He never should have been forced to compete for a job that was supposed to be his. They were over a month into this scheme that was cooked up by Frederick’s senile mind. How was he supposed to endure two more months?
Soft light flowed from the kitchen windows. Sybil was in there cleaning up from dinner. The thought of her, the softness of her lips, the thrill of not knowing where their relationship was going—that was how he would endure Eddie and the uncertainty of the job.
After he carried the milk to the cellar, he cleaned off his boots and went straight for the kitchen. Men’s voices carried down the hallway from the dining room. Probably Solo and Philip talking with the traders. He was supposed to go see Eva for his letter from home. Whatever his family had to say, it could wait.
Sybil was sitting at the little table along the wall between the kitchen’s two entryways. She wore the same muted brown dress that she wore every third day. He loved how orderly she was. Her apron was off for the night, and she was hunkered over a stack of notecards, writing something in a palm-sized notebook.
He tapped a knuckle on the doorframe as he entered. “Are you too busy for a visitor?”
Her smile beamed the instant she looked up at him. “I’m never too busy for you.”
“You say that now, but if I came in here at about ten minutes before dinnertime, you might have a different answer.” He returned her smile as he sat across from her. “Did Eva behave herself with Philip tonight?”
She sighed. “So far so good. She still complains to me about the changes coming to Falls Creek, but I don’t think she will confront Philip again. She felt terrible for how she treated him last night, especially in front of Zeke. That alone will keep her temper in check.”
“I can imagine.” He pointed at her papers. “What are you writing?”
“Meal plans for next week.”
“You and your planning.”
Her smile held steady as she made one last note. “I love to plan things.”
“I like that about you. But I’m not much for writing plans.” He drew the rejected crop plan from his coat pocket and smoothed it out on the table. “At least not on paper.”
Sybil leaned her folded arms on the table and studied his rudimentary drawing and notes. “What is it?”
The page was upside down to her, so he spun it around for her to see it better in the low light of the one lamp that was burning above the table. “It’s supposed to be the crop plan that would win me the job, hands down.”
She looked up at him with a mixture of innocence and trepidation. “Supposed to be?”
“Yeah. Leonard hates it.”
“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t hate it.” She pointed to words he’d written over his pitiful diagram of the eastern fields. “Look how pretty these little trees are.”
“Those aren’t trees. It says: Two acres potatoes. Plant three weeks before last frost.”
“Oh. Sorry. It’s too dark in here. And this?”
“Sow oats first week of spring to kill weeds. Cover with corn six weeks later.”
“Maybe if you told Leonard what it says he would see it’s a brilliant plan.”
He loved her admiration for him, but he didn’t deserve it. He folded the paper into quarters and threaded the crease between his fingers over and over. “Sybil, I’ve done nothing brilliant in my life. I’m a simple man. I just want to get out there and plow the earth and plant the seeds and harvest the crops.”
She didn’t respond and he was grateful. Somehow, she knew he wanted her to listen. She was exactly the type of companion he needed in life.
“I may not know much, but I know how to farm. I know I could grow enough food to make this place independent and have plenty to trade for everything else we could ever need. I thought Eddie wouldn’t be any competition, especially since Leonard had already hired me. But now…” He lifted his hands barely off the table. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
She reached across the table and took his hands in hers. The depth of understanding in her eyes told him he was safe with her, safe telling her anything.
“I’m so frustrated with all this. I shouldn’t be drawing up stupid crop plans like a school assignment. I should be running the farm right now. I’m tired of waiting. I came here over four months ago to interview and Eva offered me the job then. I had to wait for the trader I worked for to hire someone else to take my place, and that took longer than I expected. Then I had to go back to my family’s farm in Southpoint to get my belongings and say goodbye.” He remembered his family’s terrible behavior and hoped he wouldn’t have to go back for a very long time. “I couldn’t get out of there quick enough, but my sister was being a little dramatic. And now I’m here, but still waiting.”
She didn’t immediately fill the air with words the moment he took a breath the way his mother and sister and every other woman he knew did. She simply held his hands and focused on him. His shoulders were tired and he wanted to lean back in the chair, but there was no way he was letting go of her hands, of this connection.
She was so attentive, but he had nothing more to say. “I’m just tired of waiting.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Yeah?”
She fished a folded envelope out of her dress pocket. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for something that’s so important to me, and it probably won’t ever happen.”
“What?”
She opened the envelope and withdrew a letter. “I’m planning a spring wedding for Eva and Solo and invited all our relatives. I’m especially trying to get Revel, James, and Mother to come home for it. I figured if I could get them all here, they might stay.” She offered him the letter. “Here’s Revel’s reply. I received it today.”
He didn’t have to look at the paper to know what her brother had said. It was written on her face. “He isn’t coming to the wedding?”
“Oh, he’ll come to the wedding, he says. He’ll arrive the day before the ceremony and he won’t stay long.” She exhaled through her pouty lips. “Here I thought I was being so clever they wouldn’t see through my plan. Revel knew instantly. He was sweet about it though. He’s always been kind to me. He said he doesn’t know that he will ever come back to Falls Creek for good, and he can tell I’m hurting myself by holding out hope.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He said that James said he’ll come to the wedding too. James rarely writes to me himself. He always replies through Revel since they both live in Good Springs right now. I haven’t heard from Mother yet, but when she left here eight years ago, she promised me she would come back.” She shoved the letter and envelope back into her pocket. “Well, I don’t care what Revel says; I won’t give up hope. See, I know what you mean about waiting. Always waiting.”
He finally leaned back in his seat and let his shoulders relax. They had more in common than he imagined. Both frustrated by circumstances they couldn’t control. Both disappointed by family. Both waiting on other people’s decisions to determine the course of their lives. “I stay frustrated until I get what I want, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be that way.”
A flash of hope brightened her eyes. “It isn’t. At least that’s what Philip said. He said since it is God who controls our lives, we should wait on Him. But he said the waiting shouldn’t be frustration. It should be joyful anticipation.”
Her sudden enthusiasm made him forget about his family. “Joyful anticipation. I like that. When did Philip say that?”
“When we were talking last night. I’ve never had the counsel of an overseer before. He’s great to talk to.”
“Philip is?”
“Yes.”
“When did you talk to him? Was this before Eva sent him home?”
“No, later. I took him a dessert after you left the kitchen.”
“I was working on the parsonage with him all day today, and he didn’t mention your visit.”
“An overseer is supposed to be a good confidant.”
Every relax
ed muscle in his body tensed. “Really? Is he supposed to entertain young women alone in his house at night?”
She drew her head back. “I went to the chapel. He doesn’t have a house.”
“I know.” His voice raised accidentally. “I’m helping him build it.”
“I’m not sure why you’re upset. He’s our overseer.”
“What else did you talk to him about?”
She lifted a palm. “Just the things pressing on my mind.”
“Did you talk to him about us?”
“Isaac.” She said his name with the same disdain his mother and sister used when he didn’t agree with their behavior. “He assured me our conversations would be confidential.”
He was already competing with Eddie for the job. He didn’t want to compete with Philip for Sybil. Still, she wasn’t the person he was upset with. It would be foolish of him to take his frustrations out on her.
He paced a few long breaths through his nose and stared up at the crossbeams as he prayed for patience. When he was sure he knew what to say, he looked her in the eye. “I want to be the person you talk to. If something about me is bothering you, talk to me.”
He thought that would assure her of his devotion. Instead of her expression returning to the loving looks she’d given him moments ago, her doe eyes narrowed. “Fine. There is something that’s bothering me. Why won’t you speak to my father about us?”
His toes curled inside his boots. “I told you yesterday. It might do more harm than good.”
“How could it? He respects the traditions. And by tradition, if a man wants to court a woman he is supposed to make his intentions known to her father.” Her voice was filled with as much angst now as it had been the night the trader had trapped her in her room. “I think talking to him about us would make him feel better. Maybe give him some hope for the future.”
He hadn’t thought of that. She was still missing the point. He held an open hand on the table, hoping to make a connection while he told her so he didn’t have to say it again. She didn’t take the bait but only stared at him from across the table. He tightened his fist and withdrew it. “I trusted your father when I accepted the job and moved here. He forgot all about it and made my life miserable with this annoying competition. What if he gives me his blessing with you and then forgets all about it and takes it back too?”
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“Maybe not the Frederick Roberts you knew who was a loving father, but that old man upstairs isn’t himself anymore.”
Deep lines creased her forehead, and her nostrils flared with heavy breath. He hadn’t meant to upset her. He was only being straightforward and yet once again he’d upset a woman. He waited for her to yell at him, to throw something, to stomp her feet and cry like the women in his family, in his past.
She tightened her lips into a taut line. “I think you should leave.”
“Sybil, listen—”
“Just go. You’ve said enough for one night.”
* * *
Early the next morning, Sybil hastily worked in the kitchen. Eva had left a note saying there was a new piano waiting for her at the chapel, one made of gray leaf wood. She piled hot breakfast muffins into a bread basket then quickly washed the pans in the sink. Between the basket full of cranberry muffins, a bowl of boiled eggs, and a deep dish of baked apples, there would be plenty for her family and the guests to eat before the church service in the chapel.
After a quick check of the pot roast for Sunday lunch, she dropped two of the sweet-smelling muffins into a bag then untied her apron and hung it by the doorway. Last night, Eva had promised to wash this morning’s breakfast dishes, so Sybil buttoned her coat over her dark blue winter dress and grabbed her hymnal from the piano bench in the dining hall. She wanted to be out of the house before anyone came down for breakfast. Especially Isaac.
The steps from the side door were slick with a dusting of ice, so she used the handrail. If she didn’t want to talk to Isaac this morning, she certainly didn’t want to slip and fall and have him swoop in to rescue her while she was still angry with him. A woman needed time to think through her anger, and there was no better place for her to think than at the piano.
The pale mid-winter sun splashed the morning sky with streaks of rose and silver light as it climbed over the horizon. It cast the big gray leaf tree’s shadow across the graveyard and nearby iron bench in long skeleton-like lines. Her paternal grandparents, Eva’s husband, and Bailey’s father were laid to rest in that graveyard. That set of grandparents had passed on before Sybil was born, and she didn’t meet Bailey’s father before he died here during the autumn. Eva’s husband, Ezekiel, however, she had known and mourned.
She was twelve when Ezekiel became her big sister’s sweetheart. It all seemed like a thrilling mystery then—boys and courting and intrigue. She’d frequently peeked out the curtains to watch them kiss on the porch. Then she would go up to her room and look at the starry sky, wondering if somewhere there was a boy gazing at those same stars who would kiss her one day.
It only took a decade for her to get that kiss. Only.
She blew a steamy breath into the cold morning air as she hiked across the sleet-spotted road to the chapel. Now she’d been kissed by the man of her dreams, but instead of staying starry-eyed and waiting for his next kiss, she’d been slapped in the face with reality: he refused to make his intentions known to her father.
That was unacceptable.
No man who disregarded the Land’s traditions and disrespected her father could ever be the man of her dreams. Even if the love in her heart felt like it might boil over at his next touch.
Thinking of his touch made her want to see him. She glanced back at the inn, its white clapboard shining with the glow of the new day. If God’s mercies were new every morning, shouldn’t hers be too?
Maybe she’d left the kitchen too early. Eva’s note had said Philip was excepting her to rehearse on the new piano at sunrise, but maybe she should have stayed home long enough to say good morning to Isaac.
No, she had to be firm with the man.
She had to start out as she intended to go on, and she intended to live according to the Land’s traditions, especially when it came to courting. Eva had taught her that much, and Eva had gotten both Ezekiel and Solo to commit their lives to her, so she knew what she was doing.
Still, the grip of the grudge she’d held all night seemed to squeeze the hope out of her heart. She couldn’t let this continue. With all that was missing from her family and her life, hope was the only morsel of joy she had.
She replayed last night’s argument in her mind. Before their pleasant conversation had turned ugly, Isaac had said he was frustrated with his circumstances. He’d come to her for comfort. Instead, she judged him harshly. Now, she might have ruined her chance at love. Then again, Eva said if all a woman wants is to be loved, she puts herself in danger.
Was this temptation to ignore the truth about Isaac simply because he was the first man to kiss her?
This was the sort of dilemma she should talk to Eva about. Or possibly Bailey. They both knew men far better than she did. And she could talk to them if she held off until later in the day. That would take patience. More waiting.
Philip opened the chapel’s tall door for her before she’d reached the church building’s new front steps. He must have been watching for her. Such a thoughtful man. She could talk to him about her problem, of course. The overseer had promised confidentiality, but Isaac had asked her not to, and she wanted to respect his wishes. Besides, as an overseer, Philip would certainly agree with her that the traditions must be upheld.
Philip swooped a hand toward the new piano as if introducing royalty. “Miss Sybil, may I present the chapel’s very own piano, donated by the people of Good Springs.”
It was amusing to hear such a serious man use a silly tone. She held out the bag of muffins she’d brought. “And may I present your breakfast, sir.”
/> He chuckled lightly, and it felt like a great accomplishment. She smiled back. “I take it you’re excited for the service this morning.”
“As much as my father would say that gleeful expressions ruin credibility, yes, I am very much looking forward to having the chapel full of saints this morning.”
She hung her coat on a silver hook by the door and carried her hymnal to the new piano. “I don’t think it hurts your credibility one bit. All of God’s children are given gleeful moments. Most just refuse to take them.” She almost added that Isaac was especially good humored, but she stopped herself.
She sat on the new piano bench, its gray leaf wood smooth from fresh polish. This piano was nothing like the tattered instrument in the dining hall that had endured three generations of players and traders who believed they could play. She ran a finger along the silky wood. “I’ve never played an instrument made by Mandy Colburn before. A trader once came through who played one of her gray leaf wood violins for us. She was still Mandy Foster then, of course. The violin’s sound was nothing short of miraculous.”
Philip lifted the keyboard cover, revealing eighty-eight spotless keys. “The men who transported it here from Good Springs arrived late last night. They said that Mandy’s husband, Levi, built the bench and cabinet to the specifications that have been in Mandy’s family for generations. She did the strings and fine tuning. He assured me their work blends perfectly.”
She let her fingers dance up the scale, and precise full notes filled the empty chapel with robust yet delicate tones, unlike anything she’d ever heard. “Indeed it does.” She opened her hymnal to All Creatures of Our God and King and let the ancient melody flow through the chapel with pristine clarity.
As she began to sing the historic lyrics, they opened her mind. These praises written in centuries past and sung through the ages were still alive in the present. Her world wasn’t as small as the inn and her family, or Falls Creek as it grew into a village, or even the whole Land. In Christ she was part of an eternal world, destined for triumph no matter what was happening in her life or beyond the Land’s shores. She sang from a victorious heart.
Uncharted Promises (The Uncharted Series Book 8) Page 13
