The old door to the library was narrow and made of heavy planks salvaged from the ship that brought the founders to the Land. Lydia turned the doorknob and pushed it open. The musty room was dark—save for the light of one oil lamp. As she stepped inside, she was surprised to see Connor sitting on a wooden stool in front of the tall study table. He was reading a journal written by one of the founders.
Connor glanced up at Lydia. “Hi, Doc.” He looked back at his book.
“Um, hi,” Lydia replied using his vernacular. She walked to the table and placed her books opposite Connor, then she moved around the room opening the shutters on each window. Sunlight poured into the one-room library. “I did not expect to see you here,” she said.
“Your dad suggested it. He said the pressman is away traveling.”
“Yes, I know.” Lydia was not there for the printing press, but she was pleased to hear Connor had gained some knowledge of village life. “Why did my father suggest you come to our library?”
“He told me all the knowledge of the Land is here in these journals.” Connor motioned to the shelves. “This collection of information is absolutely remarkable. To think, only eight families founded this entire society. The founders really seemed to have the perfect blend of profession, artistry, and genius. It blows my mind how each person wrote all the knowledge of each profession or craft or life wisdom for future generations. And each generation has done the same ever since. This is really an extraordinary culture you have here, Doc.”
“You have the knowledge to fly machines in the sky and yet you find us fascinating?”
Connor grinned. “Mind blowing.”
“So you said.” Lydia chuckled at the image given by Connor’s figure of speech. She walked back to the table and sat on a stool across from him. “I’m pleased you are so captivated by our society. I know I love the Land, but I have nothing modern to compare it to. What are you reading now?”
He lifted the journal and showed her the cover. “I’m currently reading your ancestor’s theology notes.” It was one of her great-great-grandfather’s journals. He had been the overseer of Good Springs over one hundred years ago and had written prolifically on his study of the Bible.
“Once again, you have surprised me, Connor.” Lydia watched him as she spoke. Then she opened her journal and flipped through her medical notes while she thought about his situation. “What are you hoping to find in all of these volumes?”
Connor glanced up from his reading. He squinted as if his eyes had not yet adjusted to the crisp light that flooded through the clear glass windows behind her. He blinked and looked back down at the journal. “I’m just looking for some answers.”
Lydia nodded and walked to the shelf where she would find the medical volumes she intended to study. One was missing. She looked back at Connor, and he was holding it up. “Henry Ashton, Senior, Medical Notations, Nineteen Fifty-Four,” he read the title aloud.
“Yes, thank you.” Lydia reached out and took the journal. She scanned the other books stacked on the table beside him. He had selected journals covering sundry topics. “You have a wide variety of interests. Do you plan to give a lecture on one of these subjects at the party tonight?”
“What party?”
“The Fosters’ barn party. I was only joking about the lecture, of course.”
Connor lifted a palm. “A barn party?”
“Yes, the Foster family owns a large sheep farm, and they have a celebration for the village every autumn. There will be music and dancing and food. Many of the village families have parties in the autumn—it’s how we celebrate abundant harvests and productive herds—but the Fosters’ party is by far the grandest. I’m sure you will enjoy it.”
“Oh, I’m not going.”
“You must.”
Connor looked amused. “I appreciate the invitation, but I’m not going.”
Lydia tried to reconcile his breach of custom. “Do they not have parties in your land?”
“Yes, we have parties.”
“Perhaps you don’t understand our ways. Since you are a guest in my father’s home, you must attend the events my father attends. So unless you wish to dishonor my father, you will go to the party.” Lydia walked back to her stool at the study table. She sat down and tucked her skirt around her legs. It was chilly in the library, which was intentionally without a fireplace.
“I have worked with your dad every day for nearly three weeks. I’m beginning to consider the overseer not just a leader to be respected but also a friend. The last thing I want to do is dishonor your dad.” He looked straight at Lydia, and though neither of them had moved an inch, she felt the space between them decrease.
“Then you will go with us,” Lydia confirmed.
“Sure.” Connor laid the journal on the table and crossed his arms over his chest. His brows knit together. “I would like to be briefed before the mission.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me what to expect. I don’t want to draw any attention to myself or to the fact I am your society’s first foreigner. What do I wear? When do we leave? Should I bow to the host?”
Lydia chuckled. “Oh, please don’t bow to anyone! You are right: you would draw attention to yourself if you did such a thing!” She imagined how bizarre the villagers would find him if he bowed to anyone. Brushing away the thought, she began to answer his questions. “We will leave before sunset. The Fosters’ farm is not too far to walk, but Aunt Isabella will be with us, so Father will drive the wagon. Our household is to arrive together. I am sure Father will lend you clothes, though nothing fancy is required. I suggest you speak as little as possible, since you use some words that are strange to us. However, you should be friendly when you are spoken to.” Lydia imagined the many people who would want to meet the overseer’s guest. “I will do my best to deflect any questions regarding your origin so you are not tempted to lie.”
“I would appreciate that.” Connor leaned forward on his elbows. “You mentioned music and dancing. Is that for our entertainment or our participation?”
“Both. There will be excellent musicians and they will likely play a range of tunes—some are for listening and some are for dancing. No one is expected to dance every dance, but everyone must dance at least once to show a good spirit.”
“I’m sure I can handle that.” Connor flashed a confident grin. It was the same grin her brother had referred to as infuriating. She studied Connor and decided—considering he was in completely unknown territory—his confidence was charming.
Lydia returned her eyes to the page of her book. She could tell Connor was still looking at her. She told herself the cultural curiosity was mutual, but she found it difficult to focus on the words she read until she felt him look away.
Chapter Six
As the Colburns drove along the road to the Fosters’ sheep farm, Connor heard music drifting on the wind. The moment the horses pulled the wagon onto the Foster property, Bethany leapt from the back of the wagon, landed on her feet, and raced through the yard. Lydia looked like she was going to scold Bethany, but she did not have a chance. Bethany ran past picnic tables and into a massive barn.
Levi jumped from the side of the wagon and walked to the front, where he helped Isabella down from the bench seat. He guided the elderly blind woman through the grass and to the tables.
Connor offered his hand to help Lydia down from the wagon, then he walked beside her toward the crowd. “What do we do first?” he asked Lydia as he took in the scene. Rows of picnic tables lined the yard between a farmhouse and a barn big enough to park a jumbo jet in. Connor watched Levi as he helped Isabella to a table where a group of older women sat. Levi moved gently with his aunt, and she laughed at whatever he said to her. After he made Isabella comfortable, he walked to Lydia and Connor.
“First we greet the hosts,” Lydia whispered to Connor while she smiled and nodded to other people. “I will introduce you to Samuel and Roseanna Foster. Then we can go into the barn, or we
can stay out here until dinner is announced, but we cannot sit down until all of the elderly have chosen their seats.”
“Fair enough.”
As they walked closer to the tables, the smell of roasted meat filled the air. It made Connor’s stomach growl. Several people waited in a line to greet the hosts. Levi met Lydia and Connor at the back of the line and positioned himself between them. Connor pretended not to care and watched the activity inside the massive barn.
The barn’s two immense doors were rolled open, and the light from dozens of hanging lanterns streamed out with the music. Connor heard drums, a guitar, and a violin playing a folk song. Some people were already dancing. Boots stomped the hay-strewn floor, and skirts twirled vibrantly. When introductions were made, Connor smiled at the women and shook the men’s hands. He tried to use only the words they used if the conversation required more than a hello. Even though he felt out of place, he was relieved to be among a crowd.
The last wagon drove up as the light of the sun faded. Connor watched Levi in disbelief. Levi was social, even jovial, with people, moving from one conversation to the next. Connor could tell by the way people approached Levi that he was well liked. It was a stark contrast to the surly, aggressive man Connor had experienced. He saw John weaving through the crowd and around the tables, being greeted by everyone. Connor noticed the father-son resemblance.
Connor listened to the music that streamed from the barn. The song ended and he expected another song to begin. When it did not, he looked over and saw people walking out of the barn. They gathered around the tables and filled the empty seats. Connor looked to Lydia and waited for the next cue. She was standing with a young couple and admired their baby while the mother appeared to be describing a rash on the child. John walked past Connor and gave him a hearty pat on the back like they were old pals. “Find a seat, son. We are about to say the blessing.”
“Come on,” Levi mumbled to Connor as he passed. “Sit over here.” Connor followed Levi to a table on the outskirts of the crowd and realized Levi’s social smile was selective.
A young man seated at the table jumped up when he saw Connor. “You’re Connor, the traveler. I’m Everett Foster. Bethany told us about you.” Connor glanced at Levi, wondering what Bethany had told them. Levi looked away, evidencing his desire was to protect the people from Connor and not the other way around.
“Ignore my little brother,” a smooth, feminine voice cooed. Connor turned to see a beautiful woman toss a fistful of red curls over her shoulder. She offered her delicate hand to Connor with her fingertips pointing down. “I’m Mandy Foster. Welcome to our farm.” Connor had not yet witnessed any women shaking men’s hands, so he was not sure if he would be breaking some primitive rule if he touched her. He did not have to worry long. Everett bounced between them wanting Connor’s attention. “It’s my home, too!” Everett said to his older sister. “Welcome to my home! I will sit by you while we eat. I have to eat quickly because I’ve got to play guitar again soon. Did you hear me playing? If not, don’t worry. You’ll be able hear me better on the next song. We always save the new wood instruments for after dinner. Some travelers haven’t heard a guitar or violin made of new wood. Have you?”
“No.” Connor uttered one syllable and was relieved to see Lydia sit at their table. Mandy and Everett flanked Connor on the long bench seat. Levi sat across from them between Lydia and Bethany. While they ate Connor tried to occupy himself with his food, but he discovered he had become a novelty to the Foster siblings. He would take a bite and look to Lydia if asked something he should not answer, and she would change the subject politely and swiftly.
Everett and Bethany made a comedic pair and kept the conversation youthful. Levi glared at Connor often, but then his gaze would drift to Mandy. Mandy sent Lydia encrypted facial expressions. Connor would have found it all amusing, but Lydia looked uncomfortable.
Mrs. Foster dashed by. “Amanda! Everett!” she summoned as she passed. “It’s time to get back in there. Start by playing something lively, would you? Your father and I will start the dancing, and I feel like a jig!” She picked up her layered skirt to show her polished ankle boots and then scurried into the barn. Everett jumped up and followed, play-wrestling another teenaged boy on his way. Mandy smiled at Connor and excused herself before she left the table. She sauntered between the other tables, evidently assured many eyes were on her. Connor scanned the crowd and confirmed she was correct.
After a moment, music surged from the barn. Connor noticed a difference in the instruments and knew it was the new wood that Everett had mentioned. The violin was full and bright, and each note resonated clearer and more robust than any he had ever heard. It was loud but did not hurt the ear. The guitars began to play next and then a drum. Connor was amazed by the fullness of the sound, considering there was no electrical amplification.
Connor stood and followed the crowd inside with Lydia and Levi right behind him. The audience encircled the musicians and dancers. Children clambered to the top of haystacks and sat perched above the crowd. Several teenagers were assembled in the hayloft looking down at the party. Some people in the crowd were keeping the beat by shaking little gourds that had been hollowed out and filled with seeds. Lydia smiled and clapped while she watched the dancers. Mr. and Mrs. Foster were especially lively, and dozens of couples had already joined them on the dance floor. Connor took it all in and did not attempt to conceal his amusement.
After the jig, the man playing the drum hit it slowly with his hand to count off a beat. Some of the dancers stayed with their partners; some walked away. A few of them picked new dance partners. Mrs. Foster walked over to John and held out her hand, inviting him to dance. Connor watched as John accepted her hand and danced with her. They looked like comfortable, old friends. He spotted Mr. Foster dancing with another woman. It was a slow dance but nothing Connor recognized. The dancers embraced but kept distance between their bodies. Connor watched the form and steps in each dance that followed. Every tune was a different style, and the dancers appeared to know the steps from memory. He was obligated to dance once, and he dearly hoped it would not have to be a jig.
“Hello, Miss Colburn,” a young girl said as she passed Lydia.
“Hello, Miss McIntosh,” Lydia replied and smiled at the girl.
It got Connor’s attention. After the girl passed, he turned to Lydia. “With only eight last names in the whole place, doesn’t the miss and missus business get a little confusing?”
“We are simply being polite.” Then she chuckled. “I suppose it could get confusing for an outsider.”
“Right, because you are Miss Colburn and your elderly aunt is also Miss Colburn.”
“And the woman over there in the purple dress—” Lydia motioned covertly to a young lady in the crowd, “—is also Miss Colburn.”
“A cousin?” Connor asked.
“Fourth or fifth, I think.”
“Oh good, then Levi can marry her,” Connor joked, remembering the rule of lineage John told him about when he was still in Lydia’s cottage. Connor listened to Lydia laugh and was encouraged by how she seemed to like his humor. He noticed she tried to appear to be all business, but she relaxed when he joked.
“She would probably be thrilled with the notion. However, Levi is unlikely to—” Lydia froze. Connor looked at her and followed her line of sight to the door. He saw the man she watched. He was a head shorter than most of the other men with a thick mustache and beady black eyes. Connor recognized Frank Roberts immediately. Frank glowered at Connor.
Lydia leaned toward Connor. “Have you two met?”
Frank snapped his eyes away. He climbed the stairs to the loft where a group of teenagers were lounging and sat in the shadows. Connor only took his eyes off him long enough to glance over at Levi, who was also watching Frank. Levi’s expression was a raw mix of disgust and anger. For once Connor felt they had something in common.
“Connor?” He heard Lydia say his name.
“
Huh?” After a moment he broke his stare and brought his focus back to Lydia. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
She moved closer to Connor. “I asked if you and Frank have met.”
“Not officially. But you were right about the boots.” As soon as Connor said the words he regretted it. Lydia pressed a palm to her stomach and drew a short breath. He wished there was something he could do to divert her attention, and he glanced at the stage. As the song ended, Connor watched as all of the musicians—except Mandy—put down their instruments. The dancers fanned their sweaty faces as they dispersed. Many of them went outside to the cooler air; some sat on benches around the outskirts of the barn. Mandy stood with her bow held high above the beautiful new wood violin. The crowd hushed and waited. When the room was silent, she began to play. Slowly and sweetly the notes filled the air. She played a few measures before anyone went forward to dance, and then only a few dancers began the slow and ancient movements.
Connor recognized the waltz and was thankful that when he was a kid his grandmother taught him to lead the rotating box steps in her living room. He held out his hand to Lydia. She did not move.
“You said I must dance once to show a good spirit.” Connor kept his voice quiet. “I know this one.” He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor without giving her a chance to protest. Her blank expression revealed neither disdain nor delight. Connor took it as a challenge.
He confidently placed one hand in the middle of her back. Lydia lightly touched his shoulder with her hand and kept her elbow up. As he held her hand in his and began the steps, she turned her face away. He was less focused on form and glanced from the awestruck villagers to her father, her brother, the beautiful violinist, the creep in the hayloft. They were all watching him and Lydia.
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