Crown in the Stars

A
CROWN
IN THE
Stars

KACY
BARNETT-
GRAMCKOW

M
OODY
P
UBLISHERS
CHICAGO

© 2005 by
K
ACY
B
ARNETT
-G
RAMCKOW

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Barnett-Gramckow, Kacy, 1960-
    A crown in the stars / Kacy Barnett-Gramckow.
       p. cm.— (Genesis trilogy ; #3)
  ISBN-13: 978-0-8024-1369-7
  ISBN-10: 0-8024-1369-2

   1. Bible. O.T. Genesis—History of Biblical events—Fiction.
2. Babel, Tower of—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3602.A8343C76 2005

2004025795

ISBN: 0-8024-1369-2
EAN/ISBN-13: 0-8024-1369-7

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Printed in the United States of America

With love to the Gramckow clan, particularly to
Marietta, Kathi, Al, and Bob.
And to the dear memory of “Pop” Hans, who inspired us all
.

Acknowledgments

FIRST AND FOREMOST, to the dear readers who have contacted me: I appreciate your taking time from your busy schedules to send me notes! I’ve enjoyed hearing from you and pray you’ve received my replies and my thanks.

To Amy Peterson, Andy McGuire, Amy Schmidt, Lori Wenzinger, Tricia George, Mattie Hill, Malina Pascut, and Vicki Lange of the Moody Publishing team, I really appreciate you all and welcome your input. Also, Mary Busha, my brave agent, our discussions and your steadfast presence are blessings. And LB Norton—did you think you would escape? Thanks for humoring me, and for making me double-check minutiae.

Also, special thanks to Doug Sharp, Vivian Sharp, Richard Geer, and the Revolution Against Evolution crew—it was a pleasure to meet you, and I hope our paths cross in the future!

A belated mention to: The Institute for Creation Research for their terrific study materials and their Web site. I’ve particularly enjoyed
The Genesis Flood
by John C. Whitcomb and Henry M. Morris.

I have also been remiss, forgetting to mention the Moody Institute of Science video series,
The Wonders of God’s Creation
, which was a fascinating part of my research before I ever wrote a word in this trilogy. The observations concerning the “ultimate solvent” nature of water were, obviously, inspiring.

To Auntie Nancy Sutton, your courageous spirit and family stories always inspire me—love and hugs!

Fond regards to: Jeanne Jackson, Jan Whistler, Peggy Shontz, Tammy Harris, Shirley Overholser, Rosanne Fahrenbruch, Vicki Strothman, Pat Janssen-Hall, Jennifer Hills, Natalie Barglowski, Celeste Gilligan—I’ve appreciated your encouragement, your laughter, and fellowship.

Connie Gourley and the Hazel Dell 4405 crew, I miss you all.

Love always to my parents and family and to my dear Jerry and our sons, Larson and Robert, who bring me back to earth when I’m off in another century.

Above all, Lord, in everything Your will is perfect! Thank You for insisting…

Prologue

ON THE SWEEPING fertile plain between the Two Rivers, the Great City sprawled like a collection of tree-garnished mud boxes, encased by protective walls and dominated by the emerging Tower of the Sun—a corrugated brick-stepped mountain that threatened to pierce the skies.

Though still unfinished, the Tower ruled the lives of the Great City’s people. Festivals, work, marriages, births, dreams, fears—all were sanctified by the Tower’s priests. Nightly they consulted the stars on behalf of the citizens to determine the most auspicious days of Shemesh the Sun.

By their soothsaying, the priests commanded the city. And the citizens welcomed their role as they welcomed the Tower’s presence; it bound them together and strengthened them against everything that existed beyond their small
lives. In building it, they could boast of challenging the Heavens. They could laugh together in one voice and defy the will of the fearsome, unseen, unnamed, unacknowledged Creator, whose Presence called to their rebellious souls.

Remember the things that happened long ago—
for I am God, and there is no other;
I am God, and there is none like Me.
In the beginning I declare the end,
and from ancient times decree things still to come,
saying, “My plan will hold,
and I will do all that I please to do.”

(Adapted from Isaiah 46:9–10)

One

“The earth was not always as you see it today, Shoshannah-child. Before the Great Destruction, the heavens glowed pink as an endless sunrise. The mountains were low and rounded, and the trees were enormous—beautiful and fruitful. And the flowers—they were so sweet that we sometimes ate them! But even more wonderful, little one, were the animals in the world of that time. They didn’t fear people as predators or stalk them as prey; they lived around us—often seeking our presence. Yet the earth before was so filled with violence and death that the Most High mourned. To save His cherished creation, He allowed the earth to be swept beneath the waters. But first He warned our Ancient One, Noakh, to build this pen…”

Half dreaming of the earth as it must have been, Shoshannah followed I’ma-Annah through the immense, dusty, dark vessel she called “the pen.” Cautiously touching a web-swathed reed cage, Shoshannah murmured,
“You truly lived here for more than a year, surrounded by animals.”

“It seems impossible, doesn’t it?” I’ma-Annah paused at the base of the pen’s central ramp and sighed. Her lovely features saddened as she shook her sleek black hair, bound with gold talismans. “I sometimes despair that the children of my children can’t imagine the Great Destruction. But it truly happened.”

Grieved by I’ma-Annah’s sorrow, Shoshannah leaned forward. “I believe you, I’ma-Annah. I do. How I wish I could have seen the world of that time! It sounds so beautiful. This world must appear
desolate
by comparison.”

I’ma-Annah stared at her, surprised. “Yes… that’s how I felt when I first stepped out onto this mountain. Oh, little one, I cried; it was terrible! But being surrounded by loved ones—like you—eases everything.” She hugged Shoshannah, fondly smoothing her wild brown curls. “And I must stop calling you ‘little one.’ Soon you’ll be taller than I am; you’re growing up to be just like your mother.”

Pleased, Shoshannah asked, “Do I really look so much like my I’ma?”

“Yes, except that your eyes are a bit darker gray, and you have dimples like your father’s. But come now. I’ll show you the upper level; then we’ll join the others before they worry.”

They were just nearing the top of the ramp when a large, fur-covered shape bounded out of the shadows above them, bellowing, “Raa-a-aww!”

Shoshannah screamed, clutching the resin-coated railing as I’ma-Annah leapt backward, landing on Shoshannah’s toes. But before they could run, the seething shape stood big and tall, dropping its fur cover.
A young man laughed down at them, his clear green-brown eyes sparkling in his tawny, lively face.

“Kal!” Shoshannah swatted at him, furious. “We could have fallen down the ramp!”

“Forgive me,” Kaleb said, contrite. But his remorse instantly vanished, replaced by his usual life-loving grin. “I found this shabby old hide and couldn’t resist teasing you. I was sure you’d hear me scuffling around up here. I’ma-Annah, I saw where you must have kept the birds—those nets are huge! How long did it take to feed them? I wish I could have been here then—I feel like I missed
everything
. ”

He held I’ma-Annah’s arm protectively, guiding her up the ramp, talking the whole time. “Not that I want to see the earth destroyed again,” he assured her earnestly, “but I wish the Most High would grant me such an adventure.”

Shoshannah followed them, frustrated, wishing Kal would leave her out of his adventures. Her toes were smarting, and he had stolen her precious time alone with I’ma-Annah. And he was
still
talking and making I’ma-Annah laugh.

When they finally emerged from the vast pen and walked down the huge, dark, summer-warmed ramp, Kaleb helped I’ma-Annah down, then turned to Shoshannah, smiling.

Annoyed, she said quietly, “You have a pimple on your nose.”

He touched his nose briefly, bewildered. “I do? Well, you’ve got one on your chin.”

“Oh!” Shoshannah pressed a hand to her chin, glared at him, and marched away.

Kaleb followed her, calling in a need-to-know voice, “But does it really matter?”

Kal
, she threatened silently,
I’m going to repay you someday
.

She rejoined I’ma-Annah, who said, “Forgive me, child, for stepping on your foot earlier when I was frightened. Your Kaleb is a rascal—but a wonderful young man.”

My Kaleb?
Shoshannah stared at I’ma-Annah, dumbfounded, then glanced back at Kal. He raised his eyebrows at her, clearly delighted by I’ma-Annah’s verdict.

Still speechless, Shoshannah followed I’ma-Annah down the rocky hillside, toward the tented encampment where their families were preparing the evening meal.

“You
are
going to marry Kal,” said Mithqah, round cheeked and full of youthful wisdom, as she helped Shoshannah scrub their dishes outside the women’s tent. “He adores you, and your parents love him as if he’s their firstborn son. Look how he’s working with your father.”

Rinsing the last dish in her wooden tub, Shoshannah glanced toward her father and Kaleb, who were covering and tying the horses for the night. Her father, Zekaryah—brown, neatly bearded, and dignified—was nodding as Kaleb talked. He interrupted him now and then with a word or gesture of instruction, which Kaleb swiftly obeyed. They were indeed like father and son.

Years ago, Kaleb’s own father, Regem—a shy man who was baffled by his gregarious, daring, third-born son—had asked the strict Zekaryah to train Kaleb to ride horses and use weapons. In turn, Kaleb worked for Zekaryah willingly. And he imitated Zekaryah’s rugged leather attire, even wearing his heavy black-brown hair in a thick horseman’s plait.

But Kaleb would never match her father’s calm, silent demeanor. Shoshannah pretended to be irritated.

“At least he’s serious when he’s helping my father. Otherwise, I think he lives to torment me.”

“You poor thing,” Mithqah said, fluttering her black bristly eyelashes exaggeratedly. “Admit it: you love him.”

Unwilling to admit anything—even if it might be true—Shoshannah flicked water at her friend’s blue wool tunic. Mithqah retaliated, slapping her hand through the tub, splashing Shoshannah’s leather tunic and leggings before turning to run. Grabbing the tub, Shoshannah chased her, both of them shrieking and laughing as Shoshannah dashed the entire tub of water over Mithqah’s dark head.

“Shoshannah!”

Guiltily, Shoshannah faced her mother, Keren, who had obviously heard the noise and emerged from the women’s tent. Tall, incomparable, brown curled and brown skinned with remarkably pale gray eyes, Keren scolded, “If you’ve ruined Mithqah’s tunic, you’re going to make her another.”

Mithqah wiped her tawny-red face with a quick hand. “Thank you, I’ma-Keren, but I teased her fir—”

“And
you’re
going to get more water and finish the dishes.” Ritspah—Mithqah’s flushed and formidable mother—joined them, her hands on her hips. “I hope you haven’t broken anything!”

“We haven’t, I’ma-Ritspah,” Shoshannah promised, gripping the tub as she stepped closer to Mithqah. If they were going to be punished, they’d suffer together, as always. “We’ll go for more water right now.”

“You’d better,” Ritspah threatened.

Keren nodded stiffly.