AN:
After an inexcusably long break, I'm at it again. And back in Moab, things are really cooking...
Before I say anything else, I should give you this long-belated disclaimer:
This story is speculative fiction based off a person whose name is recorded in the book of Ruth. All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James version of the Bible, which is under Crown Copyright in the UK. But the queen can't claim to own the Bible, and I insist that it is and has always been in the public domain. If any of the characters in this story bear any resemblance to real people, it could be because: a) we're all human, and so are the characters; b) these characters face no temptation but that which is common to man, which means that somebody out there is probably going through similar circumstances and or periods of conviction, or c) because it was meant to be so, although I did not write with specific people in mind. The author assumes no responsibility for anything good that may come as a result of this story, as to do so would be arrogance. He also prays that no evil come of it. If you recognize names, it could be because they were real historical people, or simply a faulty recognition. Also the things I'm writing about didn't happen, to my knowledge, except for those referred to in Scripture. Read at your own risk.
Orpah arose with the sun that morning. And immediately there was the temptation to delay: not a crumb of food was left in her house save that she had packed in the evening. And she was hungry, dreadfully hungry. Why, oh why, did she buy no food at the marketplace yesterday?
But there was no question of delay, and she needed all the food she had packed for the journey. So after a short period of prayer, she set out for a new home.
It had been ages since she had been this far out of town: several years at least, and that most recent time was to the east. Here one came shortly upon another town, of roughly the same size as her own. Or that from which she came, for she had no intention of returning.
Shalakhia took his sledge hammer on one last swing.
Crash!
The last one was destroyed. Now for the altar.
It took several swings to satisfactorily destroy it, but his work was now done.
His idols were demolished.
And, unbeknownst to him, a small man in dark clothing ran to tell the whole town of the outrage.
Meanwhile, a knock came to his door.
"Come in," he answered. There was no point trying to hide the fragmented household gods.
And in stepped an old woman, of nearly seventy years. "I'd like to borrow a horse," she stated. "I will need it for two or three days. What is your price?"
Something was different about this woman. He could see it on her face, hear it in the words she spoke. And most telling was that she seemed to have no reaction to the mess on the floor, for any normal Moabitess would have screamed bloody murder at seeing the altar in pieces. "Why do you not tremble? Are you not enraged at what I have done?"
The woman paused to take in the scene. "I see you care no more for the gods of Moab than I do. I see you have put them off. I see you have abandoned those who were no gods, who could avail you nothing. If I trembled, sir, it would be with joy, seeing that I am not alone."
"Hallelujah! So then have you found the LORD God of Israel?"
After a pause, she replied, "It would be more accurate to say that He found me; that when I was running He pursued me; that when I turned my back on Him He gave all to find me."
"The LORD be praised! And with that in mind, what would be your purpose in borrowing a horse?"
"I must go to Israel. A caravan left town a couple days ago, and I was too late to catch up with them on foot, so I thought to borrow a horse. It would, of course, have to be one that can find its way home on its own, for I cannot guide it after I am with the caravan. Do you have such a horse?"
Shalakhia hesitated to give an answer. Was this woman for real? Did she seriously think she could make it to Israel? And did he have a horse that could be trusted to return home? Yes, there was one, a five year old mare named Huldah- an appropriate name for a horse that was almost constantly covered with mud despite his efforts to cure her habit of rolling in it. How she found mud in the near-arid land of Moab, he didn't know: perhaps she had found something he didn't know about. But Huldah was loyal, and would return home as soon as she was given the signal. She would do. She would have to, or this woman would find another trader. So he told her to follow him to the stables.
But when he opened his door, an angry crowd awaited.
Orpah was astonished at the size of the crowd outside the horse-man's door. It seemed as though not only all the inhabitants of this town were come out, but also those from several others in the area. And then she knew it was true, for she saw several of her neighbors in the crowd. And to think: two days ago she would have been in that same crowd, angry at the man for having destroyed his idols. How quickly one's entire worldview and perspective could change.
The man- she would have to get his name if this went on much longer- shouted something at her, and when she couldn't hear over the din outside, he motioned for her to go back into the building. He followed her, and quickly closed the door behind him. "Looks like I'll be seeing a bit of you for a while," he said. "I'm Shalakhia. What's your name?"
Finally, a name. Shalakhia:: sent by the LORD. It was a truly unique name. Could he live up to it? She hoped so. "I am called Orpah."
"Orpah:: a fawn. Now, we have work to do. Here- grab my hammer, will you? and we'll rig it to keep this door closed."
Orpah did as he said. "What next?"
"Grab your pack and follow me- no, wait here while I fetch some money. We'll need it on our journey."
Orpah was confused. "We?"
"I must go with you. I cannot stay here, for if I did I would certainly be killed. And I should not have been here this long in the first place."
Shalakhia went into his office to get his money. And as Orpah looked around the room, she knew this image would be etched on her mind for the rest of her life.