The Uncharted Series Omnibus Read online

  * * *

  Lydia sat in the chair at her desk in the medical office and released a breath she had not realized she was holding. Connor followed her inside and closed the door. She grinned as she thought of Isabella’s reaction to the way Connor spoke. Knowing her aunt, Lydia was relieved Isabella said no more about it than she did.

  “I planned to examine your eyes and reflexes once more before I release you from my care. However,” she smiled, “considering my aunt’s assessment, perhaps I should make you stay in bed a few more days—at least until your speech is more familiar sounding.”

  “Yeah, I’ll work on my enunciation.” Connor grinned. “You have an interesting family, Doc.” He pulled the other chair closer to her desk and sat down. “Your dad is cool.” Connor held up a pair of leather shoes. Shoving his fist inside, he bent them back and forth then slipped them on his feet. “Not bad.”

  Lydia picked up her pen and started to write on Connor’s medical chart. She looked again at the shoes and remembered the boots Connor wore when he landed on the beach. She realized she had forgotten about it since that night. “What happened to your shoes? The boots you wore when you fell from the sky?”

  Connor’s grin vanished and his gaze intensified. She watched his expression change and briefly felt frightened. The momentary comfort she had with him only seconds before was gone.

  “Since I was unconscious when my boots were removed, I was hoping you could tell me what happened.” His tone was levied with just enough suspicion to put Lydia on the defensive.

  “I don’t know what happened.” She tried to not be offended. He was from a different culture and probably had different customs. Still, she expected him to show some gratitude for her saving his life rather than hint at accusation. Lydia thought back to when she first saw him. She had replayed the scene over and over in her mind. Dreams of a motionless man floating to earth had plagued her sleep since Connor’s arrival. She did not know how he flew in the sky, and he had not answered her questions when she asked. Now that he had recovered from his injuries, she wanted answers. She looked him directly in the eye. “I was walking home along the shore that night. I was alone. It was dusk. There was a flash of light in the sky, and then you floated down to the earth. It looked as though you were going to land in the ocean, but the wind carried you with that cloth. You fell into the sand. I tried to pull you from the water’s edge, but you were too heavy. The tide was coming in, and the currents around the Land are deadly. I was afraid you would be pulled out to sea. You were unconscious and there was nothing I could do.” Lydia realized her words were pouring out with emotion. She paused and tried to steady her voice. She was a physician, she reminded herself, trained and fully qualified to handle harrowing situations. She kept her eyes on her desk instead of looking back at Connor. “So I left you there while I ran home to get my father and brother to help. When we returned, your boots were gone and so was the cloth that had carried you.”

  Connor slid his arm slowly across the desk and took the pen out of her hand. He laid it on the chart. Lydia looked up at him. She had so many questions she wanted to ask. He came from a world she could not imagine, and that made her afraid of the answers. She just wanted everything to go back to how it was before he arrived, and she felt childish for feeling that way.

  “The cloth you saw is called a parachute. The machine I operate is called an airplane. It flies in the sky. Something went wrong with my aircraft. I floated to the earth using the parachute. That’s what happened.” Connor’s voice softened. Lydia looked into his eyes and where she expected to see animosity, she saw compassion. “I can see the stress my arrival has caused and I’m sorry. You saved my life, Doc. I am grateful. Yesterday you asked me if I meant to come here. I did not. I don’t even know where this place is. I have flown over this part of the world many times and I have never seen any land here before, nor has anyone else that I know.”

  As Lydia listened to Connor she remembered the founders’ writings and how they had acknowledged God’s providence from the moment they ran aground on this uncharted land. Connor had not intended to come to the Land either, and she wondered if his arrival could have been providential. Her desire to demand answers lessened. Connor spoke the truth, and that brought her peace. “I’m glad I was there to help you.” She thought again of what started their conversation. “However, I cannot explain your missing boots.” Connor’s description of his parachute proved it was a tool and held no power of its own, so another person must have removed it—and his boots. She was certain there was no one else there at the shore that night. And for a person to steal from an injured man and not move him away from the incoming tide—that would certainly reveal a level of wickedness that—though innate in every person—was rarely acted upon in the Land. She glanced at the windows and felt cold. “Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  Lydia stood and stepped to the window. Frank could be crouching outside even now. The last thing she wanted to do was expose her humiliating problem to a stranger, but if Frank had robbed Connor, she felt Connor deserved to know. “There is a man in our village… he’s not like most people here.” She lifted the edge of the curtain and looked around the yard. “He does not behave respectably. I don’t like to speculate, but he may have been there when I found you. I did not see him that evening, but he often… follows me.”

  “Follows you?”

  “From a distance mostly.” She felt foolish for actions that were not her own. “My father has spoken to him about his behavior, but he still does it. His name is Frank Roberts.” She turned to look at Connor but he was already standing behind her.

  “Where does he live?” His voice was low and serious.

  Lydia looked up at him. She knew he was tall but did not fully appreciate it until then. She moved back to her desk. “In a cabin past the bluffs. I am not accusing him of stealing from you. Please understand it is only a possibility that he was there that night and—” Her words were interrupted by the slam of the door and Connor was gone.

  * * *

  Isabella stood from the kitchen table and walked toward her bedroom. She had felt the energy between the others during breakfast and was too curious to follow her usual morning routine. Isabella delighted in listening to the dramatic angst of young people and assumed the traveler named Connor was causing the stir. Since Bethany had left for school and Levi had gone to work, Isabella hoped Lydia would come back into the house and explain what was happening with the mysterious traveler. So instead of spending the morning in her room, Isabella took her knitting to the parlor and sat in a soft armchair around the corner from the kitchen.

  * * *

  Connor rushed out of Lydia’s cottage fully charged for a fight. He stopped between the cottage and the back door of the Colburn house and took a deep breath to settle his pulse. He could hear the ocean and knew the shore was nearby to the east. Looking to the west, he saw a man and woman walking down the road. He turned his face away before they looked at him.

  Connor knew he had to find the man Lydia had mentioned. He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the wood-shingled roof on the Colburn house. His eyes squinted in response to the bright morning sun. It was not simply the mention of a creep following Lydia around that got Connor’s blood boiling, or even the thought of being robbed while he was unconscious. Connor blew out a breath and thought about what had first upset him: his arrival was haunting Lydia. It was not until Connor heard her voice crack that he realized how disturbing all this was for her. He had gone from a life of full-intensity, non-stop, life-or-death action to finding himself in a completely peaceful, antiquated society on an uncharted landmass. He was grateful to be here rather than dead or, worse yet, in enemy hands. He was even interested in the way of life here, but he refused to mentally downshift knowing what he had to go back to. Yet Lydia lived in this place and it was all she knew. He thought of the devastation he had witnessed in his world and the level of mystery and danger his arrival brought into
her world. She had not asked for any of this. It overwhelmed Connor with guilt. Lydia had saved a man’s life; she should not have her life ruined because of it. Connor would find a way to get back to where he belonged—in the cockpit of a fighter jet—and leave these people in peace.

  Connor shooed a fly away from his face as he stepped into the kitchen. Everyone was gone except John, who stood in front of a cabinet by the pantry. He was gathering tools from a wide drawer and placing them into a leather shoulder bag.

  “Connor.” John glanced up as Connor walked into the kitchen. “I want you to come with me today. There are several areas of the chapel in need of repair, and I could use an extra pair of hands.”

  Connor rubbed his whisker-covered chin. “Actually, I was just making my own plans for the day.” He thought of the personal locator beacon that should have been attached to his emergency equipment. If he could get the beacon and activate it, the search party would pick up his signal. The man Lydia mentioned might have the gear, and he might have already activated the beacon. If so, Connor wanted to be there when the search party arrived.

  “Really?” John asked as he continued packing tools into the bag. “What were your plans?”

  “I have some equipment to recover. Tell me how to find Frank Roberts. Lydia said he lives in a cabin past the bluffs. Where are the bluffs?”

  “I see.” John placed a hammer into the bag and then pulled a cord to close it. “I too have considered the possibility that Frank Roberts may have followed Lydia and witnessed your arrival to the Land. I have also wondered if Frank was the person who took your boots and your equipment. There are not many people in our village who would behave so despicably or that could keep silent about something as extraordinary as your arrival. However, I do not think it is wise to confront Frank at this time. If he did not see you fall from the sky or steal your equipment, you would only be involving someone who cannot be trusted.”

  Connor thought of the locator beacon. The desperate Unified States military was strapped for equipment, so the aircraft had been outfitted with ancient surplus. Still, if the beacon worked, Connor could activate it before the search was discontinued. “Is there someone else I should consider? I really need to get that gear back as soon as possible.”

  “Not among my people. You said there was another person with you in the aircraft. He may have survived also, or perhaps other warriors followed you here. Have you considered your people? Or even one of your nation’s enemies?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s possible my weapons system officer survived and landed nearby. But I assure you, neither he nor any other American serviceman would have removed my boots and left me there.” Connor considered the possibility of enemy troops. “I can’t tell you if other nations are aware of your land.” He thought of the mass devastation he had witnessed around the world. “You and your people would know if your land had been invaded. You said no one has mentioned anything out of the ordinary in your village. Are there other villages here?”

  John nodded. “There are eight villages in the Land.”

  “Eight? How big is this place? What is the population? What kind of communication do you have with the other villages?” Connor allowed the questions to roll out of his mouth as quickly as they came to him.

  John’s hands halted their work as he looked up from the cord on the bag. “Traders frequently travel from Northcrest to Southpoint by boat on the river. Most deliveries come to Good Springs from the river by wagon. Often the traders deliver messages, and people frequently travel with them between the villages. If anything is out of the ordinary, we will hear about it. That is why I think it is important to keep your situation private. We do not want to cause panic.” John lifted the bag and pulled its strap over his shoulder. Then he pointed to a bucket of nails on the floor. “Grab that and come with me.”

  As John walked past Connor and out the door, Connor realized there might be more to the situation than he first thought. He needed to recover his gear and plan his departure, but he had to do it without causing trouble for John Colburn and his family. Connor clutched the bucket and decided to follow John to the chapel.

  * * *

  As John and Connor spoke openly in the kitchen, neither knew they had an audience. Isabella sat around the corner, her knitting needles clenched in her frozen hands. Her mind whirled as she listened to John and Connor talk about warriors and armies and enemies. She realized Connor’s ability to speak was not impaired—he was from a foreign land. She sat motionless as the men discussed the situation.

  When Isabella heard the door close, she gathered her knitting basket and her cane. Her hands trembled as she shuffled to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She reached out to her wardrobe, opened its smooth doors, then felt to the bottom drawer and pulled it open. Beneath a layer of soft scarves and handkerchiefs she felt the secret she had kept for over half a century wrapped in a cotton pillowcase. She stuck her hand into the pillowcase and drew out a wrinkled, leather-covered journal given to her by her grandfather. He had read it to her before he died. His great-grandmother—the wife of one of the founders—had written it. It documented an incident the founders had decided never to mention again.

  Isabella traced her finger along the journal’s rough edge. She did not know the meaning of the strange things John and the traveler had discussed in the kitchen, but she sensed there would be trouble in the Land. She thought of the details she could remember from the story in the secret journal. She remembered nothing about invading armies, but if the journal contained any wisdom that could be useful, she wanted Lydia to be aware of it. She had always planned to pass the journal on to Lydia one day and make her the family’s secret keeper. Perhaps the time had come.

  * * *

  As Connor followed John outside, he glanced at Lydia’s medical cottage as if making a mental note of the one safe place in this strange land. As he and John approached the road, Connor’s eyes followed it to the left and saw the gravel path incline a degree as it cut a trail between the trees and disappeared over a small hill. John motioned to the right and Connor stepped onto the gravel road as John directed. The ocean breeze smelled salty-sweet and bent the tall grass in rippling waves along either side of the road. The trees looked similar to those in other lands Connor had visited in the Southern Hemisphere, except for one tree that appeared to be the most abundant here. He glanced up at the leaves as they passed under a low-hanging branch and noticed a silvery undertone.

  Connor pointed to the unfamiliar tree. “Is that a gray leaf tree?”

  John nodded. “The Land is full of them. Gray leaf lumber is easily hewn yet stronger than iron, and it does not rot as quickly other woods. One quartered log from the gray leaf tree heats a house for the entire winter. Its paper lasts for generations. And I believe you have experienced the medicinal value of tea made from its leaves.”

  Connor grinned as he recalled the sensation. He reached up and snagged a leaf from a branch as they passed and inspected it while walking toward the village. In shape and texture, the leaf reminded him of eucalyptus, but its silver color and distinct scent left little similarity to any tree he knew.

  The road changed from gravel to brown cobblestones as they approached the center of the village. Connor dropped the leaf and stepped around a clump of horse manure as he surveyed the town. The village reminded him of something from a childhood storybook. Pretty cottages with high-sloped roofs lined both sides of the street. Flower gardens and trimmed shrubs surrounded each of the modest houses. A white chapel in the center of the village boasted a high steeple that rose into the blue sky. Across the street from the chapel stood a stone building with a tapered, wooden door. The building’s windows were shuttered, piquing Connor’s interest.

  John climbed the steps to the entrance of the chapel and Connor followed. The front of the church seemed narrow, but as they entered the building Connor realized its depth. Its high, arched ceiling echoed John’s full voice as he told Connor the building’s history. “M
y father was the overseer here before me and his father before him. It was my grandfather’s generation who extended the building as the population of Good Springs flourished and the church needed more space.” He lowered the tool bag to a pew then motioned with his hands as he spoke. “There are over two hundred fifty people in Good Springs now. Most of the villagers attend service each Sunday, and the chapel still accommodates them all. However, the pews get a bit wobbly over time.” John put his hand at the back of a long bench seat and shook it, demonstrating as he spoke. He knelt and pointed beneath the wooden pew. “There are two screws here and also here on each side.” He pointed to the center of the pew. “And under the support at mid-length.” John stood, opened the tool bag and drew out a few tools, some iron but many of them made from silver.

  Connor picked up a silver tool and inspected it. “I’ve noticed a lot of your common tools are made of silver.”

  “There is a mine in Southpoint and silversmiths there. Their work is traded throughout the Land. Silver was the first plentiful metal found in the Land.”

  If the people here used silver for screwdrivers, Connor wondered what they considered valuable. “What is the currency in the Land?”

  “We barter.”

  “For everything?”

  John nodded. “It is a system that has been equitable for our people for seven generations. We have never known dearth in the Land.” He pointed to a closed door at the other end of the long chapel. “I will be in my office if you need me.”

  Chapter Five