Uncharted Journey (The Uncharted Series Book 6)

by Keely Brooke Keith

  * * *

  Footsteps resounded from the guest rooms upstairs, so Eva dashed into her office to tidy up before Solo came down to breakfast. She stopped in front of the mirrored sconce by the bookcase and checked her reflection. Morning light broke through the windows, giving her skin a rosy glow. She pinched her cheeks anyway.

  The heavy beat of boots thudded the staircase. She peeked down the hallway. It wasn’t Solo. Her stomach flip-flopped inside her. He was usually the first guest downstairs in the mornings.

  She turned to her desk to straighten the pile of inventory lists, but her heart dropped when she saw a folded piece of paper on top of the stack. Her name was written on the outside of the letter in Solo’s neat handwriting. She opened the precisely folded note.

  Dear Eva,

  Since you don’t want me to stay, I must leave you with the truth. I never received a message from any trader. If I had, I would not have kept it from you.

  I caught Sam stealing tools from the barn. That is why I told him to leave Falls Creek immediately. Maybe I should have asked you first, but I didn’t want him around long enough to steal anything else from you.

  I don’t want to leave here this morning, but I will because you told me to go. I care for you and Zeke more than I have ever cared for anyone. I pray God’s very best for you.

  All my love,

  Solo

  The ache in Eva’s heart tightened with each sentence she read. Sybil had been right; Frederick had probably gotten confused when he told that story about the message from the trader. She should have trusted Solo, but she ruined it. He loved her and had protected her and her family. And now he was gone.

  The barely sealed scars of her heart threatened to burst open. She dropped the note and rushed out of her office, ignoring a guest’s cheerful greeting, and let the side door slap against the house. Her feet didn’t stop until she passed the iron bench and fell to her knees in front of Ezekiel’s gravestone, weeping like she did many times in the first few months after his death.

  Tears blurred her vision as she stared at the polished stone marker. “Why did you have to leave me?” As soon as the habitual question passed between her lips, she realized today it was not meant for Ezekiel, but for Solo.

  And she knew the answer.

  Solo left because she had refused to hear the truth—from him and from her own heart. Now it was too late.

  She lifted her face to the pale lavender sky. Her throat burned. “Lord, after I lost Ezekiel, You bound up my heart so I could raise Zeke. You gave me the strength to face each day. I never thought I would love again… that it would be wrong of me. Just when I allowed myself to admit I love Solo, I lost him too. And here I am, back at my husband’s grave. I don’t know what to do, or if there is anything I can do. Please help me.”

  She paused, hoping the Lord would answer.

  No voice came.

  She pressed both hands over her throbbing heart. “If I am meant to be alone, I can raise my son and run the inn and take care of my family but not while holding my wounds closed. I need you. In my weakness, You are strong.”

  Tears dripped onto her hands until the sun crested the earth, casting sidelong shadows over the dewy grass. Zeke called out from the side door. “Mama?”

  She stood slowly, her skirt damp with dew. “I’ll be there in a minute, sweetie.”

  He stayed on the stoop, his trousers too short and his hair a mess. “But I need you now.”

  Her son’s simple plea sank into her heart, dulling the ache. He needed her, depended on her, just as she depended on the Lord. It wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but it was the answer she needed.

  In God’s graciousness He had given her a child, someone who needed her love and attention. She had spent too much time focusing on what was missing rather than what was right in front of her. She wouldn’t have had the blessing of Zeke without Ezekiel, but the Lord had also given her everything she needed to raise her son well.

  Though her heart yearned for more and might always, she would live fully in the present with the people God had put in her life, foremost being her son. She gave the tombstone one last glance. “Goodbye, Ezekiel,” she whispered and walked away from the grave.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  An hour with the seamstress left Bailey more exhausted than a day of packing hay. She was looking forward to an evening alone in the quiet Colburn house. John was counseling a family in the village. Lydia and Connor had taken the baby with them to dinner at Levi and Mandy’s house. And Revel was at the Fosters’ farm where he’d spent the day working alongside his brother, James.

  John had left a pot of stew simmering on the stove. It filled the kitchen with a warm, homey aroma that reminded Bailey of the Polk family. She lifted the pot’s iron lid and inhaled. After ladling the stew into a bowl, she sat at the table—on the side by the hearth so her back wouldn’t be to the door—and put her feet on the chair across from her.

  Though the savory stew satisfied her taste buds, the lack of company reminded her of the lonely nights in her Norfolk apartment. Being by herself during the day never bothered her, but evenings had a way of underscoring emptiness. That was why she’d taken the job at the bar. Well, that and so she wouldn’t starve.

  As she dipped a heel of bread into the stew, her eyes followed the lines of the dark beams up the corners and across the ceiling. With no electronic appliances, the wide country kitchen held an old-world charm that made her feel like she had gone back in time. She’d wanted a quiet life, but this kind of silence was overwhelming.

  After washing her bowl in the sink, she ambled around the room, imagining the seven generations of Colburns who had cooked and eaten and celebrated milestones here over the years, one large family after the next. Yet now it was stone quiet. A simple life must be enjoyable only if there were people to share it with. No wonder John Colburn kept his house full of guests.

  She wandered into the living room—the parlor, they called it—to a bookcase with glass doors. The lettering on the books’ leather-bound spines ranged from embossed gold to handwritten ink. She opened a glass door and perused several of the books.

  There were classics she remembered from school—The Scarlet Letter, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Shakespeare’s Sonnets—and many titles she didn’t recognize. One book seemed particularly worn. Between Two Moons by Hannah Vestal. Probably a family favorite. Maybe she would enjoy it too.

  As she reached for the book, the sound of the back door opening and then closing came from the kitchen. The whistling of a joyful tune flowed into the living room. She slid the book off the shelf and glanced at the wide doorway, waiting to see who it was.

  Revel walked into the living room. When he spotted her, he did a double take and halted. “Oh, hello, Bailey.”

  “Hey.”

  “I didn’t know anyone would be home this evening.”

  “Just me.” She carried the book to the sofa and lowered herself onto its red velvet seat. “How did it go?”

  A day’s worth of sweat had darkened his hair. He smoothed it with his fingertips. “How did what go where?”

  “Whatever you were doing today. How was your day?” She probably sounded desperate for conversation. She wasn’t desperate—just glad to have someone around.

  A slow grin reached his eyes. “Everything went well.” He held up one finger. “I need a quick shower. I’ll be right back.” He jauntily hurried down the hall as if the prospect of talking to her excited him. At least he wasn’t acting shell-shocked anymore.

  Bailey opened the book and scanned the first page, not really reading it. The muffled sound of running water hummed from the downstairs bathroom. She thumbed through a few pages, but a book couldn’t keep her interest when there was a person around.

  A few moments later, Revel returned to the living room with wet hair and clean clothes. He hoisted his suspender straps over his shoulders and picked their conversation up where they had left off. “My day was fine. I helped James build a
sheep pen.” He plopped down across from her in the armchair where John usually relaxed in the evenings. A hint of mischief overtook his easy grin. “How was your afternoon with the dressmaker?”

  Bailey chuckled, liking that he found her clothing struggle amusing. “I’m still wearing my jeans, aren’t I?”

  “Then you were victorious. Congratulations.”

  “Actually, Lydia and I reached a compromise.”

  He raised both eyebrows. “What did you have to concede to get trousers made?”

  “Lydia said if I wear pants to church, it might be a distraction for the villagers. So, I agreed to keep the dresses for Sundays. I want to respect your tradition—”

  “It’s not my tradition,” he interrupted. “I like your clothes.”

  “Your people’s tradition then,” she said, correcting herself and ignoring his compliment. “I’ll wear the dresses to church on Sundays, and the seamstress will make clothes similar to mine for the rest of the week.”

  “A happy compromise.”

  “I’ll get back to you on the happy part after I’ve worn a dress for a few hours on Sunday.”

  He laughed and the robust sound filled the cozy living room. She relaxed into the sofa’s cushioned back. “Seriously though, I know Justin Mercer had a hard time with the culture here and caused problems. I’m trying not to come across like him because—for the most part—the way of life in the Land appeals to me. I’m grateful to be here.”

  “That will please John.” He shifted in the chair but didn’t take his gaze off her. “That’s what you want, right?”

  It wasn’t about pleasing John or Lydia or anyone in particular, although she wanted their approval. It felt too complicated to explain, and she wasn’t sure she had sorted it out herself. But the way Revel gave her his full attention made her want to talk more. “I’m trying to find a balance between being myself and being respectful. Things are very different here from what I’m used to.”

  He angled his head, still studying her. “Do you think you could be content living in the Land?”

  First, Lydia had been surprised when Bailey expressed happiness, and now Revel was asking this. Either she was giving off a negative vibe, or she’d kept too much to herself and left them imagining how they would feel if they were her. “Why do you ask?”

  “I can usually get a sense of a person fairly quickly, but I can’t figure you out.”

  So it was the latter then; she was a mystery. Her fingers traced around the letters on the cover of the book she held. Having been written in the Land, it contained a story no one in the rest of the world had read. There was much to explore here, which appealed to her as a scientist. “I believe I’ll be content here one day.”

  He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. His casual smile vanished. “If none of this had happened, what would you be doing with your life in America?”

  “Trying to stay alive.”

  He didn’t respond but only watched her, waiting for more.

  “If everything had gone the way I wanted it to before the war, I would have moved out to the country. Planted a garden. Kept goats and chickens and—I don’t know—befriended the locals, sold produce at the farmers market.”

  He lifted both hands as if she’d said something profound. “You pretty much described life here in the Land.”

  “You make this sound simple.”

  “It is.” He chuckled. “Or at least it could be if you let it. You need to get out and meet people. Maybe travel around the Land.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” She set the book on a glass-topped side table beside the sofa and forgot about it. “I wouldn’t know where to start though. Have you traveled much?”

  Faint dimples indented his cheeks as he grinned. “Yes. Some years I travel constantly, working with the traders. I never stay in one place too long. I’ve been to every village in the Land many times.”

  There was more to Revel than the suspenders-wearing hay loader she’d pegged him to be. He might be her best bet to finding her place in the Land. “Which village are you from?”

  Once again, his grin flattened quickly. “I wasn’t raised in a village. My family runs the Inn at Falls Creek.”

  Bailey’s spine tingled with excitement. “There’s an inn here? Where is Falls Creek?”

  “About halfway between Woodland and Riverside.”

  “I have no idea where these places are.”

  He held up his left hand—fingers together, palm facing her—and traced it. “Imagine this is the Land. Most people live in the villages on the east coast which is about four hundred miles long.” He dotted imaginary points along the outer edge of pinkie and palm. “Good Springs is a little north of center. Woodland is about forty miles southwest of here, and the inn is twenty miles southwest of Woodland near Falls Creek.”

  “What was it like growing up in an inn?”

  He turned his face away and stared blankly across the room for a moment. When he looked back at her, his eyes held a sadness that made her sorry she’d asked.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

  He shrugged one shoulder coolly, but it did little to lighten his expression. “Let’s just say there is a reason I prefer to keep traveling… several reasons.”

  “I get it.” She tried to veer the subject back to the location of his hometown rather than his feelings about it. “So, is Falls Creek near a village?”

  “No, ma’am. It’s out in the middle of the Land, beside a lonely, cold creek.”

  Yeah, no baggage there. She let it go for now. There was so much she needed to learn about this place, seeing as how it was her new home. She recalled the satellite image of the Land that Justin had shown her. “Justin said there are mountains that divide the Land. How far away are they?”

  “About fifty miles inland from here. But we don’t know if the mountains actually divide the Land.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He lowered his volume even though no one else was in the house. “We don’t know what is on the other side of the mountains or if there is another side. No one has ever gone into the mountains and come back to tell about it.”

  “How many people have tried?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Anyone you know personally?”

  He shook his head. “All the stories are old. Decades old, maybe. No one that I know of has gone to the mountains during my lifetime. Maybe not in my parents’ lifetime either. But all the stories are the same. Whenever people go to the mountains, they never come back.”

  To Bailey it sounded more like superstition kept people from the mountains than any verifiable hazard. “What do you think happened to them?”

  “Something bad.”

  “Like they got eaten by wild animals or taken captive by a savage tribe or what?”

  He shrugged. “We don’t know what is in those mountains. Could be a whole other civilization living over there. Or the Land might drop off into the ocean. We don’t know.”

  That would explain the faded western half of the Land on the image Justin showed her. Whatever was there hadn’t shown up on his satellite scan for the gray leaf tree molecules. The whole idea of the unknown fully piqued her interest. “How close to the mountains have you traveled?”

  “Riverside is on the east bank of the river. There are a few farms on the west of Riverside. That’s as close as I’ve been.” He shuddered as if a chill had shaken his spine. “And that’s as close as I hope I ever have to go.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Solo brushed King as he prepared to saddle him and ride out to the western pasture on his first day back on the ranch. Riverside hadn’t changed in the forty days he was gone. Neither had the ranch. Or the stirring in his soul to do more with his life than raise horses to make another man prosper.

  He swiped a curry comb over the horse with slow strokes out of exhaustion—not of body but of spirit. Everything within him yearned to return to Falls Cree
k, to Eva. If only he could have made her see the truth about him, made her acknowledge her feelings for him. He knew those feelings were there buried beneath her scars, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

  He shouldn’t have left that letter on her desk yesterday morning. He should have confronted her. Yes, he’d needed to leave early for the ride to Riverside, but he shouldn’t have let that matter. She wasn’t a morning person; he could have used that weakness to his favor and gotten her to listen to reason. But he hadn’t. He’d dropped a letter on her desk and left.

  Left her, left the inn, left Zeke. Left the chance for the only life that had ever felt right.

  He wished he still had his granddad for days like this. He tried to imagine what their conversation might be like if he told him he had found the woman he wanted to marry but she’d sent him away. King nudged him to keep brushing. It reminded him of how his granddad used to say the best conversations were with horses. After glancing around the dark stable, Solo moved closer to King’s ears. “I miss her, old boy. Miss her something terrible. There isn’t anything I can do. Even Leonard said so.”

  He thought about Leonard’s inapplicable advice. “Instead of telling me to go after Eva, he said there would always be something wrong in life and there was nothing I could do about it.”

  King’s ears turned.

  “Oh, he said some other stuff too. Something about how I shouldn’t give her what she wants.” He eased up on the brush as he thought, and King leaned in for more strokes. “Maybe Leonard meant that I shouldn’t care about what Eva said she wanted and I should have stayed at the inn. I sure wanted to, but it’s too late now.”

  Hoofbeats approached the stable, snapping him from his one-sided conversation with King. His neck warmed as the foolishness of his behavior sank in. He was a grown man; he shouldn’t talk out his problems with a horse.