “Yes,” she said, her words a whisper.

  He smiled again, then slowly released her and left.

  The week came to an end too quickly. “I’m not yet ready, Mother Naomi.” Ruth pointed to the loom where she had been weaving a new robe at the insistence of Naomi, with goods provided by Boaz. Even with help from several women, she still had to sew the sleeves and finish the belt.

  “You will be ready by this evening, my daughter.” Naomi came to the corner where light shone best in the windows, now whitewashed along with the walls and patched in all the places where cracks had been. She bent down to see the work.

  “I will summon one of the servant girls to finish for you, for it is time we take you to the river for your ritual purification.” She smiled at Ruth’s raised brow.

  “I thought we did that before the wedding itself, not the betrothal.” So many details still crowded Ruth’s mind. Though she had been up before dawn, how could she possibly be ready by early afternoon?

  “Both times, my daughter.” Naomi went to the cooking area where Boaz’s sisters were baking and supervising a household of young women to prepare sweet treats and more food than Ruth had seen in years. Not since her marriage to Mahlon.

  Mahlon. His name slipped into her thoughts unbidden. She had not considered him as often as she had those first weeks, not since Boaz had taken the uppermost part of her thoughts. Would she compare marriage to Boaz with what marriage had been with Mahlon? Any son she conceived would be Mahlon’s heir, so she could not simply put him out of her mind.

  A sigh escaped her as Naomi returned with a middle-aged woman experienced in weaving. “Let me,” the woman said to Ruth. “You go now with Naomi and make yourself ready.”

  Ruth stood reluctantly. She had hoped to complete most of the work herself. She had wanted to present the robe as a gift to Boaz, herself dressed in fine clothing to match the fine robes he was sure to wear. Would he wear the same garments he wore to his first wedding?

  The thought skirted the edges of her mind as she followed Naomi into the sleeping chamber to retrieve the linens and fresh tunic and ointments and hyssop branch she would need to fully cleanse herself.

  “You understand why we do this, do you not, my daughter?” Naomi glanced at her as they wove through town and out toward a private area of a branch of the Jordan River.

  Ruth nodded. “I think so. A bride should make herself ready and not come to her husband with the dirt of the week seeped into her skin.”

  Naomi walked on in silence a moment before saying anything in response. “In part, that is true. But the real reason for the ritual cleansing is to show the bride’s purity. She is to cleanse herself and pray that Adonai cleanses her sins in the process. It is not the same as giving a sin offering to the priests, but it is still an important way to prepare our hearts for what is to come.”

  What is to come? The words made her pause. What did she expect to come of her marriage to Boaz? Did she expect companionship? Did she hope he would love her as everyone said he’d loved Adi? Would God give them children?

  She glanced at Naomi as they reached the river’s edge. They were secluded here, and the water was not so deep or swift as to cause her to be whisked downriver toward the Dead Sea.

  “Are you ready, my daughter?” Naomi set the things Ruth would need for cleansing on the ground to hold open a wide towel for Ruth’s privacy.

  “I suppose I will never be more ready than I am now.” She removed her clothes and stepped into the cold water, shivering. This was simply a ritual she was expected to perform. To prepare to meet Boaz and formally become bound to him.

  But as she dunked her head beneath the flowing waters and scrubbed the dirt from her skin with the hyssop branch, she thought of Moab. Of the men in her life—Te’oma and her father and Mahlon—who had failed her either by living to please themselves or by dying and leaving her. How could she put herself through this again, only to risk another loss?

  She dunked a second time, then watched the soap bubbles float past her, taking her dirt with them. Taking her sin as well?

  Adonai? Will Boaz accept me as none other has? Will he love me?

  The sudden desire to know she was truly loved like she ha
d never been before ached in the pit of her soul. She didn’t just want to marry the kinsman redeemer for Naomi’s sake. She wanted to marry him for her own. She longed to feel redeemed from all that had come before, from all of her misguided dreams, from everything that made her Moabite, to cling to the God of Israel alone.

  Your God shall be my God. Yes. That was what she longed for.

  And what she hoped Boaz could show her through true and lasting love—what a man who loved his God could be like.

  She rose from the water after the third time down and shook the droplets from her hair, laughter bubbling within her.

  “Whatever is so humorous?” Naomi asked, her smile wide. “There is joy in your smile, my girl.”

  “There is joy in my heart, Mother. And when Boaz comes, I will be ready.”

  40

  Ruth sat in Naomi’s sitting room surrounded by ten young virgins—nieces of Naomi’s and some of the young daughters of the merchants in the city. Flowers from the field were woven through her veil, and she sat with a sheaf of wheat in her lap. She hid a smile at that last little addition. She had asked one of the men who had come to prepare the room to send to Ezra for the sheaf but not to tell Boaz. It was a promise, and she would grant it to him soon.

  Voices of the young girls moved around her, but she did not speak to them, did not know them well enough, and in fact felt a little awkward that virgins were chosen to attend her when she was a widow, not a virgin herself.

  “It is the way we do things,” Naomi had said. “Never fear, my daughter. Just sit and wait for him.”

  Ruth glanced up at the crowd forming in the room. Waiting—she was used to that. She had waited all of her life—for her father to return from war, which never happened. For Te’oma to be a truly kind man, which also never happened. For Mahlon to become the husband she thought he would be, but he never did.

  She shook her head slightly and closed her eyes. None of her dreams had ever come to the place where she could say she was satisfied with their outcome.

  A sigh escaped, and she looked up at the sound of male voices. Boaz’s laughter came to her from the courtyard, accompanied by the voices of other men. Was that Ezra? And Melek? She knew so few men in the town it was hard to tell.

  Through her veil she glimpsed Naomi coming her way. “He is here, my daughter,” she whispered, her voice barely containing her excitement. When had she seen Naomi so jubilant?

  Memory failed her, for her mother-in-law had always seemed somber, even when she smiled. Was it due to the fact that they had met in Moab? Naomi was definitely happier in Israel.

  As are you, she thought, surprised by the admission. How was it possible that a Moabite felt more at home in this land? But it was true. Their God, her God, had made it so.

  The male voices drew closer, and she heard Boaz speak to Naomi. “I have the parchment with the marriage agreement here, my mother,” he said without preamble. “If it pleases you, I will read it to you.” Of course, Naomi could not read the words. This was something Elimelech would have handled for her if Ruth had been a true daughter.

  “I trust you, my son,” Naomi said, smiling into his tanned face. He had washed and dressed in his finest robes. The men behind him carried gifts—a wooden chest for her linens, fabric already woven to be sewn into garments, a bag of gold for Naomi to purchase whatever Ruth might need, goblets and a flask of choice wine from Boaz’s vineyards. The gifts kept coming until Ruth could not count the number at her feet.

  She looked into the face of the man she had already come to love, the man she longed to share her life with, and smiled. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  He bent close but spoke so all could hear. “Behold, you are consecrated unto me from this day forward.” He held out his hand and she placed her smaller one in it. She stood and walked with him to the place where the ketubah sat and watched as he put his seal on the bottom. Naomi then took Elimelech’s seal, which she had kept, placed it in the wax, and affixed his seal to the contract as well.

  “And now we are bound forever and in truth,” Boaz said, looking into her face, smiling into her eyes.

  “Yes,” she said, longing to speak more but not knowing what to say. A moment later she remembered the sheaf. She lifted it to him and placed it in his hands.

  He turned it over and gave her a curious look.

  “We will wed after the harvest of wheat is secured.” She smiled gently and touched his arm. “The sheaf is a promise between us. When the Feast of Weeks is past and our God has been given the thanks due Him for the harvest, we will be man and wife.” She touched the sheaf. “This is of your firstfruits.”

  His smile lingered as he looked from the sheaf to her. He bent low until she could feel his breath on her face. And then he kissed her cheek with the most tender of kisses, near the edge of her mouth. A chaste kiss, though she could tell by the look he gave her that he wanted so much more.

  “Until harvest ends,” he said, drawing back, his breath heavy. “It isn’t so very long to wait.”

  “No. Not very long.” She touched his cheek, wanting instead to take the turban from his head and touch his beard, his hair, and pull him into her arms. But this was not the time or the place with so many people looking on, waiting for the feasting to begin.

  “Soon, beloved.” He took her hand and squeezed it, and she knew in that moment she had captured far more than his kindness. She had captured his love, and she could not wait to share it.

  Boaz awoke before dawn the day after the Sabbath and dressed quickly before Reuven even had a chance to set out his clothes. He smiled into the bronze mirror, more pleased with himself than he should be for a man who had to be coaxed by the woman herself to get him to wed. Memories of the threshing floor, of Ruth’s boldness, washed over him, carrying with them deep gratitude. She was so beautiful. She could have chosen any of the younger men, some of whom had surely shown interest. He’d seen the way they looked at her.

  He examined himself more closely, saw the strands of gray lining his temples. He was older than Mahlon had been, and Ruth younger. But she had looked into his eyes without hesitance, with what he could almost interpret as longing. For him?

  His heart beat faster at the thought. Soon. She would come to his home and become his wife. His step lightened as he moved from his bedchamber to the main sitting room, where his cook set food before him. He sipped from the freshly drawn water and downed some barley porridge with dates. He paused on the second bite. This porridge had been one Adi had created exactly to his liking, and the cook had followed it ever since.

  He set the flatbread down, uncertainty filling him. How could he eat food Adi had created for him only weeks before he would take another wife? Was he doing the right thing?

  Doubt assailed him, broken only by the sound of Reuven’s footsteps.

  “Is something wrong, my lord? I thought you were anxious to get to the fields this morning.” The old servant rubbed his beard and probably wished to rub his eyes as well.

  Boaz looked at this faithful man and felt a twinge of sadness. Reuven had aged, more than he realized. He should lighten his duties and allow him a place of rest these final years.

  “My lord?”

  Boaz shook himself. “Wrong, yes. No. That is . . .” He paused again and motioned for Reuven to sit near him. “May I ask you something, Reuven?”

  “Anything, my lord. I am here to serve you. And your new wife very soon.” His smile lit his eyes, and suddenly Boaz was not certain he should ask the question.

  He glanced beyond Reuven a moment, debating, then met the man’s gaze. “Am I doing the right thing, Reuven?” he said, lowering his voice, leaning closer. “That is, am I doing a disservice to Adi’s memory to marry so soon?”

  Reuven shook his head. “You are keeping the law to care for a widow who needs redeeming. That should honor Adi’s memory, my lord, not dishonor it.”

  He nodded, his thoughts too full to speak. He picked up the flatbread instead and finished his
meal. He would allow Ruth to make the porridge her way if she wanted to. Together they would carve out a new future.

  Ruth and Naomi sat with Gilah and Liora and Neta in Naomi’s sitting room, weaving and spinning and sewing the garments Ruth would take with her to the marriage.

  “You will need to make blankets and swaddling cloths and clothing for the child when he comes,” Gilah said, as though certain such a thing would happen.

  “And Boaz is a man of great honor and power in Bethlehem, a prince,” Liora added. “You will need tunics and robes and belts and sandals.” She blew a puff of air. “So much to be done!”

  “And not nearly enough time.” Naomi smiled. “But with your help and the money Boaz gave us, we can purchase the items we don’t have time to make.” She looked at Ruth. “I will take you to the sandal maker’s shop tomorrow, and we will see if there are some earrings and jewels. Every bride should wear jewels.”

  The conversation went on around Ruth while she focused her attention on the robe she had nearly finished stitching. The bone needle went in and out to form the sleeves. The fabric, rich with reds and blues and yellows and a few threads of black, nearly took her breath. A merchant from Syria had carried it with him to market, and Boaz had purchased it the moment he saw it still hanging in the weaver’s shop. Could she make it into a suitable wedding robe? he’d asked.

  She assured him she could. She couldn’t help smiling at the way he had looked at her with such approval in his eyes.

  “I think this fabric is perfect for an infant. What do you think, Ruth?” Neta held up the softest length of white wool Ruth had ever seen. She set her sewing aside a moment and walked across the room to touch the piece, hold it to her face.

  “It’s beautiful and smells wonderful.” She handed it reluctantly back to Neta and returned to her duties, but she could not stop the small frown she felt crease her brow. “But what if I am unable to bear a child?”

  Her question silenced all conversation in the room, until at last Naomi came and sat beside her. “You have no need to fear such a thing, my daughter. Our God is the God of miracles. You remember the stories I’ve told you of Sarah and Rebekah.”