Chapter 3

Chapter III

Patrick woke up in the late afternoon in a comfortable hay and straw bed in a completely unrecognizable room. The outside sounds were soothing and soft, and a steady babble from outside the room was heard. He proceeded to get up, but felt very dizzy in the head and had to sit down. Vertigo dominated him until half an hour later, when he finally managed to get up and walk unsteadily out of the room. Remarkably, the babbling was still going strong. The whole threesome in the hall stopped and came to his aid. “Oh my, up so fast?” said a lady. “Go back to bed; you’re obviously not well enough to be up and about!” There were three people, only one of which he vaguely recognized as the wife of the couple. The other two, a man and a woman, were complete strangers. “But who are they?” pondered Patrick aloud, his voice slurred from his grogginess. “This is the alchemist, Dr. Marr, and his wife, Mrs. Marr. If not for them, I very well doubt your companion would have lived to tell the tale.” She replied, her face as demure as in church. Companion? Beatrice! Suddenly a dam erupted and a flood of questions burst through his mind and out of his mouth, “Beatrice? Where is she? Can I talk to her? Will she get better?” With a slight chuckle, Dr. Marr answered, “She’s in the adjacent room, but you best not disturb her, even if she is awake, because at this stage what she needs more than anything is time to let the wound heal and the pain to subside.” Time. What a precious notion! It was completely abstract, yet seemed more palpable than gold or silver at times. And time was of the essence, for they needed to get up and running as fast as possible if they were ever to find Samuel again. Just the mere thought of his brother was enough to make tears well in his eyes. “Off you go now, young lad, and rest for a bit longer until you feel completely fine.” suggested the wife. Slowly but surely, he trudged back to the room. Remembering his manners, he turned around and told them curtly, “Thank you all for your immense magnanimity towards us.” Then he got back into the welcoming bed.

Not more than a few hours had passed when Patrick woke up abruptly to the thin timbre of the evening church bell. Long shadows dominated the room and only the still pitter-patter of rain on the windowsill broke the otherwise tranquil late dusk. Patrick’s arms were sore from the previous escapade, and his legs were wobbly as gelatin as he got up, the soothing ring-ring-ring of the church bell keeping him from letting the events of this morning overwhelm him. ‘Wait,’ thought Patrick, pausing for a second and listening to the bell. ‘That’s three rings! They only play that when, when…’ he let his thoughts trail off as he already knew the answer: it was the mourning ring. Instinctively, he looked to the other bed to make sure his sister was still there, but she was not. Thoughts of the worst fluttered through his conscience. He took off into the hall, then the main room, looking for the couple. He then burst out of the room, running through the dirt and grass roads towards the distant whitewashed church, tears welling in his eyes.

Author's Note

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