But even then, Falls Creek would hardly be a large enough community to be called a village.
And why did they need a chapel and an overseer? Her father had always led a service in the dining hall every Sunday morning, as his father did before him. He needed help of late, but Leonard did a fine job of reading Scripture. She led the singing and played the piano, and everyone said she did it well. Change wasn’t necessary.
And who was this Philip Roberts? How could they know simply by his being the Riverside overseer’s son that he was ready to oversee his own congregation, as small as it might be?
The questions swirled in her tired brain faster than she could consider them. Just as she found the words, Eva stormed out of the kitchen and through the reception area. The front door shut hard behind her.
Sybil almost followed her out to the porch. If this ramrodding of their home had stunned her, she could only imagine how shocked Eva must be. Eva didn’t do well with being bypassed in decisions. Or with being placed under authority. She wouldn’t just be shocked, she’d be angry too. Fuming.
Instead of following her older sister outside, Sybil sat back down at the dinette table in the dimly lit kitchen. The sound of chairs scooting across the floor came from the dining hall. Soon, the overseers filed out one by one, half going up the stairs to their rooms and half passing the kitchen toward the side porch to go out to the bunkhouse for the night.
She waited until they all passed and the side door clicked closed, then she slid her chair under the table and blew out the lamp. The dark kitchen felt sad as she left it. She patted the doorframe as if assuring it—and herself—that she would be back in a few hours to cook for her family, the workers, the overseers, and the pair of traders who were staying at the inn. At her home. That would not change.
The overseers could build a village around the inn’s property, but Sybil wouldn’t change who she was or what she did. She would still spend her nights in her quiet room with the view of nothing but soft hills and starry sky, and spend her days in her kitchen, cooking to her heart’s content.
And someone would stop at the kitchen doorway now and then and tell her—her not Eva—thank you for the wonderful meal. Hopefully, that someone would always be Isaac, but even his position at the inn was uncertain.
The flame of a wall sconce illuminated the hallway, and a table lantern still burned in the reception room. Eva would put them out when she came back inside from her time on the porch with Solo. It was cold out this evening, so she wouldn’t be out there very long.
Before Sybil turned to climb the steps to the second floor, she checked the dining hall. The chairs were neatly in place, perfectly spaced beneath spotless tables. The overseers left the space looking better than they found it. How about the inn? She couldn’t imagine Falls Creek would ever feel the same once they made it a village.
She stepped into the dining hall to blow out the wall sconces but paused. The youngest of the overseers was standing by the side window looking out at the blackness. She guessed Philip Roberts to be in his thirties, which was young for an overseer. His black hair had receded and was speckled with gray at his temples. He wore small round spectacles that made his eyes seem smaller than they were. Perhaps his stern father had issued him such a rigorous study regime it ruined his eyesight. He peered back at her with his brows raised above the rim of his spectacles, and she retreated.
“Excuse me, sir. I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
He crossed the floor to her in quick strides, his boots thumping the boards with each serious step. When he reached her, he stood as straight as a celery stalk and offered his hand. “I’m Philip Roberts. I don’t believe we have met.”
She was too tired to put up a hostess act like Eva would. Her hand barely gripped his when he shook it. “Sybil Roberts.”
The thin line of his solemn lips curved slightly. “Frederick’s youngest daughter?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Roberts.”
He graciously dipped his chin congenially. “Please, call me Philip.”
Though he seemed pleasant enough, a twinge of snark shadowed her attitude. “You wouldn’t prefer we call you Reverend Roberts now that you are our overseer?”
“Certainly not.” He didn’t show offense nor amusement in her comment but only held her gaze. “Only One is to be revered, and that is Christ.”
Guilt immediately doused the defiance in her heart. “Yes, of course. How rude of me.”
Philip opened his hand to the doorway. “It’s late.”
“Yes. Good night.” She left the new overseer at his window in the dining hall, wishing she had been kinder. Her sister would probably give him enough grief in the morning. Poor man didn’t know what was coming to him.
Or maybe he did. He hadn’t flinched when she’d been less than kind. He would probably stand up to Eva with the same firmness.
And maybe he would see they didn’t want change and he would leave Falls Creek and take his stern father with him. Ah, that was where Philip got his resolve: his father.
As she rounded the newel post and climbed the stairs, she realized the old saying was true. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. But whether or not Philip was resolute wouldn’t matter to Eva. She possessed enough determination for all of Falls Creek, be it a village or not.
And she was out on the front porch, probably giving Solo an earful. Poor Solo. Poor Eva. Poor Philip. None of them had asked for this. Change had swept through Falls Creek like the frigid winds blowing up from the south.
When Sybil reached the top of the stairs, she checked the towel beneath the door by the upstairs balcony. At least she could keep the cold air out. There was nothing she could do about the change.
She yawned when she finally made it to her door. The day seemed to have no end. Five o’clock would come early in the morning.
Her fingers searched for her room key in her dress pockets. How had she forgotten to lock her door this morning? Must have been thinking about Isaac again.
Her eyes were half open when she stepped into her room. As she turned to close the door, something moved between her and the window. Before she could reach for the knob to open the door and let the hall light in, she was caught, her whole body seized by a man’s arms. He smashed his sweaty hand over her mouth, and she bit her tongue. Air squeezed in and out of her lungs with burning quickness and she tasted blood.
Frantic, she tried to pull away, writhed side to side to free herself. His grip only tightened. A muffled scream died in her throat. Her captor didn’t say a word. If only she could make a loud noise to alert Bailey, who was in the room directly across the hall, or one of the overseers who were in their rooms. Her father wouldn’t be able hear her, and little Zeke would be asleep.
There was no way she would let this man have her. Squirming with all her might, she stomped on the floor in three hard pulses. He yanked her body up so her feet hovered over the floor. She tried to scream again.
Between her ragged breaths, footsteps thumped up the stairs. Someone was coming. She had to get their attention. She swung her legs trying to hit anything to make a ruckus. Her toe knocked into the night table which smacked against the wall. Someone had to hear her, had to help her. She would make sure they did.
She kept kicking hard and when her heel whacked his shin, he dropped her. The instant she hit the floor, the door flew open, almost hitting her.
Isaac rushed past her and grabbed the man by the shirt. Scant light from the hallway illuminated the man’s face. It was one of the traders from Northcrest—not the older man but the son. He looked nineteen, twenty at the most, wiry and wild-eyed.
She didn’t even know his name, yet he was in her bedroom, her private space. He’d grabbed her, held her. Who knows what else he would have done to her if she hadn’t fought. But she had.
Her stomach turned and bile mixed with the blood in her mouth. She should run out of the room, down the stairs, outside. Somewhere and fast. But she couldn’t make her stunned body move.
Nor could she make her eyes look away as Isaac reared his fist back then planted it in the young man’s jaw, sending him across the bed. Her bed.
When Isaac lunged toward him again, Sybil sucked in a desperate breath.
Bailey’s door opened and she sprang toward Sybil. “What’s going on?” Her amber eyes almost glowed in the light as she lifted Sybil to her feet and pulled her out of the bedroom. “What happened to you? Who do I kill?”
Sybil clung to Bailey, panting for breath. “It’s one of the traders.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Grabbed me.” Another dull thud resounded inside the room. “Stop Isaac before he kills him.”
Bailey nodded once. “You’re okay. Just stay here.”
As Bailey disappeared into Sybil’s dark room, Eva rushed up the stairs with Solo a step behind her. She frowned at Sybil. “What’s all the clatter?”
Two of the overseers’ doors were open at the other end of the hall, and the men were looking out. “Is everything all right out there?” one asked.
Before anyone could answer, Isaac came out of Sybil’s room holding the bleeding trader by the back of his neck. Isaac breathed heavily as he handed the young man off to Solo. “Get him out of here!” Then he gently touched Sybil’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?”
She wasn’t sure if she shook her head or answered aloud. She wasn’t even sure if any of this was really happening or if it was some terrible nightmare. The heat off Isaac’s hand—the same hand that had just pummeled a man’s face—warmed her shoulder through the thick cotton fabric of her dress.
Bailey came out of the room and stood in front of Sybil, taking both of her hands. She caught Sybil’s attention. “Look at me, sweetie. Now breathe deeply.”
Sybil focused on Bailey’s eyes and inhaled. The air moved over her sore tongue, down her raspy throat, and into her tight lungs.
Bailey kept her concerned gaze fixed, but her face relaxed slightly. “There. Now breathe again. You’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” Sybil repeated, her voice sounding tiny and distant to her as if a child were speaking and not her.
“You did the right thing. You handled it and you’re safe now. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll leave you with Isaac and your sister, but I’ll be right back. Okay?”
“Okay.” The more Sybil echoed Bailey, the stronger her voice became.
Bailey looked at Eva and Isaac as if making sure they would take care of Sybil, then she took off down the stairs after Solo and the trader. The two overseers followed them downstairs too, hitching up their suspenders as they went.
Eva propped both fists on her hips. “I want to know what happened.”
Sybil’s tongue caught on the daunting task of articulating the flurry of shock and grip, of pain and panic, then the fierce will that had risen within her to free herself. All of it blended into a thick coagulation, impossible to think through while her heart still pounded in her throat. “When I went in my room, that man grabbed me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was he doing in there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t you have the door locked?”
“No.”
Eva flicked her wrist. “He probably just went into the wrong room and then you startled him. You should have locked your door.”
Isaac moved closer to Sybil and splayed his palm across the middle of her back. “This wasn’t her fault.”
Eva’s attention snapped to Isaac. “And what were you doing in there too?”
He motioned with his other hand as he spoke. His knuckles were red. “When I came into the house, I heard banging up here. I knew something wasn’t right.”
Eva’s voice cracked as she fought to restrain her volume. “So you hit the man? He and his father are guests here. That is no way to treat our guests.”
All at once, Sybil’s mind cleared. This wasn’t a nightmare. This was real. “He might be a guest but he was in my room and attacked me when I went in. Isaac saved me.”
Shadows darkened Eva’s tired eyes. Her fists left her hips and hung limply at her sides as understanding changed her expression. “That man attacked you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Sybil. Why didn’t you say so? And you, Isaac, thank you for helping my sister.” Her chin quivered as she looked at Sybil. “Are you injured?”
She’d probably have bruises in the morning, but nothing felt broken. “I don’t think so.”
Isaac hadn’t moved from her side, and though she’d been too stunned to look at him thus far, she could feel his gaze hadn’t left her face. She drew another deep breath. “I will be fine.”
Eva pressed her lips together as if she was trying not to cry. She would be swarmed with more emotion than she could handle too.
Sybil repeated herself for Eva’s sake. “I’m all right.”
Eva pointed limply to a door at the other end of the hallway. “I must tell his father. Heaven knows what Solo and the overseers are doing to that young man out there.”
Sybil didn’t move an inch, nor did Isaac. They both watched while Eva knocked on the elder trader’s door, spoke quietly but firmly to him, then led him to the stairs. He paused in front of Sybil, his weathered face scowling at her, before following Eva down the stairs and outside.
When the front door closed, Sybil blew out a long breath. Her tongue throbbed where she’d bit it. She turned to Isaac just as he turned to her, and without a word, she leaned into him. He held her close as if they’d known each other their entire lives. It was the second time in a matter of minutes that she’d been wrapped in a man’s arms—first in violence, then in consolation.
She was safe now with Isaac. Her face was pressed against the scarf she’d made for him. It smelled like hay and sunshine. She didn’t want to let go, but not because of some crush, as Bailey had called it. Those feelings seemed so petty now. Here she had been caught up in wondering if he liked her, and he’d rescued her. “I was so scared.”
“I know.” He loosened his hold and looked down at her. “We won’t let him back in the house tonight.”
It was late and bitterly cold out. “Where will he go?”
Isaac shrugged. “I don’t care, but he won’t come back inside. I’ll sleep right here in the hallway if I have to.”
Bailey returned through the front entry and climbed the steps, two at a time. “Isaac, the overseers want to talk to you outside. They’re waiting by the stable block.” She looked at Sybil. “Come sleep in my room tonight, sweetie.”
Isaac nodded at Bailey then looked at Sybil as if asking permission to leave her side. She suddenly felt silly. Enough people in the house knew what had happened and would sleep lightly tonight, especially Bailey, to keep her safe should the trader return.
She peeled herself away from the warmth and protection of Isaac’s arms. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you, Isaac.”
* * *
Sybil’s soft words floated from her swollen lips to Isaac’s ears. He didn’t want to leave her there in the shadowy hallway with shallow breath and shaky limbs. He also didn’t want to let the trader get away with his crime, so he hurried out of the inn and through the cold air to where the others were gathered in front of the stable block.
The two overseers stood one on either side of the group, both holding lanterns like a couple of fireflies in the black of night. Isaac stretched his sore fist as he approached. The young man held a handkerchief to his bleeding nose and sidled up beside his father, as though that would keep Isaac from punching him again should he feel the need. Luckily for the wretched dirtbag, Isaac did not.
Before Isaac reached the group, Solo stepped in front of him. “Can you keep yourself under control?”
Isaac couldn’t take his eyes off the man who’d waited in Sybil’s room and grabbed her when she went inside. It was a cowardly thing to do, hurting a woman. His jaw tightened so hard his teeth
ground. Still, he nodded his response to Solo.
Solo spoke with a quick clip to his voice. “He says he was in her room to find something to steal. Jewelry or trinkets. He panicked when Sybil came in. He says he didn’t intend to hurt her.”
White air puffed around Isaac from his heavy breath meeting the cold air, but the blood pumped rapidly through his system, making it feel like late summer to him. He stabbed a finger toward the trader. “I don’t care what he says. I don’t care what he intended to do or not do. I just know if he comes in that house again, it’ll be the last thing he does.”
The young trader shifted from beside his father to behind him. The older man blew out an exasperated breath. He took a step toward Isaac and away from his reprobate son. “We’ll leave all that we have in our trade wagon as restitution for the young lady. And I have a right mind to leave my son on the next ant hill I pass.” He looked at his son and shook his head. “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.”
One of the two overseers—the man from Northcrest—stepped forward. “These men are from my village. I will make sure this never happens again.” He looked at Isaac as if the decision was his. “Please, accept his offer of restitution and send them on their way.”
Until that moment Isaac hadn’t realized by jumping into the situation to help Sybil, he’d somehow acquired the right to judge her offender. The weight of responsibility pressed into him. Eva stood silently by the stable block door, her arms firmly crossed and her mouth tightly closed.
He didn’t know Sybil well enough to know what she would want done on her behalf. She was tenderhearted and probably the forgiving sort. Then again, if she were anything like his mother or his sister, she would want an example made of the young man.
Something told him Sybil was different from any woman he knew. His jaw relaxed enough to set his grinding teeth free. “They may sleep in their wagon on the road and then leave at first light. But know this,” he leveled his gaze on the man he’d hit without even knowing his name, “I meant what I said about not stepping foot into that house.”
Uncharted Promises (The Uncharted Series Book 8) Page 7
