For background on this series please see Ghosts Around the Manger.
Naomi turned in her chair at the sound of the sack of grain hitting the floor. Curly cues of dust swirled in the air around Ruth, outlining the late afternoon rays of sun that angled through the open door.
Then Naomi saw the grain. “Who’s field did you work in today?” she asked. “Who has shown such kindness?”
“The man’s name was Boaz,” Ruth answered.
The name registered in Naomi’s memory. “Boaz! He is a relative. A close one. So the Lord has not forgotten after all.” Like blossoms in April, the name of her near relative and the thought of being remembered by God signaled the coming of spring into Naomi’s soul. From that day on, Ruth worked in the fields of Boaz. He had insisted. “It might not be safe for you in another man’s field,” he’d said.
She began to anticipate seeing him every day. In time, she returned his greeting with the other poor who gleaned in the fields. She liked to think he was always glad to see her. That awkward moment from the first day was replaced by a growing mutual fondness. The regulars in the field suspected it. The foreman saw it. Naomi knew it.
One day after the evening meal while Ruth cleared the table, Naomi spoke.
“I was talking with one of my old friends about you just today. The hard work and sun have been good for you. You have a healthy glow. A beautiful young woman like you shouldn’t live alone with an old woman like me. You need a husband.”
“A husband!” Ruth turned away to stack the dishes on a shelf and to hide the rosy blush that tinged her cheeks.
“Mother Naomi, I have all the work I need without a man to make it harder.”
“Even so,” Naomi mused. “My Elimelech could be so demanding. But he was such a good man. Such a good father.” Naomi paused, remembering. Then she asked, “Boaz is a good man, don’t you think?”
“Mother!” Ruth turned and faced her mother-in-law, her hands on her hips, a deeper blush on her cheeks. She sad down next to Naomi. Her tone softened as she took Naomi’s hand.
“Yes, mother, he is a good man. But don’t tease me with hope. I know my place. I am a foreign widow in a land suspicious of anyone from beyond its borders. Boaz’ kindness to me is born of his respect for you. In this town, I am less than the servant girls who glean the edges of his fields.”
“But he is a kinsmen redeemer to us,” Naomi replied.
“A . . . kinsman redeemer? What is that?” Ruth asked.
“It is written,” Naomi answered, “that when a man dies without children, his nearest relative has the responsibility to work his fields. And marry his widow. Boaz knows this law and will obey it. All he needs is a sign from you that you welcome his help.”
Ruth leaned closer to Naomi. Naomi felt Ruth’s grip tighten on her hand. “How do I ask him to do this?”
“Tonight, he will be processing the grain at the threshing floor,” Naomi told her. Ruth wondered how her mother-in-law knew where Boaz would be and what he would be doing, but she kept the question to herself.
Naomi continued, “Put on your best clothes — that blue robe is nice — and use some of this perfume — just a suggestion.” She pressed a small bottle into Ruth’s hand. “Go down to the threshing floor late in the afternoon and find an inconspicuous place to wait. When Boaz lies down for the night, pull the blanket from his feet and lie down near him.”
Ruth sat back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest, raised a questioning eyebrow and stared at her mother-in-law. “Seriously? Pull the blanket from his feet?”
“Trust me,” Naomi urged.
“All right,” Ruth said hesitantly. “I’ll do whatever you say.”
That night after the work was finished, Boaz stretched out on a bed of straw. He tucked in the blanket he’d brought to keep himself warm against the night chill, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. Tired though he was from the day’s labor, his sleep was restless. He was vaguely aware of a growing discomfort. His feet were cold. And there was something else. Someone else. Someone trying so hard not to breathe he could almost hear her heartbeat. He came fully conscious with a start and discovered a woman lying at his feet.
“Who’s there?” Boaz whispered, sounding less courageous than he’d intended.
“I am your servant Ruth,” came the hushed answer. Then she spoke the words Naomi had given her. “Spread your blanket over me, since you are my kinsman redeemer.”
Boaz responded with the familiar words she’d heard him say every day in the field when he greeted the poor. But this time, there was a quiver of emotion in his voice. “The Lord bless you.”
Join us tomorrow for the conclusion to Love Story.