The Uncharted Series Omnibus

by Keely Brooke Keith

  “He can’t come in here. He’s really worried about you, Beth, but he can’t come in here or he will catch it too. Please, drink all of this.”

  She looked at Connor’s begging eyes. If she did not finish the tea, she had no hope of fighting off the disease. Her chin quivered. “I don’t want to die.”

  “I don’t want you to die either. Drink the tea.”

  Bethany forced herself to take another sip and when she did, heat rose again inside her body, but not from the temperature of the tea or from the crippling fever. This heat was different, and it lured her to swallow again and again until the cup was empty. The sensation spread through her, calming her shaking muscles and easing her staggered breath.

  As Connor drew the empty cup away, Bethany’s vision cleared except for little flecks of white light that twinkled in the periphery. She took a slow, deep breath and when she exhaled, the pain that burned her lungs dissipated. Her ears stopped ringing and the headache dissolved. As the gray leaf tree’s healing properties flowed through her body, fatigue overtook her. Her head dropped to the soft pillow.

  Connor sat on the edge of the bed and hovered over her, studying her. “Bethany?”

  “Yes.” She breathed the word through unmoving lips.

  “You stopped shaking.” He wiped a rag across her forehead. “Do you feel better?”

  “I want to live.”

  He gave a short chuckle that sounded like it was part sob. “Then fight this disease. I think the gray leaf will help, but you have to fight.”

  She liked the warmth brought by the gray leaf medicine. It reminded her of her mother. She missed her mother. If she did die she would get to see her mother again. She liked the thought. It would be all white light and peace and angels singing. But it was too soon. She wanted to go back to the pottery and make all of the things she had dreamed of making. She wanted to sit at the kitchen table in her father’s house and eat and laugh with her family. She wanted to see her friends marry and have children. She wanted to see Everett. Though she tried to lift her head, it would not budge. She looked at Connor. “I want to be loved.”

  He drew his head back a degree. “You are loved. Your family loves you so much… and your friends… this whole village. You father is gathering the elders right now. Half the village will be awake praying for you all night. You are loved.”

  Knowing the village was praying for her gave her hope, but that was not the kind of love she meant. Her eyelids began to close against her will. “No, I mean by a man. I want to be loved by a man—the way you love Lydia. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Bethany’s breathing settled into a smooth, shallow rhythm and as she slipped into sleep, she heard Connor’s kind voice. “You will be loved like that one day, Beth. You will.”

  * * *

  The glow of morning light seeped through Bethany’s eyelids. She drew her pillow over her head and hoped to return to a particularly pleasant dream, then she remembered where she was. She peeked one eye open to confirm she was in the upstairs room of Lydia’s medical cottage. The reality of that horrid illness flooded her mind, and she drew the quilt to her chin. The gray leaf tea seemed to have removed all trace of the symptoms—save for exhaustion.

  The bedroom door creaked, causing Bethany to open both eyes. Connor held a coffee cup in one hand and closed the door with the other. He gave her a quick glance. “Hey, you’re awake.”

  Bethany could smell the coffee from across the room. She took a deep breath. “That smells heavenly.”

  “Want some?”

  “I don’t drink coffee. I like the smell but not the taste.”

  “I know. I just thought maybe your tastes changed after getting a second lease on life.” Connor grinned as he walked to a chair near the bed. “How do you feel?”

  “Better. Tired but better.” Bethany rolled onto her side and watched Connor as he sat. She didn’t remember a chair being in the room. “Have you been up here all night?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  He took a sip from the mug and looked at her through the steam. “You’re welcome.”

  “How is my father?”

  “He’s grateful that you survived.”

  “Has Justin fully recovered?”

  “He’s better. Lydia thinks his lungs will need another day to heal, but it looks like the gray leaf can beat this. She said this form of tuberculosis is different from what the founders wrote about seeing in America. It took you down fast. Mercer said that’s how it affected a lot of people in the outside world. They don’t have the medicine to keep up with it.”

  “I would have died if you hadn’t acted so quickly, wouldn’t I?”

  Connor shrugged. “Probably.”

  Bethany sat up and leaned against the cool iron headboard. “Since I’m better now, can I go into the house?”

  “No, we still have to keep you quarantined. Lydia made a sanitizer out of gray leaf oil and we’re using it on everything, but there is no way to know if the bacteria are dead. We just have to wait it out.”

  Bethany hated being forced to stay indoors. Wanting to go to the pottery and feel the clay in her hands, she glanced at her pigment stained nails. “How long will I have to stay in here?”

  Connor tipped his cup high, draining the last drop. He set it on the side table. His brow contracted as he folded his hands in his lap. “Ten days.” When Bethany groaned, he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “You don’t want to risk getting anyone else as sick as you were last night. This would kill Andrew. I know you don’t want to be stuck in here for ten days, but we think it’s the only way to make sure no one else gets sick.”

  Bethany thought of her father and siblings and little Andrew. She would do whatever it took to protect them from the illness. She nodded. “That’s fine. Whatever you and Lydia say is right, I’m sure.”

  Connor leaned back in the chair. “That’s a very mature attitude.” He brushed his palms together then reached for his empty cup and stood. “I’ll go tell everyone you’re awake. Levi and Mandy were here before the sun came up. Mandy made breakfast; I’ll bring some back for you.”

  As Connor walked to the door, Bethany remembered Samuel’s death and her grief returned. “Is the burial this morning?”

  Connor stopped and looked back at her. He put his hand against the doorframe. “It’s at noon. I’m sorry, Beth, but you can’t go.” When she wrapped the quilt around her hands, Connor inclined his head. “Do you need me to stay here with you?”

  Bethany thought about the expectation in the village—every person was to show respect by attending a funeral service. She could think of no one outside her family that she respected more than Samuel Foster. She could not go, but she would not keep anyone else away. Bethany shook her head. “You must go. I’ll be fine, really. Just please tell Everett I’m sorry.”

  * * *

  Everett stared at the dirt being shoveled over his father’s casket. Tears slid down his face as he watched two men rhythmically cast more soil into the grave. The stems of the mourners’ flowers quickly disappeared beneath the dirt. The fragmented shadow of a nearby gray leaf tree dispelled the early afternoon sun as the mourners silently left the graveside. John Colburn whispered condolences to Samuel Foster’s relatives as they filed away.

  Everett peeled his unfocused gaze from the grave and glanced at Connor. Before their eyes could meet, he looked back at the dirt. Connor put a hand on his shoulder. Neither man spoke. They did not need to. After a moment, Connor gave Everett’s shoulder a squeeze then turned and walked away.

  Everett stood somberly between his mother and sister. Roseanna’s hands shook as she dabbed her eyes with a scallop-edged handkerchief. Mandy’s unrestrained cries pierced the air. Levi wrapped his arm around her waist and ushered her away from the grave. Roseanna turned and followed them through the shadowy grass, weeping.

  Everett looked at the grave as the men patted the dirt with the backs of their spades. In ti
me the dirt would settle, but for now his father’s coffin swelled the earth unnaturally. Everett heard footsteps in the grass and glanced back as John came to stand beside him. The dark skin beneath the overseer’s eyes attested to the long night he had endured because of Bethany’s sickness.

  John thanked the men as they walked away with their shovels, and then he looked at Everett. “What can I do to help you through this, son?”

  Everett felt childish for having cried. He cleared his throat. “I don’t need help.”

  “You will. You now own the largest property in Good Springs. Your herd nearly doubled this year. And your father was a village elder. That is quite an inheritance for a young man.”

  “I have hired two men and I will hire another soon. And I’m prepared for the training to be an elder.” Everett did not want to talk about the weight of his new responsibilities as he looked at his father’s fresh grave. “Connor told me Bethany got sick last night and she’s better now, but I know whatever happened was more serious than Connor described.” He turned to John. “Is she still in danger?”

  John cleared his throat. “She is weak but appears to have overcome the worst of it. The gray leaf tea worked against the illness, but Lydia believes it is imperative that they remain quarantined. There must be no symptoms for ten days before she will release them.”

  “And then what?” Everett felt a surge of anger. “What will we do with this Mercer?”

  John’s eyes narrowed. “Justin Mercer was Connor’s colleague. He searched for three years to find this land. I do not believe he is wrong in coming here.”

  “He made Bethany sick. She could have died, John.” Everett glanced at Samuel’s grave and lowered his voice. “I don’t like the thought of them being in the cottage together for ten days.”

  “Nor do I. We have to trust Connor to handle this. He is the only person immune to this disease and he saved Bethany’s life last night. He will watch out for her.” John put his hand to Everett’s shoulder. “I know you love her, son.”

  John’s paternal demeanor reminded Everett of his father. He looked away. “Yes, I do.”

  “I do too and staying out of that cottage last night took every ounce of self-restraint I had. I know she is eighteen, but she is still my little girl. If I can trust Connor to protect her, so can you.”

  * * *

  Though it was only noon on the first day of the quarantine, Bethany already felt restless being confined to the upstairs bedroom of the cottage. In cautious movements, she slid her weak legs over the edge of the bed, then kept her hands on the mattress as she stood. She waited for the lightness in her head to pass before she straightened her nightgown and stepped to the window. The sun-filled yard below beckoned her, and the sash window creaked as she raised it. She stuck her head out and inhaled the salty ocean air. A cool breeze moved the edges of the curtains as it swirled into her prison.

  She turned away from the window and scanned the room for her sketchbook. The mountain of personal belongings she had dumped on the bed the day before was now a neat stack atop the dresser. Bethany pulled her sketchbook and pencil box from beneath the carefully arranged items and wondered if Lydia’s organizational skills had rubbed off on Connor or if his care for a person extended to her possessions. She carried her sketchbook and pencils to the bed. While she flipped through her old drawings, she heard Justin call to her from downstairs.

  “Bethany?”

  She turned her head toward the closed door. “Yes?” When he did not respond, she assumed her tired voice was too weak to carry through the cottage. She rose and inched to the door then cracked it open. “Justin?”

  “Are you feeling better?” His voice came from the medical office below, but she could not see him.

  She opened the door a bit wider. “Yes. Are you?”

  “Yeah. That gray leaf tea is something else, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It felt amazing. It knocked me out and I woke up feeling great.”

  “Oh, yes. It helped me, too.” The walk to the door had drained her energy. She leaned against the wall. “But I’m still weak.”

  She heard Justin moving around downstairs. His voice sounded closer. “I’m really sorry about that, by the way.”

  “About what?”

  “Getting you sick.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know you could infect other people.” Justin was silent for a moment and Bethany thought he was done talking. She stepped away from the door and shuffled back to the bed. As she picked up her sketchbook, she heard him again.

  “Bethany?”

  “Yes?” She moved to the door, hugging her sketchbook to her chest.

  “I did know. I mean, I didn’t want to make anyone sick, but I knew how contagious it was. It was just that once I met you, I wanted you to stay with me. I thought I was going to die and I didn’t want to die alone. Do you hate me now?”

  The thought of dying alone struck her and she felt sorry for him. She lowered herself to the floor and rested her back against the wall by the door. “Of course not.”

  “So you forgive me?”

  She turned her face to the chink in the door. “Yes.”

  “Come down here and talk to me.”

  “Connor told me to stay up here.” She opened her sketchbook and laid it in her lap. As she selected a graphite pencil and stared at the blank page awaiting inspiration, she heard movement on the stairs. She peeked through the crack in the door and saw Justin sit on the second step from the bottom. He leaned his head against the wall and looked up at the door. She pulled her face out of view and believed she went unseen.

  “How long do funerals last around here?” he asked.

  Bethany heard his words but found his question strange. She smoothed the paper on her sketchbook. “There will be a memorial service in the chapel and then my father will speak at the gravesite before the burial. So a couple of hours, I suppose. Why?”

  “Why will your dad speak? Were they close?”

  “They were, but my father always speaks at funerals; he is the overseer of Good Springs.”

  “Is that like a mayor of the town?”

  “I guess. He leads the elder meetings and preaches sermons and officiates weddings.”

  “You make Good Springs sound more like a church than a town.”

  “I guess it’s both.” Bethany swirled her pencil across the page in more of a mindless doodle than an intentional design.

  “Were you close to the guy who died?”

  Her pencil stopped and she looked at the open window. “Yes. The Fosters are like family to me. Samuel was like another father or an uncle, I suppose. I feel terrible that I could not go and pay my respects today. Or be there for Mandy and Everett.”

  “Who?”

  “Mandy and Everett—Samuel’s daughter and son. Mandy is married to my brother, Levi, and Everett is my… I don’t know how to describe him… my best friend, I guess. Only…”

  “Only what?”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  Justin chuckled. “Do you have a thing for him?”

  “No… I was intrigued with him when we were in school, if that’s what you mean. But he’s older than me, and I don’t think he feels that way about me.” Bethany looked back at the page and started doodling again. “Then last year, I was attacked and it was Everett who saved me.”

  “Ah, so now he’s your hero.”

  Bethany smiled and drew a looping vine along the edge of the page. “Yes, in a way. But the whole ordeal made him very serious.”

  “About you?”

  “No, it just changed him somehow. It made him more protective of me. He’s still my dearest friend, but I think he sees me differently now… like a little sister to watch over. And once Samuel became ill, Everett had to work a lot more so I don’t see him very often. When he isn’t working he is usually with Levi or Connor. I wanted to be with him today. Just knowing he is hurting and I can’t go to him make
s me sad.” She stopped sketching and turned to a blank page. “Tell me about your airplane—the one you and Connor were flying when you first saw the Land.”

  Justin was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t see the Land from the aircraft. I saw it during the parachute descent.” He cleared his throat and spoke in a barely audible voice. “What do you want to know about it?”

  The change in his tone made Bethany turn her head toward the door. Certain she heard pain in his voice, she wished she could see his face. She considered opening the door, but she glanced at her sweat-stained nightgown and decided she did not want him to see her. She looked back at the page. “Describe it to me. I want to try to draw it.”

  “Describe it? You mean you’ve never seen an airplane?” Justin asked, but she did not answer, keeping the secret of the old plane that was buried below the bluffs. “Okay, um, imagine a bird—maybe a sea gull—but with straight wings and smooth contours. The aircraft in our squadron are electronic warfare aircraft—they are sleek and aerodynamic machines—so think long, lean lines. And they’re big. Do your people measure in feet or meters?”

  “Feet.”

  “The type of aircraft we were flying that day is sixty feet long and sixteen feet high. Its nose is thin and comes to a point. The crew sits in tandem in the cockpit, which is about where the head is on a bird. The aviator’s seat is in the forward cockpit and the weapon systems officer sits in the rear. A clear canopy seals them inside. The aircraft’s wings begin behind the middle of the craft, and it also has a pair of outwardly slanted vertical tail fins. It’s powered by twin turbofan engines that exhaust to the back of the aircraft through two rings. And imagine several tube-shaped pods under the wings. They hold the aircraft’s wing tanks, tactical jamming—sorry, I’m getting too technical—”

  “No, keep going.” Bethany’s pencil made quick swipes as she poured the image onto the page. “I like to hear about it. Do the airplane’s wings flap like a bird?”