by Tessa Afshar
Mahalath’s innocent talk about Boaz had stirred Ruth’s heart. An unfathomable longing settled like a stone in her gut that would not dislodge. “Oh Lord, I feel so passed over and unworthy of notice. Who would want me now? Not Your son, Boaz.”
She realized that this was the crux of her loneliness, the source of her tears. She was lonely for him, whom she could not have.
“Still, I won’t forget that I am blessed, Lord. Blessed to belong to You. Blessed to belong to Naomi. Blessed to receive Boaz’s generosity, and to have my strength so that I can provide for our welfare. And for these things, I praise You.”
“Were you praying?” Naomi asked, as Ruth came back inside.
“Yes.”
“You were ever fond of the garden. I remember you spent many hours in the tiny plot behind our house in Moab.” Her head drooped as she twined the white wool.
Ruth wrapped her arms around Naomi. “I miss them too.”
They sat together in the light of their one lamp, remembering what they had lost, and could never again have.
“I’ve decided Adin should marry Dinah,” Ruth said abruptly into the heavy silence.
Naomi moved away from Ruth’s embrace. “Indeed? And what do they have to say about it?”
“Adin thinks my mind was permanently damaged by the sun, and Dinah knows nothing about it.”
Naomi laughed. It was the first time Ruth had heard her laughter in months. She felt her heart melt. Sinking on the floor, she laid her head on Naomi’s lap and the older woman caressed her unbound hair as if she were a little girl.
“Adin might be right. It’s no small matter taking two people’s hearts into your hands.”
“Wouldn’t you do it, if you thought it would bring them happiness?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Ruth lifted her head from Naomi’s lap. A strange rigidity had entered Naomi’s expression. The older woman almost looked ferocious.
“Are you hiding a secret from me?” she asked with sudden insight.
“It wouldn’t be a secret if I said.”
Six days into the wheat harvest, Naomi fell ill with a fever and cough. Ruth stayed home to nurse her. Although Naomi’s sickness appeared not to be life threatening, Ruth could not sleep for worry and only left the older woman’s side to fetch water from the well. The memory of Mahlon and Chilion’s sickness remained too fresh for Ruth to feel calm about Naomi’s condition.
They had plenty of food at home after her weeks of labor in the fields. She made Naomi fresh bread every day and covered her chest with a mustard poultice, hoping to ease her coughing. Naomi’s old friend Miriam came to lend a hand when she heard of the older woman’s illness.
“I’m not dying. Such a fuss this daughter of mine makes over me,” Naomi complained.
“You are blessed to have a daughter-in-law who loves you better than any daughter.” Miriam’s shrewd eyes followed Ruth as she cared for the older woman.
“You need strength to recover,” Ruth said, undeterred by Naomi’s complaint. “Drink the wine and eat this honeyed bread, and I will leave you be.”
After Miriam left, Ruth worked in the garden, watering the newly sprouted plants while Naomi slept. Leeks, cucumbers, and beans had begun to grow and would be a welcome addition to their diet in several weeks’ time. She attacked the stubborn weeds that always seemed hardier than the plants themselves. Then she collected mint and rosemary and brought them inside to dry.
She looked in on Naomi and found her still sleeping. Her breathing sounded ragged from a chest filled with congestion. Too warm with fever, Ruth decided, biting her lip. She remembered that a clump of rue had grown large in their garden. Ruth fetched a small handful and mixing it with mint, she added it to boiling water with a touch of honey and let it steep. She hoped the mixture would aid in quieting Naomi’s breathing.
That evening, Naomi sat in bed, her chest sounding better, although the fever had yet to leave. To Ruth’s delight, Mahalath came to visit them, another full basket clutched at her side.
“Everyone in Bethlehem is speaking of Naomi’s illness, and of Ruth’s tender care for her,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
Ruth, who had shed her veil in the privacy of her home, pulled her thick braid over one shoulder. “How do they know?”
Mahalath folded her legs under her. “When you went to fetch water at the well yesterday, you told the women there that Naomi has a fever. By the noon hour, everyone from Abel to lord Boaz had heard the tale.”
“But what makes them think I am taking good care of Naomi?”
“You owe thanks to Miriam for that. To hear her tell it, you are the most tenderhearted daughter-in-law bestowed on womankind since the time of Noah, and no one in all of Judah compares to your goodness.”
Naomi patted Ruth’s hand. “That much, I can agree with.”
Ruth laughed. “One moment I am the scourge of Judah, armed with Moab’s wickedness and ready to corrupt every young man in my path. The next, I am cast in the role of the ideal daughter-in-law. The women of Bethlehem need to make up their minds.”
Mahalath pulled out a skin of wine and a round of fresh cheese wrapped in clean cloth from her basket. “I don’t know about the women of Bethlehem, but lord Boaz has made his opinion clear. It’s becoming a full-time chore bringing gifts to your house.” She rooted around the basket. “Ah yes. He bade me soak almonds in milk for you, Naomi. To settle your stomach.”
“My stomach is fine!”
“Humor him, I beg.”
“At this rate, I think Ruth and I should take turns falling ill. It’s proving very profitable.”
Mahalath and Ruth burst out laughing. “I think you are improving,” Ruth said.
Ruth stayed home the next day, worried that Naomi, who still had a mild fever, would push herself too quickly out of bed and suffer a relapse. The day dawned fair, with wisps of clouds dotting a blue sky and a soft breeze that refreshed the soul.
Ruth fetched extra water from the well and washed Naomi’s sweat-stained clothes before cleaning the house and cooking them a light stew. There was water left over, and Ruth used it to wash before changing into her clean tunic. She combed through her long, thick hair, leaving it unbound, enjoying the freedom of it hanging loose down her back.
Naomi had fallen asleep after eating and snored gently on her mat. Ruth gave her a fond smile. Her chest was beginning to sound clear, and her breathing seemed easier. Giving in to temptation, Ruth lay down on her own mat and slept in broad daylight, a luxury for which she no longer had time, unless she was unwell.
She woke up refreshed after an hour of deep sleep and found Naomi sitting up, twirling her spindle. “Did you sleep well, daughter?”
“I did, Mother, thank you.”
“You work too hard, child. If I could, I would give you an easier life.”
“You are my easier life.”
A knock came at the door. The women had left it open as was custom during the day, and Ruth had not bothered to close it before she had slept. Just outside, stood Boaz. Startled, Ruth sat frozen to her mat.
“Come in, my lord,” Naomi said, her mouth stretched open in a wide smile.
Ruth sprang up, remembering that her hair was uncovered, hanging loose down her back. Boaz stared at her for a moment before looking at his feet. Blood rushed up Ruth’s chest and neck, and she could feel the heat of it in the skin of her cheeks. She grabbed her veil and threw it over her head.
“I have come at an inconvenient time, I fear,” Boaz said, his voice sounding strained.
Ruth composed herself. “Not at all, my lord. We are honored by your visit. As you see, my mother is improving.”
“I am happy to hear it.” Boaz’s deep voice reminded Ruth of warm honey. “I heard you were sick and I grew concerned, Naomi.”
Naomi gestured for him to sit on their plumpest cushion. He folded his long legs with ease and sank on the ground as if sitting on skinny cushions and bare floors was nothing out of the ordinary
for him.
“I am much improved, thanks to Ruth’s care.” Naomi straightened the hem of her green tunic. “The Lord favored me when she joined my household.”
In a chipped cup, the best they had, Ruth served Boaz the wine he had sent them the night before. “I think you will find this tastes familiar,” she said. “We are serving you your own wine.”
“I’m glad I didn’t send the vinegar, then.”
Boaz reached to take the cup from her. Their fingers brushed. Awareness shot through Ruth like the streak of a wandering star in a dark night, so that she found it difficult to breathe. The cup hovered between them, half in his hand, half in hers. Neither remembered to let it go or claim it. Boaz’s gaze shifted to her face and lingered.
Ruth let go of the cup, and Boaz barely caught it in time before it spilled on the floor. “How clumsy of me,” he said, as he steadied the wobbling base. Shoving the cup to his mouth, he took a deep draft of his drink before setting it aside.
“I best leave. You need your rest.” He took two long strides to the door and was over the threshold and on the back of his horse so quickly, Ruth had no chance to follow him to the door.
“Well,” Naomi said, stretching the word. “I didn’t think the wine was that bad. What was his hurry, I wonder? You’d think he had a bee stuck under his tunic.”
Dinah tried to squat before a large clump of wheat and promptly
fell on her behind. She giggled and twirled two long stalks in the air. With a wobbly motion, she tried to rise and fell back again. The fall reduced her to more giggles.
Ruth straightened, shading her forehead, unable to believe her eyes. “Are you well, Dinah?”
“Wooonderful!” The stalks of wheat quivered through the air in a lazy, undulating wave.
“Dinah, perchance, have you been drinking?”
“Why? You waaant some?” Her head weaved as she smiled vacuously.
Ruth hissed out a loud breath. “Abel will dismiss you if he finds you like this. Come. We’ll sit in the shade until you are yourself.”
“I don’t want to go with you. You’re trying to steal Adin from me. He likes you better than he likes me.”
Ruth squatted near the girl. “That is not true.”
“What’s the use of denying it? I’ve seen you talking to him, and laughing and … and such.” She stuck a thin blade of straw between her teeth. “I care not. He’s stupid. You’re stupid.”
“Be that as it may, please believe me when I tell you that Adin has no interest in me, nor I in him. Now come with me before you are discovered. I need to take you where no one will observe us.”
“No.”
“You wish to lose your work with lord Boaz? Is that what you want?”
Dinah hung her head. “No. He is a good master.”
“Come then. I will help you.” Ruth placed her hand around Dinah’s waist and pulled up. They both staggered a few steps before coming to a stop. Dinah laughed uproariously.
“Please try to be silent. The rest of the women are looking our way.”
A few rows down, Hannah straightened. “Is everything well?”
“Yes. Dinah has just been in the heat too long. I am going to take her to the shade and fetch her some water.”
Fortunately, because everyone was wary of Dinah’s sharp tongue, no one else offered to help. Ruth pulled the young woman toward the shade of a wooden shelter in the far corner of the field. “Where did you find wine?”
“In a goatskin.”
“Yes, but where?”
“Behind that cart. Over there.” She pointed to Abel’s cart in the distance and stumbled. Ruth had to catch her hard to prevent her from falling.
“That’s Abel’s aged wine. A gift from the master. How much did you drink?”
“Jussst a sip or two. What kind of Moabite are you? I thought you people were supposed to enjoy lively enter … enter … feasting.”
Perspiration trickled down Ruth’s sides as she tried to support Dinah, while hiding her erratic walk from curious eyes. For all Dinah’s giggling, this was a serious situation. Stealing and drunkenness would lead to instant dismissal. The shame of it would follow Dinah all the days of her life in Bethlehem. She would not be able to rise above it, or to secure more work. Her family was not so rich that they could afford an idle daughter.
“What possessed you to do this foolish thing?”
“You did. You and Adin and your sweet chatter, sneaking off to lonely spots in the field. Everyone says he wants you.” She shook a finger at Ruth. “You … You Moabite man thief.”
“Lord, give me patience. I told you, I have no designs on Adin.”
Weaving, bumping, and staggering with every step, they finally made it to the shelter. Ruth dropped the younger woman until she slumped, leaning against the wooden slats. “Stay here and do not move. Do you understand?”
Dinah pulled her veil back and scratched her curly, ebony hair. “I don’t feel well.” With a sudden lurch, she bent over and heaved the contents of her stomach onto the brown earth. Ruth winced at the sight.
“I’m going to fetch you water. Lean your head back and close your eyes. You’ll feel better.”
Dinah moaned, her giggles coming to an abrupt end. “I think I’m going to die.”
Ruth, who had seen her father recover from many such bouts, ignored that outburst and sprinted toward the water jugs, which were all the way on the opposite side of the field. By the time she returned, Dinah was moaning.
“Here now. Rinse your mouth and then drink this. You will soon feel better.”
“I hate aged wine.” The young woman’s skin had taken on a greenish hue.
“If we can hold the others at bay long enough for your head to clear, you can say you are sick and go home with no one the wiser.”
“I am sick.”
“What has come to pass?”
Abel!
Chapter
Fifteen
The eternal God is your dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms.
DEUTERONOMY 33:27
Ruth turned and stood in one fluid motion, hoping to cover Dinah with her body. “Dinah is ill, I fear. Best she return home early today.”
“What ails the girl?” Abel’s voice was uncharacteristically dry, and unsympathetic.
“I am no physician. But it is clear that she is suffering.”
Abel went around Ruth and studied Dinah’s hunched over figure. “Go home, then. But you better be the first one here tomorrow and the last to leave.”
“Yes, my lord,” the girl mumbled.
“And Dinah? If I catch you sick again, I’m telling your father before I cast you out.” He lifted up a half-empty goatskin, which he had been holding behind him. “And I’m taking this out of your wages.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“I’ll walk her home,” Ruth said, biting her lip.
“You want to lose half a day’s gleaning over her? She’s made your life a misery from the first day you came. Why would you want to help her?”
“She needs it. May I go?”
Abel shrugged. “I pay you no wages. You can come and go as you please.”
Halfway down the road that led them away from Boaz’s land, Ruth finally regained the strength for speech. “He knew you were drunk!”
The walk, the water, and even the purging of her stomach had done Dinah good. She was slowly recovering her wits. “And he knew it was his wine I had been drinking.”
The two women looked at each other and dissolved into helpless laughter.
“Why did he not punish you, do you think?”
“We were friends when we were young, Abel and Adin and I. We lived next door and played in the dirt together as infants. Abel taught me how to use a slingshot. He stopped his instruction when my aim grew better than his. He still recalls those days. For the sake of our old friendship, he covered my trespass.”
“You are blessed to have such friends.”
“Do you m
ean it when you say you have no design on Adin?”
“Nor he on me.”
“I almost want to believe you.”
Ruth chuckled. “You are a hard woman to convince.”
They were passing by a vineyard. Through the broad filigreed leaves, Ruth saw the flash of an orange pelt. “A fox,” she pointed.
“Where?”
“Under that stretch of vine, see?” The fox, sensing their presence, vanished deeper into the field until he disappeared from their sight. Ruth nudged Dinah in the ribs. “You know, Dinah, left unattended, those little foxes could ruin the vineyard. Are you listening?”
Dinah groaned. “I sense another lecture coming.”
“Just a mild one. Remember, it’s the little things in life that could wreck your happiness. Like little foxes. They don’t seem so powerful or threatening by themselves. But you let them loose, and they’ll destroy a vineyard. Don’t let that happen to your life, Dinah. Get rid of these little foxes in your heart. Your bitterness. Your despair. And whatever you believe about Adin and me, please do not gorge yourself on wine again, especially someone else’s.”
Dinah vented a miserable moan. “I wouldn’t go near it with a long-handled scythe.”
Boaz listened to Abel’s story with raised eyebrows. “How much did she drink?”
Abel raised the goatskin he had brought along and showed him. “I had tasted half a cup, if not less. The rest is courtesy of Dinah.”
Boaz leaned against the cushion at his back. Abel had come to his home to keep this conversation private, and they sat in the large, airy chamber set aside for entertaining guests. “What has happened to her? She was a sensible girl. Now all I hear is complaint.”
“She never accepted Adin marrying another.”
“Everyone has bitterness, Abel. Who is exempt from suffering and loss in this life? What matters is that you make peace with what you are given, and with the Lord for allowing it.”
“Do you want me to dismiss her?” The young man’s mouth pulled down as if he had tasted a morsel of week-old fish.
