Uncharted Inheritance (The Uncharted Series Book 3)

by Keely Brooke Keith

  “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 makes 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?”

  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 also 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 l
ight 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?”