“You don’t have to. You’ve already done so much. Thank you for getting the doctor. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
He didn’t respond but only studied her. It was as if he had something to say but wouldn’t. It was probably her imagination; she hadn’t slept much last night either.
Finally, he nodded. “I’ll go check on Zeke and then take the horses to the barn. The doc will need to stay here tonight. Maybe tomorrow depending on Leonard’s condition.”
“Yes, of course. We have an open guest room.”
He lifted his strong chin at the white horse that was munching on the grass around the hitching post. “I had to leave your father’s horse in Riverside. He was worn out. I made a swap at the ranch where I work.”
The same thing had happened when a trader had raced to get the doctor for Ezekiel. A wave of emotion lightened her head. She leaned a hand against the wall. “Right, well. I’m sure that will all get worked out. If Zeke needs me—”
“I’ll come and get you.” He put his hat back on. “Did anyone do Leonard’s chores today?”
“One of the traders stayed a couple of hours and helped out, but Father wasn’t able to do his work in the stable.”
“I’ll pitch in after lunch.”
“You don’t have to.”
He stepped out to the porch then stopped and looked back at her. “Yes, Eva, I do.”
She watched him walk toward the house, his gait strong and sure even though he’d been riding for hours. The reason he had come to stay at the inn and the deal he’d made with her father no longer mattered. He was here now and they needed him. She needed him.
“Mrs. Vestal?” the doctor said from the bedroom doorway.
She held her breath. “Will Leonard be all right?”
The doctor waved her into the bedroom, so she stood beside Claudia, who was wiping her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. He glanced between them and kept his kind voice low. “Leonard isn’t unconscious because of the fall yesterday. He fell because he lost consciousness. I believe he had a stroke.”
Claudia choked on a sob. Eva put her arm around Claudia’s shoulders but kept her attention on the doctor so he would continue his assessment. “Will he recover?”
The answer was clear in the brief downcast of the doctor’s gaze. She’d seen that look before. He pressed his lips together. “The fact that he has stirred a few times and tried to speak gives me hope, but most patients don’t fully recover all their faculties after such an episode.”
“Would gray leaf tea help him?”
“It might. If he awakens enough to swallow, that should be the first drink he is given.”
As the doctor closed his medical bag and stepped out of the room, Claudia’s quiet weeping erupted into wails of agony. Eva held her and cried too.
Chapter Seventeen
For two weeks Bailey isolated herself in the borrowed bedroom in John Colburn’s home, needing solitude to process everything that had happened. She’d gone from forging a living as a bartender in Virginia while waiting for a plant research job, to being dragged into Justin Mercer’s impossible tale of a miracle plant from a hidden land, to finding herself in that land, and now mourning the loss of the only person who truly knew her.
Regaining focus after a tragedy usually didn’t take her long. That was how she’d survived life so far. But even after two weeks of mourning, her mind was reluctant to move on. It was as though she was stuck in the moment of seeing the evidence of Tim’s death.
They both had accepted the risks in coming here. She’d wondered if her life would end during their attempt to find the Land, or if they might all die at sea, but she never thought she alone would survive the journey. Just like she was the only surviving member of her biological family, her martial arts team, her college class.
This time, her survival was different. After the other sudden life changes she’d experienced, there was always one person from her past who went with her into the next phase. She changed schools nine times during junior high and high school but had the same martial arts coach. Then in college when the water poisoning and war canceled classes and killed her friends, Professor Tim was still there for her.
But not any longer.
Every relationship from her former life was gone now. She was alone. Not long ago she’d told Revel she was a survivor, like it was a good thing. It didn’t feel so good anymore. Not when she was this alone.
Coach used to say Bailey was a survivor because of her mental outlook. She saw threats as challenges and disasters as opportunities. She needed to find the strength to pick herself up and carry on this time.
Each day since losing Tim, she’d only left the bedroom to go to the bathroom and when John summoned her to the kitchen for a meal. Everyone in the Colburn house respectfully left her to her mourning as she’d asked, but the concern in their eyes was growing, especially in Revel’s. But sometimes, the way he looked away from her more than at her exuded guilt rather than pity. The firefight was the crewmen’s fault and John said the churning waves were to blame for Tim’s loss. Revel had no reason to feel guilty, but Bailey didn’t have the capacity to think about someone else’s problems right now.
Today felt just like yesterday. The morning bled into afternoon like an open wound. Now the big house was quiet. John was at his office at the church. Connor and Revel were out doing farm chores or whatever it was that made them smell like manure and sweat when they came inside late in the afternoons. Lydia and Sophia were working in the medical cottage. Occasionally, one of the women would come back into the house with the baby. Their kitchen noise would travel down the hallway for a few minutes, then all would go quiet again.
Bailey stood from the rocking chair where she’d watched the gray leaf tree shadows stretch across the back lawn. She couldn’t sit in isolation any longer. This wasn’t like her. Only she could put an end to it.
Out in the living room, the baby babbled and Sophia’s soft voice followed. Lydia must be in the cottage with a patient if Sophia was babysitting Andrew in the house.
The only voice Bailey wanted to hear was Professor Tim’s. She walked to the lacquered wardrobe on the far side of the dark room and opened its smoothed doors. Her backpack at the bottom of the wardrobe was still packed. She dug out the two-way radio then crouched by the open wardrobe and pressed the power switch.
Nothing but static.
Why was she tormenting herself like this? Tim hadn’t survived. They had combed the beach and found a dozen items from his boat, including his eyeglasses and a cracked oar. What more proof did she need? He was gone, his body dragged out to sea by the currents. She must accept it.
Getting her wrist broken in a tournament in ninth grade hadn’t made her cry. Having to leave the rural farmhouse where she’d spent one blissful summer in the garden with Mrs. Polk didn’t bring her to tears. Being forced to opt into the sterilization program to qualify for a college grant hadn’t broken her spirit. Yet, here she was wallowing when the man she grieved for would have told her to cry it out, wipe her eyes, and get back to work.
Logic was her best defense. Tim had taught her that. The sooner she acknowledged the truth of her circumstances, the sooner she could make a life in the Land.
She should use her research knowledge to classify the gray leaf tree. Lydia and Sophia spent half their time out in the medical cottage looking for new ways to use the medicinal plant. She could be out there with them, sharing her expertise and helping to make a difference in the lives of good people, but instead she was trapping herself in a quiet Victorian-era bedroom. Not exactly the behavior of a self-proclaimed survivor.
The next thing. She had to do the next thing. The only choice more repugnant than giving up was giving in to self-pity. Her bulging backpack caught her eye. Refusing to be oppressed by emotion for one more moment, she turned off the radio and started to unpack.
The purpose of coming to the Land was to start a new life. The outside world was dead to h
er with its wars and plagues and terrorism. Here in the Land she could connect with her long-lost relatives, make new friends, and study plants—or better yet—plant a garden. She could explore the Land in peace. This was a new opportunity, and every positive voice from her past told her to take hold of it with all her strength.
Where had her strength gone? It was like Professor Tim’s death had knocked the wind out of her spirit. She closed her eyes briefly. “God give me strength.”
She opened her eyes and laid her spare t-shirt and socks inside one of the wardrobe’s drawers then nestled her New Testament between them. Everything else she had was survival gear. She opened a second drawer and dumped the contents of her backpack into it. It seemed silly to carry around a compact thermal blanket when she’d been given a warm, clean bed to sleep in. And what good were stormproof matches when John Colburn’s house had wood-burning fireplaces?
She’d come to the Land prepared but for all the wrong scenarios. Reality wrestled for freedom in her head. She no longer needed to focus on surviving, no matter how much her mind wanted to remain in survival mode. The truth was: she was alone in the Land but safe, mourning an end but being offered a new beginning, completing an adventure but embarking on an uncharted journey.
Outside the window, a soft breeze stirred the branches of two willow trees, their leaves dulled by autumn’s caress. The pretty landscape called to her. She hadn’t checked out the garden plants yet. She’d only been from the kitchen door to the cottage to the shore.
There was more to this land, to this village, even to John Colburn’s property, and it was time she explored. She’d traveled all this way to find the family she’d never had in the peaceful land she’d always dreamed of. The least she could do was leave the bedroom.
She tucked her empty backpack into the bottom of the wardrobe and stood. As soon as she closed the cabinet, a light knock vibrated the bedroom door.
“Come in.”
Sophia opened the door a few inches and poked her head into the room. Lydia’s son was on her hip. His curious brown eyes were trying to peek in.
Bailey walked to the door and pulled it open all the way. “What’s up?”
Sophia held out a bundle of light blue cloth. “The seamstress delivered these for you. Lydia asked her to make you two new day dresses. Mrs. McIntosh—she makes all our clothes—will come back tomorrow to do your alterations. I asked her to wait until next week because we are giving you time to yourself, but she said you will need more clothes sooner than that.”
“Thanks.” Bailey accepted the cloth and unfolded the dresses, which were two different designs but were made of the same soft, blue fabric. She held a dress in each hand. One had a ribbed bodice attached to a full skirt, while the other was one piece with pearl buttons down the front. Both had long sleeves, and neither was like anything she would ever wear. “They’re really… ladylike.”
Sophia smiled and stepped farther into the room, taking Bailey’s comment as a compliment. She wore a plum-colored design similar to the full-skirted dress Bailey was holding in her left hand. Sophia rubbed the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. “Mrs. McIntosh uses a heavy cotton, so it should last a long time.”
Bailey had never thought much about the fabric of her clothes. When she’d shopped for clothes before the war, washable had been her only concern. She rubbed the material of the pilgrim-esque dress the way Sophia had. “How practical.”
“Dr. Bradshaw said this color was the closest Mrs. McIntosh had to your favorite trousers.”
“My what?”
“The blue trousers you always wear.”
“My jeans?”
Sophia adjusted the baby on her hip. “Yes, Dr. Bradshaw thought you might feel more comfortable here if she had clothes made for you in a color you already wear.”
“That’s really… sweet.” It wasn’t the color that made a difference in her comfort but the type of clothes. She hadn’t worn a dress since kindergarten and that was only because her foster mom at the time took her to a thrift store on Dollar-Per-Bag Day and stuffed a plastic grocery sack full of little dresses. Some had been two sizes too big; some were faded. One had a splotch of melted crayon stuck to the hem. All of the dresses made her run slowly and play awkwardly. She’d never worn a dress again.
Bailey laid the dresses on the foot of the bed. “Can your seamstress make pants?”
“For whom?”
“Me.”
Sophia crinkled her petite nose. “Why would you want more trousers?”
“That’s what I wear.”
“All the time?” Sophia looked at the wardrobe as if the answer were hiding behind its doors. “Like a man?”
“No, not like a man. Women wear pants.”
“Plain women.”
“So maybe I’m plain.”
Sophia tilted her head and her pretty brow furrowed. “Oh, don’t say that.”
“I wasn’t criticizing myself. I—”
“You’re not at all plain. You’re an attractive woman. You will meet a man one day, I’m sure of it.”
A laugh bubbled out of Bailey’s throat. “I’m not looking to attract a man. Believe me. But thanks for that. It feels good to laugh.”
A reluctant smile dimpled Sophia’s rosy cheeks. “Mrs. McIntosh does excellent tailoring, so I’m sure you will be just as comfortable in these dresses as you are in trousers.”
Bailey doubted that. “I’ll stick to my jeans, thanks.” She stepped into her hiking shoes and bent to tie the laces. “I like to keep moving and not have to worry about flowy skirts. Besides, you can’t surprise a handsy guy with a roundhouse kick to the jaw when you have eight yards of fabric holding your leg down.”
Sophia’s eyes bulged.
“I was just kidding.”
“Oh.”
Bailey offered a mischievous grin. “Unless he deserves it.”
Sophia’s horrified expression eased, and she giggled. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right.” Bailey double knotted her shoelaces and stood. “Thanks for bringing the clothes to me. I have to go.”
Sophia stepped to the side and let Bailey pass. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Would you like to try on your dresses?”
“Could I do it later? I was just on my way out.”
“Of course.”
Bailey hurried out of the house before Sophia could say anything else about clothes. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the girl. Fitting into an old-school society wasn’t going to be as simple as putting on a dress. To Sophia—and probably the rest of the women here in the Land—the dress symbolized their sacred femininity, which was fine for them. But to Bailey, wearing a dress meant slowing down, being less prepared to defend herself, depending on a man for things she could do herself. She’d have a talk with the seamstress soon and get some pants made. But for today, she needed to go explore.
As she stepped out the kitchen doorway, John was walking up the drive, holding several books in the bend of his arm. “Good to see you out-of-doors, Bailey. There is something I would like to ask you.”
She stopped in the house’s long shadow. “What’s up?”
A fatherly grin reached his eyes. “That is one of Connor’s expressions. It is delightful to hear it in a female voice.”
Any comparison to a military man rankled. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m not a female version of Connor.”
His grin receded. “I meant no offense.”
“I’m not offended.” Even as the words came out of her mouth, she crossed her arms. “Connor and I have nothing in common other than the fact we were both born in America and we both ended up in the Land.”
John switched the books to his other arm. “And you both came into my household with hearts full of pain.”
“Yeah, so? The outside world is dangerous. Life is dangerous.” She remembered what a social worker said when her mom died in prison. “Life i
s full of loss.”
“It is also full of blessing.” John captured her attention with his intense gaze. “But we close ourselves off to the blessings when we refuse to acknowledge the loss.”
A kid didn’t endure the upbringing Bailey had without hearing this kind of speech from the occasional well-meaning grown-up. They were usually trying to make themselves feel better about her circumstances. “I know, I know.”
“Do you?” John angled his chin and asked more with his eyes than with his words.
Professor Tim used to respond the same way when she flippantly used that phrase. Both men had that dad-to-everyone thing going on. And they were both right.
She shrugged off the default childish attitude that always reared up when history repeated itself. “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve had so much loss, I wouldn’t know which one to acknowledge first.”
“Start with what happened recently. Two weeks ago, you lost a man who meant a great deal to you. Since his remains were never found, there was no burial. Perhaps a memorial service would give you the closure you need. That is what I wanted to ask you about. It is our tradition in the Land to acknowledge every death and pay respect, but since the men who died coming here did so under… unique circumstances, we have kept the situation private. The village of Good Springs is filled with compassionate people who are now your neighbors. If I told the church what happened, they would be pleased to help you with your loss.”
She was ready to remove her focus from Tim’s death. The shock had passed. All that remained was the heavy grief that always lurked under the surface of her fractured heart. Crying in front of strangers wouldn’t help that. She scanned the parts of property she was anxious to explore. “Thanks, but I’d rather not make a big deal out of it. If only the people involved know about what happened when I arrived, I’d like to keep it that way.”
John scratched his trimmed gray beard. “What about a private ceremony with just my household?”
“Since none of you knew Tim, it would be kind of pointless.”
“It would give you a chance to tell us about him and what he meant to you.”
Uncharted Journey (The Uncharted Series Book 6) Page 11