by Caryl McAdoo
Too soon the day’s end came and once again she found herself alone. She closed her eyes and waited, hoping the dream would come again.
At the first cock’s crow, she sat up in bed. It had all been so real. She threw on her robe then went to see to the cook-fire. Her mother sat at her table chopping, looking as though she’d been there for a while. She kissed her cheek.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Her mother nodded. “Tea’s hot, what’s left of it.”
Hattimas poured a cup, took her place across from her mother. “Did you rest any?”
“Some, not much.”
“I dreamed last night.”
Her mother took a deep breath. “About your father?”
“No, I…well yes…he was in it. Mostly I saw my baby girl though, so beautiful, Mother, except for odd marks on her back.”
“How was your father involved?”
“She and two older girls rode in the wagon with him. When my daughter saw me, she jumped down and ran into my arms. That’s how I knew she was mine.”
“Not every dream is from the Lord. You know that, right? You must never forget that truth.”
“Of course, but it seemed so real. You should have seen her, Mother. She was maybe four or five with hair exactly the color of mine, but not as wavy. And the marks on her back…what do you think they mean?”
“What of a firstborn son? And was Noah or anyone else in your dream?”
“No, but you know I’ve dreamed of three sons. Do you suppose the other two girls could be mine, too? Could one of them have been the firstborn?”
Her mother drained her tea then stood. “I know not. What I do know is that today is another day, and we have much to do, especially with the Feast of the Firstborns only a week away.”
Hattimas didn’t argue. The monthly dinner had never been canceled or postponed. Surely her father would return before another week.
Chapter Seven
Lamech rolled from under the wagon, extended his left arm. He curled his fingers halfway into a fist, but his forearm protested at three-quarters. The dull pain turned sharp. Relaxing his hand, he rubbed the spot, only half as swollen as the day before. Bless the Lord. Mostly one-handed, he got the horses hitched to the wagon and everything loaded.
Being home before short shadows—the Lord willing—kept him at it. He missed his wife. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be too disappointed that he didn’t find the twins. If only he could tell her they thrived, but offering acceptable scenarios proved the best he could do. Perhaps they had stayed together and lived somewhere else, anywhere else, besides Nod.
As figured, he arrived home a bit before the sun reached overhead. Noah spotted him first and rode the last furlong, peppering him with questions. Before he could reveal much of what he’d been through, Hattimas and her mother came running. Kisses, hugs, and back slaps in excess from the few souls left of the clan welcomed him home.
Then, without anyone noticing his swollen arm or one-handed hugs, he extracted himself to his bath. For all of the twenty-three days he’d been gone, he missed the hot water almost as much as his family, but not as much as Laurel. She soon slipped in next to him with a kiss. “It is so wonderful to see your face, husband; truly a sight for sore eyes.”
He laughed. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”
She kissed him again then put her hand under his elbow and raised his arm. “What happened?”
“So you noticed.”
“How could I not? You’ve never hugged me one-armed before.”
“Thank you for not saying anything.”
She lowered her hand, cradling his arm back into the hot water. “You’re welcome, but now that we are alone, tell me. What happened?”
“The third day, halfway through with the ninth barrel, I entertained visitors. Two sons of Cain came calling with mischief on their minds. They first accused me of stealing the tar and demanded a bag of gold or silver in payment. Then spoke of selling me into slavery.”
“What is that?”
“They own men—women, too—who do their bidding. As though a person is an animal, a beast of burden to serve a master.”
“Oh, my dear God, how can it be?” She searched his eyes though he could offer nothing more than Truth. “Husband, why would Abba allow such a thing?”
“Nod is indescribable, every sort of evil prevails there. But for the Lord’s salvation….”
“Did they hurt you anywhere else? Besides your arm?”
“No, the taller man attacked me with his staff, actually shattered it over my arm. The short one—I’ve never seen anyone built like him, a head shorter with bowed legs—anyway, he tried to cut me with his dagger, but I sidestepped him, then threw him into the tar pit.”
“Mercy, Lamech, what happened then? How did you escape them?”
“The big one ran off like a coward. I helped the other out of the pit. The tar had burned his legs.”
“But why would you do that? Hadn’t he just tried to kill you?”
“He asked the same question. It didn’t seem to me that his offense warranted death.”
She fell silent. He anticipated her next question, knew what she wanted him to tell, and hated being the bearer of sad news. “That evening after filling the last barrel, I moved my camp in case the first guy found some larger, braver friends to come back. I walked to the cluster of homes—all separate dwellings built practically on top of the next. They call it a city. A distance from the pit, but not too far.
“The people were like disturbed ants, running to and fro as though someone stirred their mounds.” He shook his head. “The things I saw…the revelry and debauchery….”
She lay her head on his chest. “The twins, did you find them?”
“No, I didn’t see them or any of those who’ve left our tribe. The deeper I walked amongst them, the more revolting the sounds and smells became. Our children would never have chosen to live in such a place. I can only believe they must have settled elsewhere.”
“What were the people doing?”
“Roasting animals on every corner, then eating their flesh. Children and older boys, even some girls, argued and fought over the scraps. Women being attacked, but no one seemed to care, except to laugh at them and their assailant. The melee assaulted my ears, sounded horrible, as though the people hated each other.”
“That’s terrible!”
“Yes, it was. Worse even.” Lamech stroked her hair. “Parts of a woman that should be covered were exposed blatantly and groped at every turn. And some of the men pranced around like they were women. Appalling. An abomination, all of it. The sons of Cain know nothing of the Lord or His goodness.”
“You’re right. Our children would not be in such a place.”
He held her tight, grateful she didn’t ask more. He’d kept the worst to himself. Would he ever be able to wash away the sight from his mind’s eye of chained and humbled humans being sold to the highest bidder?
Hopefully his wife had heard wrong. He hated the thought of returning. Maybe he only needed nine barrels full of pitch, not many wagonloads. He never wanted to go back to the land of Nod.
1422 years from creation
What a sad, horrible day. Hattimas waited for her grandmother and mother to toss their handfuls of dirt then dropped hers onto Grandfather Jared’s shrouded body. She stared a few heartbeats then backed away. Her husband and father readied their shovels, but only held them until Methuselah, the oldest living man, threw the first spadeful.
Next, her father tossed his. Shortly, Noah took over and finished the task.
With the hole filled and the mound tamped solid, Methuselah looked toward God’s Mountain. “Thank you, Abba, for giving my grandfather a full, rich life. Bless You, Almighty One.”
Hattimas knelt beside the grave. She loved the man and had so hoped Grandfather Jared’s theory about a deluge of babies had been right. But now he was gone, and his ideas with him. She and Noah had been married for ov
er two hundred years without the blessings of children. Would she be the first of all the daughters of Eve to be barren and miss the joy a new baby brought?
Her heart rent anew. Fresh tears flowed, some for her great-great grandfather, but most for herself. Seth’s line would die with her and Noah, and all because of her inability to give her husband a son. What had she done so wrong?
Why, Abba? Why have You not blessed my womb, withheld children?
Sobs came and racked her body.
Her husband knelt beside her. “He had a full life, my love, lived longer than anyone. Do not be so sad. I cannot bear your sorrow.”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “What about us? Your sons and my daughters? When will the Lord bless us, Noah?”
“I don’t know, wife, but Abba has given us the dream. We’ve both seen the same night vision. We will have three fine sons, and you’ve seen our daughters more than a dozen times. Do not despair. God has His plans and reasons. We need to wait upon Him, hold fast to the vision. Though it may tarry, it will come. Trust Him, my love, for His Mercy endures forever.”
She wiped her cheeks and nodded. But how many times had she heard him say those exact words? By her age, all the other mothers—every one—had left off bearing children, and she hadn’t even started. How many more moon cycles remained for her?
“Come, Hattimas, we don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”
He was right. The bread would get cold and…. Another sob escaped, and she swallowed hard, trying not to open another floodgate. She hated being barren. Noah squeezed her tighter, as though he knew her heart. If only she could share his faith and believe with the strength of her husband’s conviction.
Once all were seated at the marble table Grandfather Adam had built so long ago, Methuselah raised his gold wine goblet, the ones only used for wakes and the Feasts of Firstborns. “Blessings.”
Each held theirs up, and in unison, blessed him back.
“It is a sad day, but a good one also, for I have heard the Word of the Lord.” The old dear smiled. “Abba has spoken and says it is time. We are to begin. The trees Lamech and I planted that first year are to be felled.”
Noah jumped up. “Glory! Glory be to God!
But she wasn’t so sure. What did this mean? When would she have her babies, give her husband sons if he was to spend all his time in the gopher forest?
Centurion unfurled his wings and shielded his eyes with them before stepping into Eloheim’s manifest glory. With each stride toward the Lord’s throne, his longing to fall to his knees and worship increased, but the desire for obedience propelled him forward. Just past the elders’ empty chairs, the Creator’s love overpowered him and he fell to his knees.
“Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty.”
Lightning flashed, and the thunder reverberated, rolling toward him then away. The songs of a thousand upon thousands of voices singing His praise washed through Centurion’s soul and warmed his heart. Oh, to never leave the most awesome manifest presence of his Master. But the Lord had put a message in his heart.
He stood again and extended his wings. Basked in the Lord’s love for too few heartbeats—always too few—he shadowed himself and marched out. Once past the golden glow, he paused until God’s glory returned to the Creator, then Centurion flapped with renewed vigor. In half a dozen pulls, he soared over the Push Pitch. He loved the manicured green grass, smooth almost as the Crystal Sea.
Two cohorts of Michael’s sixteenth engaged in the competition. Centurion loved watching the host play Push, but no time for games until finished with business. He located the man sitting at one of the game tables on the edge of the third common, then fluttered to the ground a few steps away.
“Greetings, Enoch.”
The son of Jared smiled. “Centurion, good to see you, my friend. Care for a game?”
“No, you are too good, even Namrel admits such, and he is not oft defeated at Rocks.”
Laughter bounced along the breeze and danced through the trees’ leaves. Enoch turned in his seat. “You have that glow. Any word on the Changing of the Watch? When it might be?”
“Yes, I have only just come from His Throne room, but no, He mentioned it not. However, I would think soon. We rarely go this long.” Centurion nodded toward the winding path that separated the second and third common areas. “Care to walk? I have news.”
The man shook his head. “Speak on, if it is all the same. I’m expecting an enthusiast shortly.”
Centurion did not understand the allure of the game Rocks. In no way did it compare to Push, so still and thoughtful, but then, the man could not fly. “The Lord bids me tell Enoch, ‘My beloved Jared is gathered to his fathers.’ ”
“My father. So, he is reunited with Mother. That is good.” Enoch nodded, but didn’t seem too surprised. “And is there more?”
How could he have known? “Yes, to be sure. ‘Your sons have begun to fell the gopher trees.”
“Ah, then the time is coming. Anything else?”
“No, that is all.”
The man looked off, as though remembering his time on Earth. Or maybe he contemplated the placement of his next rock. Who could tell? The Lord knew. “If I may ask, what about the trees is pertinent, do you know?”
“I do. You see, Abba told me to name my eldest son Methuselah. It means when he dies then the deluge comes. God warned that he would not contend with man forever. He has repented Himself of making man; only the sons of Seth hold back the destroying flood.”
Centurion heard the words but had no understanding. A flood that destroyed? How could mere men hold it back? One thing remained sure. With the Lord, all things were possible. “But what have the trees to do with such?”
“An ark to preserve seed on Earth; my sons must build a massive ship.”
“Am I permitted another question?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know of the reconciliation?”
The man shrugged. “I have seen some of it, and the Lord has spoken of it, but not enough; ‘through a glass darkly’ He told me more than once.”
“Do you know why He shows you the future?”
Enoch laughed. “Yes, the Lord says He does nothing except He tells his prophets.”
Chapter Eight
1566 years from creation
Laurel stepped back from the easel, never had she seen such. “What is it, Lord? What have I just painted?”
No answer came. With her newest picture as her only clue, she stared on it, but the sole hint emanated from a foreboding in her soul. She studied the art from several angles. Much too massive for a home, yet the structure had a roof. It appeared more than odd with only one big door and a very small window near the top.
She asked again, but heard nothing, not with her ears nor in her heart. A heavy sigh escaped. The strange building had showed up in her night visions more than once. And she arose that morning with not one intention of painting it, but the Lord had troubled her until she picked up the colored oils and horsehair brushes.
The vision came to life on her canvas.
With no explanation. Lamech would think she’d lost her mind.
The squeak of her front door hinge told Laurel of company. “Mother, are you ready?” Her daughter’s lyrical voice bounced off the stone walls.
“In here, baby girl.” She stirred her brush in the linseed oil then laid it on the soft skin and rolled it up.
Hattimas stopped at the studio door and sneered. “Mother, I’m four hundred and forty years old, and though I’ve never had a precious little one, I do know what a baby looks like. I bear no resemblance.”
“That may be true, but you’ll always be my baby girl.” She smiled. “Besides, you don’t look a day over a hundred.” Laurel fluffed her daughter’s tresses. “Especially with your hair washed. It’s so beautiful, thick like Lamech’s.”
“Your son insisted, woke me up before the chickens with the bath all steamy.”
“My Noah. How is your
husband?”
“Worn out from chopping trees. He needed to soak in the hot bath to ease his muscles so that he could go another day.”
“Your father, too. He’s got almost two hundred years on my boy. But God strengthens them both.” She nodded toward her picture. “Come see. Tell me what you think.”
Her oldest daughter joined her. “Mother…. It’s…uh….”
“I know, but the Lord has shown it to me, and wouldn’t leave me alone until I painted this morning. This is what came out. I can’t imagine what it might be.”
Putting out both hands and wiggling all her fingers at the picture, Hattimas glanced at her mother. “What is this in the sky? And why have you got the sky so dark?”
“I don’t know. It’s how I saw it. Dark and foreboding. So I painted it.” She shivered. “It’s silly, I know, but it makes me uncomfortable.”
Her daughter giggled, covered her mouth, and looked away.
“What?”
The girl shook her head.
“What is it? Why are you laughing?”
“Oh, every other painting you finish, we fuss over who gets it, but this one…well….” She widened her eyes and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess if Grandmother wants it, then that’ll be fine with me.” Obviously trying her best not to burst out laughing, she grinned.
Laurel smiled back, understanding. Who wouldn’t agree with her daughter? No one would want it. Nothing bright and cheery about that one, to be certain, but…the burden had lifted. For whatever His purpose, she believed she’d put on the canvas exactly what the Almighty intended her to. She’d have to see what Lamech thought.
“Where’s your portion?” She headed toward the kitchen then stopped and turned. “Oh, Hattimas, you didn’t forget, did you?”
“No, Mother. I left the dried fruit and cheese on the porch in my basket. Grandmother is bringing the wine, and you the bread, just as we agreed yesterday, when you two insisted we have this picnic.”