The Uncharted Series Omnibus

by Keely Brooke Keith

  “I will.” Bethany smiled over her shoulder and hurried in the direction of the pottery yard to spend her Saturday morning working with clay and dyes and glazes to her heart’s content.

  Lydia walked along the cobblestone street that ran through the center of the village of Good Springs. A white chapel stood proudly along the west side of the street. Its steeple rose high into the clear morning sky. Her father preached there every Sunday, as had his father before him, and his father before him. The building appeared diminutive from the front as Lydia walked past, but its long sides revealed its depth.

  On the opposite side of the street, the library’s stone façade climbed to a peak that cast a triangular shadow across Lydia’s path. Though a humble building, the library was Lydia’s favorite place in the village, as it contained the few precious books the founders brought with them when they sailed from America and the journals written over the seven generations since then. The allure of the knowledge inside the library made Lydia consider revising her morning plans, but concern for her ailing mentor compelled her on through the village.

  The bare, sandy lot next to the library had been transformed into a market, as it was every Saturday morning. Lydia scanned the booths as she passed and saw growers with wooden crates filled with vegetables, bushels of fresh flowers and stacks of packets of heirloom seeds. Tanners were laying out piles of leather, woodworkers were dusting handcrafted furniture, and spinners were arranging skeins of wool yarn and woven tapestries. Some merchants were setting up displays of items acquired by trade with the artists and craftsmen in 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, Lydia climbed the shadowy steps to the front door. As she lifted her hand to knock, the door opened. An elderly woman pulled the door wide. 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. Where are your mittens, child? There is a chill in the air!” Mrs. Ashton hurried Lydia inside.

  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, and it increased her concern for Mrs. Ashton’s wellbeing.

  “It is hardly cold enough for mittens, Mrs. Ashton.” Lydia glanced around the cluttered room. She spotted two logs 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 creaked with each pass across the floor. “I am well, dear.” Mrs. Ashton 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 is too cold today to go without mittens. I do wish you had worn mittens.” Mrs. Ashton returned her hands to her lap and twiddled her crooked thumbs. “I missed the Sunday service last week and probably will again tomorrow. It is 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.” Mrs. Ashton 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,” Mrs. Ashton 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 Lydia in the eye. Lydia thought she felt a connection. It would be brief as Mrs. Ashton’s mental acuity escaped her quickly. Doctor Ashton’s mind was still sharp, but he slept most of the time. Lydia’s heart ached for them more each time she visited. It did not 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, Mrs. Ashton. I will only be a moment.” Lydia watched Mrs. Ashton’s shaky fingers as they held the edge of the curtain. Then Lydia stood and walked through the short hallway to the bedroom where Doctor Ashton slept.

  The bedroom was barely wider than the overstuffed bed in its center. Lydia pressed her lips together and stepped into the room. Doctor Ashton looked small lying there under a quilt. He had always seemed grand to her when she was a child. As a barefoot little girl she 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 Doctor Ashton’s 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. She remembered the instant pain relief and the quick healing brought by the salve. Doctor Ashton had said that God gave them a forest full of medicine, and it piqued her interest.

  As she approached the bed, Lydia cleared her throat. “Doctor Ashton? Doctor Ashton, it’s Lydia.” When she rubbed the top of his wrinkled hand, his thin skin shifted over bulging veins. He did not respond. She felt his pulse and listened to his breath just as he had taught her years before. His time was limited. The thought of his passing made her throat tight. She blinked back tears and left the room.

  * * *

  After visiting the Ashtons, Lydia meandered through the market and then walked home. She could smell the bread baking as she approached her family’s house. 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 Isabella had offered. Though 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 open 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 smiled and walked to the sink, where she pressed a wooden foot pedal and out poured pure, cold water. After scrubbing her hands, Lydia turned to her family. Her brother, father, and great-aunt waited for a report on the work that had kept her away all night.

  “Well, Lydia?” her father prodded. “Answer the question, please.”

  “Which question?”

  Isabella, seated at the table, continued snapping green beans. “Let her be, John.” 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.” Lydia grinned and tucked her hair behind her ear.

  Her father 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 be calling you Doctor
before long.”

  “It’s for the elders to decide when I have proven myself worthy.” Lydia briefly laid her head against John’s chest.

  “Levi, pour your sister a glass of fresh milk,” John said as he turned and walked to the stove. He sent a ladle deep into a large pot of vegetable stew and filled a bowl. “I will pay a visit to the Cotter family this afternoon.” He set the bowl of stew on the table. “Have something to eat, Lydia. Then go lie down. You will be no good to anyone without proper rest.”

  Her father was right and she knew it. 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. Lydia noticed how her father’s brow knit together while Levi conveyed his vision for the modest home he hoped to build on top of the hill at the edge of the gray leaf tree forest. Lydia 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 the Sunday 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.

  Lydia 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 Lydia 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 Lydia thought her presence was the disruption, and then she noticed the creatures were not looking at her—they were looking behind her. She turned her head to glance over her shoulder, and up in the sky a burst of light caught her eye. It was bright and faster than lightning, and then it vanished, leaving only blurred specks in her vision. She noticed a peculiar black dot that seemed to be dropping lower in the sky. The dot grew in size as it descended to the earth. Lydia held her breath as she focused her gaze on the object. Within seconds the black dot grew, revealing it to be some type of cloth with a figure dangling from it tethered by ropes. As it sailed closer, she realized 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 the man closer to the shore and gave Lydia a clearer image on which to focus. His head, covered in some type of helmet, appeared to hang limp; his arms and legs drooped with lifeless sway. Lydia instinctively ran to the man as his body landed on the beach. The black cloth followed him into the sand. It swished with the breeze then deflated and covered his body.

  Lydia’s 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 material she did not recognize. It was black and shiny with letters painted on the side that read: USA. Lydia 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 and felt his strong and steady pulse.

  The tide was coming in, and the strange man would soon become swallowed by waves and dragged into the current if she did not move him. Lydia 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 looked like they weighed thirty pounds. Lydia grunted and pulled, but she could not 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!” Lydia 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 and saw the man motionless and embedded in the sand on the shore, surrounded by the swishing cloth and the ropes and the encroaching waves.

  Chapter Three

  John Colburn sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands while preparing for his Sunday sermon. His eyes were focused on the Bible lying open on the table before him while Levi cooked dinner. Both men flinched when Lydia ran through the doorway and into the kitchen. She broke the silence with her scurrying footsteps and huffing breath.

  “Father, get the cart and come quickly! You too, Levi! I need you both. I can’t carry him. Come quickly!” She panted as she gave orders and motioned for the men to follow her.

  John stood and his abrupt motion sent the chair screeching behind him as he stepped toward his daughter. “Carry who?”

  “A man by the sea.” Determined to save the stranger before the tide came in, Lydia rushed back out of the house.

  Levi caught up to her and grabbed her arm. “What’s happened?”

  “A man fell to the shore from the sky. He’s hurt and the tide is coming in. I could not 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 began to burn. 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 barn 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 could not answer. John sent Levi a look then grabbed the cart’s handle and motioned for the others to go ahead while he pulled the cart out of the barn.

  The sky faded from purple to black as Lydia led John and Levi through the grey leaf trees to the shore. The stars’ brilliance in the sky seemed to pulse rather than twinkle. Their rhythm matched the beat of Lydia’s heart as she returned to the strange man sprawled on the beach. The incoming tide lapped the ocean water at his bare feet.

  The man no longer wore a helmet; Lydia put a hand to his head and wondered what happened in the few moments she had been gone. The bluish flesh above his thick eyebrows had swelled to his hairline. Lydia knelt in the sand beside the stranger. Levi and John were silent as they moved closer. They knelt in unison around the insensate man.

  “Lydia, who is he?” Levi raised his voice in demand.

  “I don’t know.” Lydia’s reply came in a whisper as she felt the stranger’s pulse. She looked around for the missing items. “He had boots…” She paused and twisted her neck to look from one direction to the other. “Large, black boots and a helmet and the cloth… ” She distinctly remembered the things she saw when he had landed, but she did not know how to describe them.

  “What kind of cloth?” John asked Lydia as he gestured to Levi and they lifted the stranger onto the cart. The man’s head rolled limp 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.” She struggled for words as she motioned across her body. She felt frustrated trying to explain the inexplicable and tossed both hands into the air in resignation. “I’ve never
seen anything like it. Any of it.”

  Lydia stood and looked into the forest. Though the oval moon already gave its gentle light, the night was too dark for her to see past the first few trees. She scanned the beach for tracks but could not 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 walked beside the cart. She took another look around and was puzzled by what had happened to the man’s boots and equipment.

  John walked on the other side of the cart. Lydia noticed how her father studied the stranger. Levi frequently glanced back at the man, too. She could sense their fear and wondered if they would try to stop her from treating the man’s injuries. She was committed to her duty to care for the sick and injured in Good Springs, and she felt that duty included travelers, no matter how they arrived.

  Levi pulled the cart to Lydia’s cottage. One wheel squeaked as the cart rolled on the hard ground. Lydia felt the urgency to treat the man’s wounds and hurried Levi and her father as they carried him into the medical office in her cottage.

  John and Levi stayed close to Lydia 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 concern. Levi voiced certainty that at any moment the stranger would open his eyes and violently attack them all. Lydia ignored Levi’s words until her father began to agree with Levi’s comments. She grew annoyed as their defensive utterances increased.

  Lydia completed her examination and then looked at Levi and John. Both men stood straight and tall with arms crossed over their chests. 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. She guessed he was maybe an inch taller than Levi. Though a leaner build, the stranger’s strength was clearly 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.