Moon Flower

Oscar said nothing more, which was unusual, given his penchant for gossip. Galen remembered what the twins had said: “That is his account to share, not ours.”

With that thought firmly in place, he got busy helping Oscar with the next box.

Chapter 8

Later that evening, Galen was sketching on his bed, relishing the feel of the paper beneath his fingers. The scritch of the pencil moving along the grain brought him comfort as vivid recollections from the day spilled onto the page. The madam behind her counter with her wares all around her—a rabbit’s foot for good luck, and a variety of intricately shaped crystals he wished he could bring to life with colored wax. No such concern when he drew the constable’s likeness, the lead matching the grayness all around him.

In fact, he’d drawn so much during this week at Moon Flower that he’d worn down the tip of his pencil a number of times and would need to sharpen it again with his knife.

He was glad for the outlet, honestly—it kept his worries at bay, at least temporarily. Though he seemed to be faring better than Azriel, who appeared out of sorts ever since the encounter with the constable. Galen noted how he barely ate dinner, and now all kinds of books dedicated to apothecary, no doubt, were strewn across his bed as Azriel distractedly paged through them.

Wren slid beside Galen on the narrow mattress to take a gander at his drawings, as he’d done other nights as well. Sometimes Sparrow would sit on the other side of Galen, and he’d feel surrounded by warmth and good cheer. They were mistaken to think themselves without any gifts. He considered them light bringers, and someday he planned to color the beaming rays emanating from them with yellow wax. For now, he flipped to their likeness in his pad from the other night, eliciting a dreamy smile from Wren.

He glanced around the room at the others whose company he’d been in the past few days. If the twins brought light, then Bellamy brought his dry humor, and Oscar his eagerness, and Azriel…well, he was brilliant at making Galen’s pulse spike whenever he was near, that was for certain. Like now, as he bit his bottom lip in an appealing way, lost in deep thought. In the apothecary, he was impressive with his knowledge and his gentle, caring nature, and that made Galen feel like Azriel was someone you could lean on in hard times, someone who would make others feel comfortable and safe. It made not a bit of sense, but in only a few days’ time, these men had grown on him, and he would cherish them when he was gone.

“What is that?” Wren asked, thankfully breaking him out of his bleak thoughts.

“It’s the covered bridge near the mill.” He pointed to the small creek running underneath it. “It offers good protection from the elements.”

Wren’s eyes widened as he understood his meaning. Perhaps the twins had once sought similar refuge themselves. According to Madam Langley, they all had that in common. Galen thought of the others who would settle under the bridge with him, especially during the winter months, and felt guilty that he was safe and warm.

Galen watched as Azriel rose from his bed and began pacing the length of the room, as if puzzling through something from one of his books.

“It’s been weeks since Azriel’s been this rattled,” Wren whispered. “Sometimes he cannot sleep and will go without rest until he collapses from sheer exhaustion.”

Galen’s stomach contracted. Just as he was about to ask what rattled him so, and if it had anything to do with the constable’s visit, Oscar and Edward began bickering about the stale water in the ewer on the sideboard and whose turn it had been to change it. They were like a family that way, something Galen had been a part of but where he’d never truly felt like he belonged.

Once that was settled, with Bellamy serving as the arbitrator, more kindling was added to the fire in the hearth, and most of the oil lamps were snuffed out for bed. Galen lay staring at the ceiling as the room slowly fell silent. He’d found the soft snores of the other men unsettling the first time he was conscious enough to notice, but now it felt almost comfortable, which was dangerous and not anything he should grow accustomed to.

When he finally closed his eyes, his ears perked up at the rustling of linens across the room, and he instinctively knew it was Azriel. He was still having difficulty getting settled, despite clearing his bed of his books and sliding beneath the warmth of the covers.

Right then Galen made a decision that might not be welcome, but he was willing to chance it nonetheless. He reached for his drawing pad and tiptoed to Azriel’s bedside.