Ruth: Reimagined

Redeemer

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Redeemer
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Naomi folded up the letter, taking in a breath, and she knocked on Ruth's door. After the reply, she stepped in, finding Ruth, with her locks down, basking in the warmth of the sun that shone through the windows.

At the sight of her, Ruth smiled.

“What are you doing?” Naomi asked as she closed the door.

"Nothing much."

Naomi, bent, and sat on the floor beside Ruth. They met eyes, then shifted and looked towards the window, where the sun lit.  A silence brewed, easy, familiar, comfortable, in every sense of the way. It was healing. As both of them weren't breaking on the inside, neither were they dying or suffering or crying or grieving or empty, or even hungry. All things they once were, all things they knew the very depths of.

“Do you need  anything, mother?” Ruth questioned, turning her head slightly to stare at Naomi.

“No, no. I'm well. I simply came to sit with you.” Naomi uttered.

“Okay,” Ruth nodded, turning towards the window, again.

Slowly, conversation grew, and the subtly of joy whispered over every laugh they shared or those lazy smiles they gave each other. Their thoughts flowed freely and echoed out to the other, making for a never-ending flow of communion.

Ruth ran her fingers gently through Naomi's hair, which reached her shoulders. It was thicker and wavier, and there lay a new shine in them. “It's growing, fast lately.”

“Mmm,” Naomi hummed. “I like it short. You’ll help me cut it, won't you?”

“Yes,” Ruth nodded, releasing her fingers from her hair.

“You surprise me, Ruth,” Naomi began,  “even after ten years, you still surprise me.”

Ruth met her eyes, quiet.

“Last night, when  you danced, my daughter. I've never seen you look so beautiful. I've never seen you look so happy and alive. It was like staring at someone else.”

“Thank you for being there”

Naomi reached for Ruth's hand, brought it to her hands, placing kisses, and as she placed it down, she held it right in her hand. Ruth squeezed back gently. They stared at each other's eyes and witnessed the seasons they'd cross through together.

“I’m a better woman because of you,” Ruth confessed, her throat tightening, her heart stirring.

Naomi's eyes flutterred shut, her heart squeezing with love—pain.

“Yesterday,” Naomi said, softer, “there was a man who could not take his eyes off you. He was drawn to you, even when you weren't dancing.”

A pause, and in it, Naomi watched Ruth closely. The gleam in her dark eyes was caught immediately, but she also noted the way in which Ruth forced her facial expression to be firm, as if stopping any smile from cracking.

“My daughter,” Naomi held Ruth's gaze and saw in her eyes the beginning of tears.

What was it, the old woman thought. Guilt? Fear? It seemed to be both those emotions and one more.

Love.

“My daughter,” Naomi said again, “ should I not seek rest for you, that it may be well with you. And is  not Boaz our kinsman-redeemer, with whose maidens you work closely with? See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing floor. Wash therefore and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing floor, but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. When he lies down, observe the place where he lies. Then go and uncover his feet and lie down, and he will tell you what to do.”