Dawn's Prelude (7 page)

Marston took his seat and reached for his coffee. “And what of the rest of the fortune—the businesses, stocks, and bank accounts?”

“My lawyer has advised that those are issues for the court to determine, and he will see to the matter.”

“And what do you intend to do in the meanwhile?” Mitchell asked.

Lydia chose her words carefully. “My lawyer is arranging new living quarters for me. I hope to be gone from this house very soon. I desire to take only my violin and the few personal items I brought into the marriage.”

“You aren’t taking your clothes?” Jeannette asked in surprise.

“No, you are welcome to them,” Lydia replied, knowing full well that Jeannette’s stockier frame would never fit into any of the garish fashions.

Evie looked at her for a moment and smiled. Lydia could see that the young woman clearly understood. She wanted nothing of this life to serve as a reminder of the past. No trinket. No memento of her twelve years of fear and pain.

“I’m glad to see that you are being reasonable about this. It will be much easier on everyone. We will want to divide up the goods and sell the place as soon as possible,” Marston stated in a businesslike manner. “As for the other, we want to discuss your plans. Mitchell and I both hold stock in Rockford and Gray’s Casket Company. We have a vested interest in the future of that company and of the furniture business, as well.”

“I can appreciate that, but I am honestly uncertain how the lawyer will handle the businesses. You may feel free, however, to discuss it with him at any time.”

Marston put down his cup. “But can we not discuss it with you?” He surprised Lydia once again by softening his tone. “Lydia, you know we have worked hard to grow this business. Rockford and Gray makes the finest caskets in the country. We have a reputation to uphold. It’s to your benefit, as well as ours.”

“My father invested heavily in the business, as well. As I recall, when I married your father a great deal of money changed hands.

My father was already making caskets on the side, as many furniture makers did. Your father saw his own business struggling. The arrangement benefited both sides. Unfortunately, I was forced to be in the middle of that affair.”

“You benefited, as well—” Mitchell began.

Lydia held up her hand. “I will not discuss this with you any further than to say you all bore witness to the misery I endured. We all know the truth. You know it for yourselves, as well. Your father was overbearing. He was harsh and uncaring. He beat you without cause, just as he did me.” Lydia felt her anger increase. “I don’t care what you think of me. I was a young girl when I married, and I did my best. I was terrified when I came here, but I leave feeling quite the opposite. I have endured the worst that any woman could ever suffer. I have miscarried my unborn children. I have lain awake at night, fearing the morrow. I am free of that now, and I will never allow myself to fall victim to that again.”

“What a martyr,” Jeannette said in a huff.

Marston turned to his sister. “Be still, Jeannette. Lydia is right. She has borne a great deal since coming to reside in this house.”

Lydia felt a wave of shock wash over her at Marston’s defense. He had never offered her any consolation or acceptance. He and Mitchell had treated her with cruelty and oppression over the years, and she had never expected any such support.

As if reading her mind, Marston turned back to Lydia. “I am particularly sorry for my part. I’m afraid I desired only to please my father, and because of that, I acted in a manner most unbecoming a gentleman.”

Lydia frowned. She didn’t know what to say and so said nothing. The others seemed taken aback by Marston’s comments. They sat in silence, as if trying to figure out if this were some sort of game being played out.

“We are hoping you can understand our position,” Mitchell said.

Releasing the back of the chair, Lydia gave a brief nod. “I think I understand it very well.”

Marston got to his feet. “I believe we have imposed long enough.” Mitchell and Jeannette followed him to the door, with Evie slowly sipping the last of her tea before rising.

Marston Gray had baffled Lydia completely. He had started out the conversation demanding as usual, only to apologize for twelve years of ugliness. Funny how people believed that casual words of apology could somehow erase all of the pain and suffering they had caused.

Lydia heard Evie approach and turned to face her. Evie had never been cruel to her but had often found herself forced to go along with her siblings. “I’m sorry that life here has been such a grief.”

“I’m equally sorry for you, Evie. I’m sorry that you had to grow up without the love and affection of a mother . . . or father.” She wanted to comment on knowing that Evie hadn’t found these things in a husband’s love, either, but thought it might be unkind.

Evie nodded and reached out to take hold of Lydia’s hand. “I hope you will go far away from here. You deserve to have a happy life. I hope and pray my brothers will leave you in peace. It isn’t as if they don’t have plenty of their own money. They might have to reorganize their lives a bit and make new plans for their future, but honestly, neither one will suffer all that much.”

“I am glad to know that,” Lydia replied. “I hope the same is true for you and Jeannette.”

“Oh goodness, my husband has more money than he knows what to do with, and while Jeannette may have to learn to curb her spending, perhaps she will still wear the latest fashions.”

Lydia smiled. “And that is truly all that will matter to Jeannette.”

Evie grinned in return. “Well, that and her social standing. I suppose if somehow it is determined that without Father’s money she is less than desirable in the upper classes of this city, she will suffer most heinously.” Evie walked to the door and pulled on her gloves. She turned and looked at Lydia as if realizing this would be the last time she would see her.

For a moment Lydia met Evie’s gaze, uncertain what to say. She didn’t want to share any detail that might cause problems for her departure the following day. “I hope you will be happy,” she finally murmured.

A shadow seemed to pass over Evie’s countenance and then was gone. She smiled. “I hope you will be, too, Lydia.”

There was something of a farewell in her tone that made Lydia sad.

Gerald Lytle was a companionable sort of man. Standing only a little taller than Lydia, he was stout and well muscled and a good conversationalist.

“I am glad to meet you, Mrs. Gray. This trip is one I have often dreamed of taking.” He paused and lowered his gaze just a bit. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so.”

Lydia was touched by his concern that he might somehow have breached etiquette with his comment. “Of course not. I’m quite happy for your company. I was uncertain how I would make the journey on my own.”

“I’ve wanted to take the train west since the tracks opened last year.” His animated tone actually served to excite Lydia. “Of course, there are still Indian troubles, but I do not want you to worry. I have brought my rifle, and should the need arise, I will protect you to the death.”

“You are most kind.” Lydia smiled and motioned to her few things. “This is all I’m taking.” She reached for a case. “I gave my servants the day off.”

“I can carry that for you,” Mr. Lytle said, rushing forward.

“No. I would trust no other to handle my violin. It has been my only comfort and consolation for many years.”

“I can well understand,” he said as he collected the other things. “Music soothes the soul as nothing else can.”

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, that is true.”

They departed the house, and Mr. Lytle handed Lydia up into the carriage. He secured her bags, then took his seat opposite her. He seemed to sense her mood and said nothing more.

Lydia couldn’t help but stare at the house. She wondered at the lost years there—of the time when she had been a prisoner of Floyd Gray. With a kind man, she might have had happy memories. Even though the marriage was not of her desire, a loving man might have changed her heart for the better. She might have known great joy and passionate love. Instead, something inside her had died and would remain buried there at the Grays’ estate.

Her gaze traveled upward to the widow’s walk, off of which she knew Charlotte Gray had thrown herself. She had no doubt longed for an escape, just as Lydia did. Floyd had probably neglected and abused her in the same manner he had Lydia, and in Charlotte’s case, she had grown too weary to bear it.

Well, now we both have our escape,
Lydia thought.
We are both
set free, and I shall be set upon a new path of hope.
The carriage started down the drive, while Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony built to a crescendo in her head. The words played out in her mind.

Oh friends, not these tones!
Let us sing more cheerful songs,
And more joyful.
Joy! Joy!

And more joyful! Joyful!
The word pierced her heart. She would be joyful and happy. Truly happy for the first time in her life.

Chapter 6

May 12, 1870

T
he journey to Sitka had been an arduous one for Lydia. Having never traveled so far, she suffered during the seemingly endless miles of train soot and smoke, only to discover that the ocean voyage was worse. Now, as the
Newbern
stood anchored in the harbor off Sitka’s shores, the gentle rocking of the waves made her sick.

Please, just let us get ashore,
she thought, pressing a scented handkerchief to her nose. The sweet scent of lavender calmed her momentarily.

Miss Sophia Cracroft stood not far away on the deck with her aunt, Lady Jane Franklin, who was searching for some memento of her husband, Sir John Franklin. He had died some twenty-four years previous while trying to discover a northwest passage from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Lady Franklin, a delicate but sturdy seventy-nine-year-old English woman, remained hopeful that her husband’s journey records might yet appear in one of the far-north settlements.

Lydia didn’t know much else. She had been told that Lady Franklin preferred to keep to herself or to the company of her niece. Gazing out now across the water to Sitka, Lydia tried to focus on the small log settlement.

“That’s the Indian village to the left.”

One of the ship’s officers was at her left shoulder. She couldn’t recall his name but gave him a brief smile. “Are the Indians happily settled there?”

“I suppose they might be,” the man replied. “They call that area the Ranche. The Russians gave it that name after a term they picked up in one of their California colonies.”

Lydia let her gaze travel to the rows of long log houses. They were quite large, and she supposed several families could live within one structure. A high wooden stockade ran up from the beach to the first of three blockhouses. Aunt Zerelda had told her many stories about the Tlingit Indians of the area. Her aunt had a strong affection for these people, although she admitted that their ways often confused her.

“Many of the town’s buildings are in disrepair,” the officer told her. “When most of the Russians left, taking their businesses with them, the town suffered greatly. However, there are still numerous stores and saloons.” He smiled. “Always there must be saloons.”

Lydia nodded. Zerelda had told her of at least two breweries that made liquor for the area people. It seemed importing liquor to Alaska was not legal, but creating it there apparently was acceptable. Zerelda hated it because the Tlingits seemed to have little physical tolerance for the stuff, yet found it much desired.

“I understand you have family here.”

Lydia gave the man a brief nod. “My aunt has lived here since before the purchase. She is a nurse.”

“Did she come to help with the military hospital?”

“No. She was hired by a German family. It seems the wife was taken with bouts of illness, and the husband wanted her to have a learned companion who could aid her when sickness kept her bedfast.”

A young sailor approached them. “Beggin’ your pardon, Captain said to tell you the launch is ready.”

“I suppose this is farewell,” Lydia’s companion declared. “We will be here for a short time, so perhaps I will see you again.”

Lydia realized the man seemed more than a little interested in her response to his suggestion. She felt her stomach roil and pitch as the ship shifted in the water. “Perhaps.” She offered nothing more.

Collecting her things, Lydia refused the officer’s help and made her way to where the launch awaited passengers. Lady Franklin and Miss Cracroft were already settled when Lydia took her place on board. She allowed the young man there to take her carpetbag, while she held tightly to her violin.

“The rest of your things will be brought ashore later today.”

Lydia nodded. “I’ll send someone for them.”

If the larger ship had proven difficult for Lydia’s composure, the smaller vessel was even worse. The constant motion made her nauseated, and she feared she might be sick once again.

She straightened and again dabbed the handkerchief to her face, hoping the boat would soon dock. Lady Franklin whispered something to her niece and it was only a moment before the woman reached toward Lydia.