Just in time for Easter reading! My novel, R. J. Larson as Kacy Barnett-Gramckow--and vis-a-versa, Inspired by Matthew 27, DAWNLIGHT, the Kindle edition, is on sale for $2.99 through the end of April!
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DAWNLIGHT
By
Kacy Barnett-Gramckow
Gram-Co-Ink
Copyright 2014 by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow
Researched and written by Kacy
Barnett-Gramckow
Editors: Kathi Macias, Jerry Gramckow
All rights reserved in all media. Without limiting
the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may
be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted
in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording,
or otherwise) without prior written permission.
For permission requests, please contact:
Printed in U.S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the
author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
While every effort has been made to ensure
the accuracy and legitimacy of the references, referrals, and links
(collectively “links”) presented in this e-book, Kacy Barnett-Gramckow is not
responsible or liable for broken links or missing or fallacious information at
the links. Any links in this e-book to a specific product, process, web site,
or service do not constitute or imply an endorsement by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow
of same, or its producer or provider. The views and opinions contained at any
Links do not necessarily express or reflect those of Kacy Barnett-Gramckow.
Cover design by:
Kacy Barnett-Gramckow
Scriptures referenced in this book are paraphrased, with the original
Hebrew and Greek meanings scrupulously heeded.
Links and contacts for Kacy Barnett-Gramckow:
To my brother Joseph, this book’s
instigator, who has the most wonderful laugh in the whole world.
Chapter 1
Awareness
returned to John with an
unexpected sense of calm. Eyes still closed, remembering his previous agony, he
touched his throat, testing with his fingertips for a wound. No. No blood. No
pain. But he found a scar and traced its subtle ridge…slowly encircling his
neck. How could it have healed so quickly? How could it heal at all?
Opening his eyes, John found himself in a limitless space of grayed
hush. Others were here. He sensed them nearby. One presence in
particular—perfect and all-encompassing—permeated this place, lulling John with
a peace surpassing any he had ever known.
You are here, he thought to the Spirit. And I am not where I was.
Again, he touched his throat, still amazed to find it restored. I am not what I was….
Memories of the past intruded now, shaking his tranquility. Fears and
inadequacies gnawed hard and he cried to the Spirit in anguish. I have failed!
The Spirit answered in calm, wordless clarity. You did not fail.
But my work is incomplete.
You will complete your work when His time
is completed. Until then, rest.
Obedient to the Holy One, John settled into the hush and awaited his
liberation, at rest with the righteous souls brought to this place before him.
And with those yet to appear.
A joyous calm slipped over him as the Spirit promised, Your Redeemer nears!
***
Joseph understood what had happened.
He was in a place that wasn’t supposed to exist: Sheol.
I’m alive! My soul lives! I’m here…. His elation faded as he remembered his
vulnerable young family. How could he
protect them from this distant place? From beyond time?
In despair, he appealed to the shaded hues of quiet surrounding him.
The Lord’s Spirit was near. Joseph felt the blessed presence and pleaded with
all his soul’s might, They need
me!
The Spirit answered his soul in reassurance, with a promise. They are remembered. Rest and wait. He is
near.
***
Restless, the Adversary traced the fringes of the place he could not
enter, not permitted because of It.
Loathsome Spirit.
And pacing from here to stars in protest would avail nothing. Nor would
an audience before the throne of Almighty Him, arguing legalities that should be considered. “The earth is mine—it
was given to me. This place is also within my realm.”
Yet the Almighty sheltered
these souls within this place…these pathetic beings, no less contemptible now
that they were freed from their dust-formed flesh. Why did He protect them so avidly—as if they were
treasure?
The Adversary continued his zealous watch, peering inside, longing to
grasp those protected souls and confront them with all their wrongs, to prove
their unworthiness of the Almighty’s regard.
But they had somehow escaped him.
He must therefore exploit other options.
Anticipating further maneuvers, he departed, calling his shadow-silent
followers to ensnare those yet-walking, still-breathing souls bound by flesh
and time.
Chapter 2
Jerusalem’s
House of the Lord dazzled in the late winter sunlight like a bride in
purest white, its pristine marble crowned with gold, its whole presence
perfumed with incense that beckoned those who loved her.
Feeling like a bride
herself, Elisheba climbed the crowded southern stairs to the Lord’s House,
varying her pace to match the differing treads of each stone step. How
difficult it was to conceal her eagerness when each step took her nearer to her
love, her husband, Joseph.
And to You, she told the
Lord, sensing His presence, delighting in His Spirit.
A small body collided
against Elisheba’s legs, catching at her blue tunic and veils, almost making
her trip. Her four-year-old, Benjamin, righted himself, staring at the Roman
soldiers who lingered near the steps, all conspicuous in crimson cloaks, their
helmets, weapons, and shields glinting in the sun.
“Watch where you’re
going,” she scolded softly, taking her son’s hand.
“I am.” But the little
boy continued to stare at the soldiers, his brown eyes wide. Clearly their
weapons fascinated him.
“Really!” Elisheba began
in pretend complaint. Glancing beyond the edges of her sheer blue veils and
head-covering, she stopped suddenly, realizing the soldiers were watching
them—watching everyone—hard-eyed, as if prepared to attack anyone who caused a
scene.
She tightened her hold on
Benjamin’s hand. Should she should turn around and take him home? Her servants
still waited in the huge public courtyard before the steps, guarding her small
blue-curtained litter. They could leave almost immediately.
But what if Joseph was in danger?
Elisheba’s stomach
clenched at the thought. Trying to reassure herself, she prayed beneath her
breath, “Please shield us, Almighty
Lord.” She urged Benjamin up the myriad steps, moving quietly amid the
other visitors and worshipers past the temple’s usual Levite guards.
By the time she and
Benjamin made their way through the huge, double-arched doorways and tunnel and
then entered the vast sunlit stone-paved Court of the Gentiles, Elisheba was
sweating despite the cold air. People were gathered here and there throughout
the pale marble court: bright-clad Greek-Jews and Persian-Jews, boisterous
merchants and herders with their animals, somberly robed Pharisees, and
aristocratic Sadducees. Some smiling, many grim, all gossiping as Elisheba
walked among them.
Threads of conversation
reached her in snatches of Aramaic and Greek.
“They beheaded the
Baptist in his cell.”
“… the Immerser-Prophet,
John, for a dance—a girl’s
dance!”
“He spoke against the
Lady Herodias,” a dark-clad scribe sniffed, gaining Elisheba’s attention with
his contempt. “The man was a fool if he thought they would tolerate his
outbursts. Prophet, indeed!”
The prophet was dead? Elisheba faltered, her steps slowing with
her stumbling thoughts. How could this be true? Only ten months past, she and
Joseph had listened to John the Immerser proclaiming the truth of their
Almighty Lord with such an unquenchable passion that their lives—their
souls—were forever changed. How could
he be gone?
Swallowing, she crushed
her impulse to cry. What would onlookers think? If Joseph’s aristocratic
father, Lord Pallu, saw her tears, he’d belittle her. Scorn her as a childish
female and send her home.
“There’s Abba!” Benjamin
announced in Aramaic, tugging against Elisheba’s grip.
Elisheba looked beyond
the money-lenders’ tables and saw her own Joseph, slim and handsomely robed in
crimson, his rich dark beard neatly trimmed as many young Sadducees’
beards—much shorter than the Pharisees deemed proper for a devout Jew. Yet,
despite his worldly appearance, Joseph was truly devout. Even now, he was
talking seriously to three of his closest friends, his comrades in prayer,
Stephanos and Andronikos—who were also Jewish but Greek-born—and Kore, a young
prankster whose family had returned to Jerusalem from exile in Persia only one
generation past.
Glimpsing her husband’s
fading color, Elisheba winced. He’d obviously just heard of the Prophet John’s
death. And like her, he was fighting his distress. If Lord Pallu noticed and
suspected that they had followed the Immerser, the Baptist John, and his
Prophet-cousin, Rabbi Yeshua, Lord
Pallu would all but disown Joseph.
Controlling herself,
Elisheba released her son’s hand. “Go to Abba.”
Benjamin ran happily, his
dark curls shining in the light. Her small sweet messenger, announcing her
presence to Joseph. Married or not, Elisheba couldn’t speak to her husband in
public, particularly not here. The Pharisees would take great offense at even
the appearance of impropriety between a man and a woman in the Holy Courts of
the Lord. But Benjamin could speak for her. He was also her excuse to draw
near.
Joseph and his friends
straightened, startled as Benjamin scampered into their midst. Recovering,
Joseph caught Benjamin beneath the arms and swooped him up protectively. “You
can’t stay long,” Joseph told Benjamin. He kissed his son then cast a subtle
worried glance toward Elisheba.
Slight and
scholar-gentle, Stephanos also looked concerned. And Kore, twitching with
adolescent tension, seemed ready to bolt from the Gentiles’ Court at the slightest
excuse. But Andronikos, the tallest, spoke quietly in Greek, his bronzed face
cool. “We should delay the Capernaum journey.”
“I agree.” Joseph shifted
Benjamin in his arms, turning him toward Elisheba, almost making her smile in
gratitude.
The young men resumed
their conversation as if they wanted her to hear what they were saying—and
indeed they should. They’d been planning to travel to Capernaum after celebrating Passover to hear
the Rabbi Yeshua again—Master Iesous,
as Joseph’s friends named him in Greek. Elisheba’s spirit sank. How long would
the journey be delayed? For weeks, she’d anticipated sharing the journey with
Joseph and Benjamin as soon as the weather warmed. Indeed, her soul had thrived
on the hope, for beyond Lord Pallu’s strictures, beyond his mansion in
Jerusalem, she was free to enjoy her husband’s company.
Kore, turning paler than
Joseph, asked, “Should we go into hiding? Is Jerusalem no longer safe?”
Elisheba froze. If Herod
the Tetrarch, ruler of this particular fourth of Judea, had turned against the
Prophet John, then surely his supporters must hide in fear of losing their
lives.
But Andronikos shook his
dark head, calming Kore. “No. We’re probably in more danger from the Romans
crushing riots than we are from Herod.”
“I’m sure you’re right,”
Joseph said. “If Herod wanted to imprison the Baptist’s followers, then he
would have done so before news of his death became known.”
“Even so…” Kore’s whisper
went thin. “… what sort of girl would request a prophet’s head?”
“No normal person would,”
Stephanos muttered, glancing around, clearly afraid they’d be overheard and
punished. “Someone coerced the girl.”
Herod’s non-wife, Elisheba guessed. Herodias, mother of the
errant girl, had hated the Prophet John for speaking against her publicly. Even
if the prophet had simply announced what everyone thought, what everyone
whispered within these sacred courts and beyond these walls
Giving Benjamin a hug,
Joseph set the little boy firmly on the slab paving. “You should go now.”
Benjamin looked hurt. But
as he opened his mouth to protest, Joseph became unusually stern. “Obey me. And
obey your Ama. Go home now.”
Joseph was right, Elisheba realized. If a rebellion developed as
this news spread through the city, then the safest place was in their own
household, away from the Roman soldiers. Clasping her unwilling son’s hand, she
gently addressed Joseph through Benjamin, as any proper wife would do when she
wanted to make her thoughts known in public. “Come, my son. I pray your father
and his friends return safely to their homes. And soon.”
“We should go,” Kore
urged the others as Elisheba turned away.
She didn’t hear Stephanos
or Andronikos reply.
It wasn’t until Elisheba
was outside the courts again, preparing to climb into her blue-curtained litter,
that she realized Joseph’s three friends had cautiously trailed her and
Benjamin outside, all the way down the public steps. Her silent guardians.
As she glimpsed their
concern, an unaccustomed tremor passed through Elisheba, of near panic, weighted
with dread. Throughout their journey home, she prayed for the three young men
and for her husband.
Let Joseph be well. Lord, keep him safe!
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