She traced a finger over the number 7 in her door. It had been her room since birth. Granted, she’d shared it with Eva until her sister got married and their father gave Eva and Ezekiel Room 8, the double next to Sybil’s.
Now, Ezekiel had passed away, Eva and Zeke shared Room 8, and Frederick Roberts slept alone in Room 1. Though the soft rumble of her father’s snoring was muffled by his door, Sybil could still hear it in the hallway. She didn’t mind the sound. As long as he snored, he was still alive.
She drew her room key from her apron pocket, then remembered she hadn’t locked the door when she left the room this morning. Her father always insisted his children lock their rooms, especially at night. Whenever Revel stopped at Falls Creek during his travels, he always made Sybil promise she’d keep her room locked. Why they were so cautious, she didn’t know. Nothing bad ever happened at the inn—at least nothing she knew of.
As she stepped into her room, Eva’s door clicked open. Sybil poked her head out to say goodnight. Her sister closed the doorknob slowly, silently, then turned on her heel and froze when she saw Sybil. She pointed into Sybil’s room, so Sybil backed up and let Eva in.
Eva whispered, “I needed to check on Zeke.”
“Is he sleeping?” He was always asleep, but Eva always checked.
She nodded. “The puppy woke up when I went in. I was afraid it would wake Zeke, but it didn’t.” She pulled the pins out of her long, brunette hair and it cascaded down her shoulders in lovely waves. “Are you going to bed?”
Sybil yawned. It was past nine and she’d been up since five this morning. “Do you have to ask?”
Eva grinned. “No.”
“Are you going downstairs to talk to Solo?”
Her sister’s grin widened. “Do you have to ask?”
“No.” Sybil returned her smile. “Night, Eva.”
“Night, Syb.”
After closing her door, Sybil reached for her match jar out of habit. She stopped short. Enough moonlight flowed through the windowpanes, so there was no need to light her lamp tonight. She slipped into her cotton night clothes, then sat on the cushioned stool by the window while she brushed her hair with the bone-handled brush her mother gave her with a vanity set on her twelfth birthday.
“You’re a woman now,” Annabella Roberts had said proudly, giving Sybil the present in private, not because it was her birthday but because she’d gotten her first period. Her mother said womanhood should be celebrated and taught her how to use and wash her rags and how to keep a calendar. And she’d said all women needed a proper vanity set.
Soon after, Annabelle stopped Sybil’s school lessons and put her to work in the kitchen. Sybil didn’t know why and never asked. It couldn’t have been her age or her advancement into womanhood because her mother taught Eva until she was fifteen. It had to be something else, some deficiency her mother found in her. But the more Sybil learned to cook, the more her mother was pleased, so she cooked until she perfected feeding—and delighting—large crowds with scrumptious meals.
A warm tear trailed down Sybil’s cheek. She wiped it with the back of her hand and kept brushing. She wished her hair were straighter, like Eva’s silky waves, but each tress sprung back up after the brush completed its stroke. The best she could hope for was an unknotted puff of muted brown locks, some fuzzy, some limp. None pretty.
Did Isaac Owens like curls? Claudia used to say men don’t notice such things. She said since a hardworking woman’s hair was always up, when she let it down, whether it was curly or straight was the last thing on a man’s mind.
Clouds quickly passed the oval moon in the lonely sky high above Sybil’s window. Its light made her reflection show in the windowpane, faintly at first, like an apparition. As she stared at it, her features became clearer. Did Isaac like big lips and freckles too? How about green eyes? She couldn’t disparage her eyes because they were the same as her father’s.
It was pointless to wonder what Isaac liked in a woman. If he wasn’t attracted to her, she couldn’t change herself anyhow.
Eva always said never to change for a man. That was easy for her to say. Men were always attracted to her. And after Ezekiel died, she ignored them all until Solomon Cotter showed up.
Sybil had ignored the men who came to the inn too, but it wasn’t hard since they were usually rough traders, unkempt and uncouth. Plus, she rarely had their attention. She was either in the kitchen or near enough to Eva that no one noticed her.
And that was fine until Isaac Owens came to interview for the farm manager position three months ago. He’d taken the time to tell her he loved her cooking. And the way he’d looked at her—like she mattered—melted her defenses. He probably had no idea that when he stepped into her kitchen, he’d stepped into her heart.
She cast her gaze over the dark hills that rolled from one line of bluish-black to the next. The moon and the star-filled sky faded in and out of view between the passing clouds. There was nothing quite like the view from her window. It showcased the unbroken beauty of the only place she would ever want to live—Falls Creek. She never wanted to travel like Revel did, nor to visit all the Land’s villages like her mother had. Sybil had only been to two—Riverside and Southpoint—and didn’t care for the bustle of village life.
Eva said that during her interview with Isaac, he told her he preferred country life. Hopefully, he would find Falls Creek as idyllic as Sybil did.
The quickly passing clouds parted for a long moment, allowing the moonlight to brighten the road that disappeared to the southwest. Isaac might be on that road even now, somewhere beyond those hills, somewhere beneath the oval moon, soon to arrive at Falls Creek to work and live. Maybe, forever.
Chapter Two
Isaac Owens clicked at his chestnut mare, Chloe, while he rode her up yet another soggy hill through the middle of the Land. Cold wind whipped behind him, sending a chill down his neck. He lifted the back of his collar to shield his skin.
The horse’s hooves sloshed through the dead grass between the wheel tracks on the long road and then splat through a mud puddle. She snorted and shuffled to the side a few steps.
“Don’t enjoy getting dirty, do you?” Isaac gave Chloe a slow stroke down her mane. “Then I’m not sure why you decided to spend your life with me.”
So maybe it hadn’t been her decision exactly, but it looked that way at the time. When he’d chosen the horse out of all his payment options after he’d worked six months for the traders, Chloe took a quick liking to him. Every morning since, she came to his whistle. When he approached her, she reached her head toward him, ears forward. And the way she wanted to stay near him when he camped between villages made it seem like she’d picked him.
“Wouldn’t make sense to anyone but us. Would it, girl?”
Maybe it was just the fact that she was the first horse he’d owned that hadn’t actually been his father’s. And anything that belonged to his father would someday belong to his older brother, Nathan, which was rubbed in Isaac’s face every hour he spent at home in Southpoint.
Well, thank God, it wasn’t his home anymore. Never was. The old house wasn’t his, nor the sprawling farm, nor the horses. The only things that ever truly belonged to Isaac were the clothes stuffed in his satchel and the bedroll hanging from his saddle. And now Chloe herself. She was his, and since she was only three years old, he figured they had a good long life together ahead of them. But no sense in thinking that far ahead.
The mid-morning sun couldn’t find a break in the thick clouds. Its filtered light made it difficult to tell the time. He slid his gloved hand into the breast pocket of his riding coat and pulled out his grandfather’s pocket watch. It only belonged to him because his grandfather had given it directly to him before he died. Otherwise, the watch would have ended up in Nathan’s sticky hands.
Didn’t make much difference since the watch was broken. He’d always been able to fix anything. So why couldn’t he fix this watch?
Oh, well. It didn’t ma
tter. He checked the sky to estimate the hour. It wasn’t lunch time yet, but his stomach was already growling. Probably just from knowing warm, delicious meals awaited him at the inn.
Hopefully, Miss Sybil Roberts was still the inn’s cook. It had only been three months since he’d been there to interview for the farm manager position. Surely, Miss Roberts hadn’t been swept off her feet and away from Falls Creek in such a short time. Although if she had, it wouldn’t surprise him.
She could cook like an angel and had the prettiest green eyes he’d ever seen. She’d blushed when he slipped into the inn’s kitchen once to tell her how much he liked her cooking. Not that he was a stranger to making women blush, but there was something special about Sybil Roberts. Of course, he’d have to keep that to himself. She was his new boss’s daughter, and he needed the job at Falls Creek to work out.
He needed more than the job. He needed to improve the inn’s farm operations to such a degree that news of his success made its way back to his family in Southpoint without him saying a word. He needed to prove he deserved to run a farm and that was why he had the position, not simply because it was handed to him by birthright.
Stupid tradition. Nathan didn’t deserve to inherit their family’s farm. That man didn’t care about the soil, the livestock, the cycles of seasons and crops and life that made a farm a productive world of its own.
Isaac did and he would prove it with his new life at Falls Creek. He’d tried to prove it at another farm, but never could settle in there. Then he thought he’d be good at trading, but that didn’t work out either. Not much ever had.
So maybe he couldn’t pass a test back in school or find a girl that made him want to commit for life, but he knew farming. He gave Chloe another click to encourage her up the next hill. “We’ll show them. Won’t we, girl?”
As they crested the hill, the horse lifted her head at what awaited on the horizon. Isaac was already staring at the gleaming white house that stood out against the brown hills like winter wheat against a gray sky. He tightened up on the reins and Chloe slowed. “There it is. The Inn at Falls Creek. Our new home.”
Chloe’s muscles vibrated beneath her skin.
“You’re right. It is exciting.” Since she had the energy for it, he hastened her into a trot to close the distance between them and the inn. “Let’s go!”
Despite being cold, tired, and hungry, when they crossed the stone bridge in front of the big white inn, the happy two-beat clop of his horse’s hooves matched the joyful rhythm of his heart. It no longer mattered that he hadn’t received a fond farewell from his family; he’d found his place and would make a life for himself here.
“Smell that, girl?” He drew in a long breath. “Freedom.”
He pulled back on the reins when they reached the property, and Chloe slowed to a stop. The high arched doors in the middle of the L-shaped stable block were closed. By mid-morning most barns and stables had at least one door open. Winter had begun, but it wasn’t too cold yet to air out the stables during the day.
He scanned the other buildings on the property. No smoke rose from the bunkhouse’s chimney, nor from the little cottage where the elderly farm manager and his wife lived. The barn doors were closed too. Unsure where to go, he turned Chloe and rode her toward the front of the inn.
He dismounted at the wide porch, but before he tied Chole to the corner rail, the front door opened. A stream of voices singing O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing flooded out of the house, accompanied by piano music.
Solomon Cotter stepped out of the inn wearing pressed trousers and a waistcoat over a starched white shirt. “Isaac. Welcome back!”
Isaac climbed the porch steps and thrust out his hand. “Thank you.” He almost added sir, but stopped himself, realizing the stable manager was neither his boss nor that much older—maybe thirty at most. “Did I arrive at a bad time?”
Solo shook his head. “Sunday service.”
Somehow with all that had happened at his family’s house he’d lost track of the days. He glanced down at his faded trousers and muddy boots. “I’m not fit for church like this.”
Solo gave him a quick scan, raising one scarred eyebrow. “We don’t care too much about such things around here. It’s almost over anyway. Mr. Roberts forgot to prepare a sermon, so Leonard just read Scripture and now we’re singing hymns. Come on in. Everyone has been looking forward to your arrival.”
Isaac wiped his boots and then stepped into the warmth of the inn. The air, heady with the inviting scent of roasting meat, welcomed him like an old friend.
For the first time in Isaac’s life, there was no place else he’d rather be.
* * *
Sybil led the singing of her favorite hymn and played the upright piano that stood along the entry wall of the dining room. The older piano wasn’t made of gray leaf wood like the newer instruments she’d heard about, but it suited the inn just fine. She didn’t need to look at the tattered hymnal propped open above the keys. She’d played this song so many times she had it memorized. Her fingers danced across the keys, guiding the melody, as her family sang together, some gaily, some off pitch.
She glanced back at them. Her father was singing loudly. Somehow Frederick still knew every word to every hymn they sang, even though his mind slipped on most other details these days.
Little Zeke knew the lyrics too. He looked adorable in the dark trousers and waistcoat Claudia had made for him. Maybe someday Sybil would have a little boy of her own. She imagined a lad sitting beside her on the piano bench while she accompanied the Sunday singing in the inn’s dining hall. Or she might have a girl. Or both. It didn’t matter to her.
Solo stepped back into the room after having left abruptly. He rejoined the singing and stood close to Eva as Zeke leaned against his leg. They already looked like a perfect family, but no wedding plans had been made.
When Sybil began the last verse, another figure shadowed the doorway. Solo must have let someone in the door, perhaps a trader or weary traveler. She glanced up to see who it was, not missing a note. Her breath hitched.
Isaac.
Her fingers continued to play the melody from memory, while her heart bulged inside her. Her mouth went dry, and she was sure it was still open, but whether she was singing or humming or reciting the colors of the rainbow, she didn’t know.
Isaac stepped into the room, tall and sturdy like the big gray leaf tree in the side yard that she’d climbed as a child. He took off his hat and tapped its brim against his wide palm. His hair still had light patches from the summer and a slight curl from his youth. Or maybe it was always that way and always would be. The mix of blond and brown looked like honey on toast. It was pressed against his scalp from hours under the hat, or perhaps he woke up like that this morning.
Either way, it suited him how it joined his short brown and blond beard. Normally, she would think it could all use a trimming, but the wildness of it framing his strong face made her forget her fondness of all things tidy… and made her forget what she was doing.
Her fingers fumbled in the last stanza, yanking her attention to the open hymnal. It was on the wrong page. Somehow she ended the song, ungracefully. Heat flushed her face while she looked at Leonard as his cue to conclude the service.
The authority of a long, godly life filled the elderly man’s voice as he prayed. Sybil usually found Leonard’s prayers comforting but at present, nothing could relax her. She peeked one eye open as the prayer went on and on. Yes, she was grateful for the inn and the rain and Christ and their health, but she was also thankful for the striking man in the dining hall doorway. She hadn’t seen him in months, and now he stood mere feet from her piano. From her.
Though it was warm in the house, he kept his riding coat on, maybe because he was cold from being out-of-doors for who knows how long, or maybe because he wasn’t in his Sunday best. It made him look like a man with work to do, as he would be soon, managing the inn’s farm.
She had to remember that. He was
here to work. Leonard and her father needed him.
While Leonard was still praying, Isaac opened his gray-blue eyes and met Sybil’s gaze. Immediately, he smiled, closed-lipped, bringing light to his eyes and faint lines to their corners.
Eva had once said Isaac’s smile could melt stone. Heavens, was she right!
Sybil returned his smile then instantly closed her eyes again like a child not wanting to get caught. Oh dear, that was childish. Why had she done it? She was a grown woman and could handle smiling back at a man. A handsome, kind man who had once complimented her cooking and made her feel like more than a cook.
And she’d dreamed of little else since that moment. Now what did he think of her?
Her heart pounded away the seconds until Leonard said, “Amen.”
She mustn’t look directly at Isaac and seem too eager. Eva had warned her about giving her heart away. She carefully slid the lid over the keys to close it, then set her hymnal in the piano bench’s hidden compartment. She looked out the window at the rain and smoothed the pleats of her skirt though they didn’t need it.
There, not too eager at all.
As she turned, ready to make a steady greeting, Eva welcomed Isaac to the inn and whisked him to her office, chattering about his room assignment and meal times and laundry days.
Sybil tried not to stare down the hallway after them.
Claudia put her hand to Sybil’s back and leaned in close. “You’ll get your turn, sweet girl.”
“You used to say that to me when I was little and wanted to play with the others, but they wouldn’t give me a chance.”
The older woman nodded once, a lifetime reflecting in her eyes. “And it was always so hard for you to wait.”
“Still is.”
Wisdom laced Claudia’s feather-light voice. “Anything worth having in this life is worth waiting for.”
Uncharted Promises (The Uncharted Series Book 8) Page 2
