In the Field of Grace (6 page)

Ruth’s betrothal lasted nine months, long enough for her grandfather’s mourning year to be completed. Mahlon and Chilion used the time to build two tiny additions to their home—more alcoves than rooms—where they could bring their brides, for Orpah had also pledged to marry Chilion.

Ruth’s excitement at the prospect of living with her new family grew with every hour. At home, she only encountered criticism. Everyone seemed quick to point out her faults. At the house of her betrothed, she found extravagant, undeserving approval.

“You are so beautiful,” Mahlon told her the night he held her hand for the first time.

“I am not.” Ruth knotted her brows, wanting to reassure him that she needed no empty praise. Mahlon looked at her as if she had six toes and fingers.

“I have never seen a more beautiful woman. Hair the color of
chestnuts, eyes like ripe wheat, like gold, like a lioness.”

Ruth giggled.

“I mean it. You are more graceful than Chemosh’s dancers.”

“How would you know? You never worship at his temple.”

He pressed her hand tighter. “I may have caught a glimpse here or there. Anyway, that is not the point.”

“The point is that you exaggerate.”

Naomi proved no better. She praised Ruth’s figure. She praised her ruddy, clear skin. She praised her gardening skills. She praised her weaving. She even praised her handling of the goat.

One evening, before the men returned from the field, Ruth told Naomi, “When Grandfather died, my heart broke. I had truly thought there would be a miracle and he would be healed. He seemed so much better toward the end. But do you know, I would never have agreed to marry Mahlon if Grandfather had lingered with us. I would have wanted to stay at home and take care of him. It’s as if he knew that, and by leaving this world, he gave me the gift of a new family. A family that loves me.”

Naomi enfolded Ruth in a warm embrace, before drawing back and patting her cheek. “If God spared us from the piercing shaft of every sorrow,” she said, “we could never fulfill His best plans for our lives. Sometimes the sweetest things in life rise up out of the worst things in life.”

During the nine months of her betrothal, Ruth felt like she lived half on top of a mountain and half at the bottom of a pit. She would be lifted high to the heavens in Naomi’s household and plunged to the depths when she returned to her family. It only served to show how blessed she was to have found this woman and her sons. To have been chosen by them. When she thought of marriage, Ruth didn’t dream of time alone with Mahlon. She dreamt of being with all her new family.

On her wedding day, she prayed to the Lord for the first time.

She felt she owed Him for the gift of this family from Bethlehem in Judah. She owed Him for allowing her to have one of His
sons. She promised Him, even though He wasn’t
her
Lord, never to let them down, no matter what life brought to their door. For the unstinting love they had shown her, they deserved unbroken loyalty. With a brimming heart, she pledged that loyalty for all the days of her life.

Alone at last in the bridal bower, Mahlon removed the garland of pink and white lilies from Ruth’s head and slipped off the heavy veil that covered her face. “I have married a queen,” he breathed, and kissed her for the first time.

She tensed until her body ached. Now she would have to face Mahlon’s horrified disappointment. He didn’t understand. Other women had proper curves; she just had hints. If one tried really hard, one might see the slight suggestion of a curve here and there. But she didn’t possess the cushiony softness so valued in women.

“I’ve wanted you like this, in my arms, since the first moment I saw you,” he said, and said nothing more as kisses took the place of words. To her surprise, he seemed far from disappointed. He acted as though someone had handed him the throne of a wealthy nation.

Ruth lay awake in her bridegroom’s arms until the sun rose the next morning. For the first time in eighteen years, she knew bone deep that she belonged. She belonged to this family. The desire of her heart had come to pass.

With a hurried hand, Ruth dashed away tears. Her time of the month was upon her. Again. For the fifty-first time since her marriage. No baby for her and Mahlon. Although happy with her husband, the blight of barrenness diminished her joy. The grief of it twisted in her heart like a knife whose edge never grew dull.

Not one word of blame passed Mahlon’s lips to torment her for the emptiness of her womb. Month after month of disappointment, and he loved her with the same tenderness he had shown the first night she came to him.

Nor had Naomi condemned her for her failure by look or gesture.
She soothed Ruth’s worries as if she were her true mother and not a disappointed mother-in-law.

It was a sorrow she shared with Orpah, who also had not conceived. Some nights, after the men were fed and the dishes cleaned, the two young women drew into the yard and wept together.

On the first anniversary of her marriage, Ruth visited the temple of Chemosh to ask the god of her people for the gift of fertility. She went alone without telling Naomi or Mahlon, knowing they would disapprove. But desperation had already set in, making her willing to face their displeasure, if only it meant that she could have a child.

She found it hard to even enter the temple, for crowds swelled all the way down the hill where the temple was built. Young men had climbed the trees for a better view.

“What’s happening?” Ruth asked one of them. “Why are there so many people here?”

“Haven’t you heard? The king is sacrificing one of his younger sons to Chemosh. Last year, a debilitating disease afflicted him, and he feared death would come for him. He promised the life of the prince to Chemosh if he spared the king’s life. The king recovered his health, so they are going to throw the prince into the fire today as an offering.”

Ruth knew of such sacrifices. Of course she knew. They happened, though not with everyday frequency. But she had never been present at one. Since living with an Israelite family and being exposed to their horror of human sacrifice, she had unconsciously begun to absorb their deep-rooted disgust at the idea. What kind of god demanded the death of a human being in order to be appeased? Could mercy be bought with murder? A better life with death?

“You’ve come on a good day,” the young man sitting on the branch of an acacia tree informed her. “After the sacrifice of the young prince, Chemosh will be in a generous mood.”

Ruth pressed a hand against her heart. Even if Chemosh would condescend to give her a child, would she be able to look upon her
baby’s face without the constant reminder of this fire? Ruth turned around and went home.

She never returned to Chemosh’s temple. To her surprise, the cessation of the worship she had known since childhood was no loss. In a house constantly filled with references to a merciful God whose love endured, Ruth had no lack of worship.

Now, dabbing away the last of her tears, Ruth took in a shaking breath. “Lord, for Mahlon and Naomi’s sake, please bless my womb.”

A week passed. Life went on; Ruth’s disappointed hopes made no difference to the rising of the moon and the setting of the sun. One evening, while busy building up the fire, Ruth heard the sound of muffled voices on the path outside. Mahlon and Chilion came in, their steps dragging. Ruth rushed to greet her husband. Even the waning light could not hide the pallor of his face. The hollows beneath his eyes looked as dark as fat grapes.

For over four years he had worked without ceasing every single day of the week—six days to support his family, and one free day on her father’s property to pay off her bride price. Exhaustion coiled about him like a serpent intent on swallowing him whole.

Ruth washed his hands and feet, her hands tender as she dried each calloused finger. “Come and rest on the cushion. Lean against the wall and close your eyes for a moment. I will fetch your supper.”

Mahlon smiled and did as she bid him. The smile sat like a shadow on his wide mouth, a ghost of his former brightness. Everything about Mahlon had dimmed. Everything but love.

“Have you been practicing your Hebrew today?” he asked when she returned. He had been teaching her to read and write. The Moabite and Hebrew languages shared the same root and had many words in common. But Ruth had never learned to read. With wild extravagance, when Mahlon perceived how much his wife enjoyed learning, he bought parchment so that she could practice her writing.

“I am so well-versed, Naomi says I speak better Hebrew than you.”

Mahlon’s smile deepened. “She is probably right.”

“She is definitely right.”

Ruth placed a bowl of stew before him, but he waved a hand. “I have no appetite. Bed, for me.” He tried to rise, then doubled over, a hand to his belly, gasping.

“Mahlon!” Rushing to his side, Ruth reached out to support him. His forehead felt clammy under her fingertips. “You are feverish.”

He shook his head, sinking back to the floor. “Nothing to worry about. It’s the hard rains. A few of the workers plowing have come down with fever and cramps. Chilion has it too.”

“Then you must stay home tomorrow and rest until it passes.”

“Tomorrow is your father’s day, Ruth. He counts on me. I will not go back on my word.”

“You can make it up later, husband. You need to regain your strength.”

Mahlon waved a hand and laid his head back against the wall. Ruth let out an exasperated breath. Naomi came in from the garden and cast a worried glance in her son’s direction.

“He is sick,” Ruth said, hoping to enlist her mother-in-law’s help. “Chilion too.”

Naomi clucked her tongue and knelt by her son. “This comes of not keeping the Sabbath holy for four years.”

“We would go hungry if I did. You know that, Mother.”

“You have too much of your father in you, my son. You’re such a good man, but you take the responsibility of the world upon your shoulders. You think it’s all up to you. The Lord would provide. But you take it upon yourself, and give no room to faith.”

They gave Mahlon and Chilion honey and an infusion of herbs to help with the pain, and tucked them into their sleeping mats. The remedy did not help. Mahlon spent half the night vomiting
with such force, the small vessels beneath his eyes burst, leaving red, pinprick bruises.

By morning both men were breathless from unceasing cramps; fever raged through them. Mahlon lost his ability to control his bowels. Any liquid they poured into him seemed to pour out faster. Ruth turned ashen when she found the mattress beneath her husband scarlet with blood.

As Ruth wiped Mahlon’s dry skin with an infusion of rosemary to try and lower his body temperature, he opened unfocused eyes. “My beautiful queen.”

Ruth shook her head, trying to summon a smile. “You are delirious.”

He tried to lift a hand, but it flopped back to his side. “You have been the joy of my life, Ruth. The Lord blessed me the day I met you.”

Instead of making her happy, his words spread fear through Ruth. They sounded like a tender man’s final farewell.

Ruth’s father, indignant with anger, came to inquire why Mahlon had not shown up at the field. “He still owes me several months of work. I hope he isn’t growing forgetful of his debts.”