Sentiment swirled inside her along with the gray leaf tea. She had to get ahold of herself. Professor Tim was out there somewhere, and he needed her as much as she needed him. Without him she was a lone survivor, a wounded prisoner, a desperate defector of a world in chaos.
White streaks fuzzed her eyesight, ruining her ability to focus. Maybe this was all a bad dream. Maybe she was sleeping in her private cabin on the yacht, floating on the sea where a peaceful land was rumored to exist. Maybe she’d never left the Unified States and was still in her plant-filled apartment in the pigsty of post-World War Three Norfolk, Virginia.
Despite the surreal light affecting her vision, she scanned the rustic furniture in the medical office, the old-fashioned attire of the doctor, the perfectly clear water in the pitcher on the counter. This was real. She was in the Land. She’d risked her neck to find the one place left on earth with enough space and water and food to support the life she dreamed of. Somehow, she’d made it here.
The beams in the ceiling moved above her. She must have rested her head on the cot at some point, but she didn’t remember lying back. Gentle hands touched her leg and the calm voices of the doctor and her assistant filled her mind.
Dr. Bradshaw applied a layer of salve on the wound. It didn’t hurt. Not only could Bailey not feel pain, she couldn’t remember what pain felt like.
She wished Tim were here so he too could witness the miracle of the gray leaf. He was probably wandering up and down the beach with his lucky hat on, trying to figure out where Bailey and the crew had gone. Maybe he would follow their footprints through the trees. The path led directly to the doctor’s office. Maybe he’d knock on the door at any moment.
Logic fought the serene apathy created by the gray leaf medicine. If Tim approached the cottage while Revel and the other goons waited outside, they’d probably tie him up. Or lock him up. But why? Tim had done nothing wrong. Nor had she. Maybe the locals would treat him fairly. Come to think of it, they weren’t mistreating her. She watched the doctor and her assistant as they dressed her wound.
Maybe Tim would make it here okay and Revel would let him inside the doctor’s office. The two-way radio was in her backpack, which had gotten pushed under the chair by the desk. If the women left the room at some point, she could call Tim over the radio and report everything.
Dr. Bradshaw was busy at the supply cabinet, so Bailey curled her finger at the doctor’s assistant, drawing her closer. “Sophia, was it?”
“Yes?”
“Is it normal for the gray leaf medicine to cause confusion?”
The young woman crinkled her flawless brow and glanced at the doctor, whose back was to them as she cleaned medical instruments on the counter beneath the supply cabinet. Sophia looked back at Bailey and shrugged. “I’ve never had to drink it, but I’m told it promotes a deep sense of calm in most patients.”
“I’ll say.” A hum buzzed Bailey’s throat, and for a moment she thought someone else had made the noise. She almost laughed. “I should be freaking out, but everything seems fine even though I know it’s not. I’m calm but confused… but I’m also okay with it. But not.”
Sophia and Dr. Bradshaw exchanged an amused glance, and then the doctor lifted the basin of blood-tainted water and said to Sophia. “I’ll dump this in the pit. Stay here with her.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Revel peeked in at Bailey while the door was open. She tried to meet his gaze, but her vision doubled. The door closed behind the doctor, and Bailey’s head felt lighter by the second. Her breathing slowed along with her heart rate. If she was going to pass out, she had to secure the radio unit. She reached for Sophia’s hand. “My backpack…”
Sophia pointed at something across the room as if deciphering Bailey’s slurred speech. “Do you want your bag?”
“Yes, but not now. I need you to do something for me.”
Sophia pulled her hand away and arched one honey-toned eyebrow. “What?”
“Not anything bad. Just watch my stuff for me if I fall asleep, okay?”
Sophia stared blankly.
Bailey’s tongue felt like it was growing inside her mouth. She struggled to speak clearly. “Look, I’m a private person. You get it, right?”
“Get what?”
“There isn’t anything valuable in my bag, but it’s all I have left in the world. Don’t let anyone take it, please.”
“No one here would take your things, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? I can’t be that much older than you.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind.” The blithe feeling produced by the gray leaf made her want to laugh, but her voice wouldn’t create the sound. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. You have manners. It’s nice. I’m glad I’m in the Land even if you people aren’t the peace-loving Quakers that Justin Mercer made you out to be. Not that it matters to me right now. They shot me with an arrow, but this is still better than living out there.”
As her eyes closed, she realized what she’d said. Hopefully her words had been as undecipherable to Sophia as they felt in her mouth. She looked up at Sophia. “I’m sorry. It’s the gray leaf medicine, I guess.”
“I understand.”
Yes, the doctor’s assistant did seem like an understanding young woman. She willed her voice to stay strong so she could get as much information out of Sophia as she could while Dr. Bradshaw was outside. “Tell me, am I in a village called Good Springs?”
“Yes,” the young woman whispered even though they were the only people in the office. The color drained from her rosy cheeks. “A moment ago… did you say Justin Mercer?”
“Yes. Did you meet him while he was here last year?”
“No, but Dr. Bradshaw did. He was Connor’s co-pilot in the outside world.”
“Connor?” Bailey struggled to open her heavy eyelids. “You know Connor Bradshaw? Where is he? It’s urgent that I find him. Once I explain everything, he will get me out of this mess. I need to meet him, pronto!”
Sophia took a cautious step backward. “You already met him. He was in charge of the security team that was training this evening when you and your men invaded the shore.”
As Sophia’s words sank in, Bailey tried to raise herself from the cot. Her body refused to move. The heat from the gray leaf pulsed through her veins. The room disappeared, and silence filled her mind.
Chapter Nine
The first glow of daylight turned the eastern horizon the color of lilac blossoms as Solo walked out to the stables. He knocked the brim of his hat higher to take in the exquisite morning sky. The last pinpricks of starlight faded softly to the west. From the inn’s elevated land, the surrounding hills’ varied shades rolled all the way to the gray leaf forest in the east. This was perfect country if ever he’d seen such a thing.
A steady ribbon of smoke rose from the laundry house’s chimney. Claudia must be getting an early start on her work. A trader padded from the bunkhouse to the shower shed with a half-asleep expression on his face and a towel over his shoulder. No matter which direction the man would be traveling from the inn, he had a full day on the road ahead of him.
Solo rolled open the tall doors at the stable’s arched entryway, sending a nervous lizard scurrying for the rocks. He latched the doors to keep them open for the day the way Frederick always did. It was odd the stable manager wasn’t already here. He used to have the stalls mucked out before breakfast.
Solo stepped inside the stable block where the musky scent of hay and horse manure filled the morning air, just as God intended. King whinnied to him from the back stall. “I’m coming, boy.” He grabbed a lead line from a peg on the wall outside King’s stall and opened the door. “Come on. Let’s get you to the grass.”
King compliantly marched behind Solo through the palatially-sized stable block. The ranch back in Riverside was the biggest operation in the village, and it didn’t have buildings like this. There was room in here to drive a wagon through the center and still have space to
spare.
Outside, the sun peeked over the eastern hills, casting the fence’s shadow in a long grid pattern across the dewy grass. Solo unlatched the gate and led King into the paddock. The feeder buckets nailed to the fence posts were empty.
He removed King’s rope and gave the stallion a pat. “You’ll have to settle for grass until I can talk to Frederick about the oat feed.” The horse was already munching on the low grass, content with what he had.
As Solo returned to the stables to check on the two mares that he’d bred with King last April, Leonard lumbered out of one of the other horse stalls, leading a dun gelding. The thin older man’s shoulders were rounded forward and his upper back was humped. He nodded stiffly. “Morning, Solo.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“Going to be a fine day.”
“Indeed.”
Leonard pointed at the stalls on the opposite side on the stables. “Both of those mares are close to foaling.”
“I was just about to check them.”
“I’d give Sadie two more days, but Star will be ready sooner. Probably today.”
Solo grabbed a brush from a rack on the wall and stepped into Sadie’s stall. The dapple gray mare took a step backward and shook her mane. Solo offered her a handful of hay. Her lips wet his skin as she ate from his hand.
“You remember me, don’t you Miss Sadie.” He brushed her as he slowly walked around her and looked for signs of labor. Her pendulous abdomen and waxing teats confirmed Leonard’s assessment.
Solo finished brushing Sadie then walked to the next stall where Star was pacing in circles and swishing her brown tail. When Solo stepped into her stall, the bay mare paused briefly and gave him a don’t-you-dare look. He stayed where he was and watched her stomp the dirt floor. She turned her rump toward him, and her tail swished far enough to the side to give him all the information he needed.
He backed out of the stall while Leonard was walking past, now leading a second horse as well. “You were right. Star is in the first stage of labor.”
Leonard and his two horses stopped at the same time. The older man looked in at Star, turning his whole body as if his neck was too stiff to twist. “Going to have a foal walking around here real soon, aren’t you, girl?”
Star ignored him and kept up her restless pacing.
Solo pointed a thumb to where the feed was kept in a storage room at the west side of the L-shaped stable block. “What time does Frederick come out to feed his horses?”
Leonard glanced toward the open archway. “He hasn’t come out before breakfast for a while now.”
“Which is at what—seven?”
He nodded and the loose skin beneath his chin wobbled. “Lately, while the traders are eating, Eva makes her rounds to each table, asking if anyone can stay an extra day and help out. Every day but Sundays. Most of the time a couple of the men will be able to stay. One will clean stalls and tend to the horses in here while the other helps me with the farming.”
Solo studied Leonard’s weathered face. Tight lines creased his brow and sun spots marred his nose and cheeks, but he had clear, gentle eyes that reminded Solo of his granddad. He looked back at the mares’ stalls. “Once these foals are born, I’ll help out where I can.”
“That’s right gracious of you. Eva would probably be most appreciative too.”
He thought of his heated spat with Eva at his door last night—his aggravation and her fiery insolence. “I’m not so sure.”
A quick grin lit Leonard’s face then slowly melted away. “Don’t worry about Eva. She’s tough because she has to be tough. Been through a lot. Sees this place as hers to look after until her big brother comes back. And now with her daddy getting like he is…”
Solo remembered what his parents had gone through when his granddad’s memory failed. With Frederick being almost two generations older than his adult children, the change must have come as a shock to them. “How long has this been going on?”
Leonard raised an eyebrow. “Our getting old? Awhile now.” He chuckled at his own joke.
“No sir, I meant—”
“I know what you meant. It’s just hard to think about.” One of the horses behind Leonard snorted impatiently, and he either ignored it or didn’t hear it. “Most days Fred does all right. He has moments where he doesn’t know what’s happening or where he is, but he snaps back in no time. His knees pain him too, usually in the mornings. He does less and less work every week, which is normal for older folks.”
“How are you holding up, if you don’t mind my asking? Aren’t you close to his age?”
Leonard pulled back his head. “Not close at all. Fred’s seventy-two; I’m only sixty-eight.” He winked, reminding Solo even more of his granddad. “Even though my back tries to keep me down, I still milk the cows before dawn and can put in a full day in the fields.” He looked down. “But not Fred. He can’t get on a horse anymore.”
Solo glanced out the high archway at the slice of the inn that was visible from where he stood. He’d planned to assist with the mares’ foaling then spend the rest of his time here writing. He would need to write during all thirty-nine of his remaining days at the inn if he was going to finish the storybook, take it to the printer in Good Springs, and return to his job in Riverside by mid-May like he’d promised when he left without much explanation. His boss had assumed it was about family trouble, and Solo hadn’t corrected him.
Now, there was a need before him that had nothing to do with his own family or his desire to make them proud by carrying on his late granddad’s storytelling tradition. But he couldn’t sit in his room imagining heroic adventures while these good people struggled with stable work and farm chores. He’d just have to write late at night or work faster to finish the farm work early.
Either way, it would make his project even more challenging. Still, right was right. He put a hand on Leonard’s shoulder. “I’m staying here for a few weeks, and while I’m here, I’ll help out all I can.”
Chapter Ten
Blurry slivers of golden light pried Bailey’s tired eyes open. She pulled the lumpy pillow out from under her head and flopped it on top of her face. Was today a school day? Coach was determined to send her to Nationals, so she probably had another early morning practice.
The blanket covering her skin itched. Wool. Ugh. A different foster house every few months meant beggars couldn’t complain. Something was weird about this bed though. She would have remembered falling asleep with a wool blanket.
As she rolled over and licked her chapped lips, the taste of gray leaf tea sparked her memory. Every detail of her entrance to the Land flooded back at once. She yanked the pillow off her face and sat up.
An orange sunrise tinted the gauzy curtains that covered both windows across from the cot. The door between the windows was closed. Was Revel still standing guard outside?
She was alone in the doctor’s office. Where was—what’s her name—Sophia? Where was Dr. Bradshaw for that matter? The doctor had to be Connor Bradshaw’s wife. Sophia had said Connor Bradshaw was the leader of the group of men who had been at the shore. That explained his American accent and military demeanor.
Sophia had also called the men a security team. No wonder they shot back when the crewmen opened fire. They were defending their village. She would have too.
Still, Micah didn’t deserve to die; he’d been unarmed. And so had she, yet the very man who Justin had said would be her ally in the Land had ordered her to be taken prisoner. So much for having someone she could trust here.
She needed to find Professor Tim before Connor Bradshaw and his security team did. The gray leaf tea might have knocked her out for a night—at least she hoped it had only been one night—but she wasn’t debilitated.
Lowering her feet to the cold wooden floor, she wiggled her toes. Her body seemed functional. She peeled the bandage and gauze from her thigh to check the wound. Instead of raw flesh, there was shiny, pink scar tissue. The gray leaf had healed her while sh
e slept.
She stood and stretched her arms high overhead, moving slowly out of habit since an old dislocation injury had left her with a limited range of motion in one shoulder. Both arms rose symmetrically. She reached behind her, swooping each arm in a wide circle. The once-restricted arm moved as freely as the other. The gray leaf medicine had healed an old injury too.
She wanted to know more about the gray leaf tree. The bottles, beakers, and open notebooks on the counter below the doctor’s supply cabinet beckoned her. Since the day Justin Mercer introduced her to his gray leaf saplings, her scientific mind had raced with the healing potential of the unclassifiable plant. Now she’d come to the Land—the only place on earth where the gray leaf tree grew—and had experienced its miraculous effects.
But she hadn’t come to the Land alone. The man who’d taught her plant biology was somewhere on the shore. And right now, he didn’t need her scientific mind; he needed her survivalist’s determination.
Footsteps creaked the floorboards upstairs. Someone else was in the cottage. Bailey tiptoed across the office and knelt by her backpack, which was still tucked under the chair beside the desk. Upstairs, water ran in a steady pour. Whoever was up there must be taking a shower.
Hoping she had time to change out of her one-legged pants, she drew a fresh pair of jeans from the backpack’s main compartment. The radio was nestled inside just as she’d packed it when Tim gave it to her on the yacht. She turned it on but kept the volume on the lowest setting while she quickly dressed. White noise hummed from the speaker.
She unzipped the compartment at the bottom of the backpack and pulled out her hiking shoes. Once they were laced tightly, she shook the sand out of her reef booties and tucked them inside the empty compartment.
The water stopped running upstairs, but the boards only squeaked in one area of the ceiling. Her warden was still in the bathroom. For a prison they were fairly lax. At least no one had taken her backpack during the night, just as Sophia had promised.
Uncharted Journey (The Uncharted Series Book 6) Page 6