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  Books 1-3

  Keely Brooke Keith

  Edenbrooke Press

  Table of Contents

  The Land Uncharted

  Uncharted Redemption

  Uncharted Inheritance

  The Land Uncharted

  Keely Brooke Keith

  Edenbrooke Press

  The Land Uncharted

  Copyright 2014 Keely Brooke Keith

  Published by Edenbrooke Press

  Nashville, Tennessee

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. For inquiries and information, please contact the publisher at: [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, names, events are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any likeness to any events, locations, or persons, alive or otherwise, is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Designed by Najla Qamber Designs

  Edited by Dena Pruitt

  Interior Design by Edenbrooke Press

  For Marty

  Challenge accepted

  Chapter One

  Lydia Colburn refused to allow a child to bleed to death. Pulling a sprig of gray tree leaves out of her wind-whipped hair, she rushed inside the farmhouse and found the injured boy sprawled across the bed exactly as Mr. McIntosh had said she would. She dropped her medical bag on the floor beside Mrs. McIntosh, who was holding a blood-soaked rag against young Matthew’s lower leg.

  Lydia touched Matthew; his skin felt clammy and his breath came in rapid spurts. “He’s still losing blood. Get the pillows out from under his head.” She slid her hands beneath his fractured limb and gently lifted it away from the mattress. “Put them here under his leg.”

  Mrs. McIntosh’s thin hands shook as she moved the pillows. “I gave him tea from the gray leaf tree as soon as his father brought him in the house.” Her voice cracked. “I know he doesn’t feel the pain now, but it hurts me just to look at him.”

  “You did the right thing.” Lydia maintained her professional tone as she opened her bag and selected several medical instruments. She peeled back the bloody rag, revealing the fractured bone. Its crisp, white edges protruded through his torn skin. “You’re going to be all right, Matthew. Do you feel any pain?”

  “No, but it feels weird. I don’t like it.” His chin quivered as he spoke. He stared at his mother with swollen eyes.

  Mrs. McIntosh drew her lips into her mouth as she fought the urge to cry. Her hand passed over his head with rigid strokes. “You’re going to be fine, Matthew. Miss Colburn will fix it.”

  When Lydia put her hands on the boy’s leg, he recoiled and screamed. It was not from pain but from terror. With his fractured leg tucked close to his body, Matthew buried his face into the ribbing of his mother’s dress. Lydia gave Mrs. McIntosh a chance to muster her courage and make her son cooperate, but instead she coddled him. Though Lydia appreciated a nurturing mother, this was no time to help a child hide his wound. “Your mother is right. You’re going to be just fine.” She reached for his leg again. “You don’t have to look at me, but you must leave your leg on the pillow. Matthew? Let me straighten your leg.”

  Mrs. McIntosh glared at the bloody wound and then began to weep. “Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry. My poor baby!”

  “Mrs. McIntosh?” Lydia raised her voice over the woman’s sobs. “Mrs. McIntosh? Rebecca! I know this is hard, but please, be calm for Matthew’s sake. I need you to help me. Can you do that?”

  Mrs. McIntosh sniffled and straightened her posture. “Yes. I’m sorry, Lydia.”

  “I need more light. Do you have another lamp in the house?”

  “Yes, of course.” Mrs. McIntosh wiped her nose on her sleeve and scurried out of the room.

  Relieved that Mrs. McIntosh was gone, Lydia caught the boy’s eye. She touched his foot with both hands. “Matthew, you must lie still while I work on your leg. You won’t feel any pain since you were a good boy and drank the gray leaf tea your mother made, but now you have to be brave for me and hold still. All right?” She was prepared to hold him down but loathed the thought. Matthew seemed to understand her seriousness and allowed her to move his broken leg back onto the pillow. She worked quickly and methodically until the bleeding was under control. She cleaned his flesh with gray leaf oil, then looked into the open wound and aligned the bone.

  Mrs. McIntosh’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, but Lydia was not ready for the anxious mother’s return. “Please, bring some cold water and a few clean rags first. I need them more than I need the extra light.” Lydia gave her voice enough volume for Mrs. McIntosh to hear her without entering the room.

  She glanced at her patient’s face as she continued to work. His eyes were clenched shut. Her heart ached for the pallid and broken boy. “I heard you had a birthday recently, Matthew. How old are you now? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

  Matthew opened his eyes but stared at the ceiling. “I’m seven,” he slurred through missing teeth. His respiration had settled; the gray leaf’s healing power was beginning to take effect.

  “Ah, I see you’ve lost another baby tooth.” She cut a piece of silk thread for suture and kept the needle out of his sight while she threaded it. “Soon you will have handsome new adult teeth.”

  Matthew closed his eyes again and lay still. Mrs. McIntosh walked back into the room with a pitcher of water in her hands and a wad of kitchen towels tucked under her elbow. She set the water jug on the floor beside Lydia’s feet and bundled the rags on the bed. “Is that enough?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “I’ll be right back with the lamp.” Mrs. McIntosh vanished from the room again.

  Lydia covered the stitches with a thick layer of gray leaf salve. As she wrapped his leg loosely with clean muslin, she heard Mr. McIntosh enter the house. Mrs. McIntosh spoke to her husband in a hushed tone then walked into the room holding a lit oil lamp.

  Mrs. McIntosh sighed. “Oh, thank heavens you’re done.” She set the lamp on a doily-covered table beside the bed then sat on the edge of the mattress beside Matthew. “He’s asleep,” she whispered.

  Lydia slathered her hands with the disinfecting gray leaf oil then wiped them on a clean rag. As she gathered her medical instruments, Mr. McIntosh stepped into the room.

  He cleared his throat. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Lydia glanced at Mr. McIntosh. “I need a couple thin pieces of wood to splint his leg, if you don’t mind.”

  Mr. McIntosh nodded and left the house. A moment later, he returned with two flat, wooden shingles. Lydia used them to splint Matthew’s leg, then she began to clean and pack her instruments. As she worked, she gave Mr. and Mrs. McIntosh instructions for bandaging and cleaning his leg. Then she handed Mrs. McIntosh a jar of gray leaf salve. “Use this twice a day on the wound. With rest and proper use of the medicine he should heal completely in a few days.”

  Lydia followed Mr. and Mrs. McIntosh out to the porch. Stars crowded the clear sky and crickets’ intermittent chirps pierced the cool night air. Lydia’s horse snorted as Mr. McIntosh gathered the reins and walked it to her.

  “Thank you, Lydia.” Mrs. McIntosh fanned her face with her hands.

  Mr.
McIntosh removed his wide-brimmed hat and wiped his brow with a cotton handkerchief. “It seems too dangerous of a job for a woman—taking the forest path alone at night like you did to get here.” He put his hat back on his head and dabbed at the sweat on his neck. “I’m grateful you got here in time to save my boy, no doubt about it, but the way you rushed down the forest path instead of taking the main road scared me. Granted you beat me back here by twenty minutes, but still it’s too dangerous at night to—”

  “The cover of darkness does not mean I’m released from duty.” She stepped around Mr. McIntosh and strapped her medical bag to the saddle.

  He nodded then handed her the reins. “That’ll be the last time Matthew climbs to the roof of the barn.”

  “Yes. Please see to it.” She smiled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  “I heard your family will be gathering tomorrow night to celebrate Isabella’s seventy-fifth birthday. How about I deliver a lamb roast as your payment?”

  “That sounds fine. I’ll tell my father to expect you.” She mounted her horse. “I know Aunt Isabella will be glad to have roast lamb at her party.”

  “A lamb it is. Thank you, Miss Colburn. Oh, and do take the road back to the village. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you on your way home.”

  * * *

  As Lydia surveyed the feast, she straightened the turtle-shaped broach pinned to her dress. Satisfied with the preparations for Isabella’s party, she left the kitchen through the wide entrance to the parlor, walked past the staircase, and knocked on her great-aunt’s bedroom door.

  “Come in,” Isabella answered. Lydia turned the glass doorknob and stepped inside. The dark room and unmade bed struck a chord of sadness in Lydia. She left the door open, and the afternoon sunlight that filled the rest of the house spilled into the room.

  Isabella was sitting in her rocking chair by a curtained window. Her knitting needles clicked in rhythm. “What is it, dear?”

  “We are ready for you, Aunt Isabella.” Lydia smiled as she spoke, but the elderly woman’s face remained impassive. Isabella continued knitting for a moment, then reached to a basket beside her chair. She lowered the yarn and knitting needles into the basket, then touched the side table by her chair and felt along its edge until she reached the handle of her cane.

  Isabella’s fingers traced the cane’s curve. “I do hate a fuss. I hope you didn’t waste time on decorations. They are a frivolity.”

  Lydia walked closer. “No, there aren’t any decorations, but the food looks wonderful. Mr. McIntosh delivered a roast lamb, and it smells delicious. Everything’s ready for you. Won’t you come to the kitchen?”

  “It does smell good.” Isabella pulled the cane toward her. “Seventy-five. Isn’t that old?” She sounded surprised by her own age.

  Lydia knelt beside Isabella and touched the elderly woman’s arm. “I think seventy-five is lovely.”

  “Sweet girl.” Isabella patted the top of Lydia’s hand. “I am blind and even I can see that seventy-five is old.” She leaned on her cane and remained in her chair. Lydia watched Isabella and waited for her to speak. Isabella’s face moved in slight gestures before she spoke. “I mostly thought of my mother today.” Her voice sounded low and gravelly. “I always do on my birthdays. I suppose that’s odd after all these years.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Yes, I know you understand. You miss your mother as much as I miss mine. You always will, dear. I assure you.” Isabella stood with slow, stiff movements. “Have your father and Levi come in from their chores yet?”

  “Yes, they’re washed up and waiting in the kitchen. Everyone is ready for you. Maggie and Adeline made all your favorite dishes, and Bethany came straight home after school to help too. You should have stayed in the kitchen with us while we cooked. We had an enjoyable afternoon together.”

  “The four of you girls together in the kitchen all afternoon and with the little ones whining at your feet—” Isabella gave a small laugh. “My years of finding that enjoyable have passed. Besides, I don’t enjoy a crowd—not for long anyway.”

  “Maggie and Adeline and their families so rarely visit. I like it when we’re all together.”

  Isabella smoothed the front of her dress. “Is Mandy here? I want her to play her violin in the parlor while we eat so I can hear the music—but not too loud. Tell her not too loud.”

  “Yes, she knows.”

  Isabella held her cane in one hand and found Lydia’s elbow with the other. “What dress are you wearing?”

  “The maroon one with the white lace at the bottom.”

  “The blue dress is softer.”

  “It’s not cold enough tonight to wear the blue dress.”

  “It will be cold soon; the equinox is coming. I can feel it. The atmosphere changes somehow on the autumn equinox. It always has. Do you have on your mother’s broach?”

  “Of course.” Lydia touched the silver turtle pinned to her dress over her heart.

  Isabella took a step then stopped. She drew a long breath and waved her cane in front of her. “I was born in this house, just as you were. Not in this particular room. After your grandfather and I were born, our father added this room onto the house. Then when your grandfather married your grandmother, they made this my own private room. They added a new nursery onto the house when your father was born. Oh, how they hoped for many children, but neither of your father’s siblings lived past infancy.” Isabella sighed then smiled, causing Lydia to wonder if the nostalgic interlude was authentic sentiment or a stall tactic. “But when your father married your mother and they had the five of you children, well, that’s when the house finally felt full to me.”

  They inched out of the bedroom, then Isabella stopped in the hallway. She turned to Lydia but her eyes did not settle. “I have lived seventy-five years in this house, and none of my time was wasted so long as I’m not a burden.”

  “You’re not a burden to anyone. We all love you, and that’s why we are honoring you tonight. Come now—everyone’s waiting.”

  Isabella straightened her posture as if readying herself for the crowd. “I can face another seventy-five years, so long as I find a way to make myself useful.”

  Lydia walked Isabella into the kitchen where the hungry family was waiting. After Lydia’s father said the blessing, Lydia filled a plate at the buffet table and scanned the room for a place to sit. Unable to sit in the crowded kitchen, Lydia took her plate to the staircase in the parlor where she sat on the steps and balanced her plate on her lap. From there she could see into the kitchen where her family crammed around the table with Isabella. One of Lydia’s brothers-in-law sat between his two small children at the table, and the other brother-in-law sat nearby on the edge of the stone hearth with his plate balanced on his open palm. Lydia’s two-year-old niece could not reach the breadbasket and began to cry. The men strained to keep their conversation going over the top of the other voices. The flurry of sound produced a cacophony that flowed into the parlor.

  Lydia’s brother, Levi, walked out of the loud kitchen. He sat beside Lydia on the staircase. Levi grinned as he handed her a napkin. She took it and offered him an olive. He popped the olive into his mouth and followed it with a forkful of potatoes from his plate. Lydia watched his face change as his gaze settled on the violinist in the corner of the parlor.

  Mandy Foster stood near the front door playing slow and soft music on her heirloom violin. Her eyes were closed as the notes flowed from the instrument. A blanket of auburn curls covered her back and danced along her trim waistline.

  Lydia glanced at her brother as he watched Mandy. “She gets more beautiful with each passing year, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, and she knows it.” Levi looked back at his food.

  Lydia decided to let it go. She took the bread roll from her plate and picked off one bite at a time as she listened to Mandy’s music. One tune ended and another began. “I think this is the song she composed for the dance l
ast year. I like it.”

  “It would sound even better if she played it on one of the new wood violins.”

  Lydia smiled and nudged her brother’s knee. She leaned close to Levi’s ear. “That may be true, but don’t let Aunt Isabella hear you say it. She has strong opinions about the new wood instruments.” Levi nodded and continued eating, watching Mandy all the while.

  When they finished eating, Lydia set their plates aside. She relaxed into Levi’s thick shoulder. Though ten months her junior, Levi had been bigger than her since they were toddlers. People who did not know their family usually assumed he was older.

  “Come with me tomorrow and see the land I selected.” Levi’s voice held a secretive tone. Lydia shifted and looked at him. His light brown eyes matched hers. His hair was the same light brown as hers, but his included lighter strands from days spent working in the sun. “I’m done with the land survey and I started drawing plans to build.”

  She felt happy for him but understood the complication. “Does Father know?”

  Levi looked back at the violinist in the corner. “Of course he knows, but he doesn’t understand.” He moved his feet on the stairs. “I’m a grown man. I want to build my own house.”

  “And so you should. People just don’t understand why you need to build a new house. They expect you to inherit this house one day, so it seems odd for the overseer’s son to break from tradition—especially since you don’t have a family of your own yet.”

  Levi sighed. “Father says the same things. But I can’t live my life worrying about what other people may think. You are like Father—you both take comfort in the founders’ traditions. But surely you can see how much I want to leave this house. I need my own home.”