Thirty-two

Eveline

Stepping out of the nursey took every bit of strength I possessed, which proved to not be much. My entire body ached from the stress of the day and my wet clothing had dried in some places and not in others, causing irritation to my skin. My head hurt from the constant tears and my chest ached from the fear I felt when Patrick went missing and continued even now. The doctor said if he can survive the night, he has a fighting chance.

I walked slowly to my bedchamber, gripping the watch in my fist. I no longer heard the tick of the hand on the face of the watch, therefore I had no concept of time except that daylight no longer breached the windows I passed. How had Zach come to have this in his possession? Might this be how he found him? I could barely think straight, but his words penetrated my ears profoundly. I love him, too.

Inside my quarters, I used the bell pull to request a bath and when I slid my body into the warm water, I feared I might simply fall asleep from fatigue. Leaning my head against the rim of the metal tub, I felt overwhelmed with all the what ifs that spun inside my head. What if Zachary had not arrived when he did? What if he had not thought to check the area opposite the woods? What if he had not stopped at the watchtower? What if he had not employed us to get Patrick’s blood moving in his body by rubbing his skin? What if… what if… I could go on. And I could very well be mourning my child at this moment.

Submerging my hair, I let the soothing warmth of the water wash over me. I had not given birth to Patrick, and we only recently made a connection, but he called me Mama and I could not imagine my life without him. He is my son, and I am his mother. And he lives all because of Zachary, the man who just earlier today had surely been impugned in a letter by his brother. His brother, who claimed in passing that I did not know the real Zachary.

Or did I?

This question lingered far too long in my head.

Sitting back up in the tub, I let the water drip down my face and neck while I replayed all that I knew about this man. We met when I was five years old, Patrick’s age. Month after month, year after year, we played together. We engaged in contests, games, amiable competitions, and visited often on Cornelius’ limb. He was strong, loveable, handsome, loyal, patient, passionate, and mine… if I so choose.

Yes, I knew Zachary. Without a doubt, I knew the real Zachary.