Uncharted Destiny (The Uncharted Series Book 7)

by Keely Brooke Keith

It didn’t matter if there weren’t any guests at the inn or if there were twenty, Eva always fluttered into the kitchen the moment before Sybil was done preparing a meal and demanded efficiency. How would she like it if Sybil barged into the office when she was in the middle of her paperwork and demanded she straighten her messy desk?

  Come to think of it, Eva should spend her extra energy straightening her desk instead of bothering the inn’s cook.

  Sybil placed the stew bowls on the countertop one by one, purposely moving as slowly as possible. She sent her sister a sidelong glance, hoping to tease her a little. “What’s the rush? Are you eager to spend the evening on the porch swing with Solo?”

  Eva pointed out the kitchen doorway toward the dining hall. “We have hungry people in there.”

  “People? It’s still just us tonight, isn’t it?” She looked past Eva into the hallway, her heart thumping one extra hard beat in hopes of seeing the only man who’d ever intrigued her. “Or is… someone else here?”

  The question stopped Eva’s hurried pace. “Yes, it’s just us.” She slid the pan of yeast rolls onto an iron trivet, then ran the mitt between her fingertips and gave Sybil a worried look with her lovely brown eyes. “I wish you would stop waiting for Mother to come back.”

  Sybil hadn’t been thinking of their mother in that particular moment at all. And she was tired of receiving that look from Eva for the past eight years. “I was simply asking if we have any guests tonight?”

  “Oh, sorry. No guests.” Eva leaned her slender hips against the counter. “The couple from Riverside left this afternoon. The overseers won’t start arriving for their meeting until next week. Though John Colburn’s letter said he might arrive sooner since he’s bringing Bailey and wanted to see her settled in before the overseers’ meeting begins.”

  Sybil started ladling stew into the bowls, smoothly filling each scoop with a blend of meat, vegetables, and broth. The slosh of each serving made her stomach rumble. What was it about short days that made her hungry for dinner early? She nodded at Eva. “Ring the bell, then.”

  Eva pushed away from the counter and patted her tight twist of brunette hair. “No need. Everyone is already in the dining hall. Father came down from his nap earlier, and Zeke is trying to get him to play charades. Leonard and Claudia came in from their cottage a few minutes ago, and Solo has been in the office with me for an hour. We were going over the farm supply lists.” A lovey-dovey smile curved her thin lips.

  Eva deserved to find love after being a lonely widow since nineteen, but did she have to flaunt her happy new relationship all the time?

  Maybe she wasn’t flaunting it exactly, but sometimes it felt that way to a younger sister who dreamed day and night of being loved by a perfect man. Sybil glanced out the kitchen window at the darkness around the inn, wishing she could one day have what Eva and Solo were enjoying now and what Leonard and Claudia had enjoyed for almost fifty years—true love.

  The gloom of winter’s night took away her view of Leonard and Claudia’s little cottage, the stable block, and the barn. Cooking had made the long day spend quickly. It always did. That was another reason she loved cooking.

  But whenever she paused her work, she saw things as they actually were.

  She yanked her gaze away from the darkness and filled another empty bowl with the hearty stew. “I didn’t notice everyone come to the house. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Eva’s knowing smile grew. “Daydreaming about a certain new hire who is supposed to arrive any day?”

  “No.” She spoke as emphatically as possible but didn’t believe it herself. As she dipped the ladle into the pot to fill the last bowl, she could feel Eva staring at her. “All right, fine. Thinking about Isaac Owens keeps my mind off everything here. Father’s dementia. Revel’s decision to…” She couldn’t finish the sentence without getting upset with her oldest brother. If only he would come home and accept his place as their father’s heir. Then life would be as it should be.

  She couldn’t think about that right now. Thinking about the handsome Isaac Owens and what he must be like was so much more pleasant. She imagined he would make a fine husband—strong but gentle, faithful and hard-working. They could build a little cottage like Leonard and Claudia’s, except instead of being on the inn’s property it would be across the road from the inn, maybe on the land Eva’s late husband had cleared or maybe past the stone bridge to the east.

  She imagined Isaac coming home after a long day of working on the inn’s farm, and she would have his favorite meal hot and ready for him—probably a thinly sliced slow-roast brisket with scalloped corn and baked beans. He’d say how wonderful her cooking smelled as he hung his coat by the door and peeled off his boots. Before she could tell him what she’d made for dessert, he’d wrap her in his powerful arms and lift her into a kiss that—

  “Sybil?” Eva arched one eyebrow.

  “Hm?” She covered the stew pot and wiped her hands on her apron. “Any word from Isaac yet?”

  “No, but after he resigned from his job with the traders, he went home to Southpoint for his belongings. The last message I received from him said he had to stay there a few more weeks because of a family matter and I should expect him in a month.”

  Sybil knew the letter’s details by heart. She’d found it in the mess on Eva’s desk and reread it so many times she had come to find his poor handwriting charming. “Yesterday. It would have been a month yesterday.”

  Eva pulled a bread basket from the shelf and held her hand over the rolls to test their heat before separating them. “Have you been counting down?”

  She couldn’t lie to Eva. “Only for the past thirty days or so.”

  “My little Sybilla Jane is in love.”

  “Don’t call me that. And I’m not little anymore.”

  Eva’s soft chuckle sounded too much like their mother’s voice for Sybil to stay offended. Sometimes when she was cooking and Eva was speaking to someone in another part of the inn—close enough for Sybil to hear the murmur but far enough not to understand the words—Sybil would pretend it was their mother talking, that the whole family was still at the inn where they belonged, where they were happy.

  Eva’s chuckle died out and her symmetrical brows drew together. “Don’t worry, Syb. Isaac Owens will be here soon. He knows Leonard needs him to take over the farm before it gets any colder out. And Father had me mention the fences that need mending before spring. So Mr. Owens knows we’re all eager to have him here.”

  “We all?” Sybil’s insides dropped. “You didn’t tell him I…”

  “Of course not.”

  “Because you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone about how I feel.”

  Eva lowered her pointy chin. “No one—and certainly no man—could pry my sister’s secrets from my lips. Ever.”

  The words soothed her nerves a little. “Thank you.”

  “Besides,” Eva smiled again, “I want to enjoy this. I didn’t think you would ever meet a man who intrigued you.”

  That got a laugh out of her. “Stop it, Eva, before I tell Solo you used to kiss your pillow in your sleep.”

  Eva laughed one sharp note as she filled the bread basket with rolls, then she carried it into the dining hall. Sybil laid the bowls of stew on a serving tray and followed her. Eva’s determined heels clicked on the floorboards as she paraded into the dining hall, changing her demeanor from that of a teasing sister to a professional inn manager, even though only family members—and Solo—were present tonight. And no doubt, Solo would be family soon enough.

  Eva announced, “Dinner is served.”

  “Bless God!” Frederick Roberts proclaimed from his seat at the back table to the left of the fireplace. His robust expression wilted the instant Sybil set a bowl of venison stew before him on the table. Confusion clouded his bloodshot eyes as he stroked his long white beard. “Who made this?”

  “I did, Father. It’s venison stew. Your favorite.”

  How quickly th
e dementia took him from being her strong, sociable father to a soft, old man in need of care.

  It wasn’t fair.

  She tried to meet his gaze, needing to feel a connection with him, but he looked down at his food. All of this was because he missed his wife—her mother—so much. If she came home, he would feel better. And so would Sybil.

  She set a bowl of stew in front of her nephew, Zeke. Eva’s six-year-old son was eagerly licking his soup spoon, and his brown and white puppy was already begging at his feet. Zeke reached for a roll the instant Eva put the basket on the table. Solo gave the boy a quick parental scowl, and Zeke retracted his hand, more eager to make Solo proud than to eat.

  Eva and Solo weren’t even officially engaged yet and the man was already more of a father to Zeke than the boy had ever known.

  It took several trips to the kitchen for Eva and Sybil to fetch all the food, but that was nothing compared to meal times when the inn and bunkhouse were both full of guests. Occasionally, they had to add a second seating to dinner, so serving only seven was as easy as, well, making rice pudding.

  When Sybil and Eva returned with the last of the food, Solo had pushed another four-top table against the one where he and Zeke and Frederick sat, making one long table for everyone. Leonard and Claudia were sitting with the fireplace behind them. The extra heat probably felt good on their arthritic backs, especially Leonard whose upper spine had begun to hunch these past few years.

  Claudia looked at Sybil and patted the empty chair next to her. As Sybil sat obediently, the older woman pushed her thick, silvery hair away from her kind eyes. “Since it’s just family here tonight and there’s no reason for us to spread out and entertain guests, we decided to have a nice family dinner together.”

  “Of course,” Sybil said agreeably, though inwardly she never felt right about calling it a family dinner when half of her family was gone. If her mother and Revel and James were here too, then it would be a family dinner. As it was, this was a half-family dinner. Maybe since Leonard was her father’s cousin and he and Claudia had worked here for over forty years, they accepted it as permanent when people left, when family members left. But Sybil couldn’t.

  Her mother was only gone temporarily. Granted, she’d left eight years ago, but she’d said she would be back, she’d promised. Sybil held her to that promise with every letter she sent via the traders. Revel and James would be back too. Sooner rather than later, if she could help it. And she would. Somehow.

  Yes, she would put her broken family back together.

  * * *

  Sybil trailed her fingers along the varnished handrail as she ascended the worn steps to the inn’s second floor. At the top of the stairs, instead of turning left to walk down the hallway to her room, she rounded the banister back toward the front of the house where a door led to a tight upstairs balcony that topped the inn’s full porch down below.

  Wind whistled under the closed balcony door. The rolled-up towel Eva kept snuggly against the gap was rumpled up in the corner. Claudia must have moved it while beating out the rugs this afternoon and forgot to put it back. Sybil knelt by the cold door and tucked the towel back into place.

  The threshold needed repair. Such maintenance was the inn owner’s job, but her father didn’t have the strength for his chores anymore, and Solo was busy managing the stables and doing half of Leonard’s work in the barn. Once Isaac Owens arrived to take over for Leonard, things would be so much better. Not just for the inn.

  Any young man willing to come out to Falls Creek, away from the bustle of village life, must be looking to settle down. Surely, Isaac would soon want to build a home and start a family here. Maybe he would take an interest in Sybil when he found out she wanted to spend her life at Falls Creek, helping a husband and raising a family.

  The thought lifted Sybil’s mood as she stepped away from the balcony and turned down the long hallway that split the upstairs lengthwise. Four rooms looked out over the front of the property, and four over the back. Each thick wooden door was carved with a room number.

  She traced a finger over the number 7 in her door. It had been her room since birth. Granted, she’d shared it with Eva until her sister got married and their father gave Eva and Ezekiel Room 8, the double next to Sybil’s.

  Now, Ezekiel had passed away, Eva and Zeke shared Room 8, and Frederick Roberts slept alone in Room 1. Though the soft rumble of her father’s snoring was muffled by his door, Sybil could still hear it in the hallway. She didn’t mind the sound. As long as he snored, he was still alive.

  She drew her room key from her apron pocket, then remembered she hadn’t locked the door when she left the room this morning. Her father always insisted his children lock their rooms, especially at night. Whenever Revel stopped at Falls Creek during his travels, he always made Sybil promise she’d keep her room locked. Why they were so cautious, she didn’t know. Nothing bad ever happened at the inn—at least nothing she knew of.

  As she stepped into her room, Eva’s door clicked open. Sybil poked her head out to say goodnight. Her sister closed the doorknob slowly, silently, then turned on her heel and froze when she saw Sybil. She pointed into Sybil’s room, so Sybil backed up and let Eva in.

  Eva whispered, “I needed to check on Zeke.”

  “Is he sleeping?” He was always asleep, but Eva always checked.

  She nodded. “The puppy woke up when I went in. I was afraid it would wake Zeke, but it didn’t.” She pulled the pins out of her long, brunette hair and it cascaded down her shoulders in lovely waves. “Are you going to bed?”

  Sybil yawned. It was past nine and she’d been up since five this morning. “Do you have to ask?”

  Eva grinned. “No.”

  “Are you going downstairs to talk to Solo?”

  Her sister’s grin widened. “Do you have to ask?”

  “No.” Sybil returned her smile. “Night, Eva.”

  “Night, Syb.”

  After closing her door, Sybil reached for her match jar out of habit. She stopped short. Enough moonlight flowed through the windowpanes, so there was no need to light her lamp tonight. She slipped into her cotton night clothes, then sat on the cushioned stool by the window while she brushed her hair with the bone-handled brush her mother gave her with a vanity set on her twelfth birthday.

  “You’re a woman now,” Annabella Roberts had said proudly, giving Sybil the present in private, not because it was her birthday but because she’d gotten her first period. Her mother said womanhood should be celebrated and taught her how to use and wash her rags and how to keep a calendar. And she’d said all women needed a proper vanity set.

  Soon after, Annabelle stopped Sybil’s school lessons and put her to work in the kitchen. Sybil didn’t know why and never asked. It couldn’t have been her age or her advancement into womanhood because her mother taught Eva until she was fifteen. It had to be something else, some deficiency her mother found in her. But the more Sybil learned to cook, the more her mother was pleased, so she cooked until she perfected feeding—and delighting—large crowds with scrumptious meals.

  A warm tear trailed down Sybil’s cheek. She wiped it with the back of her hand and kept brushing. She wished her hair were straighter, like Eva’s silky waves, but each tress sprung back up after the brush completed its stroke. The best she could hope for was an unknotted puff of muted brown locks, some fuzzy, some limp. None pretty.

  Did Isaac Owens like curls? Claudia used to say men don’t notice such things. She said since a hardworking woman’s hair was always up, when she let it down, whether it was curly or straight was the last thing on a man’s mind.

  Clouds quickly passed the oval moon in the lonely sky high above Sybil’s window. Its light made her reflection show in the windowpane, faintly at first, like an apparition. As she stared at it, her features became clearer. Did Isaac like big lips and freckles too? How about green eyes? She couldn’t disparage her eyes because they were the same as her father’s.

  It was pointl
ess to wonder what Isaac liked in a woman. If he wasn’t attracted to her, she couldn’t change herself anyhow.

  Eva always said never to change for a man. That was easy for her to say. Men were always attracted to her. And after Ezekiel died, she ignored them all until Solomon Cotter showed up.

  Sybil had ignored the men who came to the inn too, but it wasn’t hard since they were usually rough traders, unkempt and uncouth. Plus, she rarely had their attention. She was either in the kitchen or near enough to Eva that no one noticed her.

  And that was fine until Isaac Owens came to interview for the farm manager position three months ago. He’d taken the time to tell her he loved her cooking. And the way he’d looked at her—like she mattered—melted her defenses. He probably had no idea that when he stepped into her kitchen, he’d stepped into her heart.

  She cast her gaze over the dark hills that rolled from one line of bluish-black to the next. The moon and the star-filled sky faded in and out of view between the passing clouds. There was nothing quite like the view from her window. It showcased the unbroken beauty of the only place she would ever want to live—Falls Creek. She never wanted to travel like Revel did, nor to visit all the Land’s villages like her mother had. Sybil had only been to two—Riverside and Southpoint—and didn’t care for the bustle of village life.

  Eva said that during her interview with Isaac, he told her he preferred country life. Hopefully, he would find Falls Creek as idyllic as Sybil did.

  The quickly passing clouds parted for a long moment, allowing the moonlight to brighten the road that disappeared to the southwest. Isaac might be on that road even now, somewhere beyond those hills, somewhere beneath the oval moon, soon to arrive at Falls Creek to work and live. Maybe, forever.

  * * *

  Isaac Owens clicked at his chestnut mare, Chloe, while he rode her up yet another soggy hill through the middle of the Land. Cold wind whipped behind him, sending a chill down his neck. He lifted the back of his collar to shield his skin.

  The horse’s hooves sloshed through the dead grass between the wheel tracks on the long road and then splat through a mud puddle. She snorted and shuffled to the side a few steps.