Obadiah

Twenty-Eight

"Oh, dearie, I just can't stop smiling," Mrs. Delores gushed as she squeezed Guinevere's hand. "I can only imagine how you're feeling,"

Guinevere smiled and nodded.

She was over the moon.

Ecstatic.

Obadiah was going to be her husband.

"But, if I may say,"

Guinevere bit her tongue.

Mrs. Delores always spoke her mind. There was no need to seek permission.

"You seem only a little disappointed,"

She was read like a book.

"There's no use in lying," Guinevere confessed softly. "I love Obadiah. I'm excited to be his wife. But,"

"But," Mrs. Delores echoed.

Guinevere felt bad.

She had high hopes for their marriage, but it wasn't fair of her to expect Obadiah to meet those hopes.

"Because of his aversion to touch, I'm afraid that we'll be an abstinent couple."

Yes, he was doing wonderful. Yes, he was overcoming.

But once again, she was afraid.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Delores tsked. "I will give you simple advice. Listen,"

Guinevere nodded, she was desperate for help.

"Talk to Obadiah. He's the only one who can give you clarity." She patted her hand. "I believe it will be well. Trust in the Lord and truly, lean not on your own understanding."

This wasn't what Guinevere was hoping to hear.

Talking to Obadiah would be mortifying and slightly guilt-inducing.

Still, he was going to be her husband.

Hard conversations were going to happen.

"Thank you," She was dreading the conversation.

Mrs. Delores laughed. "You are one silly woman. You're ready to marry the man, but asking about intimacy is scary to you,"

Guinevere stared blankly at the woman. "You're mocking me," A small smile grew on her face.

"Simply teasing, dearie. You love Obadiah and he loves you. Don't forget that when you talk to him," Mrs. Delores winked.

Guinevere hoped and prayed it would be well.

"Help me, Lord,"

-

Obadiah eyed Guinevere.

She was quiet.

Very quiet.

He had to ask questions to get her to speak.

There was something wrong.

She moved around the kitchen fixing a cup of tea absently.

She didn't look tired.

Only out of it.

"Guinevere,"

The tea cup slipped from her fingers.

She gasped softly and he hurried to help.

He knelt down and carefully placed the shards of porcelain in his hand.

Guinevere leaned against the counter and sighed.

She needed to snap out of it.

"Are you okay?"

She was waiting for that question.