Mandy took the last hairpin from between her lips. She studied Lydia in the mirror and gauged where to place the pin. “When is Connor coming for you?”
“At sunset.”
“Have you seen him today?”
“Not once.” The rest of Lydia’s hair was pinned in circles around her head where it had been held for an hour. Mandy began removing the pins on one side as Lydia worked on the other. Long, loose ringlets dropped below the neckline of Lydia’s dress.
“Do you think this dress is appropriate?” Lydia asked as she smoothed the fabric at her waist.
“Of course. You always look lovely in dark blue.” Mandy released the last pin and arranged the ringlets behind Lydia’s shoulders. “Connor is in love with you. I doubt it matters to him what you wear.”
Lydia touched the silver bracelet around her wrist and fidgeted with the tiny gray leaf charm. “That may be; however, we are going to a festival and the entire village will see us.”
“They will not simply see you, they will watch you all evening—both of you. Every young woman in the village will wish she were you tonight. There,” Mandy said as she arranged the last ringlet. “Stand up.” Mandy stepped back and studied the result of an hour’s work. “Perfection. Now I must go to the festival. Mother has lined the street with two hundred luminaries carved from gourds and I promised to help her light them at dusk.”
Lydia checked herself in the mirror and was delighted with her transformation. Though she always tried to look respectable, her motivation in dressing was rarely beauty. She felt pretty and girly and nervous.
She followed Mandy to the door.
Before leaving, Mandy hugged her and said, “The next time a warrior falls from the sky, bring him to my house to recover.” With a wink she was gone, and Lydia was left alone in her cottage to wait for Connor.
She ascended the stairs to her room and selected soft black gloves from a drawer atop her dressing table. The leather dress shoes she seldom wore uncomfortably restricted her feet. After loosening their laces, she tied a bow at each ankle.
Maybe she’d have one night without a call for her help. As she stood to face the mirror for one last assessment, a knock echoed from downstairs.
She opened the door expecting to see Connor, but didn’t expect the catch in her breath that came from seeing the admirable man at her door—not because he needed something—because he liked her.
Despite her attempt to remain logical, her heart was drawn to his. The realization produced an exquisite ache in her soul. She found the foreign feeling both delightful and dreadful and hoped it would never go away.
Connor wore a new woolen coat tailored to a perfect fit, attesting to his ability to navigate life in the Land without her. The collar of a white cotton shirt rose in a sharp peak between his neck and the coat. His face was clean-shaven and his dark hair combed and damp. As it dried it would fall onto his forehead.
He flashed a happy but nervous smile. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
He glanced into the cottage. “Are you available?”
“I am.” She lifted the front of her heavy dress an inch and stepped over the threshold.
He pulled the door shut then offered his arm. She took it and walked close to him as they stepped away from her cottage and past the empty Colburn house. Her family was already at the festival, and she absorbed the thrill of arriving somewhere public with a man.
The sun sank behind the forest to the west and left the sky streaked with pink and orange. The cold air made Lydia appreciate Mandy’s admonition to wear her hair down. The moon, full and oval, slowly climbed in the sky over the ocean to the east. Mrs. Foster’s gourd lights twinkled along the road in the village ahead.
She felt safe walking with Connor. He frequently scanned the thick darkness that settled on either side of them along the road, yet his attentiveness to her never seemed divided. He was gentle and controlled, but it had only been a week since he fought two men using only his fists. The thought excited her.
He tucked her fingers around his arm. “Tell me about this festival we are going to.”
“Well, we call it the Squash Festival. People make everything you can think of out of squash.” She pulled a loose ringlet through her fingers, but let it go when the action reminded her of Mandy. “Do you like squash?”
Connor pursed his lips. “Not particularly. Do you?”
“Not particularly.” She smiled. “But the festival is more of a social opportunity. Many of the women spend days preparing the food and crafts for tonight. Young people get dressed up and come to flirt with one another. The children enjoy the games, and the elderly huddle together and exchange opinions on the whole spectacle.”
* * *
Connor planned to absorb every detail of his date with Lydia, from the delicate clicks her heels made on the cobblestones to the bounce of the loose ringlets draping her shoulders. How had he managed to get a woman like her to go out with him?
The gourd lights along the street lined the way to the festival. He checked the darkened road behind them. Frank Roberts was probably watching. Connor didn’t want that creep ruining their first date.
The crowd gathered in the village ahead. He wouldn’t get much time alone with her once they arrived. He’d spent several months living with her family, but there was much left to learn about her. She was the kind of woman he could study for a lifetime and still not know completely.
He scanned the thick shrubs on either side of the road as they walked toward the village, then he gazed at her again. “I know you apprenticed to become a physician, and you’re passionate about your work, but I don’t know why you became a doctor. Most doctors say something inspired them during their childhood. What about you?”
Lydia smiled then looked at the festival ahead. “I suppose it was both being helped and being there for someone in need. I always admired Doctor Ashton and was fascinated by the way he helped people. When I learned of the medicinal power of the gray leaf, I was mesmerized by it.” She became quiet for a moment. “When my mother was hurt, I stayed by her side for two days and nights until she died. Doctor Ashton did everything he could for her, and I helped him with all her care. I remember when he left one day I sat on the bed beside my mother and thought there just had to be something else I could do for her. After she died, I read every medical journal in our village’s library. I never found any reason to doubt Doctor Ashton’s treatment of my mother, but I understood what I read and began to ask Doctor Ashton medical questions. He realized I had a natural inclination for medicine and encouraged me to keep studying.” She reached to her hairline to tuck her hair behind her ear out of habit, but her fingers stopped when she touched the braids that held her hair off her face. “I want to save every life I possibly can. I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life. I feel like I’m doing what I was made to do.”
Connor remembered her care when he was her patient. He smiled at her. “And I’m personally grateful for your dedication.”
As they walked into the center of the village, Connor received nods from people he recognized and a few stares from others on the outskirts of the assembly. He and Lydia were soon engulfed in the greetings and glances of the crowd. Booths with games lined the street, and tables of food filled the open-air market. As they strolled through the festival, Connor managed to decline the offer of a cup of squash soup and a sample of squash and oats, but when Lydia graciously accepted a squash muffin that he knew she didn’t want, he surveyed the festival for a less conspicuous place. He spotted the unoccupied church steps on the other side of the street and led Lydia to the chapel.
They walked to the stone steps and into the lantern light that escaped from the church’s tall, open doors. Lydia climbed one step higher than Connor. She turned and faced him, eye to eye. He wanted to kiss her, but the restrained society reminded him of the camp counselors of his youth who fussed about public displays of affection.
He looked down at
her gloved hands, which held the orange-tinted muffin. “You don’t want that, do you?”
Her mouth curved at the edges. “No.”
“Are you going to hold it all night?”
“No.”
“Throw it away.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” She didn’t mind that her maturity and high manners left her holding a stinky squash muffin. Her smile reached her eyes as someone familiar walked past them. She held the food out to Mandy’s brother. “Here, Everett, try this.”
Everett stopped and took the muffin. He pinched one bite off the top and his face contorted into a scowl as he chewed. “Who made this?”
“The shoemaker’s wife is giving them away.” She chuckled as Everett turned to the wooden rubbish bin beside the steps. He threw the muffin in it and walked away wiping his lips.
Connor tightened his gaze on her. When she looked at him, he raised an eyebrow at her and her smile faded.
“Oh, was that mischievous?” she asked.
“A little.”
“Are you shocked?
“Stunned.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I thought it was well played. I just didn’t know you were capable of mischief.”
“I am.” She brushed her hands together as if to loosen any crumbs left behind by the muffin. “Though I rarely find use for it.”
“We need to change that,” Connor joked. He watched Lydia’s face as she laughed.
Several children streamed out of the chapel wearing matching choral robes. They followed a man who was completely bald on top but had a full, silver beard. Connor took Lydia’s hand and moved away from the church steps. The bearded man herded the children and arranged them on the steps to prepare for their performance.
In front of the library, Connor found the empty end of a long table and they took a seat. The choir director rang a bell and directed the crowd’s attention to the children. Two young women Connor recognized from the Fosters’ barn party sat beside Lydia. They fawned over her hair and the silver charm bracelet Levi had brought her from Southpoint.
Someone gripped his shoulders from behind and he looked up. Everett smirked then sat beside him. The teenaged boy leaned in close as if he had a clandestine message. “Bethany told me you fought robbers on your journey. Is it true?” His eyes widened, eager for the answer.
Connor glanced at Lydia. She was still chatting with the young women. “Yes, it’s true.”
“Can you teach me how to fight like that? I don’t have anyone to fight, but if I did I would want to—”
Connor raised his hand to halt the young man’s enthusiastic request. “How old are you, Everett?”
“Seventeen.”
Everett was tall compared to most of the boys his age in the Land, and he had a solid frame, but he seemed younger than seventeen. Each time Connor had encountered Everett, the young man was acting goofy. But if he earnestly wanted to learn to fight, he might grow to be a good sparing partner. “What does your father have to say about fighting?”
Before Everett could answer, he had a friend join him and then another. More young men joined them at the table. Everett didn’t mention fighting in front of the other teenagers, and Connor appreciated his ability to keep the matter private.
As the boys claimed Connor’s attention, Lydia’s friends chirped enthusiastically around her. Then Mandy sauntered over to join them. When Connor’s eyes met Mandy’s he expected her usual eyelash batting, but she only gave a friendly smile and looked away. At least Mandy knew to show Lydia that respect. He wondered if there were more substance to Mandy than he had accredited her.
Connor grew impatient with the crowd they had acquired. He gazed at Lydia sitting across from him at the narrow table. He wanted to reach across and take her hand. She might not appreciate the gesture with people watching.
He moved his leg under the table until it pressed against hers. With a look she acknowledged his touch. She gave no expression of disapproval, nor did she move away.
* * *
Lydia feigned interest in the glib conversation around her, but focused on the warmth conducted through the physical connection with Connor. The children’s choir had come and gone, and the cooking competition results had been announced. Someone brought a tray of non-squash related food to the table and they all shared it.
The tray was empty now, and Lydia wanted to be alone with Connor.
It cost her more energy to ignore her desire for his attention than it would to acknowledge it. Finally, she let him catch her eye.
He stood, wearing his confident half-grin, and came around to her side of the table without decreasing the intensity of his gaze. The voices around her blended into a gentle hum and lowered in significance as she rose above the crowd.
He offered his arm and she accepted; their steps synchronized in a harmonious gait as they strolled away from the crowd. When he stopped near the last flickering gourd light, she glanced back at the dwindling festival. People cleared off tables and escorted the elderly home. A group of youngsters, including Bethany, shuffled down the path that led to the beach and disappeared, giggling. Villagers packed their small children onto wagons, and men carried whatever the women stacked into their arms.
As Lydia turned to Connor and considered how she should word her gratitude for the evening, a sharp boom pierced the air. A flash of sparks shot over the treetops. She jerked reflexively and entrenched her fingers into the wool of Connor’s coat sleeve.
He coolly turned his head in the direction of the sound and let out a heavy sigh.
All motion among the villagers paused, followed by a flurry of questioning glances, unsettled by the distant explosion. John stood at the top of the chapel steps with his hands on his hips and looked in the direction of the sparks that dissolved in the night sky. Concern marked his brow as he descended the steps. Levi and a few other men met him in the street.
Connor took Lydia’s hand and kept her a step behind him as he hurried toward John.
“Do you know what that was?” she asked Connor as they approached the others.
“Just stay with me.” His serious tone made her look from the sky to the concerned men to the path that led to the beach.
As the group gathered in the street, Bethany sprang from the sandy path nearby. She rushed to John and the others just as Connor and Lydia met them. Bethany panted and pointed back at the ocean. “Father, come quickly!”
At once, John rushed to Bethany and she led him along the path to the beach. Levi and the others were right behind them. Connor followed, still holding Lydia’s hand. She felt desperate to catch up to Bethany and find out what had happened, but the momentum of the whole group pulsed forward ahead of her.
John put his hand on Bethany’s back as they moved into the moonlit clearing on the sand. Bethany was explaining the commotion to her father as they hurried, but Lydia couldn’t decipher Bethany’s words.
She glanced at Connor. He knew the source of the sound and the flare of lights. She wanted to ask him about it, but she trusted him enough simply to stay with him as he had instructed.
The ocean reflected the light of the full moon. The light provided ample illumination but little explanation for what was happening at the water’s edge. The tide was going out, and near a sandbar Frank Roberts stood on a makeshift boat with his arms crossed and his chin lifted in defiant pride. Two young men with their pants rolled above their knees were climbing aboard the wobbly craft. Frank handed them each a paddle.
Lydia pushed between John and Levi and took Bethany’s elbow. “What is Frank doing?”
Bethany’s high voice rose above the sound of the ocean waves. “When Everett and I came out here with our friends, we saw Frank push that boat out to the sandbar. Luke and Walter were with him. We asked what they were doing, and Luke said Frank told him and Walter there is a place just beyond the horizon that is filled with treasure. They said if they row out far enough they could reach it.”
“What? They k
now the current is too strong for a boat.” Lydia grappled to understand. “Why would anyone believe Frank Roberts?”
“We tried to talk them out of it, but they wouldn’t listen. Luke just kept saying Frank has shown them some of the treasures and everyone in Good Springs wants to keep them from getting more.”
“What treasures? Where did Frank get treasures?”
“Frank has items from Connor’s land.” Bethany’s chin quivered, afraid for her young classmates as they went farther into an ocean known for its deadly currents. Bethany glanced at Connor, who was speaking with John and the others behind them. She looked back at Lydia. “Frank shot that thing into the air and it made fire in the sky. Luke said Frank even has a magic cloth that will carry them safely home.” Bethany turned her face toward the boys as they began to paddle out to sea, and she dragged a knuckle under her eye to catch her tears.
Lydia followed Bethany’s line of sight and understood her sister’s fear. It was a shock for all of them to see Luke Owens and Walter McIntosh being deceived to their demise. Ruth Owens had been afraid Frank would get her boy into trouble, and she’d been right. The two young men knew as well as everyone in Good Springs to stay out of the water. Its currents ripped visibly below the surface with an angry appetite.
Lydia had never witnessed anyone venture so far from the shore. She watched Walter and Luke on the boat as Frank stood aboard with his arms crossed in satisfied insolence.
She spun around to the men. John was talking with Connor and Levi. She pushed between them. “Father, this is ridiculous! Tell them to come back to shore. They will be killed.”
Connor and Levi stopped talking with John and looked at her. She watched their faces for response, but none was given. She turned to the one young man there who seemed to know the most about the situation. “Everett, why is Frank doing this?”
The Land Uncharted (The Uncharted Series Book 1) Page 18