Uncharted Promises (The Uncharted Series Book 8)

  Books by Keely Brooke Keith

  THE UNCHARTED SERIES

  The Land Uncharted

  Uncharted Redemption

  Uncharted Inheritance

  Christmas with the Colburns

  Uncharted Hope

  Uncharted Journey

  Uncharted Destiny

  Uncharted Promises

  THE UNCHARTED BEGINNINGS SERIES

  Aboard Providence

  Above Rubies

  All Things Beautiful

  Uncharted Promises

  Keely Brooke Keith

  Edenbrooke Press

  Uncharted Promises

  Copyright 2019 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: edenbrookepress@gmail.com

  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

  Interior Design by Edenbrooke Press

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  First Chapter of Aboard Providence

  More Books by Keely Brooke Keith

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  “Being in love is a good thing, but it is not the best thing.”

  ~ C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, 1952

  Chapter One

  Falls Creek, the Land

  June 2029

  Sybil struck a match and held its flame to the wick of the wall sconce inside the kitchen doorway. Winter’s solstice had brought an early sunset to The Inn at Falls Creek, but the long night’s darkness and the Antarctic wind that sliced through the Land would be forgotten with the warmth of a delicious meal. That was the power of a cook.

  A good cook, anyhow.

  With a combination of grains and broth she could lift the spirit of a road-weary traveler. With the right balance of heat and salt she could open the hearts of those who sat across the table from one another, making them more willing to converse, to understand, to forgive. And Sybil, like all great cooks, knew the ultimate power of the cook was in her use of spices and herbs—the secret blends and perfected pinches that brought the taste buds to life, somehow encouraging women to fall in love and men to commit.

  As the lamp’s flame grew, Sybil crossed the kitchen to light each mirrored sconce, even though she could cook dinner for seven—or twenty-seven—in the dark if she had to. And she’d had to more than once during the coldest of winters when the traders stopped traveling across the Land and the lamp oil supplies ran low. Of course, wood from the gray leaf tree burned longer than any other, and so there was always the glow of the oven’s firebox when she needed it.

  Flour and stray fragments of potato and carrot peels covered the stone countertop. She would clean it soon enough; first, she had to check on her creation. She lifted the lid off a tall stock pot and stirred the stew inside it with a worn wooden ladle—the one her mother had always used.

  Steam rose into the lamp-lit kitchen, filling her sacred space with its divine heat. She breathed in the tangy aroma on a full inhale. Venison and vegetables. Her father’s favorite. Maybe it would help him feel better tonight. It might even awaken his failing memory.

  As she set the lid back on the pot, her older sister dashed into the kitchen, bringing a quake of industrious energy with her. “Is dinner ready yet?” Eva asked, snatching a mitt from the countertop. She opened the oven door without giving Sybil the chance to answer. “Are the rolls done?”

  “Almost.” Sybil hefted a stack of bowls down from one of the many shelves that lined the long room. She counted out seven and put the rest back. “All I have left to do is fetch the rice pudding that’s cooling in the cellar and dish it up.”

  Eva scrunched her petite nose, bringing a sour look to her noble face. “Rice pudding?”

  “You’re the one who accepted a dozen twenty-pound bags of rice for trade last week. Didn’t you expect me to cook it?”

  The perfect tip of her wrinkled nose twitched. “Yes. But rice pudding? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “It’s a dessert Sophia Ashton told me about. She gave me the recipe when she was here with the others from Good Springs last month. I sampled it and it’s delicious.”

  Eva released the disgust from her expression. “Fine. Let’s just hurry up, please.”

  It didn’t matter if there weren’t any guests at the inn or if there were twenty, Eva always fluttered into the kitchen the moment before Sybil was done preparing a meal and demanded efficiency. How would she like it if Sybil barged into the office when she was in the middle of her paperwork and demanded she straighten her messy desk?

  Come to think of it, Eva should spend her extra energy straightening her desk instead of bothering the inn’s cook.

  Sybil placed the stew bowls on the countertop one by one, purposely moving as slowly as possible. She sent her sister a sidelong glance, hoping to tease her a little. “What’s the rush? Are you eager to spend the evening on the porch swing with Solo?”

  Eva pointed out the kitchen doorway toward the dining hall. “We have hungry people in there.”

  “People? It’s still just us tonight, isn’t it?” She looked past Eva into the hallway, her heart thumping one extra hard beat in hopes of seeing the only man who’d ever intrigued her. “Or is… someone else here?”

  The question stopped Eva’s hurried pace. “Yes, it’s just us.” She slid the pan of yeast rolls onto an iron trivet, then ran the mitt between her fingertips and gave Sybil a worried look with her lovely brown eyes. “I wish you would stop waiting for Mother to come back.”

  Sybil hadn’t been thinking of their mother in that particular moment at all. And she was tired of receiving that look from Eva for the past eight years. “I was simply asking if we have any guests tonight?”

  “Oh, sorry. No guests.” Eva leaned her slender hips against the counter. “The couple from Riverside left this afternoon. The overseers won’t start arriving for their meeting until next week. Though John Colburn’s letter said he might arrive sooner since he’s bringing Bailey and wanted to see her settled in before the overseers’ meeting begins.”

  Sybil started ladling stew into the bowls, smoothly filling each scoop with a blend of meat, vegetables, and broth. The slosh of each serving made her stomach rumble. What was it about short days that made her hungry for dinner early? She nodded at Eva. “Ring the bell, then.”

  Eva pushed away fro
m the counter and patted her tight twist of brunette hair. “No need. Everyone is already in the dining hall. Father came down from his nap earlier, and Zeke is trying to get him to play charades. Leonard and Claudia came in from their cottage a few minutes ago, and Solo has been in the office with me for an hour. We were going over the farm supply lists.” A lovey-dovey smile curved her thin lips.

  Eva deserved to find love after being a lonely widow since nineteen, but did she have to flaunt her happy new relationship all the time?

  Maybe she wasn’t flaunting it exactly, but sometimes it felt that way to a younger sister who dreamed day and night of being loved by a perfect man. Sybil glanced out the kitchen window at the darkness around the inn, wishing she could one day have what Eva and Solo were enjoying now and what Leonard and Claudia had enjoyed for almost fifty years—true love.

  The gloom of winter’s night took away her view of Leonard and Claudia’s little cottage, the stable block, and the barn. Cooking had made the long day spend quickly. It always did. That was another reason she loved cooking.

  But whenever she paused her work, she saw things as they actually were.

  She yanked her gaze away from the darkness and filled another empty bowl with the hearty stew. “I didn’t notice everyone come to the house. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Eva’s knowing smile grew. “Daydreaming about a certain new hire who is supposed to arrive any day?”

  “No.” She spoke as emphatically as possible but didn’t believe it herself. As she dipped the ladle into the pot to fill the last bowl, she could feel Eva staring at her. “All right, fine. Thinking about Isaac Owens keeps my mind off everything here. Father’s dementia. Revel’s decision to…” She couldn’t finish the sentence without getting upset with her oldest brother. If only he would come home and accept his place as their father’s heir. Then life would be as it should be.

  She couldn’t think about that right now. Thinking about the handsome Isaac Owens and what he must be like was so much more pleasant. She imagined he would make a fine husband—strong but gentle, faithful and hard-working. They could build a little cottage like Leonard and Claudia’s, except instead of being on the inn’s property it would be across the road from the inn, maybe on the land Eva’s late husband had cleared or maybe past the stone bridge to the east.

  She imagined Isaac coming home after a long day of working on the inn’s farm, and she would have his favorite meal hot and ready for him—probably a thinly sliced slow-roast brisket with scalloped corn and baked beans. He’d say how wonderful her cooking smelled as he hung his coat by the door and peeled off his boots. Before she could tell him what she’d made for dessert, he’d wrap her in his powerful arms and lift her into a kiss that—

  “Sybil?” Eva arched one eyebrow.

  “Hm?” She covered the stew pot and wiped her hands on her apron. “Any word from Isaac yet?”

  “No, but after he resigned from his job with the traders, he went home to Southpoint for his belongings. The last message I received from him said he had to stay there a few more weeks because of a family matter and I should expect him in a month.”

  Sybil knew the letter’s details by heart. She’d found it in the mess on Eva’s desk and reread it so many times she had come to find his poor handwriting charming. “Yesterday. It would have been a month yesterday.”

  Eva pulled a bread basket from the shelf and held her hand over the rolls to test their heat before separating them. “Have you been counting down?”

  She couldn’t lie to Eva. “Only for the past thirty days or so.”

  “My little Sybilla Jane is in love.”

  “Don’t call me that. And I’m not little anymore.”

  Eva’s soft chuckle sounded too much like their mother’s voice for Sybil to stay offended. Sometimes when she was cooking and Eva was speaking to someone in another part of the inn—close enough for Sybil to hear the murmur but far enough not to understand the words—Sybil would pretend it was their mother talking, that the whole family was still at the inn where they belonged, where they were happy.

  Eva’s chuckle died out and her symmetrical brows drew together. “Don’t worry, Syb. Isaac Owens will be here soon. He knows Leonard needs him to take over the farm before it gets any colder out. And Father had me mention the fences that need mending before spring. So Mr. Owens knows we’re all eager to have him here.”

  “We all?” Sybil’s insides dropped. “You didn’t tell him I…”

  “Of course not.”

  “Because you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone about how I feel.”

  Eva lowered her pointy chin. “No one—and certainly no man—could pry my sister’s secrets from my lips. Ever.”

  The words soothed her nerves a little. “Thank you.”

  “Besides,” Eva smiled again, “I want to enjoy this. I didn’t think you would ever meet a man who intrigued you.”

  That got a laugh out of her. “Stop it, Eva, before I tell Solo you used to kiss your pillow in your sleep.”

  Eva laughed one sharp note as she filled the bread basket with rolls, then she carried it into the dining hall. Sybil laid the bowls of stew on a serving tray and followed her. Eva’s determined heels clicked on the floorboards as she paraded into the dining hall, changing her demeanor from that of a teasing sister to a professional inn manager, even though only family members—and Solo—were present tonight. And no doubt, Solo would be family soon enough.

  Eva announced, “Dinner is served.”

  “Bless God!” Frederick Roberts proclaimed from his seat at the back table to the left of the fireplace. His robust expression wilted the instant Sybil set a bowl of venison stew before him on the table. Confusion clouded his bloodshot eyes as he stroked his long white beard. “Who made this?”

  “I did, Father. It’s venison stew. Your favorite.”

  How quickly the dementia took him from being her strong, sociable father to a soft, old man in need of care.

  It wasn’t fair.

  She tried to meet his gaze, needing to feel a connection with him, but he looked down at his food. All of this was because he missed his wife—her mother—so much. If she came home, he would feel better. And so would Sybil.

  She set a bowl of stew in front of her nephew, Zeke. Eva’s six-year-old son was eagerly licking his soup spoon, and his brown and white puppy was already begging at his feet. Zeke reached for a roll the instant Eva put the basket on the table. Solo gave the boy a quick parental scowl, and Zeke retracted his hand, more eager to make Solo proud than to eat.

  Eva and Solo weren’t even officially engaged yet and the man was already more of a father to Zeke than the boy had ever known.

  It took several trips to the kitchen for Eva and Sybil to fetch all the food, but that was nothing compared to meal times when the inn and bunkhouse were both full of guests. Occasionally, they had to add a second seating to dinner, so serving only seven was as easy as, well, making rice pudding.

  When Sybil and Eva returned with the last of the food, Solo had pushed another four-top table against the one where he and Zeke and Frederick sat, making one long table for everyone. Leonard and Claudia were sitting with the fireplace behind them. The extra heat probably felt good on their arthritic backs, especially Leonard whose upper spine had begun to hunch these past few years.

  Claudia looked at Sybil and patted the empty chair next to her. As Sybil sat obediently, the older woman pushed her thick, silvery hair away from her kind eyes. “Since it’s just family here tonight and there’s no reason for us to spread out and entertain guests, we decided to have a nice family dinner together.”

  “Of course,” Sybil said agreeably, though inwardly she never felt right about calling it a family dinner when half of her family was gone. If her mother and Revel and James were here too, then it would be a family dinner. As it was, this was a half-family dinner. Maybe since Leonard was her father’s cousin and he and Claudia had worked here for over forty years, they accept
ed it as permanent when people left, when family members left. But Sybil couldn’t.

  Her mother was only gone temporarily. Granted, she’d left eight years ago, but she’d said she would be back, she’d promised. Sybil held her to that promise with every letter she sent via the traders. Revel and James would be back too. Sooner rather than later, if she could help it. And she would. Somehow.

  Yes, she would put her broken family back together.

  * * *

  Sybil trailed her fingers along the varnished handrail as she ascended the worn steps to the inn’s second floor. At the top of the stairs, instead of turning left to walk down the hallway to her room, she rounded the banister back toward the front of the house where a door led to a tight upstairs balcony that topped the inn’s full porch down below.

  Wind whistled under the closed balcony door. The rolled-up towel Eva kept snuggly against the gap was rumpled up in the corner. Claudia must have moved it while beating out the rugs this afternoon and forgot to put it back. Sybil knelt by the cold door and tucked the towel back into place.

  The threshold needed repair. Such maintenance was the inn owner’s job, but her father didn’t have the strength for his chores anymore, and Solo was busy managing the stables and doing half of Leonard’s work in the barn. Once Isaac Owens arrived to take over for Leonard, things would be so much better. Not just for the inn.

  Any young man willing to come out to Falls Creek, away from the bustle of village life, must be looking to settle down. Surely, Isaac would soon want to build a home and start a family here. Maybe he would take an interest in Sybil when he found out she wanted to spend her life at Falls Creek, helping a husband and raising a family.

  The thought lifted Sybil’s mood as she stepped away from the balcony and turned down the long hallway that split the upstairs lengthwise. Four rooms looked out over the front of the property, and four over the back. Each thick wooden door was carved with a room number.