Vermilion

Chapter 11

As he watered the roses in the garden, Zach thought about what he had said to Reverend Whitehall. He had convinced himself that he wanted to commit his life to the church but the priest told him to seriously think about it for there was no turning back once he decided to pursue priesthood. The hesitation from the priest puzzled him for he thought that the man would be enthusiastic about what he wanted.

He had told it to his mother and grandmother and both were supportive to his plan. If he had to take a formal education, he was certain that Father Whitehall would help him. But the man's sudden queasiness sent him thinking if he had the error or it was something else.

To reconsider, he collected and analyzed himself.

Is really what he wanted? Was it simply because he was pressured by the villagers? Is he prepared to the lifetime commitment? Is he that pious enough to carry it until his grave?

His thoughts were disturbed by a gasping call from the other side of the fence. Turning his attention, he put down the watering can and walked toward the plump Mrs. Knobbs who was still racing for breath. She should not have ran if she would puff like this, he thought.

"Oh dear...your mother? There's birthing!"

Upon hearing that, he spun and dashed into the house calling out his mother who emerged from the kitchen.

"My goodness, what was that for?" his Grandma Cramwell asked from her seat as she quilted. She was peering at him through her spectacles.

"There's birthing," he succinctly replied then grabbed a shawl and draped it around his mother's shoulder. They went out and Mrs. Knobbs left with her with the word from him that he would follow right away. He was told that the birthing was in Knobbs'.

His way was to the cupboard near their dining area where he kept all his dried herbs. He picked up certain ones that are essential in post-birthing. Stuffing them in a sewn bag, he moved to the other shelf and took the roots that would be needed.

"Tell me things when you return cherub," he heard his grandmother said as he passed by her place in the living room.

He said he would. It is still made him feel funny whenever his grandmother called him cherub when he was out of the size of those little angels. At his age, it does sound ridiculous when you are treated like a small child.

Half-running, he took the shortest way to the Knobbs' with the bag dangling on his side. It was easy to spot the house for the atmosphere of sick anticipation became dominant in the place. He was met by the younger Mr. Knobbs and was led to the kitchen.

As he worked to his herbs, he could hear the scream of the laboring woman. This was something normal for him but sometimes it became an ear-piercing music and it sent husbands to a gripping apprehension. Married women undergo such events, painful events to be specific. This was something women should be respected for.

As he stirred the boiling tea for the bleeding, he glanced to the young Mr. Knobbs who paced the kitchen's width a few times, apparently uneasy and excited. However, he knew that it would be replaced by much joy when the child was delivered. But before that, he should explain to the older Mrs. Knobbs about the tea and the roots because men tend to focus alone to the newborn.

"You should calm and call your mother here," he said. The man did what he said and the older Mrs. Knobbs approached his side.

"Listen, this is for your daughter-in-law," he said and tacitly referring to the boiling tea and roots.