The bare, sandy lot next to the library had been transformed into a market, as it was every Saturday morning. Growers were arranging their wooden crates of vegetables, bushels of fresh flowers, and stacks of packets of heirloom seeds. A tanner was laying out piles of leather. Woodworkers were dusting handcrafted furniture, and a spinner was arranging skeins of wool yarn and woven tapestries. Other merchants were setting up displays of items acquired by trade with other villages in the Land.
Lydia enjoyed the busyness of the market and usually lingered to watch the artists, but today she stepped around the crowds that were already gathering in the open lot and crossed the street. After unlatching a wooden gate at the front of the Ashton home, she climbed the shadowy steps to the front door. A strange sensation urged her to look back at the market, and there behind the carpet seller’s display stood Frank, peering at her around a hanging rug.
When their eyes met, he lifted a hand and waved weakly. If he weren’t regularly accused of stealing from cellars or found rifling through sheds, she might pity him. As it was, she couldn’t be seen acknowledging him, so she instantly looked away.
As she lifted her hand to knock, the Ashtons’ door opened. Mrs. Ashton wore a lavender cotton dress and had a knitted blanket draped over her shoulders.
“Lydia, dear! I thought I saw you crossing the road.” Mrs. Ashton hurried her inside. “Where are your mittens, child? There is a chill in the air.”
Bolts of cloth were stacked throughout the front parlor. Mrs. Ashton—once a prolific seamstress—had spent her life making clothes for many of the families in the village. She still sent for cottons from the textile makers in the village of Northcrest, but the material only piled in her parlor. The stacks had grown since Lydia’s last visit.
“It isn’t cold enough for mittens, Mrs. Ashton.” She glanced around the cluttered room. Two logs were burning in the fireplace. One log from the gray leaf tree was sufficient to heat a small home all winter, and it was only the first day of autumn. “It’s quite warm in here. Are you well?”
Mrs. Ashton sat in a wicker rocking chair near the front window. She folded her hands in her lap and began to rock. The chair’s cane creaked with each pass across the floor. “I am well, dear.” She eyed the armchair on the other side of an oval-topped table and pointed to it. “Sit yourself down and tell me about your family.”
Lydia sat as she was told and began to speak, but Mrs. Ashton continued talking. “I heard Levi is still planning to build a separate house. Seems to me he should mind tradition and train under his father. It’s too cold today to go without mittens. I do wish you had worn mittens.” She returned her hands to her lap and twiddled her crooked thumbs. “I missed the Sunday service last week and probably will again tomorrow. It’s simply too cold in that chapel. Besides, Doctor Ashton sleeps most mornings clear until noon. Tell me about your family, dear. Is everyone well?”
“Yes, thank you, we’re all—”
“I am perfectly well, of course. Never you mind about us.” She leaned closer to the window and squinted as she watched the villagers at the market. “It is about time you were married, Lydia. I worry about you so. You are a pretty girl. Smart, too. Doctor Ashton always spoke of your intelligence. Still does. Is that Amanda Foster I see flirting with the traders? Of course it is. I can see her twirling her red curls from here. She is a jezebel, that woman,” she mumbled, then she turned to Lydia. “I made a pair of trousers for your brother. Take them to him when you go home today, dear.”
“I will.”
Mrs. Ashton looked her in the eye. Lydia thought she felt a connection. It would be brief as the older woman’s mental acuity escaped her quickly. Doctor Ashton’s mind was still sharp, but he slept most of the time.
Her heart ached for them more each time she visited. It didn’t seem fair to her that two people who had poured their lives out for others had to spend their final years encumbered with decaying minds and bodies.
Mrs. Ashton peeled the curtain away from the window and returned her focus to the people at the market. “Doctor Ashton is sleeping now, but you may go check on him if you wish.”
“Thank you. I’ll only be a moment.”
The bedroom was barely wider than the overstuffed bed in its center. Doctor Ashton looked small lying there under a quilt. He’d always seemed grand to her when she was a child.
As a barefoot little girl, she had once stepped on a piece of broken glass, and Doctor Ashton removed it with a pair of silver tweezers. Even then he was much older than her father. She remembered looking at his white whiskers as he pulled the glass out of her flesh and the sound the glass had made as he dropped it from the tweezers into a dish. When the glass was out, he rubbed a salve on her skin and explained the medicine was made with the oil of the gray leaf tree. The pain relief was instant, and the skin healed quickly. He said God gave them a forest full of medicine, and it piqued her interest.
As she approached the bed, she cleared her tight throat. “Doctor Ashton? It’s Lydia.”
When she rubbed the top of his wrinkled hand, his thin skin shifted over bulging veins. He didn’t respond. She felt his pulse and listened to his breath just as he had taught her years before. His time was limited. She said a quick prayer and left the room before her tears had a chance to form.
* * *
As Lydia approached her family’s house, the aroma of baking bread wafted out of the open kitchen door. Her father had taken over the weekly bread baking after her mother died, though everyone in the house had offered to take the chore, even Aunt Isabella. Born blind, Isabella insisted she could find her way around the kitchen like any cook, but John Colburn always demanded his elderly aunt stay away from the oven.
Lydia stepped through the back door and into the kitchen of the Colburn house. Her foot had barely crossed the threshold when she was greeted by an affectionate onslaught of questions about the new Cotter baby. She only offered a smile for a reply as she walked to the sink where she pressed a wooden foot pedal. Out poured pure, cold water.
After scrubbing her hands, she turned to her family. Her brother, father, and great-aunt waited for a report on the work that had kept her out all night.
“Well, Lydia?” John prodded. “Answer the question, please.”
“Which question?”
Isabella, seated at the table, continued snapping green beans. “Let her be.” She dropped the pieces into a bowl in rapid succession. “She will speak if we quiet down.”
“Thank you, Aunt Isabella. Mr. and Mrs. Cotter have a healthy baby boy. He was born before sunrise, and they have yet to name him. You will have to hear the rest from them.”
John wrapped one arm around her shoulder—careful not to touch her with his flour-covered hand—and kissed her forehead. “Spoken like an honorable physician. We will call you Doctor before long.”
She briefly laid her head against John’s chest. “During the last council meeting, did the elders mention granting me the title?”
“Actually, they did.”
A jolt of energy brought her to life. “They did? So I have proven myself to them?”
He held up a hand, his skin powdery with flour. “Not quite. Several of the elders are not convinced a woman should be appointed to such a demanding task.”
“I can do the job as well as any man.” She almost told him to ask Dr. Ashton for proof of her abilities, then realized that would be futile with her mentor’s current condition.
“I know you can. They have concerns about your seeing patients—especially men—in your cottage at all hours of the night.”
“Can’t you do something? You are the overseer.”
“I am also your father. I do not want to appear biased.” He tilted his head like he did when she was a child. “I believe you are capable of taking on the position. And you are ready for it. That is why I told them: no more stalling.”
Finally, good news! “You did?”
“I told them to find out for themselves how you work, how h
igh your standards are, how passionate you are for medicine, whatever they need to know. And to be ready to vote by spring.”
“Spring?” Her excitement died. “Today is the autumn equinox. I have to wait six more months?”
“Time will pass quickly. But during these next few months, you must be careful in all of your dealings. Make sure your behavior is above reproach. Some of the elders will be looking for any reason to deny you the position.”
After years of apprenticing, she was ready, more than ready to meet the challenge. “I will. Thank you, Father.”
He gave her arm a gentle rub then returned to the stove. “Levi, pour your sister a glass of fresh milk.” He sent a ladle deep into a pot of vegetable stew and filled a bowl. “I will pay a visit to the Cotter family this afternoon.” He set the bowl on the table. “Have something to eat, Lydia. Then go lie down. You will be no good to anyone without proper rest.”
Lydia ate the stew while Levi told her about his ideas for his house. Though her brother’s carpentry skill was in demand throughout the village, he only spoke of his plans to build his own house. John’s brow knit together while Levi talked about the modest home he wanted to build on the hilltop in the gray leaf forest.
She ate quickly, hoping to finish her food before an argument erupted. She swallowed her last bite then washed her bowl and walked the short flower-lined path from the Colburn house to her cottage.
* * *
Late in the afternoon, Lydia went with her father to visit the Cotter family. After meeting the newest member of his congregation, John said he had to return home to prepare for tomorrow’s service. Lydia stayed at the Cotters’ house to check on the health of the new mother and baby. Upon finding them in excellent condition, she left for home.
Lydia had lived in the village along this stretch of shoreline her entire life. She knew it well and stayed on the packed sand far enough from the water’s edge to keep her boots dry but close enough to the ocean to hear nothing but the waves—the beautiful but deadly waves spewed by the vicious currents that churned visibly beneath the surface.
She was alone, except for a flock of seabirds and a heron that seemed content to ignore her presence. The ocean grew dark along the horizon to the east, and the sun sank behind the village of Good Springs to the west. The remaining moments of daylight allowed her to linger along the beach. Realizing it was the autumn equinox, she thought of the long cold nights soon to come.
She slowed her pace to breathe the briny air. The seabirds seemed to slow, too. A deer raised his head above the waving grass near the forest. His round eyes reflected the horizon as he stood frozen in his tracks. There was calm on the shore but not peace. At first she thought her presence was the disruption, but the creatures weren’t looking at her. They were looking behind her.
She followed their line of sight, and up in the sky a burst of light caught her eye. It was bright and faster than lightning. Then it vanished, leaving only blurred specks in her vision.
A peculiar black dot dropped lower in the sky. The dot grew in size as it descended to the earth. She held her breath as she focused on the object. The black dot quickly grew. It was some type of cloth with a figure dangling from it tethered by ropes. It sailed closer. The figure was a man.
He wore strange clothes—black from head to toe—and floated down from the sky with fluid grace. Every passing second brought him closer to the shore and gave her a clearer image on which to focus. His head, covered in some type of helmet, was hanging limp; his arms and legs drooped with lifeless sway.
She ran to him as his body landed on the beach. The black cloth followed his body onto the sand. It swished with the breeze then deflated and covered him.
Her boots dug into the sand as she raced to him. She pulled the thin cloth away from his body. The fabric itself was as light as air, but thick ropes and metal attachments gave it weight. Even his helmet was made of a strange material. It was black and shiny with letters painted on the side that read: USA.
She pushed a circular button on the side of the helmet, and a portion at the front of it raised and revealed his face. His eyes were closed and he was unresponsive. She reached her hand to his neck. His pulse was strong and steady.
The tide was coming in. The strange man would soon become swallowed by waves and dragged into the current if she didn’t move him. She shoved her hands into the sand under his shoulders and tried to pull him away from the lapping water. He was tall and solid and covered in gear. His boots alone probably weighed thirty pounds.
She grunted and pulled, but she couldn’t move him. She glanced in every direction, hoping to see someone who might help her but saw no one. Her heart pounded in her chest. She had to leave him there and go get help.
“I will be right back! Can you hear me? I will be right back and I will help you!” She shouted over the sound of the waves and her heartbeat.
Charging down the path through the tall grass, she sent the nervous deer into flight. She glanced back once at the motionless man, embedded in the sand on the shore, surrounded by the swishing cloth and the ropes and the encroaching waves.
Chapter Three
Lydia’s heart hammered in her chest as she ran through the open doorway and into the kitchen. Her father was sitting at the kitchen table with his Bible open in his palm. Levi was standing at the stove, stirring a pot.
“Father, get the cart and come quickly!”
Both men flinched as Lydia panted orders. “You too, Levi! I need you both. I can’t carry him. Come now!” She motioned for the men to follow her.
John stood and his abrupt movement sent the chair screeching behind him as he stepped toward his daughter. “Carry whom?”
“A man by the sea.” Determined to save the stranger before the tide came in, she rushed out of the house.
Levi caught up to her and grabbed her arm. “What happened?”
“A man fell to the shore from the sky. He is hurt and the tide is coming in. I couldn’t lift him by myself. He’s unconscious. We must bring him back here.” She dashed past her cottage and toward the barn. The muscles in her legs burned. She neglected the urge to rub them and continued her rapid stride.
When they reached the barn, Levi threw the door open. John followed them into the darkened outbuilding and marched to a storage area in the back. While John and Levi dug out the cart, Lydia caught her breath.
“Who fell from the sky?” Levi questioned, as he removed empty wooden barrels from the cart. Lydia shook her head, annoyed by questions she couldn’t answer. John sent Levi a look and grabbed the cart’s handle.
The sky faded from purple to black while she led them through the gray leaf trees to the shore. The stars’ brilliance in the sky seemed to pulse rather than twinkle. Their frantic rhythm matched the beat of her heart as she returned to the strange man sprawled on the beach. The incoming tide lapped at his bare feet.
He no longer wore a helmet. She knelt in the sand beside the stranger and put a hand to his head. The bluish flesh above his thick eyebrows had swelled to his hairline. What happened in the few moments she had been gone?
Levi and John were silent as they moved closer. They knelt in unison around the unconscious man.
Levi raised his voice in demand. “Lydia, who is he?”
“I don’t know.” Her reply came in a whisper as she felt the stranger’s pulse. She scanned the area for the missing items. “He had boots… large, black boots and a helmet and the cloth…”
“What kind of cloth?” John gestured to Levi and they lifted the stranger onto the cart. The man’s head rolled limply to one side, and his eyes remained closed.
“A thin, black cloth. He used it to fly. It was above him when he floated down from the sky… and it was attached to ropes.” Being unable to explain what happened made her nervous stomach quiver. “I’ve seen nothing like it. Any of it.”
She stood and peered into the forest. Though the oval moon already gave its gentle light, the night was too dark to see past the f
irst few trees. She checked the beach for tracks but couldn’t decipher anything unusual.
Levi pulled the cart through the sand as they left the shore. It took both arms, but he was strong. The wooden wheels dug into the sand at first but began to roll smoothly as they approached the forest path.
Lydia took another look around. Where were the man’s boots and equipment?
John walked on the other side of the cart, studying the stranger. Levi often glanced back at the man, too, his eyes dark with suspicion. Surely they wouldn’t try to stop her from treating the man’s injuries. It was her duty to care for the sick and injured in Good Springs, and that duty included travelers, no matter how they arrived.
Levi pulled the cart close to Lydia’s cottage. One wheel squeaked as it rolled on the hard ground. She needed to treat the man’s wounds urgently, so she hurried Levi and John as they carried him into the medical office in her cottage.
The men stayed close to her while she examined her patient. She was too focused on her work to be agitated when their protective presence got in her way. John remained silent, but Levi frequently aired his concerns. He voiced certainty that at any moment the stranger would open his eyes and violently attack them all. She ignored her brother’s words until her father began to agree with the comments.
She completed her examination and then watched Levi and John for a moment. She hadn’t seen them act like this before. Both men stood straight and tall with arms crossed over their chests, as if eager to prove their power. Levi was slightly taller than their father, but both men had thick arms and stern jaws.
She glanced at the man lying unconscious on the patient cot and guessed he was maybe an inch taller than Levi. Though a leaner build, the stranger’s strength was defined. His hair was clipped shorter than any man she knew. It was almost as if his head had been recently shaved, but the hair was shorter on the sides than the top. His hair and eyebrows were the same black color as his pants.
The Land Uncharted (The Uncharted Series Book 1) Page 3