In the Field of Grace (27 page)

Naomi studied Ruth’s silent figure. For a whole day, she had sat in the corner of their modest house, pounding barley into flour in the hand mill. She made excuses not to go out, even to the well, as if she were afraid of facing people. Naomi knew that something had happened between Ruth and Boaz. But since both chose to remain tight-lipped about that afternoon, she could only guess at the content of their thoughts.

By the third day after the fire, Naomi had had enough. “Are you going to tell me what is wrong?”

“Nothing, Mother. What should be wrong?”

“You don’t wish to speak about it. I understand. It concerns Boaz, I take it.”

Ruth stood up so fast she spilled the flour on the floor. She gasped and dropped to her knees, trying to collect every particle of the grain, without gathering the dirt of the floor with it.

“Tell me this. Do you dislike him?”

Ruth’s hands shook so hard that she dropped half the flour on the floor again. “Dislike him? Of course not!”

“Has he said or done something to offend you?”

“He would never do anything offensive to me or any woman! How could you ask that?” She bent down again to try and gather the spilled flour, forgetting the handful she held in her fist, which overflowed afresh on the floor. With uncharacteristic agitation, she threw her hands in the air and groaned before bending down and starting the work again.

Naomi bit her lip but forced herself to push through. “Are you fond of him, daughter?”

Ruth made an inarticulate noise in her throat, dropped the flour she had once again managed to gather into a nearby bowl, and walked out of the house, her gait unsteady. Naomi smiled, her heart lifting. The plan she had been considering with some trepidation now seemed like the very light of God penetrating the darkness of two people she loved dearly.

The next day Mahalath came with an armful of gifts. Two linen veils so fine that light shone through them, one thicker woolen veil for the winter months, a brand-new tunic in green wool, another in delicate blue linen, and even a fresh pair of leather sandals. “The master has had my mother and I set aside every other duty to work on these for you, Ruth. He said you sacrificed your veils and garments in order to save his land. So it was only right that he should replace them.”

Ruth sat in stony silence, unable to bring herself to speak one polite word of appreciation. She wanted nothing so much as to grab the bundle and throw every item off a high mountain. He had sent her clothes to soothe his conscience. He could not return her feelings, so he tried to buy her comfort. Rage and humiliation battled like a rising hurricane inside her.

Mahalath, confused by Ruth’s lack of warmth, shifted from one hip to another. “These aren’t his wife’s old clothes, you know. They are brand-new. He brought the fabric from Egypt some years ago
when he traveled there with a group of merchants. These are just for you, Ruth.”

The mention of Boaz’s wife made Ruth’s lips narrow in an unconscious attempt to swallow the bitter comments that were at the edge of her tongue. Of course he wouldn’t give her his wife’s old garments. He would never make such a gesture to her. Better waste valuable fabric on the childless widow from Moab than demean the memory of his beloved wife by allowing it to touch Ruth’s skin.

Naomi came over and placed a comforting hand around Ruth’s waist, drawing her close. “These are beautiful, Mahalath. You and Sheba have managed to sew better stitches in three days than I could turn out in one month. Tell your master his generosity knows no bounds. Ruth and I are both grateful.”

No I’m not
, Ruth wanted to scream. The intensity of her anger shocked her. What had he done wrong, after all? He could not force himself to return her feelings.

When Mahalath left, subdued by Ruth’s inexplicable coldness, Naomi drew Ruth into her embrace.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Ruth gasped and said nothing. She let Naomi pull her even closer in her arms and wept.

R
uth returned to the field several days before they started winnowing the grain. Rebelliously, she wore her old grey, threadbare tunic, having stored all of Boaz’s luxurious gifts in her chest. She tried to bury his memory in the same place, with little success.

Physical labor, she knew from experience, acted as an effective balm for a troubled mind. She worked with fast efficiency next to Dinah and Hannah. Dinah, she was pleased to note, had gained a new measure of popularity since the fire. One young man in particular paid her marked attention. Without being asked, he fetched her water when the sun grew hot, and saved her a warm piece of bread during their midday repast. Dinah smiled, neither encouraging nor dissuading his attentions.

“You have a new suitor,” Hannah teased when they returned to the field.

Dinah shrugged. “It means nothing.”

But the next day when the young man teased her about her corkscrew curls, which peeked from beneath her veil, she teased him back and they laughed as if they had been dear friends for years. As Ruth turned to pick an abandoned stalk, she caught Adin watching, brows lowered, his mouth a flat line. She moved toward him, following a trail of barley stalks.

“Peace, Adin,” she said. She had not seen him since the morning before the fire.

“Peace? What peace? What’s wrong with her? Did the fire go to her head? Why is she acting like this?”

“Dinah? How is she acting?”

“Like … like Rahab before she repented.”

Ruth, who had heard of Rahab, suppressed a bubble of laughter. “I’ve seen Canaanite girls of that occupation and I can’t perceive the similarity.”

“True. They are probably too modest for the comparison.”

“Adin!” Ruth crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you expect? You don’t talk to her. You don’t pursue her. She won’t sit around waiting for you forever while her youth passes by. If you don’t want her, others do.”

“Who says I don’t want her?”

Ruth drew nearer so that she could stare him in the eye. “
Do
you want her?”

He shuffled like a little boy. “I’ve always wanted her.”

“Do you love her enough to marry her? In spite of your parents’ displeasure? In spite of her occasionally sharp manner?”

Adin said nothing. Ruth threw her hands in the air. “Then you must bear the pain of watching her grow fond of another man. Stand by as she marries another man. Bears the children of another man.”

A fit of coughing shook Adin. “Are you trying to ruin my day?”

“You are doing a good job of that yourself.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Make up your mind, Adin. Marry her, if you love her. Grow up. Be a man and bear the cost of your love.”

Boaz sat atop his black horse, surveying the field. From the height of his seat, he had a clear view of the majority of his land. He had come for a glimpse of her. In spite of the fact that every one of his workers was here today, he picked her out with ease among them. Her tall, long-legged grace as she strode forward,
bent, picked, straightened, and repeated the pattern had already become as familiar as his own name. She was dressed in a frayed, grey tunic. She had spurned his gifts, then. Or perhaps they were too fine for working in a field. Perhaps she was saving them for special occasions. And perhaps his goat could speak Egyptian fluently.

He followed Ruth as she turned to approach Adin. He was too far to hear them, but it was clear that emotion ran through their discussion. They stood close and gesticulated with passionate movements.

Adin and Ruth. Ruth and Adin.

He cradled his head in his palms and stifled a groan. Somehow God would give him the strength to watch their relationship blossom. Would he have to attend their wedding? Give a blessing as elder? The thought made him want to vomit.

He trampled on the urge to go near her. She did not wish to see him. All he had of her now were these secret, distant glimpses. His absence had become the best gift he could give her. In time, perhaps he could discipline his affections, rein them in hard until he could stay away from her altogether. For the sake of his own sanity, he hoped so.

Adin had had enough. For three whole days, he watched Dinah flirt with some good-for-nothing field hand as if he were the most captivating male to walk God’s earth. She simpered and giggled and blushed like an idiot girl. Not once did she bite off the man’s head with a sharp word or a critical comment. Honey couldn’t be sweeter.

Evening had almost fallen, and everyone was making their way home when he noticed that instead of walking with Ruth and Hannah as she usually did, Dinah was walking with her new
friend
. In the descending shadows of dusk, he saw the man grab her hand. The gall! He couldn’t go around grabbing the hands of unmarried women as if he had a perfect right to them. Not even in Judah, where men acted as they pleased, had they become so outright
indecent. Did he mean to marry her, then?

Without thinking, Adin stormed over and ripped her hand out of the man’s snug hold and grabbed onto it himself.

“You are coming with me!” he shouted at the top of his voice. Everyone had stopped to stare.

Dinah pulled her hand free. “I am not! Who are you to tell me what I must do?”

Adin grabbed that resistant hand one more time and began pulling her behind him. “I’m your future husband. That’s who I am.”

Dinah stopped dead in the middle of the road. “Since when?”

“Since I am going to ask your father as soon as I can get you to your house.”

“You are going to ask my father?”

“Who else? I’m not going to ask you, that’s for certain. I’ve decided for both of us.” Adin pulled harder. Dinah, who was no longer resisting, landed in his arms in a breathless bundle of arms and legs. Her face was too close for him to neglect. He bent and kissed her thoroughly, ignoring the gasps and titters of their growing audience.

“What was that?” she asked, breathless.

“Down payment on your bride price.”