by Tim Chaffey
First printing: August 2016
Copyright © 2016 by Tim Chaffey and K. Marie Adams. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews. For information write:
Master Books®, P.O. Box 726, Green Forest, AR 72638
Master Books® is a division of the New Leaf Publishing Group, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-89051-972-1
Library of Congress Number: 2016913246
Cover design by K. Marie Adams; cover illustrations by Ben Iocco
Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are from the New King James Version (NKJV) of the Bible, copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
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Contents
Dear Reader
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
A Glimpse of Book Two
Behind the Fiction
Answering Questions Raised by the Novel
Encounter This
Borrowed from the Bible
Dear Reader
About the Authors
Dear Reader,
Most people recognize Noah as the man who built the Ark, but have you ever wondered what he was really like? How did he have the necessary skills to accomplish such an overwhelming task? Who were Noah’s parents? When and how did he meet his wife? Was she a godly woman?
The Bible tells us he was a righteous man, but was he a faithful believer from a young age? Were there plenty of righteous people in his life as he grew up or was the world already filled with violence and depravity?
And while we’re on the subject, how did Noah age? During this time, many people lived more than 900 years. Such a concept is difficult for us to imagine, but what might it have been like to live so long? Did people back then age at a slower rate so that at 600 years old, Noah could pass for someone who’s only 60 today?
More than a fourth of all of human history passed by the time the Flood devastated the earth, yet this period is compressed into just six chapters of Genesis. So we are left to wonder about how many things might have been. In some cases, the Bible gives little clues on which we can build our speculations, but we must be careful to always distinguish between Scripture and our own ideas. For example, many Christians believe the Bible teaches that Noah was mocked while he built the Ark, but even though this idea is often repeated, you will never find this anywhere in the Bible. While it is certainly believable that a righteous man would be scoffed at by a wicked society, the Bible just does not tell us this about Noah. So even though it makes sense, we must realize that idea is merely speculation instead of Scripture.
As strange as it may seem, one of our main goals in writing this novel was to help readers distinguish between fiction and biblical fact. Yes, you read that correctly. We want to use fiction to teach how to discern between fiction and biblical, historical account. To help in this goal, we will include a non-fiction section at the end of the book that includes answers to multiple questions that may arise as you read, as well as some surprises for readers who have visited or plan to visit the Ark Encounter theme park in Kentucky. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. First, you need to meet young Noah. So join us as we respectfully imagine what life for the man who built the Ark might have been like.
— Tim Chaffey and K. Marie Adams
Chapter 1
Iri Sana — Noah’s 38th year
Wood shavings dropped to the floor like the curls of a child’s first haircut as Noah repositioned the chair seat he was carving. He examined each edge, then pushed his blade along the perimeter, carving away a wafer-thin slice. Tilting his head, he examined the result, then, satisfied, exchanged the carving blade for a polishing stone and began the long process of smoothing the wood.
Having done this numerous times before, Noah allowed his mind to wander as his right fingers felt the scratchy grain of the wood and his left hand guided the polishing stone in confident, careful strokes.
He had been only 30 when his father, Lamech, declared his intention to build a new, larger shelter for their family’s expanding herds. With a grimace, Noah remembered the effort he had exerted to persuade his father to include the woodshop. Only after many revisions to the building drawings — wherein father and son went back and forth — and after much reassurance that Noah’s woodcarving projects would not get in the way of his helping on the farm, had this room become a reality.
Noah looked around the small space. It was well worth the many heated discussions. Here, in the place with barely enough room for him to stretch out on the floor, there was sufficient area for him to work and ample space to dream. His few tools hung neatly along one wall, their shadows dancing in the flickering light from his lamp. They weren’t much, but they were enough. Each tool, each completed project, gave him a small measure of hope that he would not always have to work in the fields with his father. Still, Noah’s restlessness increased as his Rovay approached, the ceremony in which the community officially recognized him as a man.
This warm season was his least favorite. The longer days meant the stolen time before sunup afforded Noah his only opportunity to work on something he really enjoyed. Not that he hated his farm duties. In fact, he liked working the ground. It was hard work, but there was gratification in planting seeds, tending the shoots, and watching them grow to produce a harvest. But none of these labors brought the same degree of satisfaction as selecting the proper piece of wood and revealing, chip by chip, portions of the form until the final product took shape.
Noah set the stone down and ran his palm across the seat. He grinned, thinking of what could ensue if a guest happened to sit on this chair without all the splinters removed. Pleased with his work, he turned and stared out the open window. A gentle breeze cooled his sticky skin and carried the scent of springal blossoms, a welcome relief from the barn’s customary pungency. An almost-whole moon bathed the earth with its soft light, and a faint glow on the horizon indicated that the sun would be up soon.
Another long day in the fields. It was up to him and Jerah to prepare the orb plant field today. A stab of rebellious energy pierced him at the thought of the tedious work stretching before him. He resolved anew to speak with his father, only to deflate moments later at the thought of his father’s look of disappointment. Noah shook his head, muttering to himself as he returned the stone to its place on the shelf. “He just won’t understand.”
Noah gazed at the quickly fading stars. Following the example he had witnessed countless times from his grandfather and father, he offered a quick prayer. God, thank You for providing in abundance everything I need. Help me to remain faithful to You in all things today. May my work —
A shout from inside the house shattered the silence. Noah’s head jerked up. Why would his brother be creating so much noise this early in the morning? He strode to the doorway of the barn just in time to see the silhouette of a man crash out of the door of their house and into the dusky terrain. Moments later, Jerah ran out the door and yelled again.
“Stop!”
The shadowy figure ran across the yard in Noah’s direction as Jerah gave chase. Alert, heart pounding, Noah tightened the knee-length cloth wound around his waist before he sprinted away from the barn. The stranger spotted him and turned left toward the row of springal trees Noah’s mother had planted on the north side of the house. Knowing that only 20 of the short, bush-like trees were in that row, Noah altered his course and dashed down the other side of the trees, hoping that Jerah would pick up on his strategy and flank the fleeing man.
The row of trees between them made judging the man’s speed in the faint light difficult, but hearing sounds of brush cracking under feet nearby, Noah guessed they were nearly even in their pace. He sped toward the last tree, hoping to tackle the man as they came into the open. As Noah attempted to plant his left foot to cut in front of the stranger’s path, he slipped in the dew-covered grass and slid to the ground. The intruder jumped over him, but Noah shot his arm out in a desperate attempt to thwart his escape. He barely missed as the man twisted to avoid Noah’s grasp.
While the man’s maneuver prevented his capture, he landed awkwardly and stumbled. He splayed in the long grass and skimmed across the moist ground ahead and to Noah’s right. Both men scrambled to gain their footing as Jerah approached.
“Stop!”
The invader ignored Jerah’s command and ran into the malid orchard, which was about one hundred paces from the house.
“Come on, Noah,” Jerah said as he sprinted past. “Try to keep up.”
Needing no further taunts, Noah bolted into the trees. There’s no way my little brother is going to outrun me. Ducking under branches as he ran, Noah struggled to keep the stranger in his sights, thankful it wasn’t later in the year, when he would need to dodge the large fruit that would dangle from the limbs. He strained to hear the man’s footsteps, but his own breathing and his brother’s yelling blocked out any other sounds.
Knowing the wide river at the edge of the orchard would likely force the man to head right in a few moments, Noah cut across the second-to-last row of trees, aiming to put himself directly in the path of the trespasser. If Jerah continued his pursuit directly from the rear, the fleeing man would be trapped between the stream and the two brothers.
Slowing his pace slightly, Noah broke free of the orchard just in time to see the darkly clad man veer right to avoid the river, exactly as he had guessed. The stranger took several steps in Noah’s direction before spotting him. He was only 20 cubits away when he stopped. He glanced first at Noah and then at Jerah, who emerged from the orchard and closed in.
Now that his eyes were well-adjusted to the dusky morning light, Noah saw a loaf of bread in the man’s hand. “Who are you?”
The burglar looked at the brothers, dropped the bread, and then raced toward the river.
Noah shook his head before continuing his pursuit. Jerah, who had not slowed, tackled the man, sending them both toppling down the waist-high riverbank into the mushy silt of the river’s edge below. Undeterred, the thief punched Jerah’s cheek and then kicked himself free.
As the morning sky turned from pink into a lighter, brighter hue, Noah caught his first good look at the man. Dark, unkempt hair draped over his forehead. He possessed a muscular, but wiry, build. Noah clenched his fist. Who is this man who thinks he can steal from us?
Upon clearing the last several patches of tall orchard grass, Noah jumped down the embankment and used the drop as well as his anger to fuel his force as he slammed into the man. They fell into the cool, shallow water with a splash.
Keeping a grip on the stranger was more difficult than Noah had imagined. Quickly sizing up his opponent, Noah concluded the man was a little shorter and lighter, but he was solid and quick. Noah would have to use his height to his advantage if he wanted to maintain control. He gripped the man’s shoulder and pressed his weight down to keep the challenger off balance in the soft, muddy river bottom, which squished and shifted constantly beneath their feet. Before Noah could react, the thief grabbed him around the neck with his left arm, and with his right, he delivered a sharp elbow into Noah’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him.
As Noah staggered back, he saw Jerah attempt another jump on the man. However, this time, the man dodged the attack, causing the momentum of Jerah’s body to slip right over him and drop in the deeper portion of the river. Anxious not to lose the intruder, Noah fought for air, but nothing seemed to enter his lungs. With great effort, he lunged toward the man and clipped his foot just as he exited the water. Any air left in Noah’s lungs whooshed out as he landed flat on his stomach.
Gasping, Noah expected to hear sounds of the man scrambling away, but he only heard a splat as the thief landed in the nearby muck. Noah wanted to get to his feet, but the breathless sensation in his midsection caused him to contort in pain instead.
Jerah trudged through the water’s edge and bent over to give his brother a hand up. “Ouch. That can’t feel good.”
“Go.” Noah whispered, each word taking great effort. “Get him.”
“There’s no need. Look.”
Fully sitting up now, Noah took in a deep breath and turned. He spotted the motionless man lying face up on the shore only a few steps away. “What happened?”
“You tripped him, and he got knocked out by that big rock. I don’t think he’s going anywhere for a while.”
“Make sure he’s still breathing.”
Jerah walked over to the still figure and knelt down. “He’s breathing.” He checked the man for further injuries. “He’s a little torn up, and already he’s got a pretty good knot on his head. But nothing looks broken.”
“Are you both alright?”
Noah looked up to see his father standing on top of the bank, wheezing from the sprint. “We’re fine. That’s more than I can say for him.”
Lamech studied his two sons and then the man who had broken into his house. “Looks like you did a good job. Tie him up, and let’s get him back to the house. We’ll have to keep an eye on him.”
Noah untied his belt and handed it to Jerah. “Here, use this.” He wound his knee-length tunic around his body a little tighter and tucked the end of the cloth into the fold at his waist.
Lamech stepped down next to his sons as Jerah took the pliable leather strap and bound the man’s hands together with a series of tight knots. “Tell me what happened,” Lamech said. He reached out his hand to help steady Noah, who slowly climbed to his feet.
“I woke up early and heard some noise coming from the main room,” Jerah said. “I assumed it was just Noah heading out to the woodshop, but decided to check because it seemed too late for Noah to be starting out. When I came around the corner, I saw him” — he gestured with his thumb to the prone man — “in our house. He was grabbing some food.” He glanced at Noah before adding, “It’s a good thing Noah was already out in the barn. I wouldn’t have caught him alone.”
Lamech frowned, though whether because of the invasion of his home or because of Noah’s activities in the barn, Noah couldn’t tell. Not caring to discover the source of his father’s displeasure at the moment, he turned away and began climbing up the embankment. He paused at the top to pick up a soggy loaf of bread lying in the tall grasses. As he held it up to show his father and brother, it began to separate and slop into pieces down his raised arm. Quickly dropping the rest of it, Noah shrugged
, “I doubt he’ll want this anymore.”
Jerah’s quick grin lit up his face. “He won’t miss it.”
Lamech put a hand on Jerah’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get him back to the house.”
Chapter 2
Noah emerged from his room wearing a clean work robe. He strode from the side hallway into the main living area, where he watched as his mother, Nina, pulled two rounds of bread from the back of the brick oven.
They had lived in this home for only 20 years now. Noah remembered watching as his parents planned for the expansion soon after his sister, Misha, had been born. On more than one occasion, he had peeked through a break in the curtains that sectioned off Jerah’s and his bed pallets to see his parents sitting at the low table, heads bent, as his mother sketched in the dim light from nearby oil lamps. His father would point at a few places on the sketch and comment. Their soft voices carried no discernable words, just excitement.
Noah and Jerah, as young as they were, had helped build the expanded timber-frame house. The back half of the large, single room was separated into two equal-sized bedrooms. Two other sleeping quarters were added, along with a hallway connecting all four rooms. The hallway turned at a right angle, opening into the large room at the front of the house, which contained the kitchen and dining area, and was the hub of family activity. Growing up, Noah liked that his room was the closest to the kitchen. That meant fewer steps to get to the food.
“Noah.”
Noah jolted at his mother’s voice.
“Can you get some honey on the table?” she asked. “Firstfeast is almost ready.”
“Of course.” Noah passed by the low table where the family ate their meals, noting that it was already filled with food. The clay oven on his right held a prominent position, dividing the table area from where the main room extended back in an “L” shape — the place they now kept their food stores. Noah moved to the right of the oven where he had installed the wooden cabinetry he built for his mother a few years ago. He inhaled the fresh aroma. Mmm. There’s nothing like the smell of fresh-baked bread.
