Then The Deluge Comes (The Generations Book 2)

by Caryl McAdoo

  “Yes, it is, my love. A true desire of my heart.” He set her feet on the stone floor. “We’ll think of a way.”

  1055 Years from Creation

  Lamech double checked for any coal dust on his tunic, stomped his feet extra hard, then stepped onto the path leading to his entrance. Once inside, he removed his work sandals and put on his slippers. “Laurel, you home?”

  No answer, no savory smells. He strolled to the cook fire…not even kindled. For a few heartbeats, he searched his memory for any words she might have spoken that morning, then realization dawned. He walked into the bedroom, a wife-sized lump curled up in the middle of the bed, covered head to toe.

  The sight cut his heart. Bless Your Name, Father. He eased down next to her, raised the wool blanket and snuggled in tight.

  She pressed in hard, but said nothing.

  He kissed the back of her head. “Want me to heat some water?”

  “No.”

  “Want something to eat?”

  “No.” She rolled over and glared at him. “What I want is a baby.”

  “So do I, love.”

  “It’s been twelve years and three months, husband. What if He never gives us a son?”

  “Abba will bless us, I am certain of it. We only have to wait upon Him. Remember, Father was even older when I was born.” He leaned over, and she kissed him, but it held no passion.

  “Get up. Mother brought over some soup earlier, and yes, I’d love a hot bath.”

  With his belly sated and the water just right, he eased in next to his wife, who could stand it way colder than he.

  Laurel twirled a finger. “Turn around, and I’ll massage your back and neck.”

  “Thank you, my love.”

  Her fingers worked on his sore muscles. “I love you so, dear wife of mine.” Soon, he melted into her, and she wrapped her arms around him. “Three days is the Feast of the Firstborns.”

  “Yes, Mother and I were talking about what we’re going to take.”

  “Maybe the lot will fall to me this year.”

  She pulled him around. “I forgot, it is time for the sin offering.”

  “If I’m chosen, then perhaps it’s what the Lord has been waiting on. But even if not, we will continue to wait upon Him.”

  Her lips spread thin, her head bobbed little circles then ended in nods. “Yes, if not, then I will be a good wife, and continue to wait, as you say.”

  He kissed her. “You’re wonderful.”

  “I love you, too.”

  The three days seemed more like three weeks, but finally the time came for the feast. He checked his reflection in the polished silver disk, ran his fingers through his beard, then Laurel slipped in behind him and kissed his neck.

  “You look very handsome, husband.”

  He turned around. His breath caught, then he smiled. “And you are so beautiful.”

  She kissed him, he kissed her back, then she pushed him toward the door. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

  Of course, she was right, but.…

  As always, the food was excellent and the conversation invigorating. He loved the smaller group, but understood why all but the twelve Feast of the Firstborns included the whole family. This month’s report went as expected. The one sad note, his father reported his youngest son and Laurel’s only sister had decided to leave Adam’s valley.

  After a brief discussion about the dearth of children, Grandfather Enos stood and set the leather bag on the table. “I will not be going to the mountain. Last year, Jared had to come back and carry me and my lamb the last fifty steps. As the next oldest, Cainan will take my place.” He handed the bag across his son to Mahalaleel, who drew out a rock.

  He kept his fist closed around it and passed the bag to his son Jared, who drew then passed it on to his grandson Methuselah as he had since Grandfather Enoch was taken up in the chariot; the man who walked with God was still sorely missed at the table. Then Lamech accepted the bag from his father. Each man held his closed fist out toward the center.

  Enos nodded, and all hands opened.

  A white rock. Lamech’s heart skipped a beat. Laurel’s fingers entwined with his, and she squeezed. Chosen, he would go to the high place. He tore his eyes from his own hand to see his father’s. It, too, held a white rock. Never before had he and Methuselah made the sin offering together.

  Bless the Lord, His mercy endures forever.

  Chapter Three

  Lamech held his hands out, and Enos handed him the yearling. “Stay back, Son, and watch over Cainan; the air gets thin toward the summit.”

  “Yes, Grandfather, I will.”

  “Good.” The oldest living man patted Lamech’s cheek then kissed the lamb’s head. “Go with God, son.”

  Lamech nodded then hurried to catch up to his father and Enos’ son, his fifth grandfather. He hated it that three lambs had to die, but loved being on God’s Mountain. Loved it even more that his father made the trek with him for the first time. Even if he lived to be a thousand, he would never forget the day.

  At the rock Cain and Abel had named Last Look so many years before, he turned—as did his father and grandfather—and surveyed the valley below. It hadn’t changed much since the last time he gazed from there, except for the gopher forest, the land it covered at least doubled. It seemed notably higher as well.

  And perhaps more wheat had been planted that year, but the vineyard and orchard hadn’t changed. Why enlarge them with so many leaving each year and no babies being born? He thought of Laurel, and a pang stabbed his heart. That day, he would pray for a miracle for his household. On God’s Mountain, he’d ask again for a son.

  Grandfather Cainan drew a deep breath then turned his face skyward. Hefting his lamb’s weight on his shoulders, he marched on. Methuselah did the same then fell in behind the old man. Lamech took one last look. Couldn’t see his wife or the others for the roof, but knew exactly where they had gathered.

  She would be on the back porch with all the family watching God’s Mountain. Even from there, the bolt of liquid fire when God accepted the offerings could be witnessed, and what a sight to behold.

  Without having to help Cainan or his father, Lamech reached the place that Adam himself had cleared over a thousand years before. The three altars never changed, and stood exactly as he remembered. In the same manner of Padam himself, and each son after him, Lamech knelt before the altar and waited his turn.

  As youngest, he would go last. His grandfather placed his lamb on the burnt stones, slit its throat in one smooth stroke, held the yearling’s head until all the life flowed out, then stepped back. Overhead, a cloud whiter than even Enoch’s beard formed from nothing, and God’s finger descended. A bolt of lightning streaked to the altar and consumed the sacrifice.

  Only a sweet savor remained, and it drifted up to the cloud.

  Cainan prostrated himself, pressing his forehead to the rocky ground and worshiped with whispers and quiet singing.

  Methuselah did likewise.

  Then Lamech stood. He inhaled deeply, and bit his bottom lip. His lamb bleated, but no answer came. He carried the best of the best to the same altar Abel had used so many years before and remembered the story he’d heard since a boy. The awful tale of disobedience and the first murder.

  Though he could muster a smidgen of comprehension why Cain might have offered grains from his crop in lieu of killing a lamb—ending an innocent life proved hard every time—Lamech could never imagine leaving the sanctity of the sacrifices to commit such a heinous act as murdering his own brother.

  He’d never understand that.

  Hesitating only half of a heartbeat, he drew his flint knife across the lamb’s throat, holding him tight until all his life flowed over the charred stones.

  Bless You, Lord. Accept my offering and cover our sins for another year. Favor my household with a son, Holy One.

  God’s finger seemed to hesitate as Lamech had. Long enough for him to regret his prayer. It wasn’t the t
ime or the place. He shouldn’t have…. Then the fiery finger darted to his altar and consumed the yearling to ash. The same sweet aroma wafted to the cloud, as a gentle breeze blew ash from the dry altar.

  Lamech fell to his knees then bowed low before the Creator.

  Bless Your Holy Name, Father. Great and mighty are You, full of grace and mercy. Your love is higher than the tallest mountain and wider than any valley. Thank You for making a way, for covering our sin with the blood of the innocent.

  He remained prostrate until Grandfather Cainan and Methuselah stood. Oh, how he had hoped to hear the Lord speak or see a vision of his wife with a baby. Or anything. But nothing. Well, not totally nothing. His renewed heart was clean, the weight of his sin lifted, the same as everyone’s in Adam’s Valley.

  His father, too, seemed to walk with transformed vigor. But Cainan appeared more burdened, even without the extra weight of the lamb. He looked to his father then threw a questioning nod toward the man only three generations from the first one.

  For a few steps, Methuselah did nothing, then stepped up next to Adam’s great-grandson. “Grandfather, let us help you.”

  Cainan shrugged, and Lamech hurried to his other side. At the big rock, he stopped then drew his lungs full. “Let me rest a bit, then perhaps I can walk on down by myself.”

  Pride and the thicker air must have bolstered the old one. The tribe surely waited, and apparently he wasn’t ready to relinquish his right to make the sin offering. He obviously wanted to walk down on his own without help on either side.

  The biggest and best feast of the year filled that day of celebration. Acceptance of the sin offerings lightened everyone’s spirits, but it seemed to Lamech that his wife’s feet barely touched the ground. Such a delightful contrast from just a few days before. Women. If he lived to be a thousand, would he ever understand them?

  Once the lamps’ glow dimmed and a few of the celebrants drifted away, Laurel extracted herself from the mothers’ circle and pulled him off to the side.

  “You seem extra happy.”

  She smiled. “The joy of the Lord is a heady wine.”

  Strange words. He returned her smile. “Are you ready to leave so soon?”

  “No, but….” Her grin grew even bigger.

  He caught some of her mirth. “What is it, wife?”

  She closed her eyes, giggled, then hugged herself. “You will see.” With both hands on his tunic, she leaned in until barely a thumb’s width separated her kissable lips from his. She blew on him, and the aroma of fermented grapes rode her breath. “Come get me when you’re ready.” She giggled again then floated back to the mothers’ clutch.

  Never, in all her years…he closed his eyes. From that first moment when his father lay his baby sister into his arms until then, he had never seen her act thus. The joy of the Lord is a heady wine? What was that all about?

  For the next dozen turns of the waterwheel, he tried to focus on the grandfathers’ conversation, put his wife’s strange behavior from his mind, but couldn’t concentrate. Finally, he had no choice and bid them good night. Fetching his wife from the circle of laughing women, he held his peace until he closed his front door.

  Then he turned her around. Her grin proved infectious. “What, my darling? What’s gotten into you this day? I –” Before he could say more, she smothered him with kisses and hugged him tight. Finally, she backed away, slipped her hand into his, and pulled him toward the bedroom.

  Who was he to argue? He loved his wife.

  From the first, Laurel only savored the Lord’s words, but as even grew dark, they’d burned to be spoken. And who better than her husband to share them with? Sated, she snuggled next to him. “While you and the fathers were on the mountain….”

  Her husband’s eye opened a sliver’s width. “Did you see God’s finger?”

  “Yes, but so much better, I heard His voice!”

  Both of his eyes popped open, and he rolled to his side. “That’s wonderful, what did He say?”

  She grinned, but couldn’t tease him anymore. “He said, ‘In the time of life, you will give your husband a son.’ ”

  “Praise His Holy Name. Did He say anything more?”

  “Yes, He did. You are to name your son Noah.”

  Lamech looked off. His lips thinned, and his brows knitted. Then he smiled. “Noah. I like the sound of it.”

  She kissed him. “And there’s more.”

  “What else?”

  “Pitch. Do you know what that is?”

  “No, did He say?”

  “He did not, but you and Methuselah and our baby boy are going to need wagonloads of it.”

  “Pitch, huh? I will ask our father on the morrow if he has any idea what that might be.”

  Laurel’s joy increased with the girth of her waist. A son. Finally, she would be a mother. Her firstborn, heir to the birthright, just as her husband and her father before him. If only her sister would have stayed in Adam’s valley to enjoy her maternity with her. To a certain extent, she understood her and her brothers wanting to leave.

  If she had been betrothed to anyone but Lamech, would she have agreed to marry without her father’s blessings? It seemed like a woman should have some say in the selection of whom she’d spend her life, but the parents didn’t see it that way at all. They didn’t care that her little sister fell in love with the wrong brother.

  Blessed beyond words, Laurel had loved Lamech from the beginning—at least her earliest remembrances. He was so special, kind and gentle and patient. And so wise, too.

  What kind of life would her siblings have in Nod? Would she ever even know? None had ever returned, so it must be a good life there. At least she hoped. But what if…did she even want to know?

  Then the fullness of time was upon her, and fear crept into her heart. Would she be able to stand the pain and the sorrow that the Lord had cursed women with? Did every mother-to-be have the same ill will for Meve when their times came? How different would things have been if she’d only been obedient?

  Oh, if birthing could be like the cattle or other beasts. Lie down and minutes later, have a baby. Each day, her back hurt more and her belly stretched to the bursting point. Lamech teased, accusing her of swallowing a watermelon whole. He’d properly suffered for his laughing accusation though. She’d seen to that.

  Would his baby ever come out?

  Oh, Lord, help. Please help.

  A few days—that passed as though mired in the thick syrup that comes out first when boiling sugar cane—later, she eased down onto her bed. Her belly hardened with the contraction. Oh mercy, she couldn’t do this. She drew her legs up around her swollen stomach. But any comfortable position eluded her.

  “My birthday starts soon.”

  “What?” His birthday? She’d soon give birth to his son if God in Heaven was truly merciful, and it would be Noah’s day of birth. Was he crazy? “What did you say?”

  “In a few turns of the waterwheel, I’ll be one hundred and eighty-two.”

  “You?” She rolled over. He grinned. If she could only get up and reach him, she’d slap him. Oh, yes. How she’d love to hit him! What was there to smile about? Didn’t he know how miserable she was? How much pain convulsed her body every few heartbeats? “Why are you telling me that?”

  “At even…it will be the celebration of the day of my birth. That’s all. I always have…you know. Something….”

  “Oh, Lord, have mercy on me!” She curled into a ball and pushed. When the contraction passed, she glared. “Mother will fix you something special, she always does. Will you please go get her and tell her the time is come.” Able to breathe again, she waved him away. “You find something else to do, please.”

  “Father told me this morn, while we were making hinges, that Noah will be born on my birthday.”

  She sat up. “Abba told him this?”

  “Yes.”

  Joy danced over her heart. She could bear it. As long as she knew it would soon be over, but she wan
ted him out of there. She wanted her mother and her grandmothers. They’d know what to do. How to help. They wouldn’t ask frivolous questions or tell her irrelevant information. Today is his birthday, indeed.

  She had no choice in the matter, and the muscles around her swollen belly contracted again, shooting a pain that racked the small of her back. “Oh dear, that wasn’t too bad.” Water gushed between her legs. “Go, Lamech! Hurry! Get Mother now!”

  Through the night Lamech and his father waited outside of his bedroom. All four of the grandfathers had stopped by to pray and speak blessings on the new firstborn. To the man, they offered to stay, but of course Lamech, as well as his father, sent them off to sleep in their own beds.

  No reason for everyone to have to stay awake. He even tried to send Methuselah off as the night grew longer, but his father leaned back and closed his eyes. “No, I’ll stay a while longer with you, then maybe I’ll go on to bed.”

  The mothers, on the other hand, would not hear of leaving. Birthing a firstborn was not an event any of them wanted to miss. Lamech rested his head back against the wall. Maybe just close his eyes for a moment.…

  The closer to the rising of the morning’s sun, over his father’s steady snoring, the louder his Laurel screamed. Lamech yawned and straightened his back. His mother and the grandmothers scurried in and out of the room, heating water, fetching more cloth. He asked repeatedly if he could do anything to help, but they all told him no, nothing.

  An extra loud and long scream came right on the heels of another quite gruesome one. It stabbed his heart especially hard. Why did she have to suffer so? Why had the Lord cursed Meve and all her daughters with such terrible pain?

  His mother rushed out. “Have no concern, Son. Noah will be here soon.”

  “You can tell by her screams?”