Uncharted Hope

by Keely Brooke Keith

  James’s hair was beginning to dry. It would have touched his collar had he been standing. When he turned his head on the pillow, his hair spread in a shaggy cascade the color of pine bark. His chest rose and fell rapidly with nervous breath. One foot shook, vibrating the cot.

  Lydia eyed it and checked James’s pulse again. “The gray leaf tea usually calms a person. Some even find it euphoric. How old were you the last time you had it?”

  “Eleven.”

  “What happened?”

  With frightened eyes, he stared at the ceiling. “It terrified me… like now but worse. That poison turns me into a coward.”

  Lydia wrapped the gauze around James’s hand. “What happened that made you need the gray leaf tea?”

  “I fell out of a tree and broke my ankle.” He closed his eyes. “My mother made me drink gray leaf tea to stop the pain. It was the next day before the doctor arrived.” He opened his eyes then and looked at Sophia. “My family ran the inn at Falls Creek. There weren’t any doctors out there unless they were traveling from Woodland to Riverside and stayed the night at the inn. My parents kept saying the gray leaf would help me sleep until the doctor came. It didn’t.” He sat up. “I was so terrified I made myself stay awake. Swore I’d never drink it again. Here I am forced into being a coward by it.”

  Lydia sat beside him on the cot. “I know it makes you anxious. It’s healing you even now, James.” She pointed at his arms. “Look, the red marks are already fading. The infection will be gone by morning, and you will be in fine form.”

  “By morning?”

  “This will be over in a few hours.” She gave his shoulder slow, steady strokes. “Try to rest now. We’re here and we will stay close by all night if you need us.”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be such an imposition. I’ll stay here like you said, Doctor. You have a family to tend to. I couldn’t ask you to worry over me all night.”

  Lydia patted his arm and stood. “You don’t have to ask. Sophia lives upstairs to attend patients through the night. She will sit down here with you, if you need her. You won’t be alone.”

  Sophia folded her hands in front of her skirt and glanced from James to Lydia and back again. Her tongue caught on the daunting magnitude of her duty. She’d never had a sick person in her care before. She enjoyed minding children, but this was different—being the sole caretaker of a man weakened with anxiety and tortured by a painful memory.

  She’d requested the job as Lydia’s assistant because of her desire to study the gray leaf. She hadn’t considered the heaviness of what might be required of her—being strong for the weak, sopping up blood, holding the hand of the dying. If the only way she could continue her research training was to comfort the afflicted in the midst of their most harrowing moments, she would do it.

  She forced her shoulders to relax, hoping to mimic Lydia’s confident demeanor. “Yes, of course. I’ll stay with you all night, if you need me.”

  * * *

  The din of crickets and toads pulsed through the muggy night air as Nicholas Vestal gathered an injured yearling ewe into his arms. The sheep tucked its head against Nicholas’s chest and trembled. He held it close as he carried it into the Fosters’ barn. Once in the back stall, he set the ewe on the floor beside the supply cabinet then struck a match to light the lantern on the workbench.

  The nervous sheep flinched when Nicholas examined the lesion on the back of its leg. A purple whelp surrounded blood-tinged skin. “There now, girl, a little gray leaf salve and you will be as right as rain in springtime.”

  He’d seen worse bites not only in the Fosters’ flock but also with his father’s few sheep back home in Woodland. Those sheep would belong to his older brother one day, along with the rest of their family’s farm. That was fine. His parents’ farm was too small for both him and his brother.

  “Nicholas?” Everett Foster called from the south end of the massive barn.

  “Back here.”

  Nicholas’s young boss rounded the corner. “Where is James?”

  “Still at the medical cottage.” Nicholas unscrewed the lid from a jar of salve and the sharp scent of gray leaf filled the air, masking the stench of dirty wool. “Dr. Bradshaw is keeping him overnight.”

  “He looked rough this evening.” Everett gave a quick glance over his shoulder. There was no one else in the barn. “Did Lydia say how serious it was?”

  “Bad enough he had to drink gray leaf tea.”

  Everett winced, exposing his bottom teeth. “That’s what he was afraid of. Did he take it like a man?”

  “Hardly.” Nicholas rubbed salve onto the ewe’s wound, taking care not to irritate her. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was aggravate another female.

  Everett tapped his knuckles on the stall’s doorframe. “It’s a little late to be out here working, even for you.”

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Nor I. My mother is busy making decorations for the wedding. She asks me what I think of some flower or bow every five seconds.”

  “Mrs. Foster means well. She probably just wants everything to be perfect for you and Bethany.”

  Everett rubbed his eyes. “And the church full of guests.”

  “Is it going to be a big crowd?”

  “I am marrying John Colburn’s daughter. It’s like Connor said when he married Lydia: marry one of the village overseer’s daughters, get the village.” Everett lifted his chin at the ewe. “What happened to her leg?”

  “Her brother bit her. He’s getting more aggressive by the day. I’ll pull the ram from the flock after I tend to her.”

  “How bad is the bite?”

  Nicholas gave the wound a second inspection. “It will heal quickly. I’ll keep her in here tonight.”

  “She’s in good hands.” Everett leaned on the stall gate. “Your aunt was at the council meeting tonight. She asked us to transfer the cabin she inherited from her parents to you.”

  Nicholas kept working but glanced up at Everett. “Did the elders approve her request?”

  Everett nodded and his hair dropped across his forehead. “The house is yours.”

  It took a moment for Nicholas to absorb the news. He was now a homeowner. If he stayed in Good Springs after he earned his flock, he would need more than the four acres that came with the house. “What did the elders decide about the timberland to the west of the cabin?”

  Everett moved away from the gate and checked the barn again. He lowered his volume. “Connor said for you to meet him at the house Friday afternoon to discuss a way of getting more land.”

  “This Friday?”

  “Your aunt wants you to move into the old house and fix it up while she is well enough to see it.”

  Nicholas still had several months at the Foster farm before he would earn a flock. Six days a week, he cared for the animals, mended fences, and repaired equipment—seven days a week when it was lambing season. The work kept him busy enough he needed to live on the property. He cut a length of bandage. “I understand what my aunt wants. It’s best for me to live here while I’m working for you.”

  “I thought you were eager to get your own place, you know, for the future.” Everett wiggled his eyebrows as if sending a secret message. “Especially since the walk will take you past the medical cottage every day.”

  Nicholas still felt numb from his failed attempt with Sophia. She had rejected him without giving it a second thought. He shrugged as he wrapped the sheep’s leg with a bandage. “Sophia turned me down.”

  “Oh… sorry.”

  Receiving pity was almost as distasteful as rejection. “I’m fine.”

  He was anything but fine. All he wanted was a wife and a family of his own. For months he’d been certain that Sophia was the one.

  Everett raised his palms from the wooden gate and wiped them together. “Did she say why?”

  When Nicholas returned the jar to the medicine cabinet, the sheep leaned against his legs. At least one girl needed h
im. “She gave no reason at all.”

  “When did you ask her?”

  “Tonight.”

  Everett pursed his lips. “Not the best timing since she was helping Lydia take care of James. Ask her when she isn’t working.”

  “I’d rather not go through that again.”

  “Are you going to give up?”

  He’d handed the woman his heart, and she’d handed it right back. What was the point of putting himself through that a second time? He shrugged again.

  Everett cocked his head. “Is she worth fighting for?”

  “Yes.” He bent down and gave the sheep a mindless pat, thinking of how Sophia had looked standing at the Colburns’ stove waiting for the kettle to whistle. Her hair, normally the color of late summer hay, seemed as dark as molasses in the shadowy kitchen. His gaze had traced her profile from her flawless brow down her delicately sloped nose to her warm smile. They had been talking one moment, and she dashed his hopes the next. “But she said no.”

  “How did she say it?”

  Nicholas stared at the grass-strewn floor as he recalled Sophia’s words. “She said she was sorry and continued working.”

  Everett flipped his hair off his forehead. “There you go. She was just busy. Try again when she isn’t busy.”

  “No, it was more than that. When I told her I wanted to speak with her parents before asking to court her, she told me not to. No, don’t ever, she said. She was adamant.”

  “That’s odd. A man is supposed to get the father’s permission before he courts a woman. It’s our tradition.”

  “I know and I was going to. Come to think of it, she had more of a problem with me going to her parents than with courting me.” The insult burned a hollow pit in his chest. “Why am I not good enough for her? We come from the same village. Her parents are humble farmers. They rarely left their farm, never went to church, never socialized. I would give her a better life than they did.”

  Everett pointed at him. “Maybe she’s had a falling out with her parents.”

  “Maybe.”

  “If she matters to you, you have to find out more.”

  Everett’s optimism made sense, or at least Nicholas would let it if hopefulness led to a life with Sophia. He straightened his spine. “Do you think so?”

  “I do.”

  “Right, well…” He ran his fingers through his hair as he paced the floor between the sheep and the gate. He knew little of her family when he lived in Woodland—only that her parents kept to themselves. Maybe she was having family problems and couldn’t deal with that and training for a new job and being asked to court all at the same time. Perhaps he would have a chance with her if he asked at the right time. He stopped pacing. “What do I do? Ask her again? Right away? Do I go to Woodland to see her father first? Help me out here, Everett. You got Bethany Colburn to agree to marry you. You know more about this than I do.”

  Everett flipped his dark hair off his forehead. “Take it slow. Try to find a few minutes alone with Sophia when she isn’t at work and ask her how she’s doing. Listen to what she says. You will figure it out.”

  “You make it sound simple.”

  Everett chuckled. “With women, nothing is ever simple.”

  “I see that.”

  “So, do you want to move to the house in the village after all?”

  If Nicholas had a chance at winning Sophia’s heart and all went well, he would need a livable home. It had been a while since he’d seen inside the old cabin. Hopefully, it was in better condition than he remembered. “I’ll meet Connor there Friday and take a look at the place.”

  Everett nodded. “You can stay in the shepherds’ cabin while you fix up your house, no matter how long it takes.”

  “Thanks. It might take time.”

  “You should stop by the medical cottage to see Sophia after your business with Connor on Friday.”

  Though his heart ached to be with her, he should give her time. He could be patient. It would all be worth it one day to have his home and land and Sophia as his beautiful wife. She was worth pursuing. “I will. If she is as complicated as you claim all women are, that might take a while too.”

  Chapter Two

  After Lydia left the medical office for the night, Sophia arranged the bandaging materials in the cabinet over the worktable. Maybe if she kept her hands busy, she would look like she knew what she was doing. Though she wasn’t allowed to write on Lydia’s patient charts, she wanted to make her own notes—not about the patient but about the effects of the gray leaf medicine. She stepped to the bookcase on the wall beside the worktable and reached to the corner of the shelf where she kept her journals and pencils.

  She turned to a blank page, splaying a notebook open on the worktable. After a glance at the man on the cot, she wrote J.R. on the top right margin. She doubted she would forget her first charge’s name, but she didn’t want to record his personal details in her research notebook.

  James was lying on his back with his eyes closed and his fingertips drumming rapidly on the cot. His Adam’s apple lifted and lowered as he swallowed repeatedly. The red lines that had marked his arms were gone now. The gray leaf had removed his infection despite his belief it would harm him.

  James’s gray leaf treatment hadn’t been the positive experience Sophia had hoped to witness. Like everyone in the Land, she’d grown up hearing stories of people drinking the gray leaf tea and being filled with peace as warmth and healing spread through their veins. James was restless and fidgety.

  She scribbled a few notes: bacterial infection from open blisters; fear of ingesting gray leaf medicine because of past trauma. Gray leaf tea did not have an instant calming effect on the patient, though it is healing his blisters.

  Tapping her pencil against her lip, she studied her patient: mid-twenties and in fine physical condition aside from his current woe. He’d be back to work soon enough. As it was, she found herself the strongest person in the room.

  James’s booted foot shook against the wadded up blanket he’d ignored. Sophia had no medical expertise. Still, she knew when a person needed more than medicine. She laid her pencil in the gutter of her notebook and pointed at his shoes. “May I?”

  “Um, sure.” He lifted his head and watched as she removed his work boots. “I’m sorry you have to do this.”

  She slid his boots under the cot. “Part of my job is making sure patients are comfortable.”

  He lowered his head to the pillow. “Don’t think me ungrateful. I just hate being in this position.”

  “You don’t like being taken care of?”

  “No. Never did.”

  “Then perhaps you should look at it differently.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “How so?”

  “Well, since I’m training with Dr. Bradshaw and I need this experience, you are preparing me for my next patient.”

  “And you are kind to forgive my cowardice.” He blew out a long breath through parted lips. “I’ll never live this down.”

  “No one has to know about your difficulty. Dr. Bradshaw never speaks about her patients, and I won’t.”

  “Nicholas knows.”

  “He saved your life tonight. I doubt he’s eager to mock you.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s a good man.”

  She reached for the water pitcher on the worktable and poured him a cup. Offering it, she squatted beside the cot. “Take a drink.”

  Instead of letting her hold it for him, he raised his shoulders from the cot and trapped the cup between his bandaged hands. Holding himself at an awkward angle, he drank with loud quaffs. Finally, he passed the empty cup back to her. “I hadn’t realized I was so thirsty.”

  “Would you like more?”

  He lowered his torso to the cot. “Not right now.”

  She set the cup by the oil lamp on the bedside table and decreased the lamp’s flame. The low light elicited a yawn. She tried to hide her gaping mouth as she turned to step away. “Tell me if you need anything e
lse.”

  He jerked to reach for her, his bandaged hand brushing her skirt. “Don’t go.”

  She hadn’t planned to retire to her room upstairs yet. Knowing he needed her lent a sense of importance she hadn’t expected. “I’ll stay with you for as long as you need.” She pulled a slatted wooden chair close to the cot and sat. Pointing at the stack of pocket-sized books on the doily-covered table, she asked, “Would you like me to read to you?”

  “No… well, what are my options?”

  She picked up the books and read their embossed covers one by one. “A Collection of Sacred Poetry?”

  “No.”

  “Shakespeare’s Sonnets?”

  “I can’t stand the Sonnets anymore.”

  She grinned at him. “I thought shepherds were supposed to be poets.” He didn’t respond to her humor, so she continued offering titles. “The Gospel According to John?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “The Courtship of Miles Standish?”

  “Forget the books. Just talk to me.”

  She returned the books to the table. “All right. What would you like to talk about?”

  “Anything.” His socked foot started shaking again.

  She straightened the edges of the books along the lines of the doily. “Will you be at the wedding Sunday?”

  “Of course. Everett is my employer. I wouldn’t miss his wedding.”

  “I get to help the family decorate the church Saturday morning. Bethany will be a beautiful bride. I can’t imagine how Reverend Colburn will keep his eyes dry while he officiates his youngest daughter’s wedding ceremony. Though I suppose her being the fifth child he has married off—”

  When James yawned, Sophia wondered if the gray leaf medicine would finally lull him to sleep, or if her talking about a wedding bored him. She changed the topic. “How long have you worked for the Fosters?”

  His foot slowed its shaking. “About two years.”

  “Do you get to see your family often?”

  “Not really.”