Crown in the Stars (58 page)

Authors: Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

BOOK: Crown in the Stars

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He was seeing these exquisite things with his own eyes… glimpses of the creatures and the earth she had known. He was going to hear her voice forever in this lush place. He could see the hand of her unacknowledged Most High.

He stared about in silence, haunted.

Epilogue

THEY WALKED TOGETHER, mother and daughter, through a cold, autumn-misted field near their homes. The daughter had the silver hair of old age, while the mother—still youthful in her middle years—supported her child.

At last, Shoshannah set a frail hand on Keren’s arm. “I’ma… please, I am tired.”

Keren paused, knowing her daughter wasn’t talking about this walk through the misty field. She was talking about life itself. She was tired. She was asking Keren’s acceptance. More than that, she was asking Keren to be strong and at peace with herself and the Most High.

“I miss my Kaleb,” Shoshannah sighed. Smiling wistfully, she said, “I’ve had a good life. A
good
life. I’ve been happy. But now I’m tired…”

Aching, Keren held her daughter, kissed her, then walked her home.

Inside their hushed, lamplit lodge, Annah studied her dear in-laws, who were sleeping, exhausted. Noakh’s spirits had begun to fail in the years after Kaleb’s and Shoshannah’s deaths. Naomi, too, lacked the vitality that had been so much a part of her being for as long as Annah had known her. Grief had struck them hard. But it was more than that; like Shoshannah, they were tired of this life.

But I’m not ready to lose you
, Annah thought, dismayed.
It was terrible enough to lose Shoshannah
.

As she sat there, neglected sewing in her lap, struggling with this new torment, Annah’s beloved Shem sat down with her, taking her in his arms, kissing her cheek, despondent, whispering, “Beloved, I must send for my brothers.”

His brothers and their wives were visiting nearby tribes, drawn together by their mutual languages. It wouldn’t be long before they arrived. For the first time ever, Annah dreaded seeing them.

Weeping, Annah watched as her tearful sister-in-law Ghinnah knelt and placed a small, ancient, elaborately painted box in the grave beside their Noakh. Within the box were the mysterious sun stones that Ghinnah had given Noakh while they were living in the ancient ship during the Great Flood. It was best, they had all agreed, that the sun stones be buried with the ancient man, in a place known only to them.

The stones were an enigma, a wonder that might be
used in worship against the Most High. The Ancient Noakh’s grave, too, might become a place of unholy worship. It was best kept a secret.

Shem, Annah, Yepheth, Ghinnah, Khawm, and Tirtsah covered the grave together, mute in their grief. And in their memories.

I would have died as a young woman if you had not lived and loved the Most High
, Annah told the ancient patriarch silently.
And He was merciful for the sake of your love …

Finished, they hurried back to the lodge to console their I’ma-Naomi, who was fading, overwhelmed by grief at being separated from her beloved Noakh.

In the flickering lamplight, Shem gathered and perused the writings, the histories of all. The passing of ages—of precious lives—were griefs that seared like endless burns. Nimr-Rada’s story, for example, was too painful to record beyond the minimal facts. And even if he wrote the truth, Shem knew that other tribes, enemy tribes, would sneer and deride his words. He meant nothing to them now; only a few still followed the Most High. Mere handfuls among many.
How merciful of You, O Most High, to allow these faithless rebels to live
.

“What will we do with these?” Annah asked, sitting beside him now, touching one of the leather rolls with a small, work-worn hand. How he loved that hand. Soothed, he kissed her fingertips and looked into her dark eyes, seeing the girl he had first loved in a marvelous world long since vanished.

“We take them to someone who will listen to Him.”

“Look at
that,”
Keren muttered to Annah, almost stopping her horse. Her pale eyes glittered with rage as she gazed upon their destination, a walled river city in the fertile northern plains.

Annah was already looking at the object of Keren’s wrath, a huge brick mountain—a replica of the tower in the former Great City, now called Babel, the place of confusion. This city was merely an echo of the first. Nothing had changed for the children of her children here—sons of Arpakshad and Aram. “This makes me want to tear out my hair,” Annah said darkly. “The Most High must truly love us—being so patient with
that.”

Keren sighed heavily, aggrieved. Annah and Shem had invited her and Zekaryah to accompany them here for a needed respite from the mountains, from mourning their children. Instead, Annah feared this place would sharpen their sorrow.

Even so, they covered their heads, dismounted, and entered the gates, then the marketplace, which offered gold, fabrics, honey, wine, and luxuries. Many of the residents wore delicate crescents and stars of gold—tributes to their god of the moon and other “rulers of the heavens.” Obviously Nimr-Rada and Sharah, in all their vile deified forms, ruled this place. Annah looked away from these disgusting ornaments as Shem and Zekaryah inquired directions, repeating the names of Arpakshad and all his descendants whom they knew of, ending with, “Terakh?”

Some of the merchants looked at them strangely, but one gabbled at a rough-robed companion, who grudgingly led them through the dusty streets to a remarkably
large house. Pounding on the wooden gate, he marched off, shaking his dark head.

A servant opened the door, flashed them a well-trained smile, and bowed them into a brick-paved courtyard, motioning at two other servants to guard the horses.

This can’t be the place
, Annah thought, looking upward, amazed by the two-storied skylit courtyard and the wooden stairs and railing that led to—and around—beautifully timbered and arcaded upper rooms.

A man appeared at the central upper railing now, middle-aged, neither tall nor short but with fine dark eyes and handsomely clad in light woolen robes. Seeing his visitors, he hurried down, his sandals clattering on the wooden stairs as he smiled and greeted them kindly. “Abram,” he said, in cordial, half-familiar accents.

Shem questioned, “Of Terakh?”

Abram nodded his head gently, sadly, indicating that Terakh was no more.

Annah drooped with disappointment. But Shem persisted, tapping himself. “Shem. Shem, son of Noakh.”

“No-akh? Shem?” Abram stared, shocked, retaliating with, “Arpakshad? Arawm? Elawm?” He was gripping Shem’s arm now, his warm brown eyes growing wider and wider as Shem nodded agreement with each name of his own sons.

Annah thought the man, Abram, might faint. But then he laughed and embraced Shem, delighted, raising his voice, calling to the rooms above. “Sarai!”

A very beautiful woman appeared at the railings above, clad in flowing linen robes; her luminous skin, dark hair, and eyes were as perfect as Annah could imagine. She seemed somewhat irritated, until Abram beckoned her
and called to the servants authoritatively, sending them in all directions to welcome his guests.

As the jubilant Abram rushed to make them comfortable, Shem glanced at Annah, Zekaryah, and Keren, his eyes shining with joy, lifting Annah’s spirits. He had no need to speak; they had found the man they sought. Beside Annah, Keren wept.

That night, while his wife and guests slept, Abram gripped the wooden railing of the courtyard balcony, exultant, staring up at the stars. He felt a need to see them. A need to be quiet and to wait for the Presence he had felt in the past. All his possessions, his wealth—they were nothing to the treasure he had been granted today: an answer.

He finally had an answer. There was a plan. He could leave this idolatrous place. Abram smiled, contented. A breath of wind touched his face, and he felt as if he had been granted more blessings than there were stars in the skies.

And he felt the Presence with him, whispering,
I am the Lord …