The Uncharted Beginnings Series Box Set

by Keely Brooke Keith

  “You’re right. This is your print shop now.” Matthew laid the hand broom and dustpan on the table and held up both palms in surrender. “Forgive me for trying to clean your mess.”

  Henry turned his back on the burnt pages and looked out the window. The empty stone library next door stared back, mocking him. He didn’t think it would be this difficult. “I should tell the elders tonight.”

  “No meeting tonight, son. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and the men want to spend time with their families.”

  “Doesn’t feel like Christmas.”

  Matthew scratched his white side whiskers. “Never does to me, not since moving to the southern hemisphere. Warm Christmases and snowy Junes. Seems unnatural after so many years of my life spent on the other side of the earth.”

  Henry blew out a breath. “Those born in the Land will never know the difference.”

  “Those born in the Land will never know a great many things,” Matthew motioned toward the building next door, “especially if the shelves of our library remain empty.”

  As if anger and frustration were not enough, his father was ladling guilt into the cesspool of self-loathing already churning within Henry. Why did people think they could appeal to a man’s logic by trying to force more emotions upon him? Perhaps it worked on lesser intelligent men. He’d had his fill of conversation for the day.

  He returned to the worktable, scooped up the last of the ruined pages, and carried them to the stone fireplace in the back corner of the cabin where the previous tenants once cooked their meals. With the strike of a match, all physical evidence of Hannah’s accident was gone. If only the fracture in their relationship could be fixed as easily.

  It couldn’t.

  He stood from the hearth and straightened his spine. “Thank you for stopping in, Father, but I’m quite determined to get back to work.”

  “That’s the boy.” Matthew smiled, flashing his porcelain false teeth. “I’ll be at my paper-making station in the barn at home if you need anything. If we don’t see you by supper, I shall send Ellenore with a plate.”

  Henry didn’t want to see anyone for the rest of the day, even his favorite sister. He dusted his hands together. “I’d rather be alone.”

  “Very well, son,” Matthew turned to leave, taking his good intentions with him.

  Henry leaned against the worktable for a moment. Then he checked out the door to make sure he was alone. His father had already passed the library and was almost to the schoolhouse on the road home. No one else was in sight. Smoke billowed from the chimney of the Owenses’ smokehouse, and the scent of venison filled the air.

  He’d had enough of smoke for the day too.

  Stepping back into his shop, he lifted the little glass lantern Dr. Ashton had given him. He sniffed the strange fuel. He’d been so determined not to use the light source since highly flammable oil fueled it, but candles had done enough damage, not only by their fire ruining his pages, but also by his need to trade with Hannah to obtain them.

  He lit the lantern’s wick and turned the dial as Dr. Ashton had demonstrated. A white-hot flame with a blue center grew and cast its light across the shop.

  He set the lantern on his letter cabinet near the press and opened the drawer where he kept the plans for each page. Beneath the plans was the sketch of Mrs. Susanna Vestal. He’d brought it to the shop intending to show Hannah next time she came to trade candles. Before he’d been able to show her the only existing image of her late mother, she’d shown him the last page of her completed manuscript.

  Ghastly story it was too, or must be to have such an ending. Every word he’d said to her about it had been true. If their positions were reversed, he would have wanted to hear the truth. So why had she become so offended?

  There was the crux of his loneliness; he did not understand the fairer sex nor ever would. His sisters were easy enough to please. They simply wanted courteous men and generous compliments. His mother was the same but also required the occasional display of gratitude. Above all, the women in his family seemed to value honesty, especially Ellenore, which was why they preferred each other. She wanted his honest opinions, and he respected her for it.

  But not the girls he tried to court.

  They wanted flattery, constant approbation, and a man who lived to engage in petty placation.

  Well, he wasn’t the right man for them—any of them, especially Hannah Vestal. He looked into the eyes on the sketch. They were Hannah’s eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at it another moment. He slid the sketch back into the cabinet then stood by the window, staring northward. The scarred tendons beneath the lumpy skin of his left hand stung, so he curled and stretched his fist as he stared out the window. It didn’t relieve the pain.

  He’d known this would happen with Hannah. He’d tried to warn her. Neither of them had listened. He’d thought loving a woman might improve his life, but it had not.

  Though a hollow pit in his chest ached and always would, Hannah Vestal was better off without him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hannah stared at the gutter of her open Bible for the length of the Sunday service. Beside her, Minnie and Ida fidgeted on the pew, but she didn’t care to correct them. Occasionally, her father’s hand would still whichever twin became too wiggly.

  Reverend Colburn’s authoritative voice filled the chapel like the hum of floodwaters. It reminded Hannah of the evening she’d been trapped behind the waterfall. Henry had saved her then; he had calmed her and led her to safety. He’d been different that night. She liked that side of him, but there was no bringing it back. After rejecting her story and humiliating her, she’d spent the better part of a week seething at the thought of Henry Roberts.

  When the sermon ended, she couldn’t have repeated a word of it, for Henry was sitting three rows behind her. She didn’t need to look back to know he was there. She could sense him like one feels a storm coming before a single cloud has formed. And like a storm, Henry had blown into her life with his wit and confidence and left her reeling from the same.

  She may have accidentally started the small fire that burned a few papers in his shop, but he was the betrayer. She’d believed him when he’d said whatever was between them was too important to ignore. She’d trusted him with her heart—not that they had confessed their love for one another, but she opened her soul to him by sharing her writing.

  His reaction to her writing was the most severe point of his betrayal. She’d trusted him with her story, and he’d flippantly scanned one page before declaring the whole work rubbish. Maybe he deserved to have some of his papers burned.

  No, even though he’d hurt her she didn’t want his work to be ruined.

  When the reverend dismissed the congregation, Hannah’s father stood. Both of the twins shot to their feet with the sudden realization they were free to move. They squeezed past Hannah and Wade to get out of the pew. Hannah didn’t stop them.

  She glanced at Wade as he shuffled between the pews to the aisle with her. “I’m surprised you didn’t sit with Ben and Judah today.”

  Wade shrugged, not listening. His gaze was fixed on someone a few rows back.

  She followed his line of sight to the one man who was standing still in the moving crowd at the back of the chapel. Henry looked away as soon as their eyes met. If only she’d been the one to look away first.

  Wade scowled at Henry.

  Hannah nudged him. “Would you stop that, please?”

  “I want him to leave you alone.”

  “You needn’t worry about that.”

  Wade faced her and seemed less like the boy she’d helped raise and more like a man. His fists were balled so tightly his knuckles were white. “I’ll always worry about you if someone wants to court you.”

  She adjusted the ribbons on her church bonnet. “Well, he doesn’t want to, and no one else in the settlement has ever been interested in me, so your worrying is needless.”

  Wade’s hands relaxed. “Good.”

  As
Christopher walked ahead of them toward the chapel door, Hannah waved to Doris and the twins. “Come along, girls.” She tried to appear occupied with her sisters as they neared the back of the chapel where Henry stood talking to Gabe and Olivia, but for once none of the girls needed her attention. She hugged her Bible to her chest and pressed her fingers into the book’s spine.

  Her father greeted Henry and patted his shoulder as he passed. If she looked for long, they might make eye contact again. If they did, he might see the sadness looming behind any angry expression she’d be tempted to make. She looked at Olivia and Gabe, who had little Daniel hanging on to both of their hands.

  Olivia held up a finger to Henry to pause their conversation. She reached for Hannah’s arm, stopping her slow procession to the door. “Do you have anything… new to show me?” She followed her question about Hannah’s writing with a secretive smile.

  Hannah shook her head. “I won’t have anything to show you for a while. Maybe never again.” Her eyes moved without her permission to Henry’s face. A flash of sorrow darkened his expression. He’d been so arrogant and then angry last time she saw him, she hadn’t considered that he might regret his behavior. The hint of guilt seemed to vanish as quickly as it had come. He checked his pocket watch.

  Olivia glanced between Hannah and Henry. Her porcelain forehead crinkled beneath wisps of straight black hair. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Minnie pulled on Hannah’s sleeve. “I’m hungry.”

  Hannah smoothed her little sister’s hair then forced a smile for Olivia. “It’s for the best. My time is committed to my family. I wasted too much of it on… that diversion.”

  Her father and Wade were standing at the door waiting, so she walked on. She glanced back as she left the church with her family. Olivia and Gabe were exchanging a concerned look. Henry was already speaking with someone else. After all she’d been through, he wasn’t affected at all. She’d meant nothing to him.

  A cloak of numbness shrouded Hannah as she walked home with her family. It didn’t matter that the warm sun had ignited summertime in the Land with lush foliage, swooping songbirds, and fragrant wildflowers blossoming in every meadow. It didn’t matter that she had her family’s love and approval. She had lost someone close to her. Again.

  She slowed her pace as she approached the house. David and Wade flung the back door open, eager to get out of their cravats and waistcoats. The twins raced inside, knocking into each other as they climbed the mudroom steps. Doris twirled once then stood on tiptoe to kiss Christopher’s cheek before walking inside.

  Christopher stayed on the stoop, holding the door open for Hannah. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she mumbled.

  “You’ve been dragging your feet for days. What’s wrong?”

  She turned her face into the wind that blew across the meadow where her mother was buried. The tall grass bent in pulsing waves. In summers past, she imagined it was her mother’s way of waving to her. Not anymore. Her imagination was no longer her friend.

  Neither was Henry Roberts.

  Christopher tried again. “Does this have anything to do with your candle trade at the print shop the other day?”

  She snapped her attention away from the meadow. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I wish you had a mother for these times.”

  “I don’t want a mother,” she said as she stopped near the stoop. “I miss my mother.”

  “I know, sweet Hannah, I know. I only meant you would benefit from the advice of a woman.” He lowered his chin. “Maybe you should visit Olivia one day this week to have someone to talk to. A feminine perspective. She has the gift of encouragement. She encouraged me after your mother’s passing, and it affected me deeply.”

  She shook her head. She didn’t want anyone’s encouragement or any more talk of gifts. She’d taken their advice to use her gift of writing, and with one sharp critique, Henry had drained all the enjoyment out of her only solace—her writing.

  She’d also followed Olivia’s advice to take her story to Henry to be printed. Olivia had assured her Henry would be fair—maybe not pleasant but fair, she’d said. Olivia wasn’t to blame for Henry’s behavior; in Olivia’s experience Henry might have been a fair judge of writing. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was a terrible story.

  With one breath from someone else’s lungs, her only happiness was gone.

  If she didn’t have her writing and she didn’t have her mother, what was left? Cleaning and mending and making candles and soap? Feeding six people who only saw her back as she stood at the stove for hours each day?

  The mindless work of the home was all she had. It was the least she could do for her father since she wouldn’t be granting his request and letting him read her story. She had tried to use her writing to bless others, and all she’d done was failed. She’d failed her father and Olivia and her characters… and Henry. Her throat tightened, but she would not cry. Not now. She didn’t look at Christopher as she passed him and stepped into the noisy kitchen.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Henry sat between his father and Gabe for the last elders’ meeting of the year. He squelched a yawn as Reverend Colburn gave each elder the floor to address his family’s business. The elders’ firstborn sons sat quietly, observing the ways they were expected to continue one day. After working late into the night at the letterpress for several days, Henry’s mind refused to focus during the tedious meeting.

  He would obey the settlement’s rules and fulfill his duty as an elder in Good Springs one day, but it didn’t make sense considering his fate. The purpose of a family’s elder was to represent his family’s business. Henry was doomed to live alone.

  Therefore, committing to become an elder was illogical. Thanks to the fire last week, his goal with the New Testament printing was improbable. And his delusion he could love Hannah well and maybe have a family of his own someday was impractical.

  Illogical. Improbable. Impractical.

  This is what he’d become. A failure. The word was hard to swallow, and it might well be true about him. As Mr. Foster returned to his seat and Reverend Colburn called on Matthew to give an update of the Roberts family’s business, Henry straightened his posture. A failure he might be, but he need not let on in public.

  Matthew strode to the front of the room and drew a folded piece of gray leaf paper from his breast pocket. “I’ve traded paper to the McIntoshes for the building of twenty-four drying racks, which has doubled my paper production abilities. I’ll have ample paper supply for the new school year, and should anyone wish to trade for paper, my family is in need of thread, yarn, and cloth.” He glanced up from his paper and chuckled. “My daughters aren’t keen on weaving or spinning.”

  Henry didn’t laugh. His sisters had plenty of work to do already. The more workers who specialized in one product like his father had and quickly produced goods, the more the settlement would be free to flourish.

  Matthew finished detailing their family’s settlement business and nodded once at Reverend Colburn. Before Matthew could take his seat, the reverend raised his hand. “What about the printing press? Give us an update on Henry’s progress with the New Testament.”

  Matthew looked at Henry and scratched his side whiskers. “My son is putting his full effort into the project, working dawn to midnight most days. There was a setback recently, a small fire. But I’m quite sure Henry will meet the challenge.”

  The elders glanced at each other at the mention of a fire. Christopher Vestal’s brow furrowed with concern. He asked Matthew, “Was anyone hurt?”

  For once Henry was glad he wasn’t being addressed about his own business. If he were, he’d have to answer honestly. Yes, someone was hurt in the incident—not by the blaze but by his attitude.

  “No, no,” Matthew answered quickly. “Only a few pages lost. No matter. Henry has already reprinted many of them.”

  As Matthew returned to his seat, Christopher looked at Henry. Unable
to discern the meaning behind Christopher’s stoic expression, Henry pressed his lips together and turned his gaze to the reverend. Still, he could feel Christopher looking at him.

  Did the father of the woman he loved know he’d hurt her feelings? Did Christopher know Hannah had started the fire? Did he know their relationship was ruined?

  It didn’t matter anymore.

  Henry’s every hope of improving his life went up in the smoke from Hannah’s fire. He wasn’t able to love a woman well. He’d hurt Hannah and didn’t deserve her. It was time he accepted the life of a failure. He would pass the eldership to Simon, sleep on a cot at the back of the print shop, and die alone.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  By late January, the long summer days of the southern hemisphere were shortening, which suited Hannah just fine. The sooner the day was over, the sooner she could crawl back into bed and escape her misery by sleeping. Gone were her afternoons of dreaming up stories and secretly scribbling notes, her evenings of joy while the anticipation to write built, and her quiet late night writing sessions. Now, without the tourniquet of writing, each day bled into the next like a fatal wound.

  Hannah filled a clean bucket at the well then scanned the horizon as she carried the water into the house. The sun sank behind the trees to the west, leaving the sky full of golden clouds stacked to the heavens. The air flowing into the mudroom cooled the kitchen as it blew the heat of cooking out the open front door.

  Another dinner eaten, another day gone.

  Her family had settled into their evening routine with her father sitting in the parlor reading his Bible, Doris poking at her needlework by the lantern, and the twins playing on the rug with their ever-growing seashell collection. David whittled on the front porch while Wade wrestled with the puppies.

  Hannah set the water bucket by the kitchen sink then studied her family. Though they all looked content, the veil of her sadness kept her from joining them.