Uncharted Journey (The Uncharted Series Book 6) Read online

  Connor closed the sunglasses case, leaving the aviators inside it. The sarcasm had left his voice. “Even though Mercer doesn’t have any evidence of the gray leaf tree or the Land now, he will always pose a threat to us. He can’t be trusted.”

  John passed the note back to Bailey. She folded it and tucked it into her jeans pocket. “Justin said no one could detect the gray leaf without the information on its molecular structure. With the saplings and data destroyed, I don’t see how he could prove the Land exists.”

  Connor shook his head. “He could give the military the Land’s coordinates and the time to arrive, like he told you.”

  Bailey doubted that would benefit Mercer. “The military thinks he’s crazy. Nobody listened to him. And they definitely won’t without proof.”

  Revel spoke up for the first time, drawing everyone’s attention. “Is that all it takes to come to the Land? Knowing where to be and when?”

  Connor rubbed both hands across his face. “Apparently.”

  John wagged a finger. “There is more to it than that. Our founders believed God controls who enters the Land and who does not. Ships have crossed these waters for hundreds of years, and until the Providence ran aground, no one had set foot on the Land.” He put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “When you first arrived in the Land, you said you had flown over this area many times and never saw any land here. While you were brought to our shore, Mr. Mercer was carried out to sea and lost sight of the Land.”

  Connor touched the sunglasses case. “But he found it three years later, entered, and safely left after a month.”

  “Precisely. Because it was God’s plan that Mr. Mercer tell Bailey Colburn of Virginia about this place.” John put his other hand on Bailey’s shoulder as if bridging the feuding parties. “And she found her way here to us.”

  John left his hands on both of them for a long moment. The muscles in Bailey’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in years. Connor’s expression softened slightly.

  When John removed his hands, he folded them on the table. “Bailey has a friend named Timothy…” He gave Bailey a quizzical glance.

  “Van Buskirk.”

  “Timothy Van Buskirk. He helped her destroy Mr. Mercer’s evidence of the Land and was on the yacht last night but did not make it to shore. He is unarmed and a peaceful man. He has an illness that requires medication, and Bailey fears for his life.” He looked back and forth between Connor and Revel, including them both in his command. “Form a search party. If Mr. Van Buskirk made it to the Land, we must find him immediately.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Solo lifted and lowered the handle on the water pump beside the stable block until cool water flowed out of the iron pipe. He washed his hands and arms up to his elbows then poked the toes of his boots into the flow to rinse them too.

  The happy voice of young Zeke echoed off the stable wall as the boy ran from the inn with his puppy scurrying behind him. “Solo! Solo! Mama’s coming to see the foal!”

  Solo ran his wet hands through his hair before putting his hat back on. He stepped off the well’s wooden platform and met Zeke in front of the stable’s archway. The puppy yapped excitedly and jumped on Solo’s legs. He took a step back and didn’t pet the dog so he would go to his new owner instead.

  Zeke huffed as he spoke. “I told Mama about Star’s foal, and she said she’ll be right out to see it.”

  Solo tousled Zeke’s hair. “Sounds good. But after this visit we need to leave Star and her foal alone for the afternoon, all right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Eva stepped around the back of the inn and walked briskly toward the stables. Her dark blue skirt flapped behind her like the flag of a pirate ship. When she got close, Solo gave a curt nod of greeting and walked ahead of them to Star’s stall.

  Zeke prattled all the way through the barn. “I saw the whole thing, Mama. At first Star was lying down, and then she stood up, and the foal was coming out in a white sack, and it took a really, really long time. Then the bag fell out with the foal inside, and Star chewed the bag open and licked the foal to clean it. It was really, really messy.” He made a face, and Eva smiled at him.

  Solo stopped in front of the stall gate. He looked at Zeke and put a finger to his lips. Zeke mimicked the motion and stopped talking. The little boy stood on his tiptoes, trying to see over the closed bottom section of the stall gate. Solo hoisted him up to give him a better view of Star and her foal.

  Eva looked at Solo, and for a moment he thought she was going to tell him to put her son down, but instead she smiled and mouthed, “Thank you.”

  As Eva watched the foal and Star, she put her hand over her heart and sighed. She tilted her head to one side, and a shiny strand of her brown hair fell across her cheek. Solo didn’t want to be caught staring at her, but her awe over the horses’ sacred moment captivated him. After only witnessing her tyranny, seeing her tenderness broadsided him like an unforeseen horse kick.

  He stood at the gate, holding Zeke up, furtively watching Eva, and wondering why a beautiful, hardworking woman like her hadn’t been snatched up by some smooth-talking trader. She glanced at him and raised one perfectly arched brow, reminding him of the accusation she’d made at his door last night. If she acted that way toward most men, it was no wonder she hadn’t found a new husband. Maybe he’d been the only man to get a glimpse of what was beneath her rock hard facade.

  Zeke’s puppy danced around the boy’s dangling feet. The dog barked one excited yap, and Star whinnied a warning to them.

  Solo lowered Zeke to the ground. “It’s time to give Star and her baby some space.”

  “Yes,” Eva said, looking at her son. “And it’s time for you to go inside for your reading lesson.”

  Zeke’s face puckered. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, you have to.”

  Solo nudged him and pointed at the puppy. “You know, dogs love to hear their owners read aloud.”

  Zeke widened his eyes. “Is that true?”

  “Sure is. Dogs love stories,” Solo said as they walked out of the stable block. “And since Joshua is just getting to know you, if you read to him a lot, it’ll help him learn your voice and feel more at home here.”

  “Then I’ll start right now!” Zeke took off for the inn, and the puppy chased him.

  Eva walked a few unhurried steps beside Solo. “I’ve never seen him get excited to read. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” It was the first time they’d been alone since she was at his door last night. He’d closed his guest room door on her, certain she wouldn’t let the matter rest. Though her demeanor was different now, he didn’t want to risk another argument. She walked toward the house, so he turned to go back into the stable block.

  She stopped walking. “About last night…”

  He’d almost escaped. Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone? A frustrated breath released from his lungs a little louder than he’d intended.

  A brief squint betrayed her offense, but she immediately composed herself. “I’m sorry if I was rude. You are a guest here, and I shouldn’t have made you feel uncomfortable.”

  Uncomfortable? She’d falsely accused him of taking advantage of her father’s senility, which amounted to saying he had no honor. This wasn’t a matter of comfort but justice. But if he’d learned one thing in the schoolyard, it was that forceful people like Eva didn’t understand justice; they only understood getting their way. It didn’t matter how pretty she was, he wasn’t giving her what she wanted. Without speaking, he took a step toward the stables.

  She touched his arm, halting him. “I know I upset you last night, and I’m sorry.”

  He looked down at the slender fingers touching his forearm then at her dark brown eyes. “I didn’t trick your father. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I know,” she answered quickly, but her sincere gaze held his. She moved her hand away, and he briefly wished she hadn’t. “Anyway, thank you for encouraging Zeke to read.” She point
ed a thumb at the inn. “I’d better go make sure he’s holding the book right side up.”

  A surprised chuckle rumbled his throat. Where he’d expected an argument, she’d given an apology and charm. There was more to Eva Vestal than he’d imagined, and it pulled him stronger than a dozen Shire stallions. He was tempted to follow her to the house or to invite her to go for a ride or to make her a ring out of a piece of hay.

  Somehow, he managed to keep his desire in check and simply tipped his hat to her. “Afternoon.”

  She smiled politely and walked away.

  He stepped into the stable block but stayed in the shadow of the archway, watching Eva as she sauntered to the house.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bailey stumbled out of the botany lab at Eastern Shore University, and a Global officer locked the door behind her. As she limped away, she almost stepped in a puddle then stopped short when she noticed a face in the water.

  At first, it looked like her reflection, but a cold wind rippled the water’s surface. The image didn’t move. She crouched with her hiking boots at the water’s edge and studied the person below. The reflection wasn’t her face but similar. Her mother? Couldn’t be. She died in jail long ago. Bailey got a better look. Yes, it was her biological mother. Twenty-three years since she’d last seen her, and the woman hadn’t aged.

  Then the face changed, and it was her martial arts instructor. What was Coach doing under the water? Before she could figure out what was happening, the face morphed into Mrs. Polk, her favorite foster parent, and then it was Professor Tim.

  “Tim!” Bailey cried.

  His eyes opened and focused sharply on her for one desperate second. His mouth didn’t move, but she heard his voice. “You can make a family out of friends.” Then the image disappeared.

  Bailey sat up, panting. She wasn’t back in Virginia; she was in the spare bedroom in John Colburn’s house in the Land.

  She reached to the lamp on the bedside table and felt for the switch before she remembered there was no electricity here. She didn’t need light anyway. The bright, oval moon shone through the window sheers.

  Standing, she straightened the old-fashioned nightgown Lydia had given her, then she tiptoed to the wardrobe. John had insisted she use it for her clothes. The wardrobe’s ornately carved door creaked as it opened. Its interior smelled like lavender and old lady, which were basically the same smell.

  Her fingers found the two-way radio in her backpack. She carried it to the window and stood between a wooden rocking chair and a doily-covered side table. The modern electronic devise looked as out-of-place as she felt.

  She opened the curtain and let the moonlight hit the radio’s digital clock display. 06:18. The clocks on the yacht had been set to Cape Town time, so it was probably an hour earlier here. Maybe two. She could check the Colburns’ clock in the living room and set the radio to match it while no one was up to see her. Later. It wasn’t knowing the time that had woken her.

  She sat in the rocking chair and switched on the radio, trying not to wonder about the deceased relative who had once lived in this room. The look on Lydia’s face when she’d shown Bailey to the room told her the death had been recent and the grief still fresh. Bailey knew the feeling well and knew how to bury it even better.

  The two-way radio buzzed to life. Static hummed from the speaker on the same lonely frequency as her heart. Her shins ached after spending all of yesterday hiking up and down the rocky shore, searching for any sign of Tim. John had been true to his word and enlisted several village men to help with the search, but they’d found no sign of Tim.

  So here she sat by the moonlit window in an old lady rocking chair, wearing an old lady nightgown, hoping to hear Tim’s voice over the radio, imagining him curled up in the boat with his lucky hat, lost and hungry. She may have come to a patriarchal society, but she couldn’t sit like a helpless female of times past.

  She turned the hand crank on the radio for a couple minutes to recharge the battery then switched it off and tucked it into her backpack. After changing into a sweatshirt and her only good pair of jeans, she slipped the backpack’s straps over her shoulders and reached for the glass knob on the bedroom door. Something about the way the moonlight caught the smooth knob stopped her. She glanced back at the room where she’d left the bed unmade and the nightgown crumpled on the handwoven rug.

  The Colburns might lead simple looking lives, but that was no reason to be a jerk. She wasn’t above them. Her technologically advanced society had disintegrated. So what if her people could send a message around the world in a microsecond? Those messages were usually selfish, untrue, or divisive.

  She smoothed the bed’s soft sheets, spread the warm quilt evenly over the mattress, and fluffed the feather pillows. More care had gone into weaving those sheets and sewing that quilt and stuffing those pillows than into anything she owned. No matter what modern superiority complex had been ground into her psyche, she would show gratitude for the way of life in the Land.

  After all, she’d long dreamed of a sweet and simple life.

  Now she had the chance to build that life. All that was missing was the man who’d given her this opportunity. She would find him. He was the closest person she had to family. He’d even said himself a person can make a family out of friends, and that’s what they’d done. Without him she was alone to face these strangers.

  She closed the bedroom door then stepped lightly through the hall and rounded the corner into the living room. The short hand of the clock on the wall behind an overstuffed armchair pointed to V. Five in the morning. She could be at the shore by first light.

  As she walked through the wide doorway from the living room to the kitchen, a shadowy figure moved near the stove. Even in the dark, the lines of Revel’s suspenders made stripes down the back of his shirt. He struck a match and lit an oil lantern but kept the flame low.

  She stepped into the kitchen, and he snapped his face toward her as if she’d startled him. “Why are you up so early?” he asked.

  She walked to the cabinet where she’d seen him get a cup for her yesterday. As she filled it at the sink, she avoided answering his question. “I’ve only been here two days, and on both days, someone was surprised to see me awake the next morning.”

  A half-smile briefly curved his lips then disappeared as he quickly looked away.

  She took a long drink of the crisp water. There was no need to hide what she was doing. “I’m going to the shore to look for Tim. What are you doing up?”

  Revel held up a copper kettle. “I wanted an early start.”

  “Why?” After the word slipped out, she realized work started early in an agrarian culture. She should be more sensitive so she could fit in here. “Sorry. You have chores to do. I get it. I’m not a morning person.”

  “Nor am I.” Revel set the kettle on the stove then walked close enough she could clearly see his features in the dim light. Brown whiskers shadowed his jaw. Faint lines at the corners of his eyes placed him in his thirties, late twenties if he spent most of his time in the sun.

  He kept his voice quiet. “I couldn’t sleep. Just kept thinking of what happened the other night.” His eyes finally met hers. “I’m sorry about your friends.”

  She couldn’t mourn over Micah and the crewmen, whom she barely knew, while Tim was still floating along the coast in the tender. She shrugged, needing to appear tougher than she felt. “Yeah, well, they weren’t my friends. Tim was my only friend on that yacht, and he’s still out there. I’ll find him today.”

  Revel took a mug down from the cupboard but kept his gaze on her. “Connor said violence is a part of life in the outside world. I can’t imagine going through something like the other night over and over again.”

  She hadn’t thought about the trauma the crewmen’s violence might have inflicted on Connor’s security team. If the locals had never experienced an attack, they were probably in shock. Connor might know how to handle post-traumatic stress, but a person raised
in the Land might not. She offered her old coach’s words to Revel. “Survivors find ways to cope.”

  “You are a survivor.” Revel’s statement came out more like a question.

  “Always have been.”

  “How do you cope?”

  She flashed a quick smile, like that would lighten his dark mood. “I do the next thing.”

  His gaze intensified as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Just when she thought he was done with their conversation, he shook his head slowly, loosening the strands of sun-bleached hair across his forehead. “It still must be difficult.”

  She began to deny it, but her ability to pretend was weakening. “Yeah, it stinks. Especially since Connor blames me. The whole mess was the crewmen’s fault.”

  Revel looked past her with a thousand-yard stare. Maybe he was reliving the firefight. No matter how she felt, it must be worse for a person who’d never seen a gun to encounter two men shooting wildly in the night. Revel’s unblinking eyes turned back to her, but he didn’t speak.

  Unable to interpret the look on his face, she busied herself at the sink by filling the water bottle for her backpack. “I’d understand if you blame me too.”

  “No.” His brow furrowed and he frowned like he was pained by what she suggested. “No, I don’t blame you for what happened.”

  A reply of thanks dissolved on her tongue. Even if he didn’t blame her, the urge to apologize kept her from leaving the kitchen.

  The kettle on the stove whistled, diverting their attention. He slowly moved away, leaving hope in the air. It was nice to know the man who apprehended her two days ago now sympathized with her.

  He poured boiling water over a strainer full of dark green leaves. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  The scent of her favorite morning beverage filled the room, but whatever he was making wasn’t coffee. She hooked her thumbs in her backpack straps. “No, I should go. Like I said, I have to do the next thing.”