The Wishing Hour

Wishing -

Twenty-two

The number of guards around our home has doubled, and the closer I get to my delivery date, the more anxious the inhabitants of Challis become. Though I feel the love and concern of all, there is also a tension I don't think ever existed here before. Never before has there been mistrust here, only peace and a feeling of security. I feel like it is all my fault, and though Sebastian, his parents, and the council assure me otherwise, the guilt is still there.

Only two weeks away from delivery, my stomach is huge, but I don't mind. Sebastian continues to tell me I'm beautiful, showering me with gifts for myself and the baby. He is patient and loving, making sure I have everything I need and doing what he can to keep my boredom at bay. We finished decorating the nursery last week, and many times he finds me there, sitting in the rocker, gazing around the room and contemplating our son's future.

The nursery is done in blue, white and gold. The drawers of the light maple chest are filled with clothes and blankets, and afghans fill every shelf in the tall corner cabinet. I crocheted over one hundred of them. I know many will not be used for some time, but it did help to stay busy. Who knows, maybe I will save a few to give as gifts to other expectant mothers in the city. My work will not go to waste.

Holding one of the afghans and examining my handiwork, I look up when Sebastian enters. His expression is grave as he approaches me.

“There is news from the surface.”

“What is it?” I don't like the look on his face at all. It can only mean something bad has happened.

He gently takes my arms in his hands, caressing them softly. “It is Father Battiano. Beloved, he has been murdered.”

“No,” I whisper, not able to believe it, not wanting to hear it. “Was it the Urchin?” I ask tearfully, knowing the answer already.

He nods. “He was tortured, most likely to get the location of our home. But he didn't break. He sacrificed himself for us.”

I am too emotional to say anything more. The tears come and he quickly pulls me into his arms, his chest muffling my sobs. That dear sweet man is dead, and I can't stop the guilt tearing through me. People have died, and will die because of me.

No, Celine. It is not your fault. Do not blame yourself. I won't let you.

As I continue to cry, he picks me up and carries me to our room. Soon I am lying on the bed, wrapped in the cradle of his arms.

I'm so tired, Sebastian.I'm so tired of others dying because of me. I cling to him and he holds me tighter.

Listen to me, beloved. Those who die in your service are proud to do so because of the cause for which they fight. They know what is at stake and they do so willingly. We mourn for them and will remember them always because they served selflessly and died with honor. We can't take that away from them.

The tears continue to flow and he pulls me further into himself, the touch of his hands and the warmth of his body slowly soothing my emotions, and I silently accept the comfort he gives. He is right, I know, but it still doesn't make this any easier.

“Did he have family at all?” My voice is strained.

“Sadly, no.”

I take a calming breath, getting my emotions under control. “We must tell the people about him. His sacrifice should not be forgotten. He must not be forgotten.”

“He won't, angel. I promise you he won't.”

* * *

Mount St. Helens