Uncharted Inheritance (The Uncharted Series Book 3)

by Keely Brooke Keith

  Lydia shook the dress open and fluffed the skirt. “I was halfway through my medical training at eighteen. In fact, I helped deliver a baby on my eighteenth birthday. Freedom indeed—for my patient anyway.”

  Bethany listened to Lydia and Mandy reminisce. Though they spoke wistfully of their new adult years, she thought it must feel better to be their age—secure in their skin, able to make their homes, and confident in their love for devoted husbands. She imagined herself, twenty-five and confident, fussing over a younger woman and speaking of life from experience.

  “Bethany.” Lydia motioned for her to stand.

  Bethany unfurled her legs from the cushioned seat and stood. She felt like a doll as they dressed her. Lydia situated the soft fabric at the front of the dress while Mandy fastened the score of tiny pearl buttons up her spine. She looked down at her pigment-stained cuticles then hid her fingertips in her fists, hoping Lydia would not notice. The women tightened the dress around her boyish waist while commenting on her height. The year-old dress had been made to skim the floor, but now it hovered well above her ankles. She glanced down at her boney shins. “It’s just as well since the party is outdoors. Maybe I won’t stain the hem.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Mandy beamed. “And I’ll give your hair such pretty ringlets no one will look at your ankles. Now sit back down so I can reach your head.”

  “Very funny,” Bethany said, sarcastically.

  Mandy began pinning Bethany’s hair into sections while Lydia busied herself with the discarded clothing, smoothing each garment as she put it away. Bethany did not have to look to know that her sister was also arranging the contents of her wardrobe in some logical order. Lydia stopped organizing when the sounds of Andrew waking from his nap drifted down the hallway. Bethany glanced at Lydia in the mirror as she disappeared toward the nursery.

  Mandy drew a section of Bethany’s hair through her thin fingers then spun it and pinned it close to her scalp. Bethany watched Mandy in the mirror and studied her perfect features, wishing they were her own. Mandy’s face was lean, her nose sloped up at the end, and her chin came to a proud point. Bethany looked at her own reflection in the mirror and decided her dimples looked childish, her cheeks were too pink, and her puffy lips seemed fixed in a sulky pout even when she was not sulking. Though she disparaged most of her features comparatively, she appreciated the blue of her eyes because everyone said they were exactly like her father’s. She glanced at Mandy’s green eyes and wondered if Mandy and Levi’s children would have Mandy’s green eyes or Levi’s golden brown. Baby Andrew resembled Connor; maybe all boy babies resembled their fathers. As Bethany gazed at Mandy in the mirror, she wondered what it felt like to be the beauty of the village, captivating men instead of intriguing boys.

  Mandy began to unpin and arrange the loose curls she had formed in Bethany’s hair, the length of which now barely skimmed her collarbones. She lifted the hair on one side and clipped it high with an embellished silver hairpin, exposing Bethany’s ear.

  Mandy leaned down and looked at her in the mirror. “What do you think of that?”

  Bethany lifted her chin admiring Mandy’s work. She looked less childish than she had mere moments before. In her estimation, Mandy improved everything she touched. “Beautiful.”

  Mandy gave Bethany’s shoulders a squeeze. “You certainly are.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Wait until the boys see you.”

  “As long as I make it through the evening without any boys proposing, I will be pleased.” She made a face at the thought of courting the former classmates who were rumored to be planning to ask her father’s permission.

  “Perhaps not boys then.” Mandy inclined her head. “Are there any men who have a chance at your heart?”

  Bethany shook her head. “The only men I know are either married or are my relatives.”

  “What about Everett?”

  “Everett is my friend—my best friend.”

  “What about Nicholas, the new farmhand?

  “Mrs. Vestal’s nephew?”

  “Yes. He’s handsome enough, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t want to think about courting.” She lowered her voice as the bedroom door opened. Dismissing Mandy’s question, Bethany reached for the bracelet on the dressing table. She laid her wrist across it and clasped its ends together.

  Lydia walked into the room holding her baby. She smiled at Bethany. “Oh, little sister, you look beautiful!”

  There was something about the way Lydia looked when she said it that reminded Bethany of her mother. Though Bethany did not trust her memories of her mother’s face, she studied Lydia’s eyes for a moment, but then felt an abysmal ache and had to look away.

  * * *

  Everett passed a comb through his clean wet hair before he buttoned the cuffs at his wrists and left his bedroom. As he walked through the hallway, he glanced into his parents’ room. His father was awake; his mother was sitting in a chair beside the bed. Everett stopped and tapped a knuckle against the doorframe.

  Samuel lifted his head from the pillow. “Come in, son.” The room had an acerbic scent that intensified each day as his father drew closer to death.

  A small smile curved Roseanna’s lips as she stood. “My, don’t you look dashing!” She began straightening Everett’s cravat and glanced back at Samuel. “Doesn’t he look handsome?”

  Everett did not mind her motherly attention, but he wanted to see his father while he had the chance. He craned his neck around his mother. “How are you feeling, Father?”

  “Oh, I’m fine, son, just fine.” Samuel wheezed out a breath. “Roseanna, let the boy alone so we can speak.” She nodded then skirted Everett and left the room. Samuel motioned to the empty chair. “Have a seat. There are some things I want to say to you while there is still time.”

  Everett sensed his father was about to impart his final wishes and felt his throat tighten. He lowered himself into the chair. It was still warm. “I can stay home tonight if you wish.”

  “No, no. You should go to Bethany’s party.” Samuel smiled and his cheeks rounded. “She’s a sweet girl—came to visit me today, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “She did. Precious girl. She cried when she said goodbye.” Samuel took a few shallow breaths. “John Colburn is a blessed man to have her for a daughter. She’ll make an excellent wife for you one day.”

  Everett chuckled at his father’s bluntness, but the sound was muffled by fluid emotion as he blinked back tears. Samuel lay quietly for a moment. While Everett waited for him to regain the strength to speak again, the stillness in the room pained him. He heard his mother busying herself in the kitchen. The clank of a kettle on the stove echoed down the hallway.

  Samuel drew a quick breath. “How are the animals?”

  “Excellent. Tomorrow I’ll ride to the western pastures and help drive the flock home.”

  “And your new man—Nicholas—will he work out?”

  “Yes, I believe so. He’s a strong worker and good with the animals. He and James work well together.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Samuel nodded as much as the pillow allowed. He seemed to gain a burst of strength. “I want you to hire men when you need them. You already manage the farm well and the flock has doubled under your care. You will no doubt see it prosper many times over. Never try to do it all yourself—hire men when you need them. And never let a needy man go without work. Our family has run this farm for six generations and we’ve never let a neighbor go hungry. Understand?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Be fair with the men you hire so they prosper too. Never use your position to mistreat people. Take care of your mother for me. She may live another thirty years, and she likes to keep busy. Let her work all she wants.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “And if something happens to Levi, you must take care of Mandy. I know John would take her in, but she’s your sister. Promise me you will make sure
she is taken care of.”

  “I promise.”

  “Marry young so you can raise children while you still have the energy.”

  “I can’t promise you that.”

  “No, I reckon you can’t.” Samuel paused and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “It meant so much that Bethany came to see me this afternoon. She’s always been a special girl. She laughs when someone laughs and cries when he cries. Hannah had that same ability to commiserate. That’s where Bethany got her sensitivity—from her mother. She sees life as a gift and that makes her look for the possibilities in every situation. I know you are fond of her, son.”

  “I am.”

  “She won’t be available long now that she has reached the age that John lets his girls court. Speak to John. He will give you his blessing.”

  Everett nodded but said nothing. He wanted to tell his father that he had planned to court Bethany, but she said she wasn’t ready. She needed time and he loved her enough to give her whatever she needed. He wanted to tell his father all of it, but Samuel’s strength was already beginning to diminish. Samuel blinked several times, each time slower than the time before. At last his eyes remained closed. Everett leaned close and listened to his father’s chest. He was still alive, just lost again in the unconscious depths that recurrently swallowed him for unpredictable expanses of time.

  As Everett left home, his favorite dog hobbled to meet him in the yard. “Hello, old Shep.” The dog lumbered beside Everett as he walked across the yard to the road. He stooped to pat the dog’s head before leaving the property. Shep dropped his aged body to the ground as Everett walked away.

  The mile walk on the road that led into the village of Good Springs put a needed distance between Everett and the farm he was soon to inherit. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked along the gravel path and wondered if he had spoken to his father for the last time.

  As he got close to the Colburn property at the southern edge of the village, he saw Connor and Levi lighting torches staked in the ground in front of the main house. John stood at the back door passing chairs out to two of his sons-in-law, while Bethany’s eldest sisters arranged platters stacked high with food on a long table. One of Mandy’s music students, backlit by the setting sun, stood near the medical cottage tuning her violin. Lydia stepped out of the house holding her baby in one arm and guiding their elderly aunt with the other. Phoebe McIntosh was whispering in the ear of a man who stood near a freshly lit torch. Everett assumed he was the man that Bethany had mentioned was soon to propose to Phoebe. He noticed two other young women from Bethany’s class but no other men. Maybe John Colburn had already refused the competition, or maybe they had yet to arrive.

  Everett stepped off the path from the road and onto the lawn in front of the Colburn house. After Levi lit the last torch, he pinched the match head, extinguishing its flame, and lifted his chin acknowledging Everett.

  Everett removed his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together. “Need help with anything?”

  Levi shook his head. “We’re just waiting for Beth.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Still inside with Mandy.” Levi crossed his arms. “How’s Samuel?”

  “He was awake for a while this afternoon.” Everett glanced at the house then at Bethany’s family and friends moving about the yard. “Are you expecting anyone else tonight?”

  “I hope not.” Levi grinned.

  “Did anyone come to talk to John about her today?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Good.”

  “Are you still going to speak to him tonight?”

  “I planned to, but yesterday she complained about boys wanting to ask her to court. She said she isn’t ready for it. I think she was just nervous about her birthday, but I’m going to let it pass before I say anything.” He noticed the crowd’s sudden stillness. Heads began to turn in the direction of the Colburn house. Bethany stepped across the threshold and into the yard. Everett’s senses instantly sharpened. He smelled the briny air that floated inland from the nearby ocean and heard the wind rustle through the gray leaf trees. His pulse thumped beneath his collar, but all he could see was Bethany. She smiled at the crowd. Dimples pitted her pink cheeks, and Everett took a step forward. Her friends thronged around her and admired her dress and her brown ringlets. He wished he could touch her hair and shoved his hands back into his pockets. She towered above the other girls, which made it easy for him to watch her face as she giggled with her friends. When he looked at her, everything changed for him. His troubled thoughts of work and family melted away. She glanced over her friends and met his gaze. When she smiled at him, the air changed and he wondered if she knew.

  Chapter Three

  Justin Mercer wiped the mirror with his towel. When it immediately steamed back over, he wrapped his towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. As the steam escaped the bathroom, he looked back at himself in the clearing mirror. The telltale redness in his cheeks confirmed the drops on his face were sweat from the fever, not steam from the shower. His energy felt as depleted as the ship’s engines. He rarely got sick and loathed the feeling of oncoming illness.

  Mercer leaned both palms on the edge of the sink and inspected his reflection. The fever’s grip distorted his perception, revealing a stranger—a feverish wayfarer with shaggy hair. He wanted to see the confident naval flight officer who—before the war—could leave a bar with any woman he wanted. He stared at the wings of the insignia tattooed on his chest. Becoming overwhelmed with the urge to look the part again, he reached for an electric clipper. Chunks of damp, black hair dropped into the sink with each pass of the clipper until all that remained was the buzz of a professional warrior.

  Mercer began to step out of the bathroom then stopped when his vision blurred. He gripped the wall. After several deep breaths, he moved slowly into his cabin. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a worn-out t-shirt, then a sudden chill prompted him to put on the hooded sweatshirt he had owned since college. He sat on the edge of his bed shivering for a moment, then lay back and closed his eyes. This strain of tuberculosis had already killed half the crew. Only he and Volt and three other crewmen were still alive. The icebreaker’s engines were down to limited power, leaving them adrift in the South Atlantic Ocean at the coordinates where Mercer’s parachute had carried him three years before. He propped himself on his elbows and looked out the open window at the endless blue of ocean and sky. He should accept the fact that the land he saw during his emergency parachute’s descent three years before simply did not exist, but the vivid memory would not fade. He had watched Lieutenant Connor Bradshaw’s parachute drift toward a pristine shoreline while he was being carried out to sea. Replaying the memory brought a surge of fresh energy and quickened his sluggish heartbeat.

  Mercer stood up and marched out of his cabin. He had come this far, and he was not going to die on the ship like the others. His hand grazed the laminate wall of the narrow corridor as he walked from his cabin to Volt’s. He halted in front of Volt’s door and lifted his hand to knock. When there was no answer, he let himself in the room.

  Volt was sitting up in bed, his thin legs buried under the blankets. He had bulky black headphones covering his ears, a computer keyboard on his lap, and several touchscreen devices strewn beside him on the bed. He nodded at Mercer and held up a finger then looked back at his computer screen. Faint sounds came from Volt’s headphones. His fingertips rapidly tapped the keys. Though he no longer had the strength to get out of bed, he was working tirelessly to restore the communications network he had once sabotaged.

  Mercer closed the door then picked up a side chair and set it near Volt’s bed. As he sat in the chair, Volt glanced at him and pointed at his hair then smiled. Mercer rubbed the top of his freshly buzzed head. Volt looked back at his screen as he typed with alacrity. His skin sagged from loss of hydration and his face bore the sallowness reserved for the terminal. He wheezed as he tapped a screen then removed his he
adphones. He slipped them down from his ears and let them wrap around the base of his whiskered neck. “It is working, mate. I’m starting to hear chatter out there. As soon as I can confirm these are Unified States allies on the network, I’ll send our coordinates.”

  “That’s great.” As Mercer said the words, he knew he should feel relieved, but instead he felt a sudden sense of panic. He was so close to that land. He glanced out the porthole behind Volt’s bed; that land was right here and he knew it. He could not stay and die on the ship waiting for a rescue. His chest tightened as his fingers tingled and his vision narrowed. “I’m leaving. I’m sorry, man, but I have to try.”

  “Try what, mate?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t stay here—onboard. I’m coming down with the fever and I can’t stay here and die. Not on this ship. I can’t do it. The others can help keep things going until the rescue arrives, but I have to go.”

  Volt lifted a palm. “Go where?”

  Mercer felt a headache coming on and his ears began to ring. “I’m taking a dinghy onto the water.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now. The land is here. It’s close. I just know it. Tomorrow is the third anniversary of the date I saw it—the date I floated on that water. Bradshaw made it to that land and I missed out somehow. I’m sick now and I will die soon, but I’m going to die trying. I have to. I’m sorry, Volt. You have been the best friend I’ve had in years and I will never forget you.” Mercer stood and backed toward the door. He studied Volt’s face, believing it would be the last time he would ever see him.