The Uncharted Series Omnibus Page 6

  Connor forcibly exhaled. “Just perfect.” He did not break his rhythm but continued to sit up, lie back, and sit up again. “Thanks, Doc.”

  Lydia smiled but did not know what to say. She stepped out the cottage door and walked along the dew-covered path to the main house. After brushing a spider’s web out of the way, she opened the door. Her father was walking into the kitchen from the parlor. He wore work clothes and smiled at Lydia as he lifted his suspenders over his shoulders. “Morning, Lydia.”

  “Good morning, Father.”

  “How is your patient today?” John walked to the sink, filled a kettle with water, and set it on the stove with a clank.

  With the image of Connor exercising still fresh in her mind, Lydia grinned. She walked to the back of the kitchen and dumped the laundry bundle by a washtub. “I believe he has fully recovered,” Lydia said. She picked up a basket for gathering eggs and went to the linen closet to get a clean cloth to line the basket. Along the bottom shelf of the closet were stacks of old clothes and fabric scraps awaiting other uses. Her mother used to call it the rag pile. There in the rag pile she saw the trousers Mrs. Ashton had made for Levi. Lydia ducked her head out of the closet and held the pants up. “Another miscalculation?”

  “Too slim and six inches too long for Levi. Mrs. Ashton makes you all clothes as if you were still growing. They could be altered; however, Levi could not bring himself to tell her.”

  “I’ll take them to Connor.”

  “No, I will take them to him in a moment.” John held out his hand. Lydia tossed the pants across the kitchen to her father and he caught them with one hand. He stood at the stove while the coffee brewed, then filled two cups with the steaming beverage. With the trousers tucked under his elbow, John carried a cup of coffee in each hand and walked out the back door toward Lydia’s cottage.

  * * *

  Connor stood from the floor, satisfied his ribs appeared to be healed and his strength had returned. When Lydia left the cottage, he pulled on his t-shirt and took the opportunity to search the medical office. He hoped to find some clues as to where this land was and how he might return to his squadron.

  At Lydia’s desk, Connor lifted the grayish papers she had written on the day before. Her neat and uniform handwriting looked more like some old colonial style than modern American penmanship. The paper she used was thick and rough. A pen and ink well, both made of silver, sat next to an oil lantern at the corner of her desk. Connor lifted the lantern and smelled the fuel. It had a pungent scent he did not recognize. He sat in Lydia’s desk chair, opened the drawer on the right side of the desk and found a tidy stack of paper that appeared to be her detailed patient charts. After closing the drawer, Connor glanced at the window then opened the drawer on the left side of the desk. Expecting to find it just as logical as the rest of Lydia’s office, Connor gulped when he saw the drawer’s chaotic contents: broken seashells, a bound braid of horsehair, and seed pods were mixed with crumpled scraps of paper. Connor promptly closed the drawer.

  The back of Lydia’s desk was pushed against the wall by the staircase. The balusters were painted white and climbed two per stair up to her private rooms. Connor stood and looked up the stairs but saw only a closed door at the top of the landing. Curiosity tempted him to ascend the steps, but he decided that it stemmed from his personal interest and had nothing to do with his mission.

  Connor moved away from Lydia’s desk and examined the contents of a narrow bookcase. The shelves were filled with neatly arranged knickknacks, but only a few old books. At first he thought the lack of books was peculiar for a doctor’s office, but then his hand felt his ribs—completely healed in two days—and he decided there were probably more differences in their healthcare methods than similarities.

  Connor walked past the bookcase and inspected the medical instruments on a long countertop between the bookcase and the patient cot. The cabinet above the countertop was filled with bandage materials and more medical instruments, most of which were made of silver. He picked up a few of the instruments and decided medical tools were gory no matter where he was.

  Connor was familiar with the contents of the doily-covered side table next to the cot, but he had yet to flip through the pocket-sized books that were stacked on top of the table. He felt like he was riffling through a display of antiques as he picked up the first book. Its cover was made of thick leather and read The Gospel According to John. The inside pages were the same grayish paper Lydia had at her desk, and the printing appeared to be the work of an old block press. In small print at the bottom of the first page, it read Printed in Good Springs in the Year of Our Lord 2024. He was surprised the ancient looking book was only a year old.

  Connor held the scripture book between his hands as he looked up at a framed picture hanging on the wall over the table. It was a silhouette of a woman’s profile. The contours looked similar to Lydia but not exact. Connor assumed it was the silhouette of a relative. He glanced at the only other picture in the room, which hung on the wall next to the door. It was a drawing of an ornate tree formed by cursive writing. He studied it for a moment then moved closer to read the words and realized it was Lydia’s family tree. The spiraled writing indicated John Colburn as her father and listed a date of death beside her mother’s name. Connor glanced back at the silhouette and understood.

  As Connor returned to the cot and sat on its edge, he opened the scripture book. The text was small and neatly printed. Though the translation was from a tradition even his grandmother’s church would have considered archaic, he found the words to be his first glimpse of familiarity since he had awoken in this place. He read for a moment and then the door opened. Connor assumed it was Lydia and continued reading.

  Connor’s senses sharpened the moment he smelled coffee. He saw John and stood up, almost at attention out of habit. John slowly closed the door with his back while carefully holding a steaming cup in each hand. He had a folded pair of brown pants tucked under one elbow.

  “Connor. I am glad to see you are well. Do you drink coffee?”

  Connor accepted the ceramic cup; its handle was large enough to put his whole hand through. As he sipped, the coffee’s warmth rushed through his system. It was dark and bold, and endowed with the taste of high quality. Definitely not a military blend, he decided gratefully. “Thank you, sir.”

  “My pleasure.” John tossed the pair of trousers onto the cot. “Those should fit. You may have to cuff them.” John took a sip of his coffee. He looked at the t-shirt Connor wore, then down at Connor’s bare feet. “I will get you a proper shirt later and shoes as well.” John sat in the chair across from the cot and motioned for Connor to sit back down. “I apologize if I disturbed your reading.”

  “Not at all,” Connor replied, glad for the company.

  “Do you understand what you are reading?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Excellent.” John took a sip of his coffee. “You are welcome to attend our church while you are here in Good Springs.”

  Connor rubbed his chin. He was grateful, even comforted by John’s graciousness, but he was still in active service. Even though the military’s resources were stretched thin, he assumed a search party was looking for him. He intended to find them or be found before he was declared dead. “Thank you, sir. But I can’t stay here.”

  “That is true. Since you have fully recovered, you must come to my house. You may stay as my guest.”

  “Again, thank you,” Connor said, unsure how to explain the situation. “I meant that I must return to my people. I’m required to return to duty.”

  “I do not know how you will leave the Land.” John turned his head toward the window. “I still do not understand how you arrived.”

  Connor nodded. “I’ve thought about that a lot myself. I don’t know how I will leave, but I can tell you how I arrived. I’m a pilot. I fly aircraft for the Unified States military. Do you have any type of aircraft here?” John only shook his head. “Do you know what an
airplane is?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have cars here?”

  “No. I am not familiar with anything of the sort.”

  Connor scratched his head as he thought of an explanation. “An aircraft is a machine that flies in the sky. The aircraft I fly have a crew of two: the naval aviator and the weapon systems officer.” He held out the scripture book and flew it like an airplane. “Imagine this is the aircraft. We were flying high in the sky over the South Atlantic Ocean. That ocean.” Connor pointed to the east. “My people have highly sophisticated technology and can make the aircraft fly very high and very fast. But something went wrong and I was ejected.” He was concerned his explanation would not make sense, but John appeared to be focused as he listened. “The ejection seat deployed a parachute so I could float safely to the ground. That’s what Lydia saw from the beach the evening she found me.”

  John sat quietly, and Connor wondered how much of his explanation the other man understood. John’s brow creased as he stared into his coffee cup. Then he looked up as if a thought had occurred to him. “You mentioned two people were in the aircraft. Was the other person ejected too?”

  Connor widened his eyes, somewhat surprised by John’s perception. “I hope so.”

  “If so, where is that person now?”

  “I don’t know, sir.” Connor thought of Lieutenant Mercer and felt grief at the possibility of his death. “I was knocked unconscious during the incident. I awoke here.” He motioned to the room. “I don’t know what happened to my weapons system officer… or to the aircraft... or my boots for that matter.” Connor found the absence of his gear, especially his boots, worrisome.

  “You will have to ask Lydia about your boots,” John said. “I recall her remarking on missing equipment and boots when we went back to the beach with her that night. I have not heard anyone mention anything that would suggest knowledge of the event—aside from my family. Levi and Lydia are aware of your mysterious arrival, of course, but the others in my household only know Lydia is treating an injured traveler, which is common here from time to time. And I often invite travelers to stay in my home. The trouble is: everyone—my family and the people in our village—will ask where you are from. I cannot tell people that you fell from the sky, nor will I lie.” John’s blue eyes were serious and full of concern when he looked at Connor. “What shall I tell them?”

  “Arizona.”

  “I beg your pardon?” John asked.

  “I’m from Arizona. It’s a state in America.”

  “I see. I was hoping for an answer that would not draw more questions, but I appreciate your honesty. And what about your name? Bradshaw, was it?”

  “Yes, sir. Bradshaw. Why is my name a problem?”

  “Eight families founded our society. There are eight surnames in the Land. Not one of them is Bradshaw.” John’s matter-of-fact explanation attested to the simplicity of his society.

  “Hasn’t anyone ever changed his name here? You know, come up with something new?”

  “It is forbidden.” John’s expression remained serious. “Our genealogy is very important to us. Anyone wishing to take a wife must compare his lineage to hers to ensure quality breeding.”

  “Quality breeding?” Connor wanted to laugh at the concept but could tell this was a serious matter for the isolated society. “As in no cousin marriages, that sort of thing?”

  “A man may not marry a woman with whom he shares a great-grandparent.” John gave a quick glance out the window as if something outside caught his eye then he looked back at Connor. “We will try not to mention your name… or Arizona.” He walked to the door then turned back to Connor. “Come into the house with me. I want you to join my family for breakfast.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Connor was grateful for the chance to leave the cottage and be around people—no matter how bizarre the situation was. And he was beginning to like John Colburn. Connor reminded himself of the destitute condition of the rest of the world and pushed aside any notion of enjoying the place. This was not his real life, and he had to find a way back to his carrier. He had no idea how to do that without an aircraft or a boat, but he had to get out of the cottage before he could begin to plan his departure. At present, he could leave the Colburn property and use his survival skills to live in the wild, or he could accept the invitation to be a welcomed guest in the home of a leader in a peaceful community. Connor preferred the latter and followed John to the main house.

  * * *

  Lydia opened the door to the kitchen pantry and stepped inside the cool, dark room. The morning sunlight that was beginning to brighten the kitchen spilled into the pantry. Lydia filled a bowl with fresh fruit from the bushel baskets that lined the floor. The baskets were heaped with recently picked pears and plums and three varieties of apples. Villagers often brought fresh produce from their gardens and orchards to the overseer’s home. Lydia realized she had never seen the pantry go empty. She washed the fruit and placed it in a bowl on the table between a bowl of boiled eggs and a plate of bread.

  Isabella lumbered into the kitchen. With her cane, she felt the floor to detect anything out of place. Isabella grunted as she lowered herself into her usual chair at the end of the table. Then she reached for the linen napkin on her plate, snapped it open, and smoothed it over her lap. Lydia greeted her aunt, and Isabella mumbled a response.

  Bethany hummed as she came in and sat at the table next to Isabella. She plunked a stack of schoolbooks on the table’s edge and reached for a slice of bread. Bethany hummed as she buttered the bread then stopped humming and took a bite. As Bethany curled her long legs beneath her body, Lydia sat beside her and sent her a parental look, but it went unnoticed.

  Levi shuffled into the kitchen and walked straight to the cupboard near the sink. He yawned as he took a coffee mug from the upper shelf and yawned again as he moved around the table to his chair on the side by the fireplace. As Levi pulled his chair away from the table, its legs smacked into the stone edge of the hearth. Lydia flinched as the motion set off a memory of her mother’s death. She pressed her palm against her stomach and immediately removed it when Levi glanced at her. Lydia looked over her shoulder at the back door and wondered if her father would bring Connor into the house for breakfast. She glanced back at Levi as he reached for the coffee pot and saw his face change. Levi glowered at the back door. By his look of displeasure, Lydia knew Connor was coming into the kitchen. She turned to see John and Connor chuckling as they walked into the house. Their smiles did not dissipate as they moved to the table. Connor glanced at Lydia and rubbed the top of his head to smooth his extremely short hair.

  Lydia had assumed her father would bring the stranger into his house as a guest. He usually invited travelers to stay if they had no place else to go, and she expected he would treat Connor no differently. She also assumed Levi had realized that too, but the way he froze and glared at the two men suggested otherwise.

  “Good morning, all,” John greeted. “This is Connor. He is a traveler. He will be staying with us for a while.” John stepped to his seat at the head of the table and motioned to the empty chair at his right. “Have a seat, Connor.”

  Lydia left the table to retrieve silverware and a plate for Connor. The first plate she drew from the cabinet had a slight chip, so she put it beneath the stack and took the next plate. As she returned to the table, Lydia noticed how Levi slid his knife through the butter and slathered his bread without taking his eyes off Connor.

  “Connor you know Lydia, of course, and you have met my son, Levi.” John picked up the bowl of eggs, took one, and passed the bowl to Connor, then he motioned to the rest of the family. “This is my youngest daughter, Bethany, and my aunt, Miss Isabella Colburn.”

  “Just call me Aunt Isabella. Everyone does.”

  Bethany craned her neck to see around Lydia and stared at Connor while chewing with her mouth open. She smiled when Connor glanced at her, then she returned her attention to her food and heaped a spoonful of
preserves onto her bread.

  “It’s good to meet you all,” Connor said. His greeting was met with complete silence.

  Lydia wondered if Connor realized there was a difference in his dialect. It was slight but noticeable to them. Levi sighed. Bethany looked up from her food; her eyes were wide. Isabella raised her brows and her lips twitched. Lydia knew Isabella was about to speak and braced for her aunt’s reaction.

  “Goodness, man!” Isabella broke the silence. “What sort of speech is that?”

  “Aunt Isabella,” John interjected. “Connor has traveled a long way. He was injured a couple of days ago. Lydia has been attending to his medical needs in the cottage.”

  “Oh, you are the fellow who suffered the head injury!” Isabella said as if she had put it all together. “It has affected the way you speak—made you slack-jawed or something. Poor creature! That happened to my cousin as a child. He never did fully recover.” She lifted a porcelain teacup to her mouth; her audible sips echoed in the silent kitchen.

  Lydia grinned and glanced at Connor. His brows were furrowed and his eyes shifted in a way that made Lydia think he was confused. John shrugged and took a bite of his breakfast. Bethany snickered. Levi groaned and shook his head.

  John gracefully redirected the conversation and asked Bethany about school. She launched into her usual discourse on why she should not be required to attend school at all when many of the other students were away harvesting. She contended her time would be best spent at the pottery yard while the weather was favorable. When her complaints went unendorsed, Bethany raised her voice for more attention. As Lydia drew a breath to correct her sister’s impertinence, Bethany huffed and left the table.

  When John finished eating, he left the kitchen and returned with a pair of shoes for Connor. Lydia glanced at her father as she cleared the table. “I will be going to the Cotters’ to check on Doris and the baby today. That is,” she said as she looked at Connor, “if you are all right.” Connor motioned to the door and mouthed something. Lydia realized he was unsure if he should speak again in front of Isabella. She nodded and set the dishes in the sink, then wiped her hands on her dress and walked outside. Connor followed her to her cottage.