Ruth: Reimagined

Barley

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Barley
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They were dying in paradise. Naomi returned to a barren land and an empty house, stripped of the warmth it once had. Ruth had to watch her mourn all over again, deeper, quieter, and it scared her.

It scared her because she was losing Naomi, the old woman had come to her wits end. She heard of dying from a broken heart, and it was as though Naomi had died a million deaths, but this one would be the last.

Ruth would toss and turn, with the hunger gnawing at her stomach because they hadn't eaten in days and Naomi was too ashamed to ask for help, to ashamed to go out into, the  Israel that was thriving in abundance and tell them she was sinking in poverty.

At times, there would be knocks on the door, people who came to visit, and just when Ruth was about to open the door, Naomi would snatch her hand, while giving her a piercing look. They would pretend not to be home, while loved ones, kind neighbors, would knock on the door.

"Naomi!" Keziah had once shouted, from the other side. Ruth was close by and noticed the voice, peeking by the window, she remembered seeing the woman.

She was one of the people who would come by often, frustrated, yet persisted.

"Look, Naomi—" her voice was thick, with emotion. Ruth neared, standing by the door, closer than the woman would ever know, and she listened to her voice, listened to her love.

" You must've been through the hardest seasons of your life. You must've hurt a lot.  I understand your grieving, and I understand if you don't want to talk about it. I won't ask questions if you want. Just please open the door..."

In the silence, Ruth was tempted to open it, her thoughts battling with each other. She thought of Naomi, of the trust she put in her, she thought of how hungry they were — starving actually, and then, her hand lingered on the door handle, but she stopped.

Ruth surprised herself.

Some part of her, as small as it was significant, wanted to stay locked up in the house as well. Why, though? She questioned herself.

"We want to be with you, Naomi. It's been ten years. Ten years since you've been gone and I missed you to death.  And it's killing me... knowing that you're here and—

"Go away," Ruth said gently.

Keziah stopped, mid- sentence, wiping her tears.  "Young lady? Young lady, please don't go. Please tell me what your name is."

She hesitated. "...Ruth."

"Ruth," Keziah spoke, desperate, " Ruth, you need to listen to me. Keeping this door locked. Allowing Naomi to hide like this. You're not helping her at all. You're not helping yourself. I saw you that day too. When Naomi came to Israel. You did not look well. The two of you— you need help."

"Go away, please." Ruth persisted, her heart aching.

"I'm not a gossip, I swear," Keziah persisted, "but word got out. I know you are Mahlon's widow and I."

"Please!" Ruth clasped her hands together, tears burning past her eyes as she slid down the door, her chest tightening. "Please, go, madam."

"No, I will not. You are killing yourself, and if you die— Naomi dies. I will not be able to live with that. Haven't we lost enough?"

Ruth held back the sob that wanted to tear out of her chest. As she battled with the hurt, she was causing herself the hurt she was causing Naomi. She recalled the moment Orpah had said that she was her hope.