Obadiah

Thirteen

The next morning, Obadiah was working on a new piece.

He'd been working on it since his nightmare woke him four hours ago.

It was for Isaiah and Lydia.

He didn't have many opportunities to make something for children, but even so, this was different. He liked Guinevere's children.

And all children deserved good things.

He wanted them to have what he didn't, though they were already well off compared to him.

Guinevere took excellent care of them.

Guinevere.

He sighed and curved his knife against the wood.

He didn't know what to do about the thought he had.

It didn't feel wrong.

But he should've despised it, seeing as he'd been viciously terrorized by nightmares that should've demonized the idea.

Still, it settled with peace and not panic.

He sighed again.

Mrs. Hayworth's words came to mind, she'd spoken them as if she knew he'd be confused later on.

Seek the Lord and you will understand, or something like that.

The Lord was becoming a listening ear as of late.

"Lord, I don't know understand what's going on." He started with an annoyed grumble.

He hated this.

He groaned and put aside his knife.

He had to say it.

"Why would I want to touch Guinevere?"

Even the words were stupidly settling.

He didn't want to touch her. But he didn't hate the idea. A horrible reaction would follow if he ever did.

"B-but it was only a thought."

He was stumped.

He'd never thought of touching a person before. It was never desirable. He was repulsed by the act, as was his mind and body.

But still.

As he studied her finely made figure, the thought of touching her came naturally.

Naturally, but unnaturally.

This wasn't him.

He didn't like this.

It didn't make him panic, but it was foreign.

His fists balled up and his breathing grew short.

What if he forgot himself and tried to touch her?

He would explode on her. He would hate himself if he exploded on her.

She would be afraid of him. She wouldn't want him to come around.

He would deserve it.

This is why he didn't think stupid thoughts.

His nails dug into his palms.

"Take no thought for tomorrow. Be still."

Peace.

The pain in his palms subsided as his fingers stretched.

One day, soon, he hoped, he would be able to understand it all.

He'd be free from the panic and anxiety.

For now, taking no thought for tomorrow would do.

"Thank you," He whispered after regaining his breath.