"Why do you always wear that awful black cloak?" Bartholomew asked Ruth as they walked in the wood, looking for more berries before an October frost killed them all. He playfully pulled her hood down.
Though she smiled, she pulled it back up. "Because it makes others more comfortable if they don't see my face."
"I should have guessed. It's always about them, isn't it?" He didn't bother to hide the bitterness in his voice.
"I consider others before myself if that's what you mean." It wasn't always easy. There were days she thought it'd be better if her parents had never come to this valley, or better yet, if she'd never been born.
"They feel shame. That's why they don't want to see your face. You should let them see it." His voice normally soft despite its strength was raising in volume.
"I don't want them to feel shame. That's why I do what I do, and I'll do it until the day I die."
He was so frustrated by that reply all he could do was splutter. Then he spun on his heels and went the opposite way.
She had noticed he went for long walks at the height of his anger. It was quite sensible. It avoided more ugly words, or worse doing something you might later regret like breaking something. And often times, all a person needed to calm down was time.
He didn't understand her. She hoped he would one day, but when he did, that would be the day he finally left, realizing their futures couldn't possibly be intertwined.
She stopped as a strange noise traveled through the air. It took her a moment to realize it was singing. The sound drew her, warm and passionate. She followed its trail until she could finally make out the words.
"But drops of grief can ne'er repay
The debt of love I owe:"
She crouched down and stayed behind the thick oak, not wanting to reveal herself. He was another stranger though she could no longer call Bartholomew that. The woods were apparently crawling with them. He was singing at the top of his lungs and in key it was not, but it was beautiful because she's never heard joy like that.
"Here, Lord, I give myself away,
'Tis all that I can do."
His hair was wild and graying. His pants legs were rolled up, and he was standing in the creek with his arms held open wide as if there were an invisible rain falling down on him.
A twig snapped under her foot, which he heard and stopped his off-key tenor.
"Hello?" he called out.
She couldn't bring herself to speak. She felt unworthy and frightened though he looked friendly enough. She was afraid he would decide to check out the source of the noise and her muscles became tight in preparation to run.
Instead, he waded to the bank and picked up a leather-bound book. He opened it to a particular page and looked as if he had a message to proclaim, but who was he proclaiming it to? The birds or the squirrels? Or did he suspect the sound came from a human source after all?
In any case, he opened his arms again and shouted in a mighty voice, "The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me; because the LORD hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek."
His voice bounced and echoed, but it wasn't what made her tremble; it was the words themselves. How could he say the Spirit of the Lord on him? And if it was, and somehow she thought it might be, why did that scare her even more? She wanted to shrink back into the cover of the trees. "Run, run!" a voice inside her was crying, but as if her feet had sprouted roots, she couldn't tear herself away.
"He hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound."
And then she knew. She was the brokenhearted, She was the captive. She was the one bound in a prison of darkness. Was the Lord talking to her through this man? The realization should have sent her running towards him to hear what the good tidings were, but the voice telling her to run was strong.
She put aside her crazy thoughts. He might be bringing good news for the people of this valley, but he wasn't bringing it for her. If he knew what she was, he would drive her away from her only livelihood. He would preach the news of damnation, information she already all to aware of.
Giving into the desire to escape, she turned and flew toward the direction of her home, not caring about the thorny bushes and branches that tore at her cloak and exposed skin.