In the Field of Grace

by Tessa Afshar

  “Then a man arrived on horseback, well garbed and neatly groomed. He greeted everyone with a blessing from the Lord, and I could see from the laborers’ response that they held him in high regard. As he spoke to Abel, I realized this must be the owner of the field. The others told me his name is Boaz.”

  “Boaz! That man is one of our closest relatives, first cousin to my husband, Elimelech, and one of our kinsman-redeemers. He is an honorable and worthy man, known throughout Judah for his wealth and influence.”

  “What is a kinsman-redeemer?”

  “A goel is a close kinsman who is expected to help a family member in times of exceptional trouble. When a relative has to sell himself into slavery because of dire financial need, a goel buys him back from his master and restores him to freedom. He also redeems mortgaged or lost property. In special cases, they are expected to marry the widow of a brother and have children in the name of that brother in order for his line not to perish. Some believe that responsibility should extend beyond a brother to other family members. But it is not written so in the law. Boaz is such a man to us.”

  “Perhaps that explains his kindness, for you will never imagine what he did, Mother.” Ruth told Naomi everything that Boaz had undertaken on her behalf. “When he first approached me, I thought I had committed an embarrassing error, somehow, and he wished to chastise me. Then I thought perhaps he did not wish a Moabite to glean in his fields.

  “But instead of casting me out, he showered me with kindness. As if all this were not enough, he insisted that I remain in his fields until the end of the harvest season! He told me not to glean anywhere else but remain with the women who work for him.”

  For the first time in seven months, Naomi smiled. It softened the lines of her drawn face and washed her expression of the ravages of bitterness. “The Lord has not neglected to show kindness to the living or the dead.”

  Ruth felt the breath leave her breast, and with it, a weight she had not known she carried. It had been many days since Naomi had prayed. More still since she had spoken of the Lord with trust. She reached out and grasped her hand.

  “He has not, Mother.”

  A tear ran down Naomi’s cheek. She pulled her hand free from Ruth’s and wiped at it. “Daughter, you should do as Boaz suggested. Remain in his fields and stay close to his young women. They will keep you safe. Besides, they’ll be company for you. On someone else’s land, you might be harassed. Boaz will shield you from harm.”

  That night, Ruth slept more soundly than she had since Mahlon became sick. She woke up refreshed, ready for the demanding labor that awaited her. Instead of dreading the day, anticipation brought a new lightness to her steps.

  Naomi walked part of the way with her. “I’m going to fetch water. Tonight, we will have warm barley bread with stew for dinner.”

  Ruth clasped Naomi in a long embrace, delighted to see the older woman showing an interest in life again. “I will bring you so much grain tonight, you’ll be able to bathe in it.”

  Naomi patted her cheek. “I think I shall stick to water for my bath. Have a care. It will be hot today.”

  Not far from Boaz’s field, Ruth heard the sound of hoofbeats, too fast to belong to a donkey. She moved to the edge of the road and turned to see who rode in such haste.

  Boaz.

  He slowed the beast as he came near her, and to her surprise, dismounted.

  “Shalom, Ruth.”

  “Shalom, my lord.”

  He led the horse by the bridle and walked alongside her. “You are on the road early. The sun has just risen. Did you walk in the dark?”

  “For a little while.”

  He frowned. “You must take care. It can be dangerous for a woman alone. A couple of the women who work for me live near Naomi. I’ll arrange for you to come with them from now on.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  They walked in silence for some minutes. A badger ran through a clump of bushes bordering the side of a narrow field, and the horse neighed, shaking its head with agitation. Boaz whispered to the beast and caressed its smooth, black pelt until it calmed.

  “He is magnificent,” Ruth said. “What do you call him?”

  “Shakhor. He was as black as the darkest hour of the night when he was born, and the name seemed appropriate. Do you know much about horses?”

  “Everything I need to know. Dangerous on both ends and uncomfortable in the middle.”

  Boaz laughed. Ruth couldn’t tear her eyes away for a moment. He was a hand taller than she, and Ruth had to look up to see him clearly. His face had transformed with the laugh; straight teeth, white as shorn ewes flashed through his trim mustache and beard, making him appear younger.

  “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he said, his mouth still softened with a smile.

  His deep voice had a warm timbre, which sent a shiver down her spine. She lowered her lashes, annoyed at her own foolishness. Just because the man had been kind did not give her leave to turn into a clumsy young girl. Still, she could not deny the feeling of accomplishment that stole over her when she managed to make him laugh.

  Naomi’s prediction proved right. The day grew unseasonably hot, more like high summer than midspring. The women Ruth followed in the field paid her little attention. No one spoke to her. Boaz might find her decision to come to Bethlehem admirable, but his laborers were not as easily persuaded. The heat made everyone testy and a few verbal skirmishes broke out among the workers.

  Distracted by a fierce argument, Ruth missed the sudden halt of one of the girls and plowed into her. “I beg your pardon!”

  “Why don’t you watch your step, you stupid Moabite?” the girl snapped.

  Ruth nodded and took a step back. Another woman bent to pick up several heads of barley, which Ruth had dropped when she had collided with the other girl, and handed them to her.

  “Thank you,” Ruth said, surprised at the unexpected kindness.

  “Pay no mind to Dinah. She’s mean to everyone. It’s just her way. She is twenty-five and still unmarried; it has soured her disposition.”

  Ruth shrugged. “There are worse fates.”

  “Like what?”

  Ruth bent to pick up a stalk of grain. “Like being twenty-six and still unmarried.”

  The woman laughed. She was younger than Ruth, and pretty, with long dimples that peeped at the slightest excuse. “I’m Hannah. And you are Ruth. The whole of Bethlehem has heard of you, and how you came from Moab with Naomi.”

  “Do you know my mother-in-law?”

  “I was a child when she left; I don’t remember her. But we live near her house. Before we began work today, the master asked that I walk with you to the field so you won’t have to come alone.” Hannah gave Ruth a curious glance.

  Ruth allowed her veil to fall forward, covering the reddening of her cheeks. “I am sorry for the trouble. He was kin to my husband’s father; I suppose he feels he must watch over Naomi and me.”

  Hannah shrugged. “No trouble. As long as you don’t mind Dinah’s sharp tongue, for I travel with her.”

  That evening Ruth took home an even bigger armful of barley. At this rate, she and Naomi would have more than a year’s provision by the end of the harvest season, with sufficient surplus to allow them to barter for olive oil and dried fruit and nuts. Perhaps she might even be able to have the roof repaired. She felt like skipping.

  In the distance, she noticed a black horse tethered to a bush at the side of the road. There was no sign of its rider. By the time she reached the animal, Boaz had still not returned. Ruth reached a cautious hand and caressed Shakhor’s soft pelt. It stopped lazily grazing on the grass and lifted its regal head to give her a disinterested look before returning to its meal. Ruth wondered at Boaz’s absence. Why had he abandoned the horse? Should she linger to find if he needed help?

  She heard a sound in the bushes and tensed. A moment later, Boaz emerged, a lamb cradled in his arms.

  “Ruth!” He came to an abrupt halt.

&n
bsp; “I saw your horse and wondered if you might need assistance, my lord.”

  He approached her, soothing the trembling lamb as he did. “That was thoughtful. My thanks. I saw this little fellow in trouble and stopped to rescue him. It’s one of mine.”

  Ruth reached a shy hand to caress the lamb. It let out a weak cry. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He got caught in brambles and in his struggle to get free, got badly cut. As if that weren’t bad enough, somewhere in the process, he broke a leg. Must have become separated from the flock, and the shepherd overlooked it.” His tone grew hard as he mentioned the shepherd’s oversight.

  “Is he suffering?”

  Boaz’s eyelids drooped. “Yes.”

  “Can he be healed?”

  “Perhaps. My head shepherd has a gentle hand and a great deal of knowledge. He might be able to help the poor creature.”

  Ruth noticed the tender way Boaz caressed the lamb. He owned thousands of sheep. One more or less could not make a material difference to him. And yet he treated the helpless animal with singular care, as though he were the only one Boaz owned. As though the pain of this little lamb made his heart ache.

  She thought of Naomi. Of how wounded she was, and broken. It came to her that the Lord held Naomi with the same tenderness that Boaz held his lamb. With the same care, He caressed His child, bleeding and hurt from the sorrows of life.

  “What is it?” Boaz asked. “You have a strange look in your eyes.”

  “I was thinking of Naomi, my lord. How she is so much like this lamb, bruised and bleeding from the brambles of life. We can become lame in the spirit the same way this creature is lame in his body.” She did not tell him of her picture of the Lord, anxious that she might appear presumptuous. Worse. He might think her silly.

  Boaz’s chest expanded as he took air into his lungs. “That is a good description for how Naomi must feel. Grief is as sharp as thorns. Heavy like a gravestone. It can crush you to the bone.” He spoke with the passion of one who had tasted personally the bitter brew of mourning.

  Ruth wanted to tell him she knew exactly what he meant. But it was inappropriate for a gleaner in his field to speak so boldly to the master.

  He extended the lamb toward her. “Would you hold him while I mount? Then you can hand him back to me. He will suffer less that way.”

  Ruth cradled the lamb, her heart beating fast, though she could not understand why. Her fingers grazed against Boaz’s hand as she handed the animal back to him after he had mounted his horse. Her mouth ran dry.

  “Shalom, Ruth,” he said, and galloped so fast she lost sight of him before she had a chance to blink twice.

  Chapter

  Ten

  Surely the LORD is in this place, and I did not know it.

  GENESIS 28:16

  Boaz handed the lamb to Zabdiel with care. “Can you do anything for him?”

  The head shepherd clucked his tongue as he examined the animal. “It’s bad.”

  “Find out the name of the fool who left him in that condition. A shepherd ought to have more wits about him.”

  Zabdiel removed his turban and wrapped it around the lamb. His wild hair waved about his head in the evening breeze as he strode to the sheepfold, his forehead furrowed in concentration, no doubt planning strategies for saving the lamb.

  Boaz went inside the house. He needed a hot meal and a cold drink. The memory of Ruth’s face haunted him. We can become lame in the spirit the same way this creature is lame in his body, she had said. Rich wisdom from lips too young to have learned it.

  The servant brought him new wine, chilly from the stone cellar. It tasted sweet on his tongue, and he tipped the cup again. Shedding his mantle, he seated himself on an overstuffed cushion, blind to the rich colors embroidered on the sturdy wool. All the things that he wished to undertake before retiring for the night paraded before his mind: the household accounts, the report from the merchants who worked for him, the latest tally from the shepherds. He made no move to address any of it, and sat, instead, tipping his cup, wondering about Ruth.

  What was it about her that played such havoc with his mind? He recalled the sheen of tears in her eyes the first time he met her, and the powerful impulse to wipe them away. Was he short of women that this foreign widow with her wrinkled garb should affect him so? Had he not had an abundance of young girls and widows shoved under his nose since the death of his wife? Not once had he been tempted to wipe their tears away.

  No woman had affected him like this since Judith.

  More than ten years had passed since he lost Judith. In spite of the needs of his body, not once had Boaz been tempted to unite his life with another woman in all that time. Judith had taken his heart. He had nothing more to give. To risk.

  We can become lame in the spirit the same way this creature is lame in his body. It was as though she had seen into him when she had spoken those words. He had a good notion how Naomi felt. Like that lamb, bruised and torn to shreds by the long, sharp thorns of the Judean hills.

  Old memories, which he kept locked tight inside himself, sprung loose because of a young woman’s unknowing pronouncement. The Moabite who had wormed her way into his mind and refused to leave. He thought of Judith’s final days, her life ebbing away as he watched helplessly. The memory faded quickly, replaced instead by an image of Ruth smiling. Ruth eating. Ruth gleaning.

  He shoved aside the untouched meal that the servant had served him and forced himself to rise up and attend his work. This overindulgence with thoughts of Ruth had to end. There could be no future in it. He was too old. Too worn. Too spent. She deserved a younger man. One with a whole heart who could give her a future. But even as he pulled the rolls of parchment toward him, the image of a golden-eyed girl with bow-curved lips and the grace of a gazelle disturbed his concentration.

  Without warning, understanding dawned. He realized what had drawn him so irresistibly to her the first day he had met her. Heartache and disappointment might shadow her eyes, but Ruth had a strength that made her go on. Persist. Fight. There was a strange sweetness in her perseverance. She hadn’t become bitter and hard from grief. She had grown soft and strong.

  Ruth hurt. He could sense that in every expression, every gesture. But there was no hint of self-pity in her. The hardship of her life did not rule her. She bore the pain and made peace with it, and pushed on to grasp at hope.

  Boaz knew the worth of such a spirit.

  He started as Mahalath came in, her shy steps so quiet, he almost missed her. “May I clean up, my lord?”

  He swept an arm. “Yes, Mahalath. I have finished.”

  As the young woman knelt, her face turned white. “You did not like the meal, my lord?”

  Boaz flinched, annoyed at his oversight. “The meal tasted wonderful. It’s not the fault of the food that I did not eat; I’m simply not hungry.”

  Her pallor did not lift. Her hands shook as she gathered the bowl and the uneaten bread. Mahalath had once served Jaala, a man with cruel habits, and even though she had now been in Boaz’s employ for eight months, she still startled at every imagined shortcoming, expecting a harsh reaction.

  “Did you cook tonight?” he asked, gentling his voice.

  “Yes, master.”

  “You know I enjoy your cooking. Worry no more about my shrinking appetite. You’ve done no wrong. Take yourself to bed, and I promise to eat heartily whatever you put before me tomorrow.”

  Mahalath gave a tremulous smile. He expelled a relieved breath as the shadow of dread left her face. For Mahalath’s sake, if nothing else, he would like to knock Jaala out with a well-placed blow to the man’s straight nose. It was the only straight thing about him; Jaala was as crooked as the horn of a goat.

  For three days, Boaz avoided the field in which Ruth worked. On the fourth day, he could no longer resist returning. He told himself his concern for her well-being motivated this visit. Although he had warned his workers to treat her well, he needed to make certain they follo
wed through with his command and that she fared well. He undertook this scrutiny for Elimelech’s sake, he assured himself.

  He studied her from afar, not wishing to approach her in front of others, knowing such special attention would arouse curiosity. Satisfied that the laborers were treating her with the generosity he had demanded, he spent his time with Abel, discussing the barley harvest and the good progress of the wheat crop in nearby fields. They resolved a few minor problems and made necessary decisions regarding a fight between two laborers, and a dispute over one woman’s wages.

  Boaz lingered far longer than necessary in his conversation with Abel until the workers stopped for the day and began to disband. Not until everyone headed for home did Boaz mount his horse and with a plodding gait unlike his usual enthusiastic gallop made his way back to Bethlehem.

  He came upon Ruth near the city gate as he knew he would. She walked alone, her bundle hefty, held with a protective arm to her side.

  Boaz dismounted. “Let my horse carry that for you the rest of the way, Ruth.”

  Ruth’s eyes widened. “That is most of kind of you, my lord.”

  He secured her veil, bulging with grain, to his saddle and walked by her side, leading the horse by its leather bridle. “How fares Naomi?”

  “She recovers slowly. Your generosity has restored a glimmer of hope. I think she despaired of life before I brought her that first bundle of barley. At least, now she believes we won’t starve.”

  A fat fly buzzed near Boaz’s face and he swatted it away. “This magnitude of loss requires more than human kindness. It needs God’s own hand.”