In the Field of Grace Page 16

  Ruth could smell the singeing of something other than fabric and plant, and realized it was wisps of her own hair, loosened from their braid, melting in the heat of the blaze. She herself would surely begin to melt soon.

  A powerful impulse to run assailed her. To turn back. Give up. Fly away as fast as her wobbly limbs allowed from this destructive wall that was eating everything in its path. Surely the fire had won. People would find a way to make up for the shortfall of grain this winter. She couldn’t keep going. Her hands began to droop. She thought of Boaz and his disappointment. His anguish at not being able to provide for his workers and their families the way he hoped. Gulping a quick prayer, she forced the fear down. Swallowed it and picked her hands up again and compelled her body to move. Just one more moment, she thought. One more push.

  And then she heard the sweetest sound she had ever heard—the sound of men shouting and running toward her.

  “Merciful God, are you hurt?” a deep voice said in her ear. She knew that sweet, deep timbre even though it was shaking.

  “No,” she said and realized no sound came from her throat, and shook her head instead.

  Boaz wrapped a hard arm around her waist and pulled her back. “Enough.” He propelled her against his body, and for a short delirious moment she was in his arms, held tight, and then he pushed her away into someone else’s hold. “Take her from here.”

  “Come, Ruth. We’ll care for you.” Ruth recognized Hannah’s face through eyes still streaming from the sting of smoke. She tried to assure the young woman that she was unharmed but found that her voice remained mutinously uncooperative.

  She must look a fright, she thought, stained with soot and tears. Behind her, she could hear the men beating at the fire and shouting encouragement at each other. For the first time since detecting the rising smoke, she felt her body release its hard tension. All would be well now. They would save the harvest. The strength left her body in an abrupt shift, and Ruth sank to the ground, unable to take another step.

  Hannah cried out and a few of the other woman joined her and helped to lift Ruth up, carrying her with strong hands at her back and waist until she came to a wooden shelter where she could sit. Dinah rushed to her side and enveloped her in a tight, wordless embrace. Tears ran down her face, and they weren’t from smoke. Stunned silence surrounded them.

  “Are you well, Ruth?”

  She nodded, stroking Dinah weakly across an arm, trying to reassure the fear out of her.

  “I thought you would surely die,” Dinah said, her voice breaking.

  “Too stubborn,” Ruth croaked, and Dinah laughed.

  “You should see yourself. The children of Bethlehem would have seven years of nightmares if they see you now.”

  “You aren’t looking like the Queen of the Nile yourself.”

  Ruth put her head in her hand. With the excitement of the moment over, she was becoming aware of the discomfort of her body. Her chest burned with every breath; her thigh throbbed with ferocious severity where she had scorched it; and her head ached. She groaned. “I burned both our veils.”

  Dinah scooted closer. “I think we can spare them.”

  “I can’t. What will I wear tomorrow?”

  “Bandages,” Dinah said, pointing at her thigh. It was already covered in blisters. For the first time Ruth was hit by the full force of the pain, pain that went bone deep. She had suffered small burns before, an inevitable outcome of cooking over an open fire. But nothing had ever prepared her for the piercing agony of this injury. She bit down on a groan.

  Someone was handing her a cup of water. Ruth found that her fingers could not hold it steady enough, and Dinah grabbed the cup and put it to her lips. She coughed, her whole chest burning with the effort, and pushed the water away.

  “I was the same when I first left. You’ll feel better soon. Here, put your head on my lap and lie down. Rest for a while.” With gentle fingers, Dinah covered Ruth with someone’s mantle. She wet a piece of soft fabric and began wiping at Ruth’s hands and face.

  Ruth began to drift into a light sleep, jerking herself awake every now and again when another fit of violent coughing overcame her.

  “How is she?” she heard a voice ask from far away and forced her eyes open. Boaz knelt on one knee next to her, his face drawn.

  “She is recovering,” Ruth said and pushed herself up from Dinah’s lap. She felt a wave of dizziness and ground her teeth, determined to overcome her rebellious body.

  Boaz’s hand fluttered up, as if he were about to touch her face. Then he jerked his fingers away, clenching them.

  “You could have died.”

  With a restrained motion, Ruth shifted the mantle that had slipped to one side back over herself to cover the multitude of small burns and the larger hole in her tunic. “I was careful.”

  “How can you be careful against a wall of fire?”

  A storm of coughing interrupted anything Ruth might have thought of in response. She emerged grey with fatigue and pain to find him staring at her, his face as pale as her own.

  “You’re not well. I’ve sent for Naomi,” he said. “As soon as she arrives, we’ll take you home.” He handed her a cup. “Try to drink a little. It will soothe your throat.”

  She found not water but wine sweetened with honey in the cup, and took a cautious sip. “What happened to the crops?” she asked, wondering at the outcome of the fire.

  Boaz’s swept a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “They are safe, thanks to you and Dinah.”

  Ruth began to smile. “We saved the harvest?”

  “Yes.” His answer came short and abrupt.

  She chose to ignore his inexplicable brusqueness. “What started it, have you discovered?”

  “We found a warm fire pit in the lane that runs behind that portion of the land. We think a hungry traveler must have built a fire to make roasted grain. Only he was too careless to check that the fire was properly out when he left. Perhaps he heard the workers arriving and feared they would reprimand him for roasting the wheat without permission and departed in a hurry. We don’t know. We assume the wind carried a spark from the fire pit into the field.”

  Ruth could not control a spasm of painful coughs that left her ribs sore. Boaz sprang to his feet. “Abel is bringing a cart. As soon as Naomi arrives, I’ve decided that we’ll take you to my house. Mahalath’s mother understands healing herbs. She will treat your burns. You swallowed a lot of smoke. Your voice is still raw from it. She is sure to know how to help you.”

  “That is kind of you, my lord,” Ruth said, her back rigid. “But I prefer to go back to my own home.”

  “My home is more comfortable. I’m sure Naomi will see the wisdom of it and agree with me.”

  To Ruth’s annoyance, Naomi did, and before long, she found herself ensconced in an upper room in Boaz’s house. Nothing could have conveyed the reality of the vast differences between them more than the opulence of her surroundings. Boaz’s house was large, built around a courtyard, with a diminutive marble pool in the middle, and the silvery shimmer of olive trees, interspersed by colorful clumps of roses.

  A thick, soft carpet decorated the room to which they brought her. The walls were covered with rich hangings, their scarlet, blue, and deep green thread making the room feel like a forest glade. Several large latticed windows were carved into the walls, allowing light to pour in.

  For the first time in her life, Ruth was placed on a bed, with a mattress of feathers under her so that she felt as if someone had laid her on a cloud. They covered her not merely with an old mantle but with a proper bedcover, embroidered in beautiful patterns of blue and grey-green.

  Instead of feeling comforted, Ruth grew tenser with every moment. Her clothes were filthy. Soot still covered most of the surface of her body, and her hair stank of old smoke. She feared that if she touched any of Boaz’s fine textiles and furniture, she would ruin them.

  Mahalath’s mother, Sheba, was a rotund woman with a s
quare face and kind hands. She and Naomi fussed over Ruth, stripped her, cleaned her, wiped her with unguents, and poured herbed drinks down her throat. They washed her hair in a massive basin and rubbed it with perfume that carried a faint hint of lilies.

  Then came the really enjoyable part. Sheba spread a foul-smelling ointment over her blistered thigh and the smaller burns that had either branded her skin in angry red marks or bubbled up into small blisters. At the first touch of the ointment, Ruth almost jumped out of her skin. It burned worse than the injury, and that was surely something. But after a few moments, the pain faded, leaving her skin numb. Ruth could have cried from the relief. Sheba bandaged her thigh with careful precision. Afterward, no matter how much Ruth insisted that she wished to go home, they ignored her, until exhausted, she fell asleep.

  She did not awaken until the sun straddled the middle of the sky the next day. With shock, she realized it must be near the noon hour. She could not recollect ever sleeping so late. What would Boaz think of her? Feeling addled, she moved to rise out of bed, quickly diving under the soft caress of the covers again when she had a look at herself. Except for a loincloth and bandages, she wore no clothes.

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  What a man desires is unfailing love.

  PROVERBS 19:22

  She took stock of her body. Her burns smarted a little, but the piercing agony of yesterday had diminished considerably. Sheba’s ointment had done wonders. Her chest was sore, as were her eyes and her throat. She felt well enough to get up, though, if only she could get hold of her clothes.

  She remembered the women clucking over her like concerned hens the day before, taking away her tunic, and she looked about anxiously for it. Every article of her clothing had vanished. Nor was there any sign of Naomi. What was she supposed to do now? Wear her blankets?

  The door creaked open, and Mahalath came in, balancing a round tray with careful hands.

  Ruth sat up, clutching the covers against her. “Mahalath, I beg your pardon for sleeping overlong. I would be up, but I don’t seem to have any clothes. Have you seen my tunic?”

  Mahalath nodded and set the tray down. “You deserved your sleep after the day you had. How do you feel?”

  “Fine.”

  “Well, you look pale. I’ve brought you almonds pureed in milk. My mother says you are to have no solid food for two days; you have swallowed a lot of smoke and were sick with it most of the night.”

  Ruth had a flash of memory, of vomiting with helpless violence into a bowl while someone wiped the back of her neck with a cool cloth. “I had forgotten.”

  “And you still sound like a sick frog.”

  “That is not fair to the frog. Is Naomi here?”

  “She went to fetch you a few necessities. She should return shortly.”

  “May I have my tunic?”

  Mahalath looked shifty. “Beyond help.”

  Ruth pulled the covers higher. “I am good with a needle. I can mend it.”

  “I’ll fetch my mother. She’ll want to look you over.” Ruth did not miss Mahalath’s prevarication. A disturbing suspicion began to nag at her. Before she could pester Mahalath, however, her mother came in.

  Sheba had a habit of clicking her tongue when she was in deep thought. She listened to Ruth’s breathing and examined her eyes and throat, and clicked between every new examination.

  “May I have my clothing back?”

  Sheba snorted. “There were more holes than there was wool. Besides, the smoke had ruined the fabric beyond repair. Naomi took it home to use for rags. She’ll fetch you a new tunic and anything else you might need for the next day or two.”

  Ruth bolted up, clutching the covers to her rigid shoulders. “No need for that. I will be going home now, surely. You can see I am not injured.”

  “One more night of rest and care, and you will be ready to leave. Not before. The master bid we take good care of you, and we intend to do that.”

  “But I don’t wish to intrude on his hospitality more than I already have.” Ruth’s voice rose higher with excitement, and she began to cough. Her throat, she realized too late, was still irritated from the smoke.

  A broad hand tapped her back. “No intrusion, child. He feels beholden to you. You saved his largest crop from destruction, you and Dinah. You think he would begrudge you a few days under his roof? Now let me see you eat. I worked hard on that almond broth.”

  “Thank you.” Ruth had no appetite. But she forced the bowl to her lips and took a sip. It was surprisingly refreshing. “It’s delicious.”

  Sheba nodded. “Mahalath will stay with you until Naomi arrives. The master’s orders. He doesn’t want you alone.”

  Mahalath sat at the foot of the bed when her mother left. “I doubt if Deborah the Judge received so many callers. You’ve had twenty visitors and more lining up by the hour.”

  Ruth turned pale. “What visitors?”

  “Dinah, for one. She refuses to leave, so she should really count as two. Abel, Hannah, Adin, and many others from the field. Miriam and a few other women who are Naomi’s friends have also stopped by.”

  “Naomi’s friends? They avoid me as if I come bearing the plagues of Egypt when I go to the well.”

  “No longer. I suspect few will turn their backs on you after this. It’s not every day that a lone woman endangers her life to save the property of others.”

  “It’s bad enough Boaz is saddled with me. But having to welcome so many additional guests for my sake is mortifying. How can I get rid of them?”

  Mahalath shrugged. “You can’t. Besides, the master has made no complaint.”

  Ruth put her head in her hand and groaned. Peeking through her fingers, she asked, “Must I entertain them?”

  “Not today, in any case. Master Boaz keeps sending them away, telling them you are too sick for visiting. He plies them with refreshments and reassurances first, so no one leaves unhappy. If you ask me, he is worse than all the callers put together since he pesters us for news of you every hour. The only one who importunes us nearly as much is Dinah. Seeing as she helped you quench the fire, the master has allowed her to remain.”

  Ruth remembered Dinah comforting her as she coughed and heaved. “Would you fetch her here, Mahalath?”

  “Are you certain? She has a tongue on her, that girl. You don’t need her barbs as you recover.”

  “She is changing. I haven’t heard a bitter word out of her mouth in days. She has been sweet company to me.”

  Mahalath frowned. “I had not noticed. But now that you mention, she has been strangely polite to me this past week and more.”

  Ruth nodded. “Please fetch her. She must be worried if she lingers here.”

  Dinah arrived, head bent and silent. She knelt by Ruth’s bed and other than a faint greeting, kept her mouth shut.

  “Did you injure your mouth?” Ruth asked finally, after several failed attempts to make Dinah speak. “It’s not like you to be so quiet.”

  “I should have stayed with you.” Dinah clenched and unclenched her hands. “Instead, I ran away. I ran, not because I was eager to fetch help but because I was terrified. I shouldn’t have abandoned you.”

  Ruth reached out and grabbed Dinah’s hand, stilling her convulsive movements. “Of course you were terrified. No shame in that. I was afraid myself. Running was the right thing to do. You fetched the help that saved the harvest. I could only hold the fire at bay for so long, and would have given up if the men hadn’t arrived when they did. You did the right thing, Dinah. You must stop tormenting yourself with guilt.”

  To Ruth’s surprise, Dinah burst into noisy tears. Her nose ran and her eyes turned the color of radishes. Ruth bent forward and hauled Dinah into her arms, patting her back, taken aback by the girl’s intense reaction.

  “You were the only one who showed me kindness,” she said, wiping her nose with a crumpled rag. “Even my parents have given up on me. I couldn’t stand to think of you perishing in that fire because
I abandoned you.”

  “Going to fetch help is not the same as abandoning me. I hold no grievance against you, Dinah. In my eyes, you did right. All of Bethlehem respects you for what you did.”

  “That’s the worst of it! I feel like a hypocrite. They keep congratulating me as if I were so brave, when all the while I know what a coward I was.”

  “Come and sit next to me, here on the bed.” Ruth patted the fluffy mattress. “And stop scourging yourself.”

  Dinah sat gingerly on the feather mattress, her back hunched low, her body rigid as the handle of a shovel.

  “Not like that. Put your feet all the way up and rest back against the wall.” The girl obeyed and sighed as her back leaned into the cushions.

  “Soft, isn’t it?” Ruth said.

  Dinah ran a tentative hand over the covers. “Too soft. I wouldn’t dare pass gas on this mattress in case it tore a hole in the fabric.”

  Ruth threw her head back and laughed. “You are a scandal, girl.”

  “I’m glad I made you laugh. You looked so pale and miserable when I came in.” She was wearing a new cinnamon-colored tunic that matched her eyes. In the privacy of the guest chamber, she had removed her veil and her clean, tight curls fell down her back.

  “That tunic suits you,” Ruth said. She touched the edge of the fabric, admiring its fine texture. “Linen?”

  “Lord Boaz gave it to me. It belonged to his late wife, I think. I haven’t been home since they brought you here, and Mahalath said my begrimed clothes would leave smudges on the carpets. She forced me into a bath and gave me this tunic.”

  Ruth felt an arrow of pain pierce through her. Boaz had given Dinah one of his wife’s tunics, but he had offered her none. Was it because she was a Moabite? A foreigner? A widow? Was she not good enough to wear his wife’s old clothes? She pulled the covers higher, feeling cold.

  Trying to hide her distress from her friend, she asked, “Did you see Adin while you waited to visit me?”