In the Field of Grace Read online

  Mahalath came again that week since Boaz had traveled to Jerusalem on a matter of business and would remain from home for some days.

  “The master doesn’t require that I come to the field. But when he is away, I have little to do at home, and feel guilty taking wages from him when I give meagerly in return,” Mahalath explained to Ruth as they took their morning rest in the shade. “He did not need me when he hired me. He only did so to help.”

  “I have tasted of his goodness also,” Ruth said.

  Speaking of him made her aware of a hollowness that had dogged her steps since the week before, when he had stopped coming to the field. As if he were a dear friend and she missed him. She narrowed her eyes, annoyed with herself. He was a landowner, a man of high repute, with thousands of livestock and a large chunk of Bethlehem for property. Outside the bonds of charity, he had no time for the likes of her. He had as much as said so, when he had taken his leave of her. He would help her for the sake of Elimelech. What other reason had he to seek her company? What had she to offer such a man, poor, dependent, widowed, and barren as she was? She might as well try to swim the length of the Dead Sea than bridge the chasm that separated them.

  “Best return to work,” she said, and Mahalath joined her.

  As they walked farther into the field, Ruth’s foot caught on a jutting stone and she fell, her face landing in the dirt. The acrid smell of sheep dung and cultivated soil filled her nose.

  “Are you hurt?” Mahalath asked, concern coloring her voice.

  Ruth pushed herself to her feet and beat the dirt from her clothes. Ignoring the stinging in her hands and knees, she said, “It’s nothing.” It occurred to her that life had landed her facedown in the dirt. She determined that she would rise up and move on. She would take one step at a time and fret no more about tomorrow or about Boaz.

  Chapter

  Twelve

  Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!

  PSALM 27:14

  The heat wave did not break. It intensified with each passing day, making gleaning more difficult. One morning, Mahalath did not come to work in the field and Ruth wondered if Boaz had returned from his journey. She missed the girl’s company. Mahalath never treated Ruth as an outsider. Instead, she acted as if Ruth’s presence were a precious gift. For her part, although she did not know Mahalath’s story, Ruth admired the girl’s sweetness, which had survived whatever horrors she had tasted in life.

  The laborers were almost finished in the field; they had reaped and gathered row after row of plump barley until the lush land had been reduced to stubble. In a few days, they would move on to harvest a vast wheat field that had ripened and sat ready to be gathered.

  Ruth felt tired. She had worked every day from sunup until late into the afternoon for four weeks except on the Sabbath, which Boaz insisted everyone should keep holy by resting.

  The day after Mahalath did not come to work, Ruth awoke late. Weariness had leached her strength and she barely forced herself to leave her bed.

  “Why did you not wake me?” she asked Naomi, as she rushed to get dressed.

  “You seemed so tired, I did not have the heart. Here, take this bread and eat it on the way.”

  Ruth took Naomi’s offering and thanked her. She put it on a stool while she wrapped her hair in a light covering and rushed out, forgetting to fetch the thin bread. When she remembered, it was too late to return. She would just have to work on an empty stomach until the midday break, when Boaz provided a repast for his workers.

  Ruth was gleaning more slowly than usual. The heat sapped her energy. She looked longingly at the jugs of freshwater, drawn by the men. But they were far from her, and she felt she could not spare the time for a drink, having already stopped to rest once. She would wait until mealtime.

  A nagging headache had dogged her every step for several hours and it was growing worse. Sweat trickled down her back. She wiped an arm against her damp forehead and straightened. The world tilted and Ruth gasped. She realized with sudden useless insight that she had been foolish not to drink water on such a day. Dizziness and nausea made her sit hastily on the ground. She gulped, putting her head on her raised knees, hoping the weakness would pass soon.

  “Drink this,” a voice said close to her ear. She knew that voice, the deep, warm timbre of it. Swiveling her head, she came face-to-face with Boaz. He had knelt at her side, his face close enough to touch.

  Without a word, he put a cup to her mouth. “Drink. It’s the sun. You have had too much of the heat.”

  Ruth drank until she had to stop to take a deep breath. She felt foolish, half-collapsed on the ground, still unable to rise.

  “Drink the rest.”

  Ruth obeyed until she drained the cup. “Where did you come from?” she blurted, too sick to sort through her words.

  “I returned from Jerusalem yesterday and decided to inspect the field today. It’s good that I did. I noticed you seemed unwell before you collapsed. When was the last time you ate?”

  Ruth remained mute.

  “When?” he insisted.

  “Last night.”

  He frowned. “What were you thinking? You can’t do this work on an empty belly. I suppose you’ve had no water all day, either.”

  Ruth reddened and pulled her veil forward.

  “A hedgehog has more sense,” he muttered. Behind him, other workers had gathered, gawping.

  Boaz rose. “Nothing of interest here. Everyone back to work.”

  In spite of their curiosity, his laborers were quick to obey. He knelt back by her side. “I’ll take you home.”

  With a gasp, Ruth raised her head. “No need, my lord. I am well now.” She forced her body into obedience and pushed herself to stand. To her mortification, her legs wobbled and she collapsed back on the ground.

  Boaz put a steadying arm on her back. “Home,” he said, his tone brooking no argument, and Ruth did not dare protest again. He called for Abel to fetch his horse.

  A wave of nausea almost proved her undoing; she felt hot and cold at once, and only willpower kept her from collapsing altogether. Boaz slid an arm beneath her knees and lifted her up. He swung her into the horse’s saddle. Dizzily, she grabbed what was in front of her to keep herself from slipping, and found herself clutching a fistful of Shakhor’s black mane. The unhappy animal pawed the ground and shook its head up and down. Ruth hastily loosened her hold and would have toppled over if Boaz hadn’t swung behind her and held her securely to him.

  He quieted the horse and brought it under control. “Ready?”

  “If you only allow me to rest in the shade for a while, I—”

  “No.” He signaled Shakhor to start walking.

  Ruth felt too weak to sit straight. When she tried, the pain in her head became unbearable, triggering more nausea. Giving up, she subsided against him. His arm tightened protectively, preventing her from falling.

  “I’m sorry to be so much trouble, my lord.”

  She felt him shift as he shrugged. “I’ve had worse troubles. Now close your eyes and try to sleep. You are still shaking.”

  Sleep! As if she could, held in his arms, bouncing atop his big horse, the world careening around her. How could she have been so witless? A child knew better than to allow herself to get into such a state by not drinking and eating, or taking appropriate shelter from the sun.

  Boaz shifted in the saddle and drew her up a little. As if reading her restless thoughts, he said, “It has happened to me too. I suffered from heatstroke once.”

  “You, my lord?” she managed to say.

  “I was ten years old. But yes, I became very sick and almost died for lack of water. I can still remember how miserable I felt.”

  Ruth’s lips felt dry and chapped. They stung as she licked them and she winced. He was trying to make her feel better, and succeeding. “Well, I am not going to die, unless embarrassment can kill you.”

  He laughed. The sound washed over her like a
balm, and even though she still felt sick and her head hurt as if someone had hit it with the sharp end of a plow, she wanted to smile.

  Naomi saw them coming from where she sat in the yard, grinding flour, and ran into the road to meet them, her mouth trembling with anxiety.

  “Fear not, Naomi,” Boaz said as he dismounted. “She stayed in the sun too long and was overcome. A couple of days in bed, and she will be ready to glean my fields until they are bare.” He lifted Ruth up in gentle arms and brought her inside.

  “Oh, my poor girl. My poor girl. She seemed so tired this morning, I ought to have kept her home.”

  “Don’t fret yourself, Naomi,” Ruth said. “I’m well.”

  Naomi rushed to set up a mat with extra bedding and a pillow for her head. Boaz laid her down. For a moment he lingered, looking at her. “I don’t want to see you in my fields until after the Sabbath.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Come to the new field when you are better. You can glean wheat there.”

  Naomi thanked him, but he waved away her words and spoke a reassurance that Ruth did not catch. She lay back weakly against the pillow when he left and wondered why the room felt empty and bereft without him. Naomi stood at the door, a thoughtful look on her face. But as she fell asleep, it wasn’t Naomi’s face Ruth saw. The image of a man with brown eyes and a bright smile claimed her last waking thought.

  Naomi pressed another glass of barley water, sweetened with honey into Ruth’s hand. “Where did you find honey?” Ruth asked, sipping the delicious concoction.

  “Bartered for it yesterday morning. A woman who lives close to the city gate found a hive. You’ve brought home so much grain that I have been able to trade some of it for fresh supplies. How do you feel?”

  “Recovered, thanks to your care.” Ruth had slept through the afternoon and into the night, and woken up ravenous. Naomi had filled her with bread and cheese and barley water in the hours since. “I’m as stuffed as the geese in Pharaoh’s kitchens. If I’d had all this food and drink inside me when I fell ill, lord Boaz would not have been able to lift me.”

  “I wonder why Boaz did not summon a cart and have one of his men convey you here, instead? He would have saved himself an uncomfortable journey.” That strange, thoughtful expression settled on Naomi’s face again.

  “Because I am Elimelech’s daughter-in-law. If not for that, I think he might have forbidden me to return to his fields.”

  “Why do you believe that?”

  “He was so angry when he first found me, his hands shook. He said I had the sense of a hedgehog.”

  A hint of a smile touched Naomi’s lips. “Men sometimes hide their fear with anger. He must have been concerned when he saw you collapse.”

  “Why would he be concerned for me? What am I to him but the poor widow of a long-lost relative?”

  Naomi rose to fetch wool. She had taken to spinning again, which she had not done since Moab. “He watched his wife die, they tell me. So he is probably deeply moved by the sight of a sick woman.”

  Ruth felt her throat close. “His wife?”

  “When Elimelech and I left Bethlehem, Boaz was married. Happily married, though he and his wife had lost their only child, a beautiful girl named Sarah. But Miriam tells me that several months after our departure, his wife died in childbirth. He has shown no interest in taking another wife since, and not for lack of effort on the part of every mother with a young, unmarried daughter from here to the hills of Jerusalem.”

  “That is why he understands so well.”

  “Understands what?”

  “The pain of grief.” Ruth related the lesson of Jacob’s ladder as Boaz had taught her. “The Lord has not forgotten you, Mother. He still rules over your coming and going.”

  Naomi listened, her eyes red, her mouth tight.

  “Shalom!” a soft voice called from the open door. The women turned to find Mahalath waiting respectfully outside, a large basket balanced on her head. “My master sends me with greetings. May I come in?”

  “Come, child. How nice of Boaz to remember us.” Naomi offered Mahalath a cushion.

  “The master bid me to bring you a few gifts, mistress.” She lowered her basket and drew out a goatskin.

  “Wine!” Naomi tasted a little and smacked her lips. “It’s wonderful.”

  “He had guests last night and they slaughtered a lamb. He sent you some of the leftover meat.”

  Naomi examined the salted lamb and wrapped it back in the linen. “If this is the leftover, I wonder what the first portion might look like. He has sent us the best cut.”

  Mahalath gave a shy smile. “And here are a few cakes of figs and raisins. He thought you might enjoy them.”

  “To what do we owe so much kindness?”

  Mahalath shrugged. “My lord thought with Ruth sick, you might be able to use extra provisions.”

  Naomi nodded. “Please tell your lord that we are thankful. Tell him I pray I shall be able to return his kindness one day.”

  Ruth nodded. “I am his grateful servant.” She would have preferred Boaz himself to all the lambs and figs and raisins of Judah. That thought made her blush and she sank abruptly on a cushion.

  Mahalath rose to take her leave, empty basket swinging by her side. “Can’t you stay?” Ruth asked. “Your company would be a blessing.”

  The dark-eyed girl hesitated. “For a little while. It’s quiet at home today. The master won’t mind, I know.”

  “You are very faithful to Boaz, aren’t you?”

  “He helped me when no one would. I was under the yoke of a cruel master. My father had many debts and had mortgaged our home to a man named Jaala. Unable to repay the mortgage, my father gave me to Jaala as a slave in exchange for the money he owed. We knew he was reputed to be a hard man and a fox in business. But what could my father do?

  “I never knew why, but Jaala took a special dislike to me. He enjoyed punishing me for every small mistake. His threats were so cruel, I began to fear my own shadow. He was hard with all his workers. But toward me, he showed unbearable brutality.”

  Naomi, who had been listening to the story with quiet intensity, gasped. Ruth wondered what made her mother-in-law so pale and still, as if she were personally affected by the details of Mahalath’s account.

  “I am pained to hear of your suffering, Mahalath. Why did no one interfere? Bring him to answer for his malice?” Ruth asked.

  “Jaala is a crafty man. He never broke the law, but rode the edges of it over and over. What could anyone do? I was a slave and he a rich landowner.

  “My mother worked for lord Boaz. One day, afraid that I would do myself harm, she approached him and begged for his help. Lord Boaz is kin to Jaala, you see. I don’t know what he had to do to persuade the man to let me go. But I expect it wasn’t cheap, though he has never mentioned the price to me. I am no longer a slave thanks to lord Boaz. May the Lord bless him all his days. And may He preserve others from being under Jaala’s power.”

  Inexplicably, Naomi reached a hand and pulled Ruth to her in a tight embrace. Ruth could not help noticing that the older woman’s lips had turned white with distress.

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  Hope deferred makes the heart sick.

  PROVERBS 13:12

  The heat wave broke the day Ruth returned to glean in the new field. Row after row of ripe wheat waved in the breeze, like jubilant hands lifted up in a dance of praise. The color of the plants had changed from green to a bright gold that carried with it the promise of a bounteous year, a year free of hunger.

  Three days at home had restored Ruth’s health. She worked with nimble fingers, her body satisfyingly strong and obedient to her demands once more.

  There was no sign of Boaz. For days, Ruth had eaten his meat and drunk his wine, and finally had to admit to herself that she missed the man: his astute wisdom, his quiet kindness, his God-soaked prayers, his warm voice.

  She missed Boaz and resented him for it.
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  Why had he stolen his way into her heart when he could never be anything to her? He was too high and she was too low. He owned the land and she gleaned it. She was lower even than a day laborer.

  She let out an exasperated breath and picked up a few abandoned stalks of wheat with more force than necessary.

  “What’s pestering you, Moabite?” Dinah asked, bending to gather a large clump of wheat with slow, lazy movements. “It’s like there’s a storm blowing through your insides.”

  “My name is Ruth.”

  “That’s what I said. Moabite. Poor as dirt and barren too. As if Bethlehem needs Moab’s leftovers.”

  Ruth went cold. She clenched her teeth to keep from returning Dinah’s comments with sour words of her own. She knew that would gain her nothing.

  When she had turned thirteen, Ruth had gone through a season of rebellion. Tired of her sisters’ baiting, she baited them back, returning anger for meanness. Her harsh words won her nothing but misery. Her sisters grew sharper and more unkind. Ruth lost the little peace she had known among her kin. After several anguished months, Ruth learned to control her tongue. She stopped trying to repay her sisters’ torment. Sometimes, she even managed to return kindness for their evil. She was amazed by the change in her siblings. They never learned to love or appreciate her. But to her surprise, they stopped baiting her as often. They sheathed their claws and began to ignore Ruth instead of tormenting her. She had learned her lesson. Dinah would not push her back into the helpless wrath of a thirteen-year-old. She knew how to contend with women like her.

  Just beyond them, a man straightened and turned toward them. Ruth recognized Adin, Abel’s younger brother. His wife had died recently of a wasting disease, leaving him the care of two young sons, which had kept him from work for several weeks. Ruth barely knew him as a result of his absence. She was surprised when he took a large handful of the wheat he had just cut down with his sickle and dropped it in front of her.