Dr. Wetherby was a man of much to take in. Was he his father’s age? His grandfather’s age? How did one man contain so many uncanny multitudes, at such a little height? While Zechariah had been being edged toward the middle of school photographs since there were boys tall enough to justify a back row, it was a rare pleasure circumstance in which he got to dwarf a man by a full head.

Did Elijah feel the same way about him? Hm. Better not to contemplate that. He steepled his hands between his knees.

“Of course. Thank you for your time, Dr. Wetherby. My fiancee has recently received news of … bearing twins,” he looked a little sheepish, “and has not been faring well since. She is sleeping, right now, but came in a … questionable state. In a hood, like some sort of paranoid criminal instead of my betrothed. Erratic decisions that are both unsound and unlike her.”