The Uncharted Series Omnibus

by Keely Brooke Keith

  Justin chuckled. “No, the wings are fixed. Jet engines propel the aircraft.”

  Bethany sketched the wings as she imagined them and used the tip of her middle finger to shade the graphite. “How fast can it fly?”

  “Almost twelve hundred miles per hour.”

  “I can’t imagine that. Do you miss flying?”

  Justin did not respond. The only sound in the cottage was the scratching of Bethany’s pencil across the page. She finished the sketch and tore the page from the book, then she peeked at him through the crack in the door. He was still sitting on the second step from the bottom, only he had turned the other way.

  Bethany slid the drawing under the door. She heard the paper graze the steps and then crackle when Justin picked it up.

  “Nice sketch. It’s actually pretty close.” He sounded surprised. “You’re a good artist.”

  Bethany grinned, liking his approval. She leaned her head against the doorframe. “I’m a potter.”

  “That explains the dirt.”

  “What dirt?”

  “You were a mess when I met you yesterday. At first I thought you were a peasant girl.”

  Her face felt warm like she was blushing. She was glad he could not see her. “Oh, sorry. I had just left the pottery yard.”

  “Don’t apologize. You looked beautiful.”

  Her mouth dropped open. She sat still—her back leaning against the wall, her face turned to the crack in the door, her sketchbook resting on her lap—and absorbed his compliment. As she considered how to respond, she heard the cottage door open and then Connor spoke to Justin. Connor said Samuel’s funeral was over and asked how Justin was feeling. She heard Connor say he was going into the house and would be right back. Then the cottage door closed.

  “Hey, are you still by the door?” Justin’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs. She heard the sound of paper crinkling.

  “Yes.”

  “Open the door.”

  “No, I look terrible.”

  “Just open it a little more and stay back.”

  Bethany smiled and pushed the door open a few inches with her fingers. She waited, curious as to what Justin planned to do. Something flew into the room. It caused her to flinch, but then she saw it was her sketch paper folded into the shape of an airplane. The paper airplane circled past the dresser and lowered to the floor before sliding nose first into the baseboard near her. She giggled and reached for it then heard Connor enter the cottage. Bethany closed the bedroom door and smiled while holding the fascinating paper airplane.

  Chapter Six

  Everett propped his weary feet on the empty kitchen chair across from him. Roseanna was leaning over the sink where she had been scouring the same pan for several minutes. Unable to bear the scratching noises any longer, Everett stood from the table and carried his empty plate to the sink. “Thanks for dinner, Mother. It was great.”

  Roseanna nodded without making eye contact, then continued scrubbing the pan over the sudsy water. Everett walked to the back door and looked out the window into the darkened yard. His thoughts had remained fixed on Bethany since he first heard about Mercer and the illness. Though Everett was filled with grief for his father and busy with the work of the farm, he had spent the past five days tormented by the image of Bethany locked away with a man he had never met. He glanced at his mother. “I’m going to the Colburn house, that is, if you’ll be all right alone.”

  Roseanna looked up at him. “I’ll be fine, son. You should go. I know you’re worried about sweet Bethany. I am too.”

  “Do you want to come with me?”

  “No, no.” She grinned slightly then returned her attention to the sparkling pan. “I need time alone.”

  “You have been alone all day. Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

  “Quite sure.” Roseanna glanced at him then back at the dishes. She forced a smile as she scrubbed. “It’s good for me to be alone now. I’m settling into my grief. That is something a widow has to get used to. Don’t worry about me. You have enough to think about. Give the Colburns my best. I’ll leave the lamp on the table for you.”

  Everett grabbed his coat from the rack by the back door and shrugged into its woolen sleeves as he stepped outside. Shep trudged down the porch steps and hobbled beside Everett through the yard. The dog stopped at the edge of the road as Everett left his property and walked to the village. The cool air and the mile walk did little to calm his anxious mind.

  The oval-shaped moon lit the Colburn property as Everett stepped off the road and walked toward the house. He did not need the light; he could have walked straight to the familiar back door in complete darkness if he had to. He glanced at the cottage. Gauzy curtains obscured his view into the medical office, but the firelight lit the windows. The man called Mercer was in there with Bethany—his Bethany.

  Everett knocked lightly on the Colburns’ back door then turned the knob. John was sitting at the head of the kitchen table with his Bible open in his palm. He glanced up at Everett. “Come in, son.”

  Everett stepped into the warm kitchen. The house was quiet except for the faint scuff of footsteps upstairs. He looked at the Bible in the overseer’s hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt your study.”

  “Not at all.” John slid the Bible onto the table. “Hang up your coat and have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

  Everett shook his head as he hung his coat on one of several brass hooks screwed into the wall behind the door. He rubbed his cold hands together as he walked to the table. “How is Bethany?”

  “She is like a caged bird—bored and restless.” John smiled. “But she has fully recovered from the illness, so we are thankful no matter her temperament.”

  “Have you been able to talk to her?”

  John crossed his legs, ankle over knee. “Yes, she has become fond of yelling from the upstairs window.”

  “How about this Mercer fellow? Have you met him?”

  “Connor introduced us through the door.”

  Everett lowered himself into the chair nearest John. “What is he like?”

  “I would not want to judge a man when we have only been introduced through a door.”

  Everett appreciated John’s fairness, but knew the overseer had a way of seeing through pretenses. He leaned forward. “My father always said that you are good at sizing up a man’s character the moment you meet him. When Connor first arrived, my father—and many of the elders—shared Levi’s opinion that a warrior was a danger to our village, but you knew Connor could be trusted.”

  John gave a small chuckle and folded his hands in his lap. “I believe that a man is more than his occupation.”

  “And you were right about Connor. So does Mercer share only Connor’s occupation, or his good nature as well?”

  John scratched his bearded cheek. “That I cannot say. My daughter is quarantined with Mr. Mercer for the survival of the entire village, so I have to trust Connor’s opinion.”

  “And what is Connor’s opinion of him?”

  John leaned back in his chair and turned his head to look out the window. He did not speak for a moment and simply stared outside. Everett had never seen the overseer take so long to respond. Finally, John looked back at Everett and lowered his chin. “How is your mother?”

  Surprised by the change of subject, Everett straightened his spine. “She is grieving. She says she needs time to get used to her life as a widow.”

  John nodded. “I will pay her a visit tomorrow.”

  Everett was not there to talk about his mother or their grief. He was there because he was worried about Bethany. He put a hand on the table. “John, I hope you don’t think I’m out of line, but I love Bethany and she is locked in there with a man we don’t know. I want to know she’s safe. I want her out of there.”

  “As do I, son.” John leveled his gaze on Everett. “Connor believes Mr. Mercer is a good man. They only had a professional relationship, but Connor says Mercer is intelligent and focused. He a
lso says Mercer had a reputation for enjoying things in life that I would not approve of…” John paused while he ran his finger down the worn pages of his Bible. “But there are men in my own village who enjoy things I do not approve of. That does not mean they would harm a young woman.”

  Hearing his worst fear mentioned out loud ignited Everett’s anger. He stood with such rapid movement his chair screeched across the floor behind him. “My father is dead and I have a farm to manage and all I can think about is Bethany in that cottage with a strange man. He almost killed her with that disease and now—”

  “Sit down, son.” John tapped his forefinger on the table in quick thumps.

  Everett obeyed and waited for John to scold him for impatience. John said nothing and the silence made Everett feel childish. He dropped his head into his hands. “I’m afraid I missed my chance with Bethany.”

  When John did not respond, Everett drew his head away from his hands and looked at the overseer. John’s blue eyes were focused on him with a kind but intense gaze. Everett rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants. “I’m in love with your daughter. I have been for years and I want to marry her. I knew your rule for your daughters and I planned on asking for your blessing when she turned eighteen. But then she said she wasn’t ready to court, so I waited… and now I’m afraid I missed my chance.”

  John blew out a breath. “Everett, you are the only man in this village to whom I would give my blessing without hesitation. However,” John held up a finger as he spoke. “Bethany has not given any indication that she is aware of your feelings for her. I could be wrong. Even though she seems to express her every emotion, she often keeps deeper matters to herself. Does she know you want to court her?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  John gave Everett’s knee a hearty pat then stood. “You have my blessing, but I suggest you approach her slowly. Let her know how you feel and then give her time. I know her illness gave you a sense of urgency, but I will not give my consent to any other man, so there really is no hurry.”

  Everett rose and stuck his hand out, his fear somewhat allayed. “Thank you, John.”

  As Everett left the Colburn house, he walked to the road with a sense of approval but not the sense of peace he sought. He turned to look back at the cottage and saw warm light glowing through the curtain in the upstairs window. Desperate to speak to Bethany, he picked up a clump of dirt and walked to the cottage. With his chin lifted high toward the closed window, he threw the dirt clump. It thudded against the glass and fell to bits on the ground close to the cottage. He waited and watched for any sign of movement, but there was only the faint flicker of the firelight in the room behind the curtain. He picked up another clump and chucked it at the window. A shadow darkened the window, and then the curtain moved and Bethany appeared. When she looked down at Everett and smiled, he felt a surge in his chest.

  Bethany raised the sash window and leaned her folded arms on the sill. “I am so glad to see you.”

  Everett wanted to respond but was suddenly without words.

  Bethany angled her head. “What? Do I look terrible?”

  “No, Beth, no. You look beautiful.” He wanted to pour his heart out to her from right there—twelve feet below her—where he stood ankle deep in dewy grass. He swallowed the nonsensical romantic babble that waited on his tongue. “I’m so glad you recovered. I have been worried about you.”

  “It was horrible. I truly thought I was going to die. Connor said he thought it was close too. Now I’m fine, but I’m stuck up here for five more days.” She looked at her fingernails. It made Everett imagine the pigment stains that were usually around their edges. He wondered if the discoloration had faded since she had been away from work for several days. She looked back down at him. “I’m so sorry I missed the funeral. Are you all right?”

  “No, but I will be.”

  “Is your mother all right?”

  “No, but she will be too.”

  Bethany smiled. “I’ve been thinking a lot about when we were children. I loved going to your family’s property. Your father would take me to the barn and let me feed the bottle lambs.”

  “As soon as this is over, you can come to the farm as much as you like.”

  Bethany nodded and combed her fingers through her loose waves. “I miss him.”

  “So do I.”

  “He always said I was kind of like the lambs.”

  “He was right.” He thought she was every bit as naïve as every lamb he had ever cared for. “Bethany, what is Mercer like?”

  Her eyebrows raised a degree. “Justin? He has dark hair and skin and really straight teeth. He talks like Connor and he says a lot of technical things too.”

  “No. I want to know what he is like as a man—how does he treat you.”

  “Oh, fine, I guess. He doesn’t talk to me when Connor is around. Besides, Connor said I have to stay up here, so I just draw all the time. I’m so bored in here. I want to go back to the pottery before it’s too cold.”

  It was not the answer Everett wanted, but as long as Mercer was keeping to himself, he could let it rest. “What have you been drawing?”

  Bethany shrugged. “Everything I can think of. I just drew a new design I might try on a dish set.”

  “Show me.”

  “You won’t be able to see the detail from down there.” A quick smile lit her face and she held up a finger. “Wait a minute. I have an idea.”

  Bethany disappeared inside the room and Everett stretched his tired neck while he waited. He heard paper crinkling inside the room, then her arm appeared in the window. She released a piece of paper folded into a peculiar, pointed shape. The white paper sailed through the air like a bird and circled overhead before it landed in the grass behind his feet. He glanced up at Bethany, then he stepped back and picked up the folded paper. “Clever.”

  “It’s called a paper airplane. Justin taught me.”

  Jealousy burned inside Everett’s chest, but he tried not to show it as he unfolded the paper and examined Bethany’s design. Though he recognized her artistic style in the flowering vine scrolled along the page, the lines had distinct angles foreign to her usual work. He traced the fold lines in the paper with his forefinger and he wondered if Mercer’s influence went beyond paper airplanes. “It’s different.”

  “You don’t like it, do you?”

  “I like it just fine,” Everett lied. “Does Mercer go up to your room?”

  “Pardon?”

  He cleared his throat, but it did little to tamp his anger. “When did he teach you to fold paper like an airplane?”

  “I don’t know—the other day. Look, Everett, I know you are worried about me—just like my father and Levi are—but I’m fine. Justin apologized for getting me sick and I forgave him. You all will have to forgive him too. You just haven’t met him yet, so it makes you worry about me, but he’s nice, really. You will like him once you get to know him.”

  Everett realized John was right: Bethany had no idea how he felt about her. She thought he wanted to protect her like the other men in her life. And he did, but the other men in her life were related to her; his feelings for her were much different. He would not stand in the yard and declare his feelings for the woman he loved as she leaned out a window. He would wait until he could stand close to her and touch her and watch the light in her eyes as he told her how much she meant to him.

  Everett held up the paper. “May I keep this?”

  Bethany smiled. “You may. Will you come visit me again?”

  “I will.” Everett thought of all the work that waited for him at the farm—his farm. “It will be a few days, but I will come back.”

  * * *

  Bethany buttoned the front of an old flannel nightshirt and unwrapped the towel from her wet hair. Her damp waves fell past the shirt’s tattered collar as she leaned over the sink to wipe steam from the mirror. Though late at night, she did not want to go to bed. After a week of being stuck upstairs of the cottage, she
was tired of being indoors, tired of being alone, and tired of wearing old clothes from the rag pile. Though she normally loathed housework, she was looking forward to the cleaning and sanitizing Connor said they would have to do to the cottage on the last day of quarantine. She glanced down at the ugly nightshirt and felt especially thrilled with the plan to burn the old clothes she had been forced to wear.

  As Bethany opened the washroom door, she wondered what Justin was doing downstairs. He had seemed interested in her on the first day of quarantine, but then Connor had said something to him. Though Bethany had strained to hear, she did not know what was said, but Justin had not called her to the door since. He only came upstairs to use the washroom when Connor was in the cottage, and he rarely said more than hello when he passed through her room. Though Connor was trying to protect her, she had no one else to talk to and she doubted Justin was still infectious.

  Bethany glanced around the quiet bedroom. It felt late. The only clock in the cottage was in the office downstairs. She walked to the door and cracked it—hoping to hear if Justin was still up—and heard the repetitive creak of the floorboards followed by a gush of breath. Curious, she crept down the first few steps then knelt to peer between the balusters. Justin was splayed, arms spread wide, pushing himself up from the floor. He lowered his straight body close to the floor, and then the muscles in his shirtless back tightened as he pushed up again. Bethany sat on the stair and tucked the hem of her nightshirt around her long legs as she watched him.

  Justin continued exercising and did not look up. “Do you like what you see?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry for staring. I only wondered what the time was.”

  He pushed his body away from the floor one last time then stood. The faint light coming from the gray leaf log that burned in the fireplace highlighted one side of his face and body. The skin on the left side of his chest was marked with a dark symbol. It looked like a drawing of wings with something between them. Justin’s chest rose and fell with heavy breath as he glanced at the round mechanism strapped to his wrist. “It’s eleven twenty-three.”