by Caryl McAdoo
“I could eat.” He leaned his pruning knife against a tree then took the blanket covering the basket and spread it on the ground.
She opened her mouth but made no sound; instead she set the basket and jug on the corner of the blanket and turned to go.
He sprang toward her. “Eve? Wait.”
She turned and again started to say something, but only shook her head.
He stepped closer. “I thought you’d brought a picnic. For us both. Please, stay.”
She’d decided, but the words Eve should say wouldn’t come. “For what? So you can tell me it was all my fault again, or that God told you I’ve got to slit a lamb’s throat?” She held up her hands. “No, thank you.” Why was she resisting? It had been all her fault.
“I love you, wife.”
The part of her that knew he did could not silence the part that wanted her way most of all; again she chose her way. “Do you?”
“Yes, with all my heart. You complete me.”
“Then give me more children.”
He closed his eyes then slowly filled his lungs. “Not until we have Abba’s blessing.” He opened his eyes.
She glared. “And when will that be?”
“I don’t know.”
For too many beats of her heart, he held her gaze then she threw her hands into the air. “Eat.” She nodded toward the basket. “Eat while it is still hot.”
He held out his hand. “Stay with me.”
For a heartbeat, she fought against bolting. She loved him so much, hated the pain in his eyes. Her gaze fell to the ground. “Do you really love me?”
He stepped to her and lifted her chin. “Why, Eve, do you ask such when surely you know I do. With every portion of my soul, I love you. You are my life, my essence. I could not live without you. Do not you remember the choice I made because of my love for you? My own choice? You are not responsible for what I choose, only for your own decisions.”
She stared into his eyes for a double breath then pressed her cheek against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. If only he would give her what she wanted. He eased her to the pallet then picked up the jug and took a long drink. “The wine is good.”
She scooted over, handed him a loaf of bread from the basket, extracted sweet potatoes baked in sugar cane then rolled in chopped pecans. “I brought figs and honey for later.”
“A feast, bless the Lord.” He tore a chunk from the loaf. “It’s still warm. I love your bread anytime, but especially warm from the oven. It almost melts in my mouth.”
Yet another tear fell when she thought she had surely cried them all. She nodded then lowered her gaze. “Adam?”
“Yes? What is it, my love?”
Unable to bring her eyes to his, she winced, but had to say it. Tell him. Confess. She needed God’s help.
Gently he lifted her chin. “What?”
She closed her eyes, had to get the words out. “I was…” She swallowed. “I was wrong.”
He stopped chewing. “What did you say?”
“In the garden. I was wrong.” She looked up to the sky. “I repent. I’m sorry, truly. Please, please, forgive me.” She turned her face away. “But I can’t go to the mountain. Please, do not make me go to the mountain. I could not.…”
“I will intercede, Wife. Perhaps in this, the Lord will show His great mercy unto you.”
Cain topped the ridge they’d been climbing all morning then stopped at the summit and cupped his hands over his eyes. “Amazing! Come, see. Hurry. It’s just as they said.”
Sheriah joined her brother. As far as she could see, the world was awash in lush greenery. Every shade imaginable from a deep forest so dark it was almost black, to the lightest, airy, pastel. The sight took her breath away. She tried to pick out a path into the valley, but everywhere her eyes fell appeared overgrown and too thick to traverse.
“Can you believe it?” She couldn’t tear her eyes away. “The Valley of Eden. It’s so beautiful. I wonder where Padam worked that day.”
Cain scanned the horizon then pointed to his right. “If I understood the story, I think it must have been somewhere over there.”
Near where he pointed, a flicker caught Sheriah’s eye. “What was that?”
“Where?”
She stared but didn’t see it again. “I’m not certain. Somewhere there.” She pointed more left. “It looked like a long spark shooting up. Come, brother. Let’s find the entrance.”
Cain turned his face toward her. “What for?”
“What do you mean? Don’t you want to see the flaming sword?”
“No, and if I remember correctly, you’re the one who wants a baby. That means building a house, and we’ve still got several days before I’m ready to stop.”
She pushed him away. “You’re no fun. We’re here in the Valley of our parents’ creation. I want to see the places in all the stories we’ve heard since we sat at Padam’s knees. Cain, please, we may never pass this way again.”
“There will be plenty of time for fun after we find the place to build our house.”
She started to say more, but knew it was pointless. Nothing would convince him they didn’t need to get to Nod in such a hurry. “Can we come back then?”
Cain shrugged. “Maybe someday.” He stepped to his right, away from where she saw the flash of light.
“When?”
“I don’t know.” He continued walking and didn’t even bother looking back.
Stopping, she scooped up a dirt clod then threw it in one smooth motion as she had so many times growing up. It hit its mark and smacked against his shoulder blade. “Let’s go see it now then, while we’re here. Come on. We can wait another day or two to find Nod.”
He wheeled around and glared. “I said no, not now.”
She backed away a step, not because he turned the corners of his mouth down or gritted his teeth. She’d seen his mean face before, though maybe never with so much hate in his eyes. But she certainly was not afraid of him, and she wanted to see those swords. The quicker they got down there, the better she’d like it.
“Well, I say yes. Come on. Please. Let’s go. It’ll be a break from this awful, tedious journey. Perhaps we can even find a creek to bathe in, and I can soak my feet. I need a bath, brother.” She backed up another step. “If we don’t go now, you know we never will.”
“You’re probably right, but what does it matter? We don’t have time.” He held out his hand. “Come with me.”
“No.” She wagged her head and stepped back once again. “I’m going down there with or without you.” For a double handful of heartbeats, he glared. His cheeks flushed red, but she didn’t care how angry he got. She wanted to see Eden’s gate, and he admitted they’d probably never come back.
So, now or never.
He balled his fists. “Sheriah, I said we’re going on to Nod. Now stop your foolishness.”
She backed away another step. “Call it whatever you want, but I’m going. We don’t have to get anywhere at any particular time. You’re just being mean!” She spun around and sprinted in the general direction of where she’d seen the flash of light.
Ten strides down, she slowed to a trot and looked over her shoulder. He remained where she’d left him. She stopped at a funny looking long-leafed tree or bush that she’d never seen before, and faced Cain. “Come on. You know you want to see if it’s like they said. Besides, we’ll need stories to tell our children someday.”
He shook his head and marched toward her. “We don’t have time.”
She matched him step for step, but going in the opposite direction. “We’ve got all the time in the world.” She smiled her best little girl smile, the one she used on him when only four or five that always got him to do anything she asked; the one she used when he promised not to kill one of Abel’s lambs.
Abel.
Cain sprang toward her. “No, we don’t.”
Wheeling, she sprinted deeper into the broadleaf trees. A vine ca
ught her foot, and she fell, but landed on her hands. Just as she pushed herself back to her feet, he grabbed her and pulled her to his chest. “Now stop this.”
She pushed back, but he held tight. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re my wife. Where I go, you go.”
She strained against his hold. “I’m not your wife, not yet! And until I am, then I can go anywhere I want.” She kicked his shin.
But he didn’t release her. “Have it your own way.” He pulled her in and kissed her lips.
For a handful of heartbeats she resisted, then she realized what his words meant. She threw her arms around his broad shoulders and kissed him back.
Eve put her hand on the lamb’s head, its wool so soft, the yearling perfect, such promise of one day becoming a magnificent ram. She pleaded with her eyes, but her husband shook his head then picked the baby up and draped it over his shoulders. Without a word, he marched toward the mountain.
She watched until he looked back at the big rock then vanished behind it. She sank to her knees and put her forehead on the dirt. “Abba, please, help me understand. Once you loved me so much, but now...”
With each breath, her heart pounded. The knot in her stomach twisted tighter. She hated the poor little lamb dying in her place, for her sins. Tears flowed. A breeze rustled her hair then swept through her heart. The years melted away. A love like she’d never known swelled within her.
Before her eyes, her husband lay prone on a soft bed of moss, but as she’d never seen him, so young. A scar—her scar—marred his chest, still angry and red. He came awake, and the Lord placed a bundle in his arms. Her? Abba revealed her own creation day, showed her Adam’s response.
“She’s so small.”
NOT MUCH SMALLER THAN I CREATED YOU
Adam looked at her. Adoration filled his eyes. Tears of bliss ran down his cheeks. He held her up toward Him.
“This is Eve, Father, mother of all the living, bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.”
The Lord smiled on His daughter and son, then vanished. Adam snuggled her into his arms, still to present and ever to be, her most favorite of places.
The days of her vision unfolded. Never did her husband leave her alone, even though Abba said he should. “But she doesn’t want to be away from me, and I cannot bear to hear her cry.”
How true even still. She smiled at the admission.
At two, He gave her Lamb. Oh, what a wonderful gift—the best ever!
Days piled on each other, her woman time came, but no babies grew in her. Abba said wait. But she didn’t want to wait. All the animals had young every year. Ram and Lion both reared many progenies. That was not fair. She hated it when each moon cycle came—just as now.
Then the song tickled her ears. That dreadful song of deception and rebellion. Just as it had that awful day. Her heart beat faster. She didn’t want to watch but had to. She didn’t hear Adam coming, only the horrible song. She plucked the fruit from the tree. It appeared tasty, good for food. Why wouldn’t Abba allow it?
No! She didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to witness her appalling disobedience.
Lifting it to her mouth, she bit into it. Juice trickled down on either side of her mouth. But to no joy, no satisfaction. She sank to the ground, horrified. God’s glory! Where had it gone? She looked down then curled her legs in and covered herself as best she could trying to hide her nakedness.
Then there Adam was with Lion at his side. His mortified expression broke her heart anew. What had she done? She couldn’t believe it. Why? She raised the tasted fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil toward him, to show him her mistake. Her abysmal choice. She peered into his eyes.
They filled then overflowed with his sorrow, adding to hers.
Oh, God Almighty! Creator! What had she done?
Then he ran to her and grabbed the forbidden fruit from her palm. He gobbled it ferociously, ate until nothing was left of it.
She didn’t want to see more, couldn’t stand reliving the scene.
That vile beast emerged from the bowels of the earth. His stench turned her stomach and fouled her nostrils the same as it had that day. She stood beside Lamb. Watched Death look at her then her beloved pet. She loved the animal so, and Lamb loved her. Without hesitation, he charged into the breach.
The magnificent ram stood next to Lion, already between the dark angel and her husband. She couldn’t watch and covered her eyes. “No more! No more, Lord! It should have been me. I disobeyed! I ate the fruit! Not dear Lamb.”
A bleat called her attention back to the vision. Lamb—her Lamb—romped in a meadow with a whole flock of his sons each, as noble as he. Abel walked among them. Her son! Where was the place? It so looked like Eden, but different. Lion stood at the clearing’s edge, roaring his mighty voice.
Her son and beloved pet looked toward the great cat, who bounded toward them. The trio met in the middle and fell into a hug heap. Then….
The meadow vanished, and she knelt beside her husband in front of a pile of rocks, burnt and charred. He held the yearling in front of him as he prayed.
Clouds swirled. Bolts of lightning streaked back and forth in the clouds. Adam rose and put the lamb on the altar, holding in his hand a sheathed flint knife. A “no”’ died on her lips. Her husband opened the yearling’s throat, and the animal’s blood flowed out. The dark red puddle on the altar grew.
The cloud swirled and twisted into a giant finger, a bolt of fire extended from it and consumed the lamb in an instant. The smoke rose, mingling into the vapor of the cloud. Adam fell to his knees and bowed low before God.The offering joined Lamb’s flock and frolicked with his brothers.
Back in the dirt before her home, Eve stood and wiped her cheeks. “Bless Your Holy Name, Father. Help me to be patient and wait upon You, Your perfect time.”
In a blink of her eye, a most wonderful sight appeared, then beyond that, an even more awesome display. It overwhelmed her. She sank back to her knees and wept tears of joy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Adam stopped, inhaled deeply several times, and thought on his wife, before he marched on. He had news, but would she even talk to him? Oh, Abba, help her to understand. He neared the house, the place where he thought he’d spend the rest of his days.
Once a happy and noisy place, but no longer, not even home now.
Would she hate him for that, too? He neared, and the front door flew open. Eve paused briefly on the top step then raced toward him.
He caught her, swung her around twice, then allowed himself a nice long kiss. He hugged her tight. “Bless His name.”
She leaned back and smiled. “Guess what. Abba showed me Abel and the same winged man who helped when the boys were born! And I saw Lamb. And Lion. And even the yearling.”
Tears streaked down her cheeks. “I saw him, too, romping in Eden’s meadow, except…though it looked much as Eden, the place was not the Garden. But it’s where we’re going one day.”
His own tears flowed. “Yes, I have seen that place. Praise God.”
She pushed away from him and twirled, just like she once had in the Garden. His heart swelled with love. Oh, how sweet those days as she grew into maturity. Then his sweet wife took to skipping a wide half-circle that stopped right in front of him. “He showed me something else.”
She closed her eyes, like she was trying to see it again.
“What was it?”
“A most glorious place. Off a ways from where I stood, a building that glowed brighter than the polished gold nuggets the boys used to find. And the best part, husband? Thousands upon thousands of people, our children and their children rushed to go see Abba.” The tears flowed again. “Oh, Adam, it is exactly as you named me.”
“Mother of all the living?”
“Yes, yes, I will be mother to so many! And one day, we will all be reunited—together again with Father God.”
“Indeed we will, forever after in Hi
s presence. As once we were in Eden, we will walk again with Abba in the cool of the evenings.” He wiped his cheek dry. “I have news, too.”
“Tell me, please! Can you give me a baby now?”
He shook his head.
Unlike every other time he came from God’s mountain without Abba’s blessing for another child, this time, she barely shrugged. “I can wait upon the Lord.”
He nodded. “Good, but I do know when now.”
Abel found the angel writing in his book. A strange being, the cherub. If the host were not singing their war songs, then the old one scribbled in his book. For a few heartbeats, did he still have a heart?
He placed his hand on his chest and watched the angel’s own feather flutter as its tip flew over the page.
Namrel looked up and smiled. “The truce holding?”
“Appears so, I haven’t heard a note.”
“Good, they must sense it, too. Especially the triplets.”
“Sense what?” The old one spoke in so many riddles.
But instead of answering, he asked another question. “Have you noticed?”
“Noticed what?”
“Look closer at my head.”
Abel did as told, but saw nothing at first. Then he detected a bit of gray. “Your hair? At your temples? Is that what you’re talking about? Why has it turned a different color?”
“The watch will change soon. I’ve been feeling it in my bones, and now this confirms it.”
“I don’t understand. The watch? What is that?”
The First of the Cherubim scooted his chair around, and his eyes took on an excited sparkle. “We—my brothers and I, as with all the host—are separated into three divisions. As you and I speak even now, twenty-four of my brothers bow down around God’s throne and worship the Creator.”
Namrel closed his eyes, leaned back and inhaled, as though remembering a sweet smell—maybe one of Meve’s cherry pies cooling on the window sill. “Once I lived in the most wonderful of places.”
