In the Field of Grace (9 page)

“Let me help you,” he said, coming too close. Ruth could smell the scent of sour wine and rotten teeth on his breath and shifted away with discomfort.

“I need no help. I thank you.” She turned her back to him.

The man took no heed of her assurance. Instead, his body followed hers. “No trouble,” he said, and bent forward until his torso came into intimate contact with Ruth’s back, trapping her between him and the cart.

She felt rage rise up in her, followed by a sharp bite of nausea as he groped her with invasive hands. Without thinking, she raised an elbow and crashed it into his middle. Too drunk to avoid the sharp blow, the man heaved over, a hiss of air trickling out of his mouth.

“Keep away from me, you filth,” Ruth whispered, her cheeks crimson.

She said nothing about the incident to Naomi, concerned that the older woman would tell her that it proved her point. With only her mother-in-law for protection, a young woman was easy prey. She lay wakeful on her mat, pulling Mahlon’s cloak closer about her.

It was close to the third watch of the night. The stars blazed like fiery torches in the black sky. A strange sound ruptured the stillness of the evening. Ruth sat up and peered about her, seeking the source of the noise. It came again, more distinctly. Horses’ hooves. Ruth
ran to one of the servant boys and found him awake and ready with his sling. The hooves approached closer. Now Ruth could see three riders in the moonlight, coming straight for the caravan.

They held aloft drawn swords.

“Wake up!” she cried. “Thieves! Wake up!”

With sudden confusion, the little caravan burst into life. Wails of fear rent the silence of the midnight hour. From a corner of her eye, Ruth saw their two leaders scavenge for their weapons. She recalled their dull-looking daggers and despaired. The portly one hastily lit a torch from the fire pit; instead of helping them in their plight, its light served to make them easier targets.

Falling on her knees next to Naomi, Ruth held the older woman in a trembling embrace. “Lord, help us,” she whispered.

Naomi caressed her back as if she were soothing a child after a nightmare. But this was not a dream. Naomi’s words were indistinguishable, lost in the midst of the horrified cries that surrounded them.

The first horseman, a wide-shouldered giant of a man, arrived a few moments before his companions. He went straight for the frog-eyed caravan leader, his aim brutally accurate. The wine-soaked Moabite stood no chance. There wasn’t even a fight. He folded over, like one of Pharaoh’s traveling stools, and collapsed with a strangled groan.

One of the young Israelite servants had a stone in his sling and began to whirl it. He was a short boy, barely more than a child, facing a giant. And yet he seemed filled with an eerie assurance. The thief saw him and turned his horse in his direction. The round stone flew before the horse had a chance to take one leap. It landed on the thief’s forehead. Wide shoulders quivered, pitched forward, and the man crumbled over his horse and lay still on the sandy ground.

“Well done,” one of the guests shouted.

The other two bandits were now almost upon them. They had tucked the flowing fabric of their turbans against their necks, and only theirs eyes were visible. One pair of black eyes turned on Ruth
and he shifted his horse toward her.

Her skin grew cold in spite of the heat. She looked around, seeking a weapon with which she could defend Naomi and herself. Besides her frayed sandals, her dead husband’s threadbare cloak, and a handful of dates, she saw nothing. The Hebrew boy stood in the wrong spot; Ruth and Naomi’s position presented an impossible angle for the sling to work effectively. In the span of a heartbeat, Ruth saw her own death riding toward her. Even if the thief’s sword did not cut her and Naomi down, his horse’s hooves would crush them.

Had the Lord brought her this far only for her to be slaughtered by bandits, before ever setting foot on Israel’s soil? Had the Lord raised His fist against them as Naomi claimed?

Just then, a sight even more frightful than the bandits met her eye. A male lion with an enormous mane appeared out of the darkness, prowling with a powerful grace that made Ruth’s hair stand on end. For a breathless moment, the beast turned its head, and it seemed to Ruth to look straight at her. It roared, a sound so horrifying that Ruth would happily have run into the arms of one of the thieves to find shelter.

Then the lion turned and with a running leap jumped toward the highwayman who had targeted Ruth. The beast flew across the back of the thief’s horse to sink its teeth into the man’s throat and drag him to the ground. Unharmed, the horse reared, screaming in terror, and began to run in the opposite direction. The bandit had no chance. Death came for him swiftly.

The lion shook its full, golden mane and straightened. Again came that strange, fierce gaze, half wild, half focused. It turned and beheld the last thief who had been thrown off his terrified horse. A wet streak marked the front of the man’s tunic where he had lost control of his bladder. With a strangled yelp, he ran in the same direction as his horse.

The golden lion did not give chase. He roared loud enough to shake the foundations of every heart in the small gathering before bounding gracefully away and melting into the night.

No one dared even breathe for a long time. No one uttered a word. All thoughts of sleep were abandoned. At least an hour passed before people began to whisper amongst themselves, their words hushed, their hands, as they gesticulated with dark emotion, shaking.

Saved by a lion.

The Lord used very odd instruments to fulfill His will. And it seemed that He intended to get Ruth to Israel against all odds.

Ruth was not sure whether to be reassured or terrified by God’s determination. Why did it matter to Him so much if she should arrive on the soil of Judah? What did the life of one Moabite widow matter to the Lord of heaven and earth?

T
he next day, after hastily burying the dead, the caravan traveled west and then northward, hoping to make Ain Boqeq before nightfall. Ruth saw the Salt Sea for the first time. Blue green and narrow, it stretched with an eerie stillness.

“It’s beautiful,” Ruth said, who had never seen a body of water grander than a stream.

“Nothing lives in it,” Naomi said. “Not even a single fish. Nothing survives the salt. It would be like living inside a tear drop.” She twirled a pebble she had been turning between her thumb and forefinger as she walked. With a sudden movement, she cast the pebble aside. “Barren, like my life. I’ve turned into that sea.”

For their noonday break, they sat by the water’s rocky shores.

“If you have any cuts on your skin, don’t go inside the water. It will sting like a firebrand,” said the young man whose sling had saved them from the sword of the bandit the night before. “And don’t take your shoes off. The rocks are sharp, even in the sea, and can hurt your feet so badly you’ll need to be sewn up.”

“And if you have no wish to die, don’t drink the water. Besides the salt, it has poison,” the other young man added.

The first young man began to walk along the shore, head bent, examining the ground. “It offers up good things too.” He straightened, holding a shiny black rock. “Bitumen. Helps to waterproof baskets and can be used as a seal or even for fuel.” He handed the
block to Ruth. It reflected the light like a jewel and had sharp edges.

Ruth smiled and pressed the bitumen into Naomi’s hand. “So, even a dead sea has good things to offer. Gifts that bring life and help others.”

Naomi dropped the bitumen and turned her back.

The rest of their journey to Bethlehem proved unremarkable, for which Ruth gave hourly thanks. There were only so many lions and bandits that she could stomach in a given week.

They spent one night in Ain Boqeq and another in Engedi before pushing northwest to Bethlehem. Other than the sharp sting of mosquitos, they encountered no other instruments bent on piercing their flesh. They bore with the ignominies of travel: heat rash, insects, exhaustion, small rations, never-ending dust, the grumbling of other guests. But Ruth felt too grateful to complain. They had been spared a horrible death. Perhaps worse.

When they arrived near Bethlehem, they parted ways with the caravan, which continued its travel north. Enough light lingered in the sky to see the fields belonging to Bethlehem, overflowing with wheat and barley. Row after row of healthy grain, grown tall and strong, appeared close to harvest. The fields were bursting with bounty.

“When we left Judah, these fields were empty, but I was full,” Naomi said, dry-eyed. “I held two vigorous boys in my arms, and my husband bore my burdens.” She leaned against a palm tree that stood bent on the side of the road. “Now these farms are full to overflowing, but I return empty. So empty.”

Ruth held the callused hand of her mother-in-law, withered before its time, withered with loss. “Let’s go home, Mother. Where your husband took you as a bride and you birthed your sons. You will feel better once we are settled there.”

Naomi’s house sat just inside the southern gate of Bethlehem. Her lands stretched beyond the gate, but they had gone wild in the
years since the family left for Moab.

Ruth’s first glimpse of the house came as a pleasant surprise. In the outdoor enclosure, where one day they would grow their garden and keep their livestock, God willing, a solitary almond tree survived, clinging to life with a tenacity that made Ruth smile. No sign of Naomi’s original garden remained except for a few clumps of mint and rosemary. But that was to be expected after so many years of neglect.

Rough sandstones of varying sizes made up the walls of the house. As they pushed the door open, it became evident that this house was larger than their home in Moab, with two rooms on the ground floor, a small upper room, and a flat roof that would serve well during the sweltering nights of summer. Ruth imagined spreading their mattresses there, and sleeping under the stars, with the gentle night breeze fanning them into sleep.

She fetched a lamp from their cart and grimaced when she lit it. Various critters had made a comfortable home for themselves in the rooms and would have to be expelled. In the roof she detected several substantial holes.

When she attempted to climb the ladder to examine the damage up close, she found several rungs had rotted through, rendering the ladder useless. Carpentry was not one of her talents. She set the ladder aside. Fortunately, they had passed the rainy season, so the repairs to the roof could wait for a few weeks.

Naomi gasped as she beheld the extent of the damage. Instead of feeling comforted by the sight of her old home, by the sight of Bethlehem, she seemed to sink more inward. With swift steps she walked out.

Ruth sighed as she threw open the windows. They would probably be better off sleeping outdoors on this first night. She tied her scarf more securely around her head, fetched her old broom from the cart, and began the hard work of sweeping cobwebs and dust, not to mention some unpleasant gifts from the field mice.

Tired already from their long march that day, Ruth pushed
herself, knowing Naomi would feel better if her home were clean. When the light faded completely, she had to give up. Outside, Naomi sat slumped against the cart. She had ignored the donkey, not bothering to feed it, or rub it down. Ruth frowned. Naomi was usually so thoughtful of others, even a dumb creature like their old donkey.

She forced the older woman to eat and drink before seeing to the beast’s needs. The last of their water disappeared inside its cavernous belly.

“We have to go to the well in the morning,” she said. “Do you remember where it is?”

“I’m mourning, not stupid.”

Ruth swallowed a chuckle. “Shall we sleep outside tonight? I’ll set up our mats right here. We should be safe, inside the city gates.”