Free In the Field of Grace by Tessa Afshar Page A

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 pushedherself, 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.”

     
    Ruth examined her wrinkled, travel-stained tunic in the pale rays of the early morning sun and sighed. Rummaging through the baskets, she found a fresh tunic, and dampening a cloth with the last few drops of water, she did her best to wash. Unbraiding her hair, she combed it, bringing order back to the thick chestnut mane. Her eyes pricked as she remembered Mahlon running his fingers through her hair, calling it soft like silk.
    “How would you know?” she had asked and laughed. “You’ve never touched silk in your life.”
    She brushed the tears off and straightened, pulling her scarf over her head. Today, she would meet her Israelite neighbors for the first time. They would judge her deficient, she knew. A barren, widowed, Moabite woman. Was there a greater failure in the sight of Judah? All the combing in the world could not fix that. Tangle-free hair and a clean tunic could not help her avoid their harsh judgment.
    She would just have to change their minds one day at a time. And if she couldn’t, she would learn to live with their rejection.
    As she walked outside, she spied a clump of several plants, growing knee length in what used to be the garden. Gasping, she strode forward to examine them. They were wheat. The plants were healthy, bearing fat kernels, which were several weeks from maturity. They would not yield enough grain for two suppers. Still, their incongruent presence seemed strangely reassuring. Like a sign. No one had planted the wheat. The wind must have blown the seeds from nearby fields, and they had taken root in Naomi’s desolate garden just in time to welcome her back to Bethlehem. They sat there waving in the breeze like a welcome flag, like a reassuring promise. Ruth drew a caressing hand over the stalks and turned to fetch Naomi for their walk into town.
    Many women had gathered by the city well. As Naomi and Ruth approached, they felt the weight of curious gazes. Then a few audible gasps came from the crowd.
    “That’s Naomi!” one woman exclaimed.
    Another cried, “It looks like her!”
    A third woman said, “Is it really Naomi? She’s been gone ten years, if not more. Could this be the same Naomi who lived among us?”
    Naomi, silent since the night before, turned on them, her lips thin, her jaw clenched. “Don’t call me Naomi!” Her voice came out husky, as if she had a cold. “That woman is gone. Lost. Buried in Moab. Call me Mara. That’s who I am now.
Bitter
.”
    Ruth winced. It was one thing to witness Naomi slide down into an abyss of desolation, but to hear her describe her life with such bleak hopelessness tore at Ruth.
    A short, curvaceous woman about the same age as Naomi approached and laid a hand on her shoulder. “But, Naomi, why? What has happened to you?”
    “The Almighty has dealt bitterly with me. I went from this place full. But the Lord has brought me back empty. My husband is gone. My sons are buried beside