Unbound

Chapter 19

Ephraim and I settled into our partnership quickly and easily. He was an eager teacher, and a thorough one: we spent a whole day discussing nettles alone. He cared deeply for his craft in a way that made me excited about it, too. I tried my best to force all of my knowledge of human medicine into the back corner of my mind and mold myself into a blank slate for him. If I could earn his trust and confidence, I thought, maybe it would open him up to some of my ideas, too.

I was both nervous and hopeful that my new proximity to Gabriel would have me encountering him with some regularity, but I learned quickly that he was an unfailingly hard worker. By the time I got to the house to begin work with Ephraim in the mornings, however early, he was already shut away in his office or gone someplace else for the day. If he came in or out, I never heard him. And as I left in the evenings, he was still engaged elsewhere.

The few times I did see him, he had his head down and was moving in the opposite direction. He seemed distracted. Preoccupied. I wondered whether he was avoiding me. He regretted his apology, maybe. Either that or he regrets moving me in altogether. The thought cost me several nights of sleep.

After a week of this, I'd had enough time to craft a speech in my head that I rehearsed on the walk to his house each morning: I would start with thanking him for taking care of me when I was injured, then address his generosity for offering me a place to stay. I'd tell him that I was fine going back to the apartment and the clinic and work my way up to telling him that I accepted his apology.

Despite my rehearsals, the words all sounded hollow. I didn't want to leave. As much as I couldn't bring myself to admit it, even when I was alone in the quiet of night, something inside of me had shifted. I felt...I wasn't sure what I felt. Or I did, but I was too afraid to name it. I had no right to feel anything at all.

Ephraim allowed me full access to his library of books and papers, most of which were so brittle and worn I was afraid my breath would tear straight through them. He often read with me, exclaiming to himself when he re-discovered something he'd forgotten and scribbling it down in a notebook he carried in his pocket. The two of us very quickly outgrew his tiny office and moved out to inhabit the kitchen island. Each morning before I arrived, Ephraim would lay out all of our materials for the day, and each evening, we would gently and painstakingly pack them up and store them back in the medical room.

Even still, Gabriel rarely made an appearance.

That morning, Ephraim was scanning through a stack of medical records while he had me tracking down a passage on feverfew that he swore he'd seen in the texts we'd been using several days prior, but couldn't remember which. We were again spread out across the span of the kitchen island when a cold draft blew through, rustling the corners of the pages.

"Odette," Ephraim said. I looked up from the papers in front of me. She'd come in the front door, wheeling a suitcase behind her. Hair like fire danced around her shoulders as she moved and her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold.

"Hi Ephraim," she greeted him cordially. "Is Gabriel here?"

"In his office," he remarked, then added: "Working."

Odette hummed and unraveled her scarf, and I couldn't help but watch her. Her movements were graceful. Fluid. Everything about her seemed impeccable and delicate. Just being in her presence made me feel instantly self-conscious.

"We were expecting you tomorrow."

"I thought I'd surprise him. I don't mind waiting here until he's done." She draped her jacket over the handle of her suitcase and moved to the kitchen cabinets, rummaging assuredly for a mug, then a box of tea. She pulled a kettle from one of the lower cupboards and turned towards us to fill it in the sink.