Chapter Thirteen

Lost on the Ark
© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“And of every living thing of all flesh, you shall bring two of every sort into the ark to keep them alive with you. Take with you seven pairs of all clean animals, the male and his mate and a pair of the animals that are not clean, the male and his mate, and seven pairs of the birds of the heavens also, male and female, to keep their offspring alive on the face of all the earth.”  Gen. 6:19; 7:2,3

Sprinting ahead of his brothers towards his uncle’s voice, Shem was the first to see Paseah materialize from the depths of the dark hallway, scrawny arms and naked five-hundred-year-old legs pumping furiously. Just as Shem reached him, the hem of the robe Paseah had tucked into his belt worked free and swung down to his feet, tripping him. Shem grabbed his uncle’s shoulders to prevent a fall.

“Where’s Father?” He tried not to hold so tightly to his uncle, but fear wouldn’t permit him to loosen his grip.

Paseah stared in his nephew’s face, eyes wide with terror, spikes of gray hair standing up in all directions, chest heaving. He looked like an entirely different person from the self-assured man Shem had come to know over the past few days. Without a word, Paseah’s eyes slid sideways in the direction he’d just come. An unintelligible sound gurgled from his throat. He broke free of Shem and pushed past Japheth and Ham just as they caught up, breathing hard.

The bears! Shem shot down the corridor with his brothers in close pursuit. He checked every open door, refusing to allow his mind to linger on what he might find.

“Looking for someone?” Father calmly emerged from behind a heavy door and closed it.

Sucking air, Shem doubled over with his hands facing inward on his quads and his elbows out. He fought tears of relief. Arriving seconds later, Ham collapsed onto his back on the floor and Japheth leaned against the wall, gasping for breath.

            Noah studied them curiously. “What’s the matter with you?”

            “Us?” Shem straightened, still breathing hard. “We thought bears mauled you.”

            “Bears?”

            “I expected to find you in a bloody heap on the floor,” Japheth said. He sounded a little angry and Shem was feeling a little angry himself. He supposed the emotion covered fear.

            “What are you talking about?” Genuine surprise elevated Noah’s voice before a look of recognition slowly spread over his face. “Oh. You heard my brother scream.” He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Did I forget to tell you Paseah gets a little obsessed about some things?”

            “About what things?” Ham stood defiantly in front of his father, arms crossed. Ham was evidentially covering a lot of fright, too. His father kept a long look leveled on him before reopening the door he’d just closed. “See for yourself.” He lifted a lighted torch from the wall, still holding Ham’s eyes, and handed the light to his son. He stood aside while Ham entered the room torch-first.

            Shem was tempted to ask if the bears were in the room, but he knew his father would never put Ham in real danger. Ham knew it, too.

            Grinning, Noah closed the door behind his son. A few moments later, a scream matching Paseah’s sounded from behind the door and Ham burst out looking whiter than a newborn lamb. Father slid down the wall laughing so hard tears ran down his face. “You scream like your uncle.”

            Ham spluttered incoherently and prepared to exit down the corridor.

            “Wait!” Shem’s eyes traveled toward the offensive room. “What’s in there?”

Lips pressed in a tight line, Ham thrust the torch toward him. Shem accepted it and peeked inside, but all he saw was empty room. He entered and walked halfway to the back before he understood. Against the far wall two huge sleeping pythons lay laced together like knee-high sandal straps. The largest snake sported a lump the size of small deer near his middle. The other, probably female, revealed a smaller bulge. Maybe a skunk. Well fed and apparently ready to sleep for a several months, the snakes threatened no one.

Backing out of the room, Shem joined his father’s laugh-fest. Japheth took the torch, checked out the room and did the same. 

“Paseah . . . has a . . . snake . . . paranoia . . .  too.” Noah choked out the words between snorting guffaws. Gales of merriment echoed through the ark.

“Not funny.” Ham balled up fists.

“Sorry.” Shem spread his palms toward his brother. “Really . . . sorry.”

Gradually, Shem, Japheth and Noah managed to subdue their laughter and apologize. “Tell you what.” Shem said. “If you forgive us for making fun of you, I’ll take care of all snakes the entire time we’re in here.”

A lengthy glare preceded Ham’s one-word answer. “Deal.”

            “There’s no deal if you hold a grudge.” Shem held out his hand and Ham shook it, then punched his brother in the gut. “Ooof!”

            “Now we’re even.”

            Japheth and father shook their heads, baffled. Shem knew his relationship with Ham puzzled the two of them because they couldn’t understand the single life. They both had wives. He and Ham had only each other. Until Eudocea arrived.

            “How’d the snakes get in there?” Japheth asked Father.

            The look Father gave without speaking a word answered the question. Events were taking place much as Father had predicted. Just as God promised they would. Shem was lost in his own silent world of “too soon” thoughts when Ham mentioned the bears.

            “What bears?” Noah asked.

            “Two grizzlies. Outside one of the second floor hay storage rooms.”

            “Isn’t that the direction my brother went?” Father asked.

 Sudden fear swept Shem. “Oh no! Paseah!” Where was his uncle?

Noah directed with his torch, barking instructions. “Japheth!” He pointed in the direction they’d last seen Paseah. His youngest son sprinted away. “Ham, first level. Shem, lower level.”

Hurrying to the closest stairway, Shem rode the smooth railing to the bottom the way he’d done as a child. It was one of the few banisters that hadn’t left splinters in his behind and sliding was still faster than the steps. He doubted he’d find Paseah down on the lowest level, but who knew? Paseah hadn’t appeared completely rational the last time Shem saw him. Getting lost on the ark with its maize of rooms and hallways was easy to do and his uncle could have wandered down to the lower level in his confusion. Shem had no idea how many stairways they’d constructed over the years. Too many to count.

Dare he yell his uncle’s name? How would they ever find the man if he didn’t? But any noise might put both his and Paseah’s lives in danger. Shem would have to search every room and every hallway the length of the three-hundred-cubit ark. It could take hours. Literally. He couldn’t rush the job and risk coming upon the bears unexpectedly.

 He cautiously stepped inside one doorway and investigated the room. Empty. He’d have to move faster than this. If his uncle had seen the bears, he could be hiding somewhere, anywhere, hoping for rescue before the bears spotted him. Shem remembered a flock of his own chickens that had been terrified by a coyote. They all flew to the safety of a tree, but the coyote just sat below them, waiting patiently. Eventually terror overwhelmed three, causing them to flap from the safe perch and offer themselves up for lunch. Would Paseah be a chicken if he found the bears?

Shem picked up his pace, disposing of the next three rooms in mere seconds.

            All the doors on this level had been affixed years ago since the family built from the first floor up. Most stood open, waiting, and Shem only had to stick his torch inside and run light around the perimeter of the room. He checked room after room on both sides of one hallway then started up the next, carefully closing and latching each door as he went to keep track of his progress. No use in searching twice.

            All were vacant.

            With every step and each additional place examined, Shem’s concern for his uncle mounted. He continually reminded himself that he’d gotten lost here as a child and made it out safely. Paseah would be fine. Fine.

So why was his mouth dry and his hands shaky?

Maybe because there’d never been bears and dangerous snakes on the ark before.

Or maybe because a good bit of time had already passed and he knew if anyone else had found Paseah they’d have sounded the all clear signal down one of the feed elevators or communication openings.

            Two hallways completed, Shem entered the ark’s large center area. Unable to see to the far end of the room where the waterwheel rested silently behind a wooden fence intended to keep animals out, he lit several of the torches set in the wall near him.         

The immense space spread out before him two stories high, seventy-five cubits wide and as many cubits long. Massive support beams marched in four rows down the length of the room. Trees intended for birds and climbing things were anchored in the floor and rose the entire twenty cubits to the ceiling, branches intact. Dead center of the room, a round pool sloped gently downward. Nothing but a dry hollow now, it would become a pool for large animals when the ark floated and Noah opened the water slot low in the ark.

Fresh water would flow though the slot to fill the pool as well as provide running water for the cleansing room in the family quarters. Using the principles discovered by two of Cain’s descendants, Tubal-cain, who forged instruments in bronze and iron and his brother Jubal, who made musical instruments, Shem and Father had collaborated on a design for tubes that could carry water throughout the ark. One entire room on the top deck held replacement parts carefully packed in sawdust.

The water would rush through a waterwheel turned by some of the larger animals. A series of wooden troughs and tipping buckets would direct it to provide fresh drinking water throughout the ark. Additional tubes would flush animal and human waste from an opening above the water near the top of the ark. The family would actually have a shower and toilet like the washing rooms in the elegant homes in the city near them. Quite an improvement over the current wooden one-seater poised over the running stream behind their house.

Shem walked over to the empty pool trying to remember the number of times he’d water-proofed it with pitch. Hundreds? Standing at the edge he held his torch downward to see into the depression. A large lump of some kind lay on the bottom where there shouldn’t be anything.

His heart thudded. Paseah? The bump was big enough to be his uncle. Shem’s breathing accelerated. How would Father feel if his own brother died on the ark when Father had been trying to spare Paseah’s life by bringing him on? Father would be devastated if, after a life dedicated to the Lord, God allowed this to happen in the very ark God commanded Noah to build.

Shem moved nearer and something flicked away from the bump. He cried out involuntarily and jumped back. Slowly he moved closer again and leaned in aiming the torch directly at the lump. Crocoodiles! A crocodile that shouldn’t be on the ark yet had just whipped its tail out. First bears and then snakes and now crocodiles! Did they need to start locking the ark at night?

“Pssst! Shem.”

Paseah! Shem followed the sound of the whisper with his torch. His uncle stood with his back pressed against the wall, arms out, hands spread, eyes large, obviously afraid to move. “Crocodiles.”

“I saw.” Shem whispered, too. No point in disturbing dangerous animals.

“Bears that direction.” Paseah nodded in the direction of the waterwheel.

“Where? How’d you see anything?” The darkness had been impenetrable when Shem first entered the area. He tiptoed to his uncle and Paseah clutched Shem in a desperate hug.

“Had a torch. Went out. Lost.” Paseah clung to Shem’s arm with two clammy hands. “Get me out of here!”

Shem could feel the man’s frail body trembling. Strange how much more youthful father seemed than his one-hundred-years-younger brother. Shem could see the torch lying at his uncle’s feet. He could also see the bears at the far end of the room. “Move very slowly. We don’t want to call attention to ourselves.”

With one arm encircling his uncle, Shem guided him back to the hall he’d recently cleared. Closing the door behind them, he exhaled with relief. “You’re safe now Uncle.” All danger past, he spoke in a normal tone.

In a flash, Paseah morphed from a delicate elderly gentleman to a tornado of raw fury. “You and my idiot brother nearly got me killed!” He jerked the neck of his robe down to reveal bruised shoulders. “Look what you did when you grabbed me upstairs! Bruised me you oaf!”

He stomped away, but got only three doors down before stopping. He turned on Shem with a murderous expression. “Lead me to the exit!”

Surprised, Shem stared openmouthed. He hadn’t even had time to call up to let Father know his brother was all right. “Let me just . . .”

“Now!” An expletive exploded from Uncle.

“This way.” Shem remained unruffled on the outside though he could feel heat rising to his face. In a way he didn’t blame his uncle. Who wouldn’t get mad under the circumstances? But no one had deliberately tried to harm him. Surely Paseah understood that.

Walking briskly ahead of his uncle, Shem tried not to listen to Paseah rant about the depth of evil and stupidity he’d seen in Noah, how Paseah deserved a more competent older brother and how his own actions in sending a slave to fetch that ridiculous woman for Ham had been brilliant. Just brilliant. He’d been a little worried it might not be fair to Ham before. But not now. Now he was ecstatic he’d tricked his nephew. Let Noah’s son endure her. Better than one of his own boys. As long as he was obligated to find a husband for her who better than one of Noah’s sons?

As they approached the stairway, Shem stepped aside to allow the older man to go first. Against his better judgment, Shem’s mind was already burrowing into the “ridiculous woman” statement. He assumed Paseah meant Ham’s wife. What had his uncle done? What had he deliberately stuck Ham with? His brother had given his word and he couldn’t back out of the agreement. But maybe with the Flood closing in, a bad wife was better than no wife.

At a blood-curdling scream from the stairway, Shem snapped back to the present. Near the top of the stairs, Paseah stood face to face with two lions, a tawny female and larger male with a bushy black mane. They looked like the pair he and Ham had spotted on the hillside earlier.

“Run Uncle!” He yelled.

Paseah didn’t move.

Taking the stairs two at a time while still grasping the torch, Shem grabbed his catatonic uncle. Throwing him over one shoulder, Shem ran down the stairs and darted around a turn. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the lions quietly watching their departure.

As soon they reached the closest feed elevator, Shem dumped his uncle on the thick floor, jumped on beside him and began yanking on the pulley ropes. Paseah huddled in the middle of the floor as far from the open sides as possible. Arrogant Uncle gone. Meek Uncle back.

Shem understood his uncle’s fear. The elevators weren’t really intended for hauling people, but no animals would be on the elevator. He’d keep his uncle away from predators and get him out of the ark as quickly as possible. When they stopped on the third floor they’d be only a few doors from the outside. Hopefully, Shem could spirit Paseah off the ark with little additional trauma. The man looked ready to collapse.

The events of the day had left Shem feeling unsettled, too. Father told them all along that his calculations revealed possibly as many as forty-five-thousand animals would some day troop onto the ark. But it had sounded preposterous to Shem and he’d never completely believed it.

And he had never considered that many of them could offer a threat.

Until now.

“You okay?” Shem asked. When his uncle failed to respond, Shem glanced his direction. Paseah stared straight ahead like a dead man. “Oh. Afraid of heights.” Shem remembered feeling terrified of the elevator as a boy. Falling down the open shaft could easily kill a man.

“No.” Paseah croaked. A scorpion bigger than his hand posed beside him, tail up.

Chapter Twelve

If this is your first time reading with us, go to the archives at right, click the second arrow and the title Chapter One will drop down. Double click on that chapter and read it first, then proceed with the remainder of the book in order by clicking down the arrows. 

The Labyrinth

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

 

“For great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised; he is to be feared above all gods.

For all the gods of the people are worthless idols, but the LORD made the heavens.” Psalm 96: 4, 5

The shoulder-width passage into the interior of the cave sloped steadily downward. Atarah, exhausted and cradling the baby in the sling, moved like a sleepwalker a short distance ahead of the slave. She held the torch aloft, illuminating the passage. Shua carried leftovers from the stash near the mouth of the cave in a leather goat-hide pouch. Already they’d finished most of the water and were growing increasingly thirsty. Each time they came to an intersecting tunnel they stopped to listen and smell for water, but after hours of walking they’d found nothing.

Atarah traced the light along the walls and remained alert for any signs scratched into the rock. She held onto the hope that a long-ago traveler might have incised directions to an exit into one of the walls, but she didn’t know what she searched for and she found nothing. When a stone jutted up in the middle of the path, she aimed the light at it to keep Shua from stumbling.

Thirst got harder and harder to ignore. Every time the baby started to twist and shriek in her arms, she allowed him to teethe on the square of wine-soaked knotted fabric she’d torn from the sling. She hated to sedate him, but keeping him safe and alive exceeded every other concern.

Shadows dogged their way, leaping and dancing on the walls beside them like ferocious beasts. Without an outside light source, the inky blackness ahead and behind swirled with nameless terrors. Was exhaustion magnifying Atarah’s fears or did real dangers lurk in the darkness?

The child sleeping against her bosom felt heavier by the moment. Now and then she paused to arch her back, hands on her waist, while she rolled her aching neck and shoulders. The temporary relief only managed to call Atarah’s attention to painful blisters on her feet and make her resentful of Shua whose feet seemed uninjured. 

“Don’t your feet hurt?” Atarah asked over her shoulder after one such rest.

Before Shua could answer a sudden gust of cold wind whooshed past Atarah’s face from a natural tube in the rock. With it came the acrid odor of ash.

“Air from outside.”  Atarah shivered and fought back a coughing spell. “At least we won’t suffocate.”  Atarah bent to lift the strap of her sandal from a sore spot and every muscle complained. What she wouldn’t give for one sip of water.

“Let’s stop and rest,” Shua suggested.

“Can’t.” Atarah swept the light in a circle so Shua could see that the narrow passage overhead still sloped downward. “We have to keep going.”

“We need to rest.” Now the slave sounded whiney.

“We have to find water.” Atarah trudged on without pausing, numb with exhaustion. She chided herself for answering to a slave.

“You have no idea where you’re going,” Shua said.

At the slave’s uncharacteristic criticism, irritation tightened Atarah’s chest, making breathing more difficult. She bent forward and allowed herself to cough for a few moments before she started walking again. In the past Shua would have never spoken out against her. And in the past Atarah would have punished her if she did. But Atarah could sense things changing. She needed the slave in a whole different way now. Gadreel’s survival might depend on the two woman working together.

Shua, accustomed to grueling work, still seemed able to function normally. Atarah wouldn’t be able to go much longer without collapsing. What would she do if the slave rebelled? She decided not to reprimand her.

“Need me to carry the baby?” Shua asked.

“I’m fine.” Atarah’s heart thumped in her ears and she leaned against the wall coughing again, working up something from deep in her lungs. She could feel cold air on her bare toes. She closed her eyes, taking a moment to summon memories of the Dream. She needed to experience the Light anew. To relive the comfort the Dream offered. But she was almost too exhausted to pull up the memory.

What had the Light said? Fear not! Was there actually a god behind the Dream, helping her? She couldn’t be sure, but suddenly she was certain of one thing: She could do this. With the Light’s help, she would be victorious over whatever lay ahead.

Holding her torch in the direction of the air blowing across her feet she saw another tube in the opposite wall, slightly larger than the first and close to the floor. “I don’t smell so much ash in the air now. I wonder what that means?”

“I think we’re on the far side of the mountain,” Shua said.

“Maybe the ash didn’t cross the mountain?”

“It’s possible. The tunnels zigzag. We could have walked back and forth across the length of the city a hundred times by now.”

Atarah forced herself to start walking. “If I don’t get moving I won’t be able to.”

An hour later, the passage dropped to chest height and Atarah had to bend over to navigate the cramped space. Scratched into the walls on either side of her, stick figures danced along toward a black hole at the end of the passage. Mixed emotions of apprehension and hope trembled through Atarah. She paused at the hole, suddenly afraid to continue.

“Look at that!” she whispered to Shua. “What do you think is on the other side?”

The slave came up beside her, peering through the dim light toward the hole. “Could be dangerous. This place could be booby trapped.”

“Have to find out sometime.” Atarah crept forward then stopped again. “You take Gadreel. Just in case. If something happens to me . . . ” Her voice trailed off mid-sentence. She had no idea what to tell Shua to do should anything happen to her.

Atarah took a deep breath and thrust her torch into the hole. It opened into a chamber larger than the Room of Candles in Atarah’s home. The smooth level floor of quarried stone was flanked by columns carved from natural rock that stretched toward a high ceiling. At the far end of the room, a coffin-like stone box rested in front of the cave wall. Nearby, a fire pit stacked with wood waited for the touch of a flame. Located three cubits from the fire-pit a spring bubbled from a small round hand-hewn pool and flowed into a trench before tumbling over rocks and exiting through the wall.

“Water!” Atarah grabbed Gadreel from Shua and the two women ran toward the spring laughing. After they drank their fill, Atarah turned in a circle, gazing around and above her where arches connected the columns. “How . . . ? What?” She couldn’t see into the dark recesses beyond the columns.

“I found more torches!” Shua called from one of the columns. “Piled on the floor over here. This is amazing! ”  

Atarah touched her flame to one of the newly-discovered torches then wedged hers into a crevice. “There’s a seal by the entrance. We need to close off the hole so Dagaar can’t get in.” The slave joined her and they drove against the stone with every bit of their remaining strength, much as they’d done when they opened the triangle exit through the city wall. The rock slid down the channel cut for it and slammed into place, sealing off the exit. Atarah collapsed onto the floor breathing hard. Wonderfully exhausted.

            Sweat drenched Shua’s face and hair, but she was smiling.

“You think Dagaar can dislodge the stone?” Atarah asked between rasping breaths.

“Can’t. Seals can only be moved from one side. We’re safe.” Shua ambled into the room with a radiant smile, gaping at the architecture reverently. “It’s really true!” Her voice swelled with awe, her teeth gleamed white in the light. “It’s really here!”

“What’s here?” Atarah asked. Earlier, Shua had only hinted at what she expected to find in the underground.  

“All this.” The slave gestured around. “I wanted to believe we’d find what they said because it was our only chance to live. But I didn’t know for sure.” Shua’s eyes danced in the flickering light. “I only knew about the escape – the ledge and the wall. I’d heard rumors about everything else and prayed they were accurate, but I was really scared.” She glanced at Atarah apologetically. “I expected we’d die down here.”

Her voice quieted to an awed whisper. “But the gods saved us. Praise the gods! I wonder if all the rest of it is true?”

“If the rest of what is true? What else do you know about this place.”

“Nothing, really.”

           

By the time Atarah fed Gadreel the last of the cheese, Shua had fallen asleep in a sitting position with an unlit torch across her knees. Several other torches burned from niches chipped into the columns.

Atarah marveled at the reversal of roles – the slave should be the one awake and working. On the other hand, Atarah had insisted she preferred to care for Gadreel herself, and she did. She cherished every moment with the boy.

Besides, anxiety deep inside her constantly worried over his safety.

So Atarah had instructed the slave to check out the room and Shua obeyed without objection. As always. The slave lit one of the torches piled beside a column and moved to explore the perimeter. Within a few moments she called out that she’d located three more passages leading away from the chamber, then returned to relax near Atarah.

Next thing Atarah knew she heard snoring. The sound brought a smile to Atarah’s lips. Maybe Shua didn’t have as much energy left as Atarah had supposed.

With every movement slowed by drowsiness, Atarah settled the baby on the emptied goat pouch between the fire pit and the stone coffin-shaped box. The fur inside the pouch would furnish Gadreel  with a comfortable bed for the night and she was so tired she could easily sleep on the hard floor. She took hold of the slave’s shoulders and gently lowered her to the ground. Shua didn’t flutter an eyelid.

After arranging herself beside the baby, Atarah removed the rough brown outer garb Mother had given her earlier and spread the cover over the two of them for warmth.

She had no idea how long she slept, but when she opened her eyes a fire crackled in the pit and the slave sat by the spring with Gadreel on her lap, wiping his face. Atarah lay still, taking in her surroundings. The lid of the stone box stood askew. It must have made a deafening scraping noise when Shua moved it, but Atarah hadn’t heard a thing.

Light from torches flickered around the room, glinting off the burbling water and bouncing from column to column. Floral fragrance from an unidentified source mingled with the sooty smell of fire and the murmur of water. The temperature, comfortable the night before, felt downright cozy this morning.

Or was it morning? Who could tell the time of day or night without outside light? Of course Atarah didn’t really care what time of day or night it was as long as Gadreel remained safe.

She sighed with contentment, happiness enfolding her like a cloud. Gadreel belonged to her now. Nympha had given up any claim to him when she chose to offer him for sacrifice and Atarah felt no guilt for taking him . . . for rescuing him. None.

Together she and the slave would find a safe place to settle -- maybe in the land of Shua’s birth. They’d both marry handsome men who loved them desperately and Atarah would raise Gadreel as her own. No one in the distant land would ever guess the truth, just as Mother planned.

Mother.

Atarah’s eyes misted over, but she shook off the emotion and focused on her surroundings. With the additional light from the fire, she could see more detail. Someone had decorated the columns in the same style as the ones at the front of the temple of Gug. Who had constructed this room and why? On the trek here Atarah had assumed the passages had been hollowed by a volcanic eruption in eons past. Now she wondered. In many places, the walls bore chisel marks. And of course no natural force had formed the columns. What purpose did this place serve?

Straining against sore muscles, Atarah moaned and pushed up to onto her elbows. “You’re awake!” Shua smiled.

“What is this place?” At the sound of Atarah’s voice, Gadreel  broke free of the slave and crawled to his aunt.

 “This is a temple.”

Atarah tried to lean forward to welcome the toddler properly, but her body wouldn’t respond quickly enough and he fell into her midsection, giggling. She kissed him from head to toe, pausing to puff a loud raspberry onto his tummy. 

“He smells clean!”

“Spring water and soap. Plus, I found scented oil.”

 “Soap? Oil? How?”

“I told you, this is a temple.”

With a sickening feeling, Atarah realized she’d avoided the temple in the city for years and now she was trapped in a temple below ground. “I don’t understand. Who built this?” Built might not be the appropriate word since someone had hewn it from solid rock.

“Slave legend says a volcano formed the original tubes, then over the years slaves chiseled out endless additional tunnels. I never knew if it was true. There’s supposed to be a whole complex down here.” Shua’s face shone with wonder.

She angled her head toward the stone box. “I found everything we’ll need in there. We can survive for weeks.” She approached Atarah with a brown pottery bowl filled with mint-scented hot liquid. “Tea.”

“Tea!?” For the first time Atarah noticed a metal pan boiling by the fire. She held the steaming cup with both hands, enjoying the aroma. “Mmmmm.” 

“Look at this.” With twinkling eyes the slave handed Atarah a strip of dried lamb with fruit and nuts pounded into it. “I already fed Gadreel .”

“Luxury!” Atarah savored the chewy jerked meat which tasted better than the melons and roasted pheasant she feasted on daily back home. She carefully sipped the tea. “Delicious.”

            Not until the food settled and strength began to flow through her did the illogic of the whole situation strike Atarah. Alarm mingled with suspicion and curiosity. “Shua, how did all this get here?”

            “Slaves.” Shua motioned Atarah to follow her to the stone box. “For the gods.” A loud scraping sounded as the slave shoved the lid open further. “Look!” She pointed at rows of pottery jars sealed with wax. Lifting one, she showed Atarah words that had been pressed into wet clay before the pot was fired. “The outside of each pot tells what’s inside. This one says ‘olives.’”

She picked up jar after jar, handing them to Atarah who read them before gingerly setting them on the floor.  “Sweetened fruit paste, salt, smoked meat, nuts, corn, wheat, rice. We could survive for months!”

“Wait till you see this!” The slave hurried to one set of columns and her muffled voice floated out from behind the first one. “I found pans for cooking, but I’ve only explored a little bit so far.” She poked out her head waving a long stick with a lump on one end. “Hundreds of torches. Praise the gods for providing!” More banging came from further down the row of columns. “There are storage pits all along here.”

            With the slave’s exclamations of gratitude, questions gnawed at Atarah. Were the gods responsible for their good fortune? Were the gods good and not bad? Had her father had been right all along? Had she been wrong? Maybe she could she have avoided all this pain by simply going to the temple as requested.

            Balancing the baby on her hip, she absently picked up a lighted torch and meandered down the long row of columns. She needed to think. She squared her shoulders and shook her head to dispel convoluted thoughts. No, it had not been wrong to rescue her precious Gadreel. The gods had wrongly commanded his death.

            “Don’t!” Shua warned, but it was too late.

Directly ahead, from an alcove hollowed in the cave wall, an enormous pile of human skulls stared out at Atarah. She smelled musty decay. Horrified, she stumbled backward nearly dropping the baby, a strangled cry caught in her throat.

Shua hurried to guide Atarah back into the central portion of the room. “I’m so sorry.”

“Human sacrifices?” Atarah trembled visibly.

“Probably.”

Against her will, Atarah’s gaze slid to the stone coffin. “The rust-colored stain on the coffin . . . human blood?”

The slave’s silence answered for her, helping Atarah understand beyond any doubt that she had not been mistaken about the evil of temple worship.

“We have to get out of here.” Atarah strode to the side of the room. “Where are the passages you found last night? Can you find the way out?”

“I know how to get out of this room, but that’s all. If all the legends are true, miles of paths crisscross this place.” 

“Miles?” Why hadn’t it registered in her brain when Shua told her that earlier? Atarah had probably closed her mind to the facts because she hadn’t wanted to hear them. “We could stay lost down here for years.”

Shua averted her eyes. “I told you, there’s supposed to be a whole complex down here. Passages. Temples. Living quarters.”

“People live down here?” Apprehension dampened Atarah’s palms.

“I don’t think so. Escaped slaves use it for temporary hiding.”

“That’s why the food?”

“Yes . . . and for worship, of course.” Shua’s eyes locked on the ground. “Mostly for worship.”

“Do you have any idea how to get out?”

“If we keep following the tunnels down one of them is supposed to come out somewhere at the base of the mountain.”

“One of them?” Suspicion wound like a snake around Atarah’s mind. “What about the other tunnels? I saw some smaller ones that angled up.”

 “They say some just stop.” The slave adjusted her clothing, still avoiding eye contact. “But some lead up to secret escapes from houses.”

Heat rose into Atarah’s face, but she forced herself to speak calmly. “Is there an escape somewhere in my home?”

“I don’t know of one.”

“Does Dagaar?”

Shua lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “It’s all very secret.”

“But every single tunnel affords a potential way for him to locate us.” Atarah was angry, but at whom? Shua had done her best. She’d gotten the baby and Atarah to relative safety the only way she knew how.

“We’re safe down here.” Shua rushed her words in an obvious attempt to appease her mistress. “I know a slave who fled over the ledge the way we came. She never returned and I know she made it out.”

“How do you know your friend isn’t part of that pile of bones over there?” Atarah nodded toward the column that blocked her view of the skulls. It was a cruel thing to say, but right now she had other things to worry about. “You risked our lives by not sharing information soon enough.”

The slave’s expression froze into the placid mask typical of abused slaves, a look Atarah had never seen on her slave before. “You were asleep. Drugged. There was nothing else for us to do.”

Us. That’s right. Mother had helped formulate the plan. 

And Shua had done her best, was still doing her best. She was, after all, a slave and unaccustomed to a take-charge role. Atarah rocked the baby, who was again crying, back and forth, her mind spinning around the problem in time to the blood swishing in her temples. She forced herself to speak gently. “I guess we couldn’t have just pranced out the city gate in full view of everyone.” Almost an apology.

“Exactly.” Shua’s voice was flat.

A fat mouse scurried across the floor close to her feet. Gadreel spotted the furry creature and giggled.

 Atarah set him down so the mouse could entertain him while she carefully retraced the last few hours in her mind. She remembered the slave’s fear of heights and the food and water they’d found inside the cave mouth. Shua hated the ledge as much as Atarah, and yet the slave had traveled its distance at least once to stash supplies.

 “Well, it won’t help to fret,” Atarah said, suddenly tired. “We need to stay alert while we rest and eat.” If they attempted to leave now they could wander the underground passages endlessly. Now was time to relax and tend to wounds. But mostly, Atarah needed time to think what to do next.

A second mouse joined the first and the baby reached out chubby hands, laughing. Atarah smiled at his innocent joy. “We can spare a few crumbs to feed Gadreel’s pets,” she told her slave as she crumbled the last bit of bread onto the floor. Another rodent scuttled over to enjoy the treat with the first two. Gadreel giggled with delight.

“Bring the soap.” Atarah sat by the spring and submerged her feet while she watched the baby. “And oil.” She leaned back on her elbows, allowing the icy water to flow over her feet, numbing her blisters. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the slave wipe a tear. Atarah closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. She needed to stop blaming the slave.

After a few minutes, Atarah swallowed her pride enough to speak. “You saved our lives.” It was as close to an apology as Shua would ever get from her. “From now on, we’ll take turns sleeping so one of us can always be on guard for intruders.” Staying agitated would lead to bad decisions. Atarah needed to keep her wits about her.

“Come here, sweetie.” Atarah patted the floor beside her and beckoned Gadreel.

When he crawled over, one of the mice followed. She pulled the happy baby onto her lap. The mouse stayed, apparently unafraid, so she opened her palm. What could it hurt for Gadreel to have a little companion? “Come here, little mouse.”

           

            The mouse crawled into her hand. But instead of the soft, cuddly creature she expected, the mouse felt hard. Squirmy. “Ick!’ She screamed and tossed the nasty creature.

She made eye contact with the slave. After a long silence, they burst out laughing at the same time.

“Horrid thing.” Atarah shuddered, still laughing.

“Shoo. Shoo.” Shua rushed at the mice, shooing them with the backs of her hands. They scattered and disappeared into the darkness. She ambled over looking reflective and sat down by her mistress. “Remember how much snakes like him, too. Why do you suppose all those creatures are attracted to Gadreel?”

“Weird, isn’t it? Think he has a special gift? Could it have something to do with his heritage?” Atarah shivered again. No, she wouldn’t think negative thoughts. She dismissed worry from her mind as she nuzzled the baby’s curls and kissed his rosy cheeks. How strange that she could feel happier in this cursed place than she’d felt in her entire life above ground.

An hour later, Atarah had washed her own cuts and her body and face shone with fragrant oil. It felt good. The aroma of Shua’s corn cakes sizzling over the fire added to Atarah’s contentment. Though she didn’t mention it to the slave, the seed of a realization that she must learn to care for herself and the baby had sprouted in Atarah.

She had just requested Shua show her how to grind corn with a mortar and pestle when she heard the voices.

Chapter Eleven

If this is your first time reading with us, go to the archives at right, click the second arrow and the title Chapter One will drop down. Double click on that chapter and read it first, then proceed with the remainder of the book in order by clicking down the arrows. 

Final Touches

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“Although we don’t know the exact length of the cubit at this time, later it was about 18 inches, making the ark 450 feet long, 75 feet broad, and 45 feet high, with a displacement of about 20,000 tons. . .

Its carrying capacity equaled that of 522 railroad stock cars.

Only 188 cars would be required to hold 45,000 sheep-sized animals.”

The Ryrie Study Bible, Moody Press

            “Toss me that thingy.” Shem wedged his shoulder against one of the heavy doors on the ark’s third level, leaning hard to hold it in place while he waited for Ham.

“Thingy?”Ham shrugged in exasperation, palms turned upward.

            “Right there.” Shem willed his foot to stop tapping and flicked the back of his hand toward a row of ten or twelve tools lined against the corridor wall. “That metal bar. There. Right beside you.” They’d been doing this for so many years they usually worked as one man. Why were they out-of-kilter today?

            “Oh. Of course.” Ham oozed sarcasm. He tossed a thick metal bar with a curved end toward Shem and it clanged to the floor, barely missing his shin. “There’re only a hundred tools here. I should have known instantly which one you meant.” Ham retrieved the long bar and levered the bottom of the door up a finger-width while his brother attached a metal hinge.

Without a word, Shem held a second hinge while his brother pounded a long square nail into it. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Not a thing.” Ham grabbed the third hinge and smacked it against the wall.

Shem glanced at his brother’s deadly-serious expression. Ham lived life bouncing from one extreme to the other. Either he played fun-jokester-guy or unpleasant-negative-guy. Both personalities annoyed Shem. “You’re in a sour mood.”

“That I am.” Bad-guy Ham, present and accounted for.

Unfortunately, Shem understood.

Things had been different for both of them since the trip to the city. For the first time in his ninety plus years, Shem no longer doubted that a colossal Flood was headed their way to wipe out everything and everyone on earth. He suspected Ham had come to the same realization. The miraculous way God had saved Father was pretty convincing.

But also frightening.

If God could save Father he also could – and would – bring destruction as promised. And Shem wasn’t ready for a flood. Not at all. So he wasn’t surprised Ham was in turmoil, too.

“Well, you know me.” Shem smiled and waggled his brows Ham-fashion.

“I’m almost always in a sour mood these days.”

Ham laughed.

Shem could hear Uncle Paseah somewhere on the second level. He and Father must have already toured the family living quarters on the third floor and headed downstairs. Shem hadn’t seen them because the ark was so dark that even with many torches lit in honor of Paseah’ visit, each end of all three main corridors disappeared from view.

Uncle had been with them ever since the trial. Shem knew Father hoped to convince Paseah to accept the One True God and be rescued on the ark with them. He suspected his uncle planned to convince Father to abandon his plans. He actually overheard Paseah offer to relocate Noah’s entire family near his home “where no one would know about the ark” and Noah’s “foolishness.” Yet despite the tension between them, it was clear the brothers loved one another.

Shem rifled through a wooden box of metal gadgets looking for a bracket. “Are we out of those things again?”

“Brackets?”

“Yeah.” Shem still pawed through the box, searching. The box was so dark inside who could see anything? The single cubit-high window running around the top of the ark didn’t provide much light.

Ham pointed down the hallway at flickering torches set in niches by every door. “You’re blocking your own light and you’re surprised you can’t find anything.” Crossing his arms, Ham scowled at the shadow Shem cast over the box. “If you’d get out of the way I might be able to find it for you.” 

With a frustrated sigh Shem pressed his lips in a line, stepped away from the light and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His brother could be so difficult.

 The younger brother quickly found a bracket and positioned it at chest-level by the door they were working on. “Here?”

“Yeah, looks good.”

They set both brackets and inserted the wooden bar across the door before either spoke again.

Ham broke the silence. “Paseah sent for a wife.”

For a moment, shock locked-up Shem’s vocal chords. “For you?”  Surprise and – what, jealousy? rippled through Shem. “When? Why?”

Shem knew the answer to the “why” part of the question. Ham had given up waiting for a righteous woman and decided to settle. For anyone. Sight unseen. Ham would rather marry someone he didn’t love – someone he couldn’t respect or admire – than spend the rest of his life alone.

Shem knew because the same thing tempted him at times.

Ham studied the rough plank floor. Shem followed his brother’s gaze downward, instantly distracted by memories of long days splitting logs lengthwise with metal spikes, first into squares and from there into planks. His arm muscles ached with the thought.

His brother’s voice brought him back. “Paseah started talking about some girl no one likes. Said he always thought about us when she came around because she was so much like Father. He made a joke about her being perfect for one of us because he can barely stand to look at her.”

“She’s ugly?”

Ham laughed nervously and remorse for his own rash words overcame Shem. Maybe she really was ugly. He clamped his lips to keep from blurting out anything else offensive.

“No!” Ham shifted uncomfortably. “Well, he didn’t say exactly. Maybe if she reminds him of Father I should worry about her looks.” He laughed again.

“I’m sure she’s beautiful.” A quip about facial hair popped into Shem’s brain, but he stuffed it. He managed what he hoped was a comforting smile, though Ham wasn’t looking at him. “She’s gorgeous.”

 “You really believe that?” Ham’s posture betrayed his need for reassurance.

“Sure I do.” No, he did not. Marriages born of desperation rarely turned out well and no one was more desperate than Ham.

Except maybe Shem.

Japheth’s wife, Ulla, was the only decent woman he’d seen in years. And Mother. Good women were about as easy to locate and capture as the mythological unicorn.

Shem opened and closed the just-installed door as a final test and slid the bar back into place. “Good enough.”

The two men headed toward the only outside exit. Noah had installed a broad outward-opening door, which also functioned as a ramp, on the third level. He worried the ark might sit low in the water once the flood got under way, he said, and he wanted the door as high as possible. The grass-covered hill supporting the ramp was composed of dirt and rock and had risen higher and higher as construction on the ark progressed over the years.

“Think Father has any idea how much easier it would be if he’d put the door on the first level?” Ham asked.

The brothers trotted out and to the bottom of the wooden ramp that bridged the space from the ark to the top of the mound. According to Father, animals would someday stroll up the earth incline and enter the ark. Seemed a little farfetched.

They stopped at a stack of doors, hoisted one onto their shoulders and trudged back up the steep incline. Ham adjusted his load. “I still think first deck would have been a better place for the door.”

“We’re working third level today, remember?” Shem said. “We’d still have to climb.”

“You’re missing my point.” Ham bunched his mouth.

Shem rolled his eyes. No point talking to Ham until his new wife arrived and the uncertainly ended. Of course seeing her in the flesh might be worse. Hopefully she would be wonderful. “What’s her name?”

“Eudocea.”

“Nice name.” Nice name? Was that the best he could do when Ham needed support?

The sound of Japheth’s frustrated voice urging camels toward the ark from the fields offered a measure of relief. “Hay.” Shem said.

“Yep.”

They propped their door against the entrance to the next room and started for the hay storage rooms about halfway down the second floor. As they got further from the outside, natural light dimmed and the fragrance of aged pitch grew stronger.

Shem loved the smells that reminded him of his childhood. He could still see Grandfather Lamech dabbing tar on the wall while perched five cubits high on a ladder. Some of the ceilings on the lower levels rose even higher. Father had built them to accommodate giraffes and elephants. He had positioned whole trees for climbing animals and birds in some of the larger rooms.

One time, Grandfather had fallen off a ladder while helping hoist one of those trees into place. The tree was a Fir with lots of horizontal branches intended as perches for birds and small animals. Once the tree stood tall, Grandfather climbed to the top and tried to throw a rope over a nearby beam where Father waited to catch the end. He somehow lost his balance and plummeted all the way to the floor below. Fortunately, he wasn’t hurt badly. Still, he hobbled around for months reliving the way he “dropped” to the floor. He got a real kick out of Mother’s dismayed reaction.

Japheth’s vehement invectives aimed at the camels as they wound down the long inner ramp connecting the third and the second floors kept Shem and Ham entertained. Laughing, they hurried down one of the many shortcut-stairways that crisscrossed the ark. Entering the hay storage room, they reclined casually on a hay pile for several minutes before their brother arrived.

Shem inhaled deeply. “The only thing that smells better than pitch is hay.”

Just around the corner Japheth shouted, “Come on, Buzz!”

“Why’d father buy that camel from Paseah?” Ham wondered, absently twirling a piece of hay “He’s the nastiest one I’ve ever seen.”

“Have you noticed the size of him? He’s nearly a cubit taller than any of our other camels.”

“Yeah. So?”

“He’s going with us. Breeding stock.”

“No!”

Japheth poked his head through the door, one arm holding taut a rope tied to the still-not-visible camel stretched behind him. Sweat dripped into his eyes, matted hair hung in wet clumps. “Enjoying your nap?” he said sarcastically.

“Little cranky, aren’t we?” Ham’s eyes danced. “You switch personalities with Buzz?”

Japheth glared at him as he led Buzz and three more camels into the room, a little closer than necessary to the hay pile, Shem noticed. Buzz’s back leg whipped sideways, missing Ham by a hair only because he jumped back.

“Why do you use him?” Ham scowled.

Japheth shook a flexible rod in Buzz’s face. “Down!” The camel sighed and grunted, lowering himself until he rested with his chest on the floor. Japheth hobbled his front leg so the beast couldn’t stand while they unloaded his hay. Then he did the same with the other camels.

“Whoa!” Ham fanned a hand in front of his face. “Get a whiff of that breath!” “Back away from him if you don’t like the smell.”

“I didn’t mean Buzz. I meant you.” Ham waggled his eyebrows.

Shem stifled a smile.

“Think you’re funny? Take a gander at this.” Japheth hunched his shoulders and showed a wet spot on his back. “Half-digested cud.”

Ham mocked the prevailing camel-wisdom. “Awwww. He’s not really mean. He’s just gets a little upset.”

Shem snickered and Buzz glared at him through thick eyelashes. At the sound of a soft gurgle from the camel’s throat, the two brothers scrambled to the top of the pile, out of range.

Shaking his head, Japheth picked up the pitchforks his brothers dropped and tossed them back. For a while the only sounds were hard breathing and metal tines sliding into hay. They had nearly finished the job when a low moaning came from over by the door. Shem glanced toward the sound.

Ham stood frozen in place between the camels and the door to the hay room, eyes wide, the pitchfork in his hand still full of hay, blonde hair standing in spikes above a face whiter than fresh milk.

From the other side of the open doorway, a brown grizzly on its hind legs stared at Ham through the semi-darkness. It was nearly two times taller than Ham, slightly smaller than a Nephilim. On all fours beside it was a silver-tipped female.

“Do not move,” Shem mouthed. Never taking his eyes from Ham and the bears, Shem slowly reached out to touch Japheth’s arm in warning. Japheth stiffened when he spotted the bears.

“Stand completely still,” he hissed.

“Like I could do anything else.” Ham whispered without moving his lips. “He’s been standing there watching us work.”

Shem wanted to tell Ham that’s what bears do when they’re curious, but he dared not risk speaking. If anyone even twitched the bear might launch at them in attack mode.

The camels, with their backs to the bears, didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. Weren’t animals supposed to have a sixth sense about those things? How could they not smell the bear? Maybe Buzz’s horrendous odor was good for something after all. Apparently his smell had covered the bear smell and that had kept the camels from bolting.

“God, help us.” Shem didn’t realize he’d prayed aloud until the bear flattened his ears. Wasn’t that what bears did just before they attacked? Lunging forward with a loud, “Yaaaah!” Shem banged his pitchfork around the circumference of the door frame.

The male bear grunted, dropped to all fours and lumbered away with the female following.

 Ham sprang at the door and slammed it, leaving them in complete darkness.

Silence.

Shem could hear the camels chewing and his own heart hammering in his ears. Ham said incredulously, “You prayed out loud?!”

Japheth lit the torch just inside the door. “Where’d the bears come from?”

Shem flopped backward onto the hay. “You do remember the only bar is on the outside of the door, right?”

“I have my foot braced against the bottom of the door.” Ham whispered in the darkness. “Think they’re gone?”

Shem shrugged even though no one could see him. 

After a few minutes with no sounds coming from the other side of the door, Shem ventured over to crack it. No evidence of bears. He opened the door cautiously and looked both ways down the hall. “Gone.” His brothers ventured out with him. Ham came last.

“You think they just strolled into the ark and made themselves at home?” Japheth asked.

            “Well . . . “ Ham still appeared shaken, “Father said animals would come. Is this how it’s going to happen? Is the Flood starting? Are the bears just the first?”

            A sudden realization shot through Shem. “Bears!” The animals had gone in the direction of Father and Paseah. Shem dashed down the corridor, fear prickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

            Before he’d gone two cubits, he heard Paseah scream. All three brothers ran toward their uncle’s voice, arms, legs and adrenaline pumping. Father hadn’t made a peep. Where was Father?



Chapter Ten

If this is your first time reading with us, go to the archives at right, click the second arrow and the title Chapter One will drop down. Double click on that chapter and read it first, then proceed with the remainder of the book in order by clicking down the arrows.

Empty Home; Empty Heart

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“Today if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.” Psalm 95:7

Still shaken, Atarah’s mother opened the door of her bedchambers and walked immediately to the fireplace where she could stroke the mane of the wooden lion’s head. The carving was the last thing inside this house Atarah would ever touch and placing her own fingers on the face somehow made Mother feel closer to her daughter.

Her knees suddenly weak, Mother walked over to her bed. Borrowing strength from the tall mahogany bedpost, she held on with one hand and slid into a sitting position by the red velvet brocade drape.

She stared at the reflection of the woman in the mirror on the wall opposite her. She appeared as feeble now as she’d felt strong moments earlier when she stood in front of the slaves, commanding their respect. No. Demanding respect and obedience. Every slave had complied. Every single one. Even Dagaar. She marveled at the power she’d wielded for the first time in her life.

And the last time. With Nympha’s screams the slaves had scattered, deserting her like buzzards leaving a bloody carcass at the approach of hyenas. The vengeful glare Dagaar shot her direction chilled her. When Ishan returned home and Dagaar informed him she had helped their daughter escape she would pay a heavy price.

A small mirthless laugh at life’s penchant to shift so quickly escaped her lips. She idly noted the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes deepen. Her gaze roamed the room taking in ivory chairs, carved wood and opulent paintings. The luxury surrounding her no longer meant anything. She’d lost everything today. The baby. Atarah. Even Ishan.

Walking closer to the mirror she leaned forward studying flaccid skin and drooping jowls. How had she become that pale old woman? She placed the tips of her fingers on the cheekbones beside each ear and lifted. Years melted away. Present time faded and she was beautiful once again.

Desired.

She closed her eyes, drifting back to the night she made her choice. Once again she lounged on a large boulder at the edge of the garden, lovely Elika again. Her skin stretched smooth and taut over a shapely figure clothed in gauzy blue. The heady fragrance of lavender and honeysuckle teased her senses under a black sky twinkling with millions of stars. Every man present longed to possess her, and she reveled in the attention. Was that what had changed her? Had pride cause her downfall?

Or did the music vibrating through the breeze turn her into a different person? She remembered the excitement of dancing, twirling around and around, head back, arms overhead spiraling through the rows of lavender. That night marked the release of new cravings that led her thoughts astray.

Elika concentrated, straining to bring back events dimmed by time. She had stayed after the musicians left and music floated down the hillside as faint as the kiss of a butterfly’s wing. Only a few young people lounged on benches. She lingered at the edge of the garden mesmerized by turtles meandering through the rows of lavender with candles flickering on their shells.

The evening waned. The time to go home came and went and she knew she should leave. She knew. But she didn’t. Some wild thing had arisen inside her. Captured her. Elika remained while the young people preparing to worship shed their garments under the spreading trees. When crickets stopped chirping and the dashing Ishan slipped an arm around her waist, a welcome foil for the evening chill, she left willingly with him.

Until that night, Elika had worshipped no god but the One True God.

A few days later when young Noah pleaded with her to repent and return to God, she refused. She responded to the grief on her slave’s face with guilty defensiveness. Anger flared, she lifted her chin arrogantly and hardness crept into her soul.  

Years afterward Noah repeated his plea, assuring her God would forgive and welcome her back. But by then it was too late. Her friend’s goodness kept him from understanding the terrible things she’d done and the impossibility of his request. She couldn’t bring herself to confess the guilt that weighed her down even though she knew confession stood as a prerequisite for forgiveness.

 God would never forgive her. Never.

She could never forgive herself.