The Uncharted Beginnings Series Box Set

by Keely Brooke Keith

  She kept a stack of books on the trunk next to the keepsake box and her lantern. Her Bible topped the stack. She tried to keep the other books in the order she’d first read them, but inevitably her favorites rose to the top: The Pious Minstrel and Christian’s Companion: a Collection of Sacred Poetry, a clothbound copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, and a first edition of The Scarlet Letter.

  She trailed a finger along the spine of the books. Reading Hawthorne’s romantic tale would be a welcome escape from her racing thoughts right now, but she wouldn’t be able to see the words if she tried.

  Nor could she sleep. Not with half the village blaming her for the fire outside the chapel and the other half already convinced her school was a waste of time.

  And below the embarrassment and frustration, Gabriel McIntosh’s tender words replayed over and over in her mind. He had promised her loyalty and friendship and so much more if only…

  She lowered her feet to the floor and straightened her nightgown as she looked through the window to the world outside. A swath of moonlit gray leaf trees blocked her view of the McIntoshes’ house next door. Gabe probably was asleep in there. What had he truly meant by so much more if only you would let me? Was he the incorrigible flirt Peggy insisted he was or had he sincerely offered his heart?

  Olivia’s toes curled against the cold floor as she padded down to the parlor. It was not an actual parlor, but an open space between the kitchen and her parent’s bedroom. Since her mother called it the parlor, the rest of the family had no choice but to follow suit. It was treated more reverently than other areas of the house because it was where Mrs. Mary Owens kept her one treasure from their home in Accomack County, Virginia—an oak rocking chair with a caned back and embroidered cushion.

  Though long after midnight, Mary was still sitting in her rocking chair, gazing at the quartered gray leaf log on the grate. A steady golden flame rose from the slowly-consumed wood.

  Her mother gave her an appraising glance. “You all right?”

  Olivia nodded. It wasn’t true. She stood on the rag rug by Mary’s chair, hoping her mother would ask her again, but she didn’t. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Nor I.”

  Olivia knelt on the rug. “You’re disappointed in me, aren’t you?”

  Her mother didn’t immediately answer, and her silence stung more than any word. The wood rockers brushed over the rug rhythmically with every swing of the chair.

  Forward… back… forward…

  Olivia’s tense shoulders rose to her ears. Her fingers burned to grab the oak rocker and halt its movement.

  “No, I’m not disappointed in you. At first I was, simply because your father was, but then I realized he is just embarrassed. Now I am disappointed in myself. This was my fault. You helped me in the classroom in Virginia as a monitor when you were a senior student, and you taught some of the lessons on the ship, but that was two years ago. You have never held charge of twenty children in a classroom by yourself. It was my failing not to supervise until you were more experienced.”

  Olivia’s shoulders relaxed. “But if you had been there today Reverend Colburn would have been cocksure you were to blame for the fire and would have canceled your school and made everyone angry with you.”

  Mary pointed her finger at Olivia but kept her gaze on the fire. “Don’t speak of the reverend with that tone. He left the chapel in the care of an inexperienced young woman, against his better judgment—”

  Olivia mumbled, “Then perhaps he is to blame.”

  “And he did not make anyone angry with you. The elders are constantly aware of how vulnerable our settlement is. We are isolated from the world. Everyone has worked their fingers to the bone to build what little we have, and it could all be easily destroyed. If people get hurt here, there isn’t any real medicine left. Lives could be lost easily. The fire today reinforced the elders’ fear.”

  “Fear?” She picked at a loop in the rug. “What happened to trusting God with our lives? When we sailed away from America and the Providence drifted for over three months, everyone constantly reminded each other to trust God. We did and He brought us here. Have we lost faith now?”

  The rocker stopped in the middle of a backward movement. Mary’s heels hovered over the floor. She looked at Olivia, wide-eyed. “No, but it seems the elders might have forgotten what God did in the past. Perhaps after the hard work of building a self-sustaining village, they have forgotten who truly provides our sustenance.” Her mother gave her a thin smile. “Out of the mouths of babes.”

  “I’m no babe, Mother.”

  “You are to me.”

  “And to the elders?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Olivia poked her little finger through the loop in the rug. “Now what do I do? They said the only way I can teach is if I go from house to house each week. If I do that, the children will not learn as well as they could with daily instruction. Nor would education be made a priority, especially if the elders are afraid for their survival.”

  Mary resumed rocking. “You’re right.”

  “Father won’t help my cause, will he?”

  Her mother shook her head. “Not while the current attitude prevails.”

  “What can we do?

  “Pray for them. Pray God changes their hearts. That He proves His loving provision to them once again.”

  “But it is all around us.”

  “Then pray the elders see it, with their eyes and in their souls.”

  Olivia pulled her finger out of the loop. “Until then, what should I do about teaching? I have to give my answer tomorrow.”

  Mary stretched her arms along the length of the rocking chair’s arms and curled her hands around the ornately carved ends. “Do you believe God has called you to teach?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that He has given you the desire, ability, and strength to teach?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then teach however you can, wherever you can, and leave the rest to the Lord.”

  Chapter Four

  The strap of Olivia’s book-filled satchel dug into her shoulder by the time she reached her first teaching appointment. She adjusted the strap as she surveyed the Cotters’ enclosed porch. Three splintered trunks were stacked one atop the other, a wad of mildew-freckled burlap fluttered in the breeze, a stove cord of firewood was draped in scraps of threadbare fabric that had been left there to dry and long since hardened.

  Perhaps in their desire to live by the adage waste not want not, the Cotter family had forgotten cleanliness is next to godliness.

  This was not how Olivia envisioned teaching school, but it was her only option. The children of this isolated settlement deserved a schoolhouse and daily classes. It was up to her to find a way to make that happen. Until then, she would submit to the elders’ decision.

  She raised a knuckle and knocked on the Cotters’ front door.

  “Come in,” a child’s voice sang from inside.

  Olivia reached for the doorknob.

  “No! Wait out there,” Mrs. Cora Cotter tersely corrected.

  Material hanging inside the door’s window blocked Olivia’s attempt to see what was happening. The pinstripes of the faded calico curtain moved. She expected someone to let her in, but it was the contrasting pattern that tricked her into seeing nonexistent motion.

  Dizziness often invited the monster. If it came during the children’s reading lesson, she would improvise. With only two young students at the Cotters’, she could switch from reading to mathematics or tell them it was time to practice their writing.

  She closed her eyes and focused on the sounds around her. Sometimes that made the feeling go away. Footsteps scuffed on the other side of the door. A dog barked behind the house. Waves crashed far in the distance, or it was her imagination; it had been so long since she’d gone to the shore to relax.

  The door jerked open, and little Jane wrapped her arms around Olivia’s waist. “Thank you for coming to teach me!”

&nb
sp; “Oh, it is my pleasure,” Olivia wheezed as she loosened Jane’s enthusiastic grip on her ribs. She stepped into the cramped house.

  Conrad carried an empty crate out the back door, following three of his older sisters who held wooden buckets. Peggy wasn’t inside—at least not on the lower level. Olivia listened for movement upstairs but heard nothing.

  Mrs. Cotter stood at the stove with her back to the room, scrubbing the range vigorously. A frizzy curl had escaped her bun and rose four inches in the air like a rusted spring. It bounced as she spoke. “Teach Jane first. Conrad has chores to do.” She flicked a dour glance over her shoulder at Olivia. “Jane can’t subtract to save her soul, so you might want to start with arithmetic.” Then she mumbled as she scrubbed, “Not that she will use book learning here ever. None of these children will. We are stuck on this godforsaken island. Stuck forever. We will die here and our children will die here and their children, if they live long enough to have any. Probably starve long before that. We all will.”

  Olivia’s mouth gaped. This land was plentiful—full of game and fertile soil. She studied Mrs. Cotter’s figure from behind. The woman had gained a few pounds since moving into the farmhouse even though the physical labor of homesteading kept most of the settlers lean. Maybe she was with child. At forty-two, Mrs. Cotter was the oldest of the women in Good Springs. Pregnancy wasn’t impossible, but it didn’t seem likely. And everyone would have known by now. Secrets were hard to keep in a settlement this small. Whatever the cause of her weight gain, her bitter remarks were not from a lack of food. No one in this house was starving.

  Jane took Olivia by the hand and pulled her to the kitchen table. Long enough to seat the family of nine, the table took up most of the kitchen and part of the sitting area. Its rudimentary construction differed from the fine furniture Gabe built, but it appeared stable.

  Olivia set her satchel on the table’s edge farthest from the kitchen and withdrew several schoolbooks. She looked at her eager pupil. “Let’s start with arithmetic, shall we, Miss Jane?”

  “Oh, yes.” Jane curled her legs onto the chair. “Did you bring a book for me?”

  “I did.”

  Mrs. Cotter plunked her scrub brush onto a shelf and carried a pail of dirty water out the back. She closed the door, then pinned Olivia with a cold stare through the window for one unnerving moment.

  Olivia held her breath until the woman walked away.

  An hour passed before Peggy came downstairs and an hour more before Conrad returned to begin his lessons.

  Peggy boiled a kettle of water and made herself tea, then sat at the other end of the table. She lifted the steaming cup close to her lips but didn’t sip. Though late morning Peggy still looked half asleep.

  Little Jane absorbed every moment of her lessons, while Conrad fidgeted and complained. It was nearly noon when Mrs. Cotter returned to the back door. Her other daughters were with her, all sly whispers and deadly glances. Frances was seventeen and had adopted the worst of Mrs. Cotter’s negative attributes. The other two girls—ten-year-old twins Editha and Eveline—seemed too young to carry such a quiver full of poisonous stares.

  They also carried wooden buckets shrouded with a blackberry stained cloth. Their arms strained as if the covered buckets were full.

  Peggy sat with a fabric-covered pillow on her lap, pinning a pattern to make lace. She ignored her sisters as they set the table for lunch, and she ignored her father and brother when they came in to wash up. She glanced at her mother once when Mrs. Cotter mumbled nonsensically as she sliced a loaf of bread.

  Olivia slowly gathered her books from the table and arranged her pencils and chalk in her satchel. She half expected to be asked to stay for lunch—perhaps as a display of gratitude for teaching the children. When no one acknowledged her preparations to leave, she carried Jane’s slate to Mrs. Cotter. “Jane learns quickly. I made a short list of lessons for her to complete this week, and I will leave one reader for the children to share. It’s very important they take good care of the book.”

  Mrs. Cotter sighed and glared at the book as if its existence taxed her energy. She grabbed the reader and tossed it on the shelf beside the blackened scrub brush. “Waste of time.”

  As Mrs. Cotter returned her attention to the bread, Jane peeked under the cloth that covered the buckets her sisters had brought inside. The little girl exclaimed, “Three buckets full of blackberries! Oh, I do love blackberries!”

  “Shush!” Mrs. Cotter yanked Jane by the hair, pulling her away from the blackberries. “What have I told you about blabbering about our food.” Her squinted eyes darted to Olivia. “These are our berries, fair and square.” She inched closer and hissed. “Keep your mouth shut about us when you go around the village teaching your little school lessons. Don’t be a busybody. God judges busybodies.”

  Olivia suddenly felt as young and frightened as Jane, but she managed a stiff nod.

  Mrs. Cotter jerked her chin toward the front door. “You best get going. I have a family to feed. Good day, Miss Owens.”

  “Good day.” Olivia glanced down at Jane who frowned at the floor. “Goodbye, Jane. I will be back next Monday.”

  As Olivia slinked away from the kitchen, she eyed the rest of the Cotter family. No one flinched at Mrs. Cotter’s rude behavior. Mr. Teddy Cotter washed his hands in the basin by the back door, and his son waited for a turn with the water. The elder daughters argued amongst themselves while they prepared lunch.

  Peggy stabbed a pin into the top of the cushion and stood from her lacemaking perch. She met Olivia at the front door and smiled politely. “Don’t mind Mother,” she whispered as she opened the door for Olivia. “She’s just frightfully busy.”

  As Olivia crossed the threshold, she paused to ask Peggy what had made Mrs. Cotter so bitter, but Peggy shook her head quickly and looked away.

  The door closed behind Olivia, and the lock clicked before her feet reached the porch steps. She glanced back and prayed Jane wouldn’t be mistreated again. She would speak to Peggy about her mother’s behavior the next time they were alone. If that made her a busybody, so be it. Something wasn’t right about Mrs. Cotter since coming to this land, and Jane was suffering for it.

  As Olivia walked to the road, she pulled a wrapped biscuit from her satchel. Between it and a ripe plum, she had a sufficient midday meal. Staying at the Cotters’ house for lunch had never been mentioned, so she alone could be blamed for supposing an invitation would be extended.

  Come to think of it, when she had scheduled the children’s lessons with Mr. Cotter, he’d acted as though he did her a great favor by allowing her to come to their home. And in a way he had. It was a privilege to teach someone else’s children and to set up a school for a morning in their home, yet not so great a privilege that inhospitality should be excused.

  Olivia unfurled the cloth from the biscuit as she left the Cotters’ farm and stepped onto the road. Pinching off a corner of the crumbly bread, she turned north and ambled toward the Vestals’ property.

  The chill of the morning air lingered in the forest shadows, so she hurried through the darker places where the trees met high above the road. Once in the sunlight, her dark woolen shawl absorbed the sun’s heat. The light ignited silvery specks on the gray leaf foliage all around. Oaks and maples waved leaves flaming with oranges and deep reds, and the mulberry trees glowed with glossy yellow. The green in the forest was left to the pine and the grassy undergrowth.

  Heady scents of gray leaf and juniper swirled through the autumn breeze. When she finally came to the meadow before the Vestals’ property, the intoxicating aroma, warm sunshine, and blissful quiet of creation lulled her into the peace she craved. She surveyed the area for a place to sit and found a felled tree trunk along the road near the Vestals’ orchard.

  She sat on the low log and tucked her skirt close to her legs. As she finished her lunch, she counted the rows of two-year-old trees a stone’s throw from her. The orchard’s rows stretched far into the distance. T
wine tied to stakes anchored each sapling, and a blanket of straw encircled their bases. The ground between rows had been recently scythe mowed, keeping the orchard clear and ensuring the Vestals would have fodder for the livestock through the coming winter.

  As she drew the plum out of her satchel, Mr. Christopher Vestal rounded a distant row of trees with a wheelbarrow. He stepped onto the sandy road where it dwindled to a path. “Hello, Miss Owens,” he called casually and tipped his straw hat.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Vestal.” Olivia stood and held up her plum. “I was eating my lunch.”

  He lowered the wheelbarrow to the ground and brushed dirt from the smock he wore over his work coat. “You’re welcome to eat in our kitchen.”

  “I thought it best to give you and your family time to eat before I went to the house.” Not to mention the last family she had called on wanted her out of their way, and she wasn’t in a hurry to be found a nuisance again.

  “I don’t go inside at noon, and the others would have finished eating by now. But Susanna and the children will be happy to have your company. Wade and Doris are especially excited about your visit.”

  Grateful for the hospitable welcome, she smiled. “Thank you.” She pointed at the wide meadow across the road. “I was enjoying this beautiful view.”

  He picked bits of hay grass from his sleeves and walked toward her. A yellow retriever followed him. When he drew near, he gazed out across the meadow then at his young orchard. “The Lord has given us a fine allotment. This land is far greater than anything I could have asked Him to provide.”

  The dog greeted Olivia, and she offered it an open hand. “How long before the apple trees begin producing fruit?”

  “Six to eight more years.” He grinned and golden flecks shone in his brown irises. “Tired of plums and figs, are we?”

  “No, no. I simply wondered how you and your family are sustaining yourselves with all of your effort going into the orchard, since it won’t produce food for several years.”