Children of Eber (The Generations Book 4) Read online

  Children

  Of Eber

  Volume 4 of

  The Generations

  Caryl McAdoo

  Praying my story brings God glory!

  5-star Reviews on

  Children of Eber

  Caryl McAdoo has another winner in Children of Eber. This is a short, easy read, and one of my favorite type of books, Christian fiction. Caryl's books are always biblically correct and she adds a little of her own imagination to make it interesting reading and the characters just come alive. Abraham was such a godly man who loved God with all his heart but also make some mistakes. I loved Sarah. She was a typical impatient wife who had a hard time waiting on the Lord to bless her. Just read the book! You will love it.

  --Louise Koiner, avid Texas reader

  In the Children of Eber, Caryl McAdoo continues the Genesis story using her creative imagination to fill in the blanks where her King James Version of Scripture remains silent. She picks up the account of Father Abraham in Ur of the Chaldees when his name was Abram before he weds the love of his life, Sarai.

  Caryl’s author voice sings through in delicious detail. For the reader familiar with the Biblical account, Caryl fleshes out a mere paragraph or two until the narrative vibrates with life. As if transported through a time machine, the reader reenters the world of the Ancients experiencing their lives and seeing their surroundings afresh. Those who know the Biblical account will delight in following the ancient pair [and] rejoice when Abram receives his new name Abraham and Sarai becomes Sarah. Well, this reviewer will say no more lest the tale spoils for the reader. Suffice it to say, Caryl McAdoo has remained faithful, [and] I totally enjoyed reading.

  --Cass Wessel, multi-published author in Pennsylvania

  About Biblical Fiction

  (This page doesn’t change from book to book)

  By its genre’s very name, The Generations series is presented as untrue, not real—the definition of fiction is a story concocted purely from a writer’s imagination. On the other hand, Biblical—from the Bible—indicates truth and nothing but the truth! Every Word in the Bible is true. So no question; absolutely set in stone far as I’m concerned.

  Jesus is the Truth. Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me. John 14:6.

  Jesus is the Word. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.John 1:1; and again, And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood: and his name is called The Word of God. Revelation 19:13.

  So Biblical Fiction is an untrue, imagined story based on absolute truth. We could assume a writer of Christian Fiction is a Christ follower, so why don’t they all adhere perfectly to the facts? I mean facts are the facts, after all.

  Personally, I get very frustrated with writers of Biblical Fiction who stray from the truth of the Word. Fiction gives them the right to flesh out the story, bring characters we know so well to life, but why do they think they can change or improve the story, that they can make God’s story better? Change truth, you only have a lie.

  I’m presenting this series labeled Biblical Fiction. Praying imagination enhances the Word’s stories and searching for clues to flesh-out the facts.I will be surprised though if I don’t meet Namrel in Heaven.

  I invite you, should you perceive by the Word that any part of this story is contrary to God’s Holy Book, to let me know where and how. I stand ready to alter my opinion any time it is shown not to line up to the Word. Blessings!

  This story is a work of fiction taken from those in God’s Holy Word. Any scriptures quoted are from the King James Version.

   2015 by Caryl McAdoo

  First Edition

  November 11, 2015

  Printed and bound in the United States of America

  ISBN-13 978-1518-6482-81

  ISBN-10 1518-6482-82

  Original Cover Art by Judy Downs Levine

  www.ArtFelt.com / Exquisite offerings of all ‘The Generations’ Original art are available on canvas or as prints suitable for framing and in other media (cups, throws, etcetera). Collect them all.

  Inquiries for volume purchases may be directed to Post Office Box 622, Clarksville, Texas 75426. For contact with the author for speaking engagements, please visit www.CarylMcAdoo.com

  Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

  Hebrews 11:1

  But without faith it is impossible to please Him: for he that cometh to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him.

  Hebrews 11:6

  For I say, through the grace given unto me, to every man that is among you, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think; but to think soberly, according as God hath dealt to every man the measure of faith.

  Romans 12:3

  The eleventh chapter of Hebrews is all about faith, do take the time to read and meditate on it.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

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  Helpful Links

  Chapter One

  In the two thousand twenty-fifth year from Adam’s creation, in Ur of the Chaldees, the oldest of three brothers sat at his desk studying the latest parchment procured with profits from the sale of his second best kid. The best he offered to the Lord on the family’s stone altar.

  “Tell me, Brother, why is Father mad at Haran?”

  Abram looked up from his scroll. Sarai stood just outside the room’s archway, peeking around the corner.

  “Where is your mother?”

  “Gone to the market with yours. What are you doing?”

  “Who’s tending you?”

  “Nina, but she fell asleep mid-stitch.” She leaned in so that her face almost entered into the room. “Lot’s dirtied himself, and the twins are hungry.”

  “Where’s their mother?”

  “She went, too. Ours needed someone to carry their baskets.”

  “Best go wake up your nurse. She can see to the babies.”

  “Tell me first, why is father angry at Haran? I know he is.”

  “It doesn’t concern you. Adult matters, and you are but a child, Sister. Now scat.”

  “What’s a Hebrew?”

  Light filtered in through the high window, illuminating thousands of dancing particles that twirled in the seemingly still air between the girl and himself. Releasing his hold, he let the scroll roll itself up. Until she left, he’d get no study done, the hieroglyphics would have to wait.

  “Us. It means the children of Eber, and…he is our father, so we are Hebrews.”

  Her little nose wrinkled. “But Terah is our father. We’re his children. I know this much. But who is Eber? I don’t know him, do you? How can we have two?”

  “Listen, Sarai. Our father’s father was Nahor, and his Serug, and his Reu and his Peleg, and his Eber. Our ancestors go all the way back to Shem, the youngest son of Noah, but…”

  “Wait!” Her palm faced him, and she stepped out, full into the opening. “Tell me those names again. I got lost, and I want to remember them because they’re important. Aren’t they?”

 
“Don’t worry.” How did such a small girl get so bold as to hush her older brother? Though she lacked proper respect, he always enjoyed her passion. “I know them.”

  Her countenance fell, and she swiped at a loose strand of her dark hair that had fallen out of her braid. Her mother’s beauty marked the child even at her young age.

  “Don’t be upset, it’s alright. I had the same trouble remembering when I was your age, too.” He looked past her. “Is that your nurse calling for you?”

  His sister glanced over her shoulder and made a show of listening. “No. I hear nothing. But you know why everyone is mad at Haran, don’t you?”

  He kept his face straight. His little sister didn’t miss much. “Perhaps you should ask your mother.”

  “I already did. And Mama Judith also, but no one will tell me. You know everything.” She smiled her biggest. “Tell me, please.”

  The little flatterer. He should insist she leave him alone to study, but her declaration did swell his chest. “Well…have you ever disobeyed?”

  Her face turned left then circled into a wary nod. She smiled. “Haven’t you?”

  “Wait, I’m asking the questions here.”

  The cheerful giggle filled the drab room with music. “You are not! I came with my question. You are the answerer.”

  “I’m trying to explain something. If you don’t care to listen and respond to my query, then skip away and find a kitten to play with. Better yet, wake up your nurse. But vacate my doorway and allow me the last of my time to learn.”

  “No, wait! I’m sorry. Why did you want to know whether or not I was ever bad? I didn’t do anything to Haran. He’s mean.”

  “Aww, sometimes too gruff maybe, but I wouldn’t call him mean. Anyway, my brother disobeyed father, and.…” How could he explain the trouble to a seven-year-old without mentioning the ways of life? Hopefully, one of the mothers or her nurse or someone else would handle that task before their wedding night.

  Praise Adam’s God, not yet for many years.

  Time would give her the opportunity to acquire better manners.

  “And what? What did our brother do? He is my brother, too. Just as you. Although…I do not like him as much. He yanks my braid when no one’s looking and has stuck his big foot out and tripped me many times.” She leaned her back on the door’s jam and stared up at the other side.

  Her profile against the sun’s brightness in the hall almost took his breath.

  “What Haran did is not for me to say, little one.”

  “I am little. I know it, but when I’m grown, I’ll be your wife, and you should tell me all things, whatever I ask of you.”

  “Perhaps you should wake up your nurse. Our mothers don’t stay too long at the market, and you don’t want her to get in trouble with them.”

  “But you know. I know you do!”

  “So?”

  “If you don’t tell me, then you’re as mean as…as…a stubborn donkey!”

  Unable to be controlled, laughter rolled from the depths of his belly.

  “What are you laughing about?” She crossed her arms over her chest, faced him, and stomped her foot, stirring a cloud of dust.

  “I’m sorry. Not at you, Sarai. Only what you said. Comparing me to a donkey. Me. Your favorite brother? How do you think that makes me feel?”

  “You should tell me what I want to know. We shouldn’t have secrets from each other. I tell you everything.”

  Indeed she did, the little magpie. “I already said. It is not for me to share. Some things a young lady such as yourself need not know. I didn’t intend to hurt you by laughing. Will you forgive me?”

  “Of course. I always will. I love you, Abram. Can I have a hug?”

  “No. We are not allowed in the same room alone.”

  “Stupid rule. If we’re going to marry when I grow up, why shouldn’t we be allowed to hug? Mother and Daddy hug all the time.”

  “Yes. But we will obey our father.” He waved her away. “Now go. See to the babies yourself if you don’t want to wake your nurse.”

  She didn’t seem too interested in minding and ignored him. “What’s wrong with a Hamite? You can tell me that, can’t you?”

  “Nothing. They’re children of Noah, same as us. From Ham’s lineage instead of Shem’s. That’s all.”

  “Nina always spits whenever she says it. Lot’s mama is a Hamite, right?”

  Oh Lord, save me from this one. She’s too smart for her own good—and mine.

  “Yes, Sarai, she is a daughter of Ham.”

  “Is she the reason why Father is mad at Haran?”

  He stood and started for her. “Where is your nurse?”

  Sarai stuck her tongue out then ran toward the woman’s quarters, her long braids bouncing. Once gone, Abram allowed himself a smile then sat back down, unrolled the scroll, and concentrated again on his studies. He only had two more days to understand the picture language before he returned to the fields.

  Shame he could only spend a third of his days with the scrolls. He much preferred learning over herding dumb sheep.

  For two new moons, life floated along on a wave of normalcy, then everything changed in one night.

  North of Ur, under the stars, Abram stirred the campfire’s coals, then put another piece of deadfall on the fire. Sitting across from him, his brother grinned. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “The better question is why don’t you stay with me? Choose what is right.”

  “It’s the new moon, Brother. You need to see the celebration for yourself. The lovely priestesses…”

  “They’re pagan. Worshiping the moon is stupid. Or the sun either. Adam’s God created them both. Worship Him.”

  Haran nodded, the firelight bouncing off his gold-plated tooth. “We do, and all the host of heaven, especially the moon. And yes, the priestesses are pagan all the way from their painted eyes to their little dancing toes, tinkling with bells. It’s beyond fabulous. Forget everything you’ve heard, and come see for yourself. Just once, come.”

  “What about your children? Think of them. Especially Lot.”

  “What do they have to do with tonight? They’re not invited, but you are, Brother.”

  “I say no to the invitation. I will stay here and tend our herds.”

  “Suit yourself.” Haran stood. “I’ll be back before my watch.”

  Abram’s brother trotted over the knoll leading toward Ur. It hurt his heart that Haran spent any of his time going to the groves and worshiping idols. Lying with so many strange women. Bad enough he’d fathered children so young, even before eighteen years. The dogs whined a low growl, and he turned his attention to his charges.

  Slipping away from the fire, he studied the bedded sheep. No movement. He whistled softly, and the male went west while his mate headed east. Shortly after they encompassed the herd and returned, Abram settled back next to the fire.

  The night’s chill warranted more wood, but he didn’t want the light. If the dogs were right, and he trusted them to know, then something—or someone—stalked his animals.

  Contrary to his promise, his brother didn’t return for the second watch. Not unusual though. Haran’s concerns focused on pleasing his flesh, never on responsibilities or being righteous. Abram managed a few winks, but not any good sleep. After the mid-day meal, he spotted him coming over the knoll, except…as he got closer…it wasn’t Haran, but his twin.

  Lifting his staff into the air, he saluted his other brother. “Nahor…” His brother’s expression stayed his greeting. Abram walked to meet him. “What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

  “It’s Haran. He’s dead.”

  “What? How?”

  “We don’t know. Father found him at the gate this morning. Stone cold, but no marks. He stank of new wine and…” Nahor sniffed, then wiped his cheek with his sleeve.

  “And what?”

  “He didn’t have his robe on, only his tunic. No staff or purse. Did you two argue?”

  “No.
” Abram’s blood flashed red hot then cooled. His brother dead? He ducked his head. His own tears streamed down his cheeks. “I told him not to go, but you know how he is… He went to the new moon celebration last night.”

  “At the grove?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come. Father says to bring the herd to our fold. We’ll find hirelings while we tend our dead.”

  Abram whistled the dogs into action. The sheep didn’t much like leaving the pasture, but they knew his voice, and would follow him wherever he led.

  The next morning after he and Nahor finished their brother’s grave and lowered Haran’s shrouded body into the earth, Sarai left her mother’s side to stand next to him.

  His little sister tugged on his tunic until he took her hand.

  His father stepped next to the grave, his eyes cast down. For the longest, he only stared into the grave.

  “Forgive me, Son.” He stepped back and tossed a handful of dirt onto the still form at the bottom of the hole.

  Abram picked up Sarai, kissed her cheek, then walked toward her mother. His sister whispered in his ear. “Why’d he say that?”

  He lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you later.” Then handed her off.

  Looking over her mother’s shoulder, she stared at him as the old people trudged back to the house. Once out of sight, he turned to the task at hand. With more tears falling than dirt, he matched his remaining brother shovelful for shovelful until Haran’s body was returned from whence he came.

  Abram stepped back. “Ashes to ashes, dirt to dirt. May the God of Adam receive your soul.”

  Nahor looked up. “Do you really believe God made Adam from mud?”

  “Yes, of course. Don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure. The priestesses tell a different story.”

  Abram didn’t know what to say. Though only a few heartbeats ahead of Nahor, as the oldest, he bore the birthright and had believed from his earliest memory. “Evil crouches at your door, Brother. Best beware.”