Twilight's Serenade (11 page)

I love him so dearly,
she thought.
I need him more than ever,
and he can’t even see how much he means to me.

Chapter 8

Y
uri tried hard to get to know the girls better. With Laura it was easy. She was his, and she was a fun-loving child. Often she would come and take his hand, pulling him along to see some new discovery.

“See, Papa,” she would say and point to a bird or a rock that she found particularly interesting. Sometimes she would stop and bid him listen to the wind in the trees. With a smile as big as the sun, she would look up at him and whisper, “Pretty.”

He found his affection for her growing each day. In the past, Marsha’s jealousy over his interest in Laura had caused her to treat the child in a hateful, vindictive manner. She not only treated Laura poorly, but she taunted Yuri, telling him that she wasn’t even sure Laura was his daughter. Yuri hadn’t cared, however, and that served only to cause Marsha to treat Laura all the worse. Perhaps that was why he’d eventually stopped trying. He remembered when he’d tried to help Laura learn to walk. Marsha had been angry at the attention he’d given the child, and without warning she snatched Laura up and tied her into a chair, where the little girl sat for hours on end. Yuri had tried to intercede—to point out that Laura needed to get down and play, but Marsha told him to go back to what he knew best—his bottle.

Yuri shook off the memory. Marsha was gone. She couldn’t come between him and his daughter now. He was free to love Laura, free to give her all of the attention he would have offered back then.

Darya, however, was another matter entirely. This infant— this child he knew could not possibly be his—served only as a reminder of all that had been wrong between him and Marsha. He hadn’t even known Marsha was expecting. What if he had returned before Darya was born? How would Marsha have explained?

She would have laughed and thrown it in my face. She would
have belittled and ridiculed me until I believed that somehow her
pregnancy was my fault, even if the baby wasn’t mine.

Britta had encouraged him to forget that Darya was not of his blood. She held such tenderness for both of the children and showed him daily in her actions that such love needn’t come from a physical lineage. The children needed love and stability. Surely they were not to blame for the sins of their parents.

At the Lindquist breakfast table, Yuri cast an occasional glance to where Britta sat, feeding Darya. Britta smiled and cooed, talking soft and low to the infant. The baby would occasionally gurgle in response, and milk would trickle down the side of her face. It was clear that Britta was a good mother. Maybe he should just leave them with her. He could go away again and send money to her instead of Marsha.

But she deserves a life of her own,
he reminded himself. How unfair it would be to leave a young single woman laden with two children. He stared at his plate and wondered what the right decision might be. Despite his fervent prayers, his path was still uncertain.

“I understand Wilford Bacon Hoggatt is to take office as the sixth governor of our district at the end of this month,” Britta said, surprising them all.

Lydia looked at her daughter as if the words made no sense, but after a moment nodded. “I suppose I had heard that, as well. There will be a great many festivities.”

“When I was in town yesterday,” Britta continued, “I also heard that we will soon be allowed a delegate in Congress.”

Yuri sensed that she was trying hard to keep the table talk about anything but her missing father and brother. Britta put the bottle on the table and shifted Darya into position for a burp.

“I think it speaks to the fact that we are slowly but surely becoming civilized,” Britta added.

“We’ve always been civilized,” Lydia replied. “At least in some sense. Of course, things have greatly improved since I first arrived.” She sighed. “Sometimes it seems like just yesterday I was standing on the dock, wondering what in the world I had gotten myself into.”

Yuri smiled. “Is it true you fainted right into Kjell’s arms?”

Lydia gave a little laugh. “He never lets me forget it. I was expecting Dalton at the time and didn’t know it. The trip and everything about my new life had overtaxed me, and I passed out. What a scene I made.”

“Not as much as the one Phoebe made when she first arrived,” Britta reminded her. “I remember being there on the dock when she stood up in the boat and promptly fell overboard.”

“Dalton jumped in to save her without even thinking,” Lydia said. She heaved a sigh and pushed back her plate. “Surely we must go to them.”

Everyone fell silent for several minutes. Yuri could see the eager expression on Lydia’s face, hoping for someone to agree and help her plan a rescue.

“We have no idea where they might be,” Britta finally said.

Kay nodded as she helped Laura with a piece of jellied toast. “They may arrive home any day now.”

“But they might be trapped in that city,” Lydia countered. “They might be hurt and need help.”

“We wouldn’t be able to do anything,” Britta said as she continued patting the baby’s back. “When I talked to them at the telegraph office, they said no one was being allowed into the city. The army is keeping folks out due to the looting and fires.”

“Do you suppose the city is still burning?” Lydia asked.

Yuri shrugged. “It’s hard to say. The kind of damage done by the earthquake probably caused all kinds of problems with their natural gas lines. That will only serve to fuel the fires. I think with the army in charge, however, they will have the best available help. They will know better than anyone how to get the people to safety and secure the area.”

“Has anyone heard where they have evacuated the wounded?” Lydia asked him.

“No, but I’m sure news will come in time.”

Yuri wished he could offer something more tangible. After talking to the authorities in town, he was convinced they wouldn’t know anything certain for some time. It sounded as if San Francisco remained in utter pandemonium. How could they possibly hope that two men could be located among thousands?

“I’ll ask again when I go to town today,” Yuri promised. “I need to find work, so I’d appreciate your prayers.” He got to his feet and smiled down at Laura. “Maybe we can go for a walk when I get back.”

Laura clapped her hands and looked at Britta. “You come, too.”

She smiled. “We’ll see.”

Laura’s request was just one more reminder that the child was completely devoted to Britta. He tried not to let it bother him as he made his way from the house. At least the girls were well loved and cared for. He comforted himself with this, as well as with what Lydia had said the night before: She was grateful for the distraction of the children. It helped to keep her mind off what might have happened to Kjell and Dalton.

He tried not to think about the men as he made his way into town. The idea of never seeing Dalton again—never being able to apologize for the past—was more than he could bear. Whenever those thoughts came to mind, Yuri prayed. If not for that, he would have easily sought a drink. It was the first serious thought he’d given liquor since coming back to Sitka. Even the news of Marsha’s death hadn’t caused him to consider renewing his old ways. But the very idea of losing Dalton and Kjell . . . The saloons he’d frequented were ready to welcome him back. So, too, were his old friends. Misery loved company and hated the reformed.

He spied the Black Dog Saloon. It had been a favorite of his in the past. He had run into some of his old drinking buddies the day before, and all of the memories—what little he could remember—came rushing back. He had made a living off gambling, using people much as they used him. His old friends had greeted him, encouraging him to join them for a drink and a few hands of poker. Yuri told them no, saying little else, but they’d followed him to the telegraph office.

“It will be like old times,” one man declared.

“That is exactly what I’m afraid of,” Yuri had told him firmly.

The men were not easily deterred, but when Yuri made his way from the telegraph office to that of the local authorities, the men deserted him quickly enough. He smiled.
Perhaps I should
wear a badge. Then maybe they will leave me alone.

The presence of his old friends served to remind him that the past wasn’t that distant. He’d been sober for such a short time. He had only the hope of Jesus that he could remain that way. Morris had told him it was imperative to avoid temptations.

“Folks make a terrible mistake when they put themselves in
the devil’s company and think they can outwit him. He’s crafty
and wants to eat you alive.”

The words echoed in Yuri’s mind. The devil had been eating at his bones for years, and all it had done was leave Yuri weak and fearful. Of course he couldn’t admit his fear. What man did that?

The days passed ever so slowly for Phoebe. She longed to know whether Dalton was all right. After hearing that most of San Francisco had caught fire after the earthquake, she’d started having fitful dreams of him being burned alive. Now that it was May and there was still no word, hopelessness shrouded her like a funeral cloth.

“There’s a new ship in the harbor,” Gordon said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m going down to see if Pa’s on it.”

Phoebe stared down at the candlewicks she’d been braiding. She’d made a terrible mess and would have to rebraid the piece if it was to be of any use.

“You go ahead, and let me know as soon as you can,” she said. She looked up at Gordon’s hopeful expression and smiled. “One of these days, we will hear something.” At least that’s what she kept telling herself. Her biggest fear, however, was that the news wouldn’t be good.

He nodded and hurried from the house, nearly knocking his sister down as he went. Rachel called after him in accusation, but he was already gone. She pouted and flipped back her long braids.

“He’s so rude.”

“He’s in a hurry to see if there’s any news of your father. Apparently, there’s a ship in the harbor.”

“Oh, can I go, too?” she asked, looking back toward the door her brother had just exited.

“You know I don’t like you down at the docks. There are too many troubles to get into. Why don’t you help me instead? I’m having a terrible time braiding this wick.”

Rachel sat down beside her mother. Her nimble fingers made quick order of the thin mule yarn. “You do think they’ll be all right, don’t you?”

It was hard for Phoebe to face her daughter, but she forced a smile. “I know that God is with them wherever they are, and so I believe they will be fine.”

Rachel bit her lower lip for a moment, then asked, “But why haven’t we heard from them?”

“It was a terrible disaster, Rachel. There are so many people in San Francisco and so much area to cover. I’m sure your father will contact us the very moment he can.”

For several minutes, Rachel said nothing. Phoebe got up to check on the other children, wishing she could go back to the carefree days before the earthquake. Funny, they didn’t seem all that carefree then. There was still a lot of work to accomplish and sicknesses to deal with. Life had its moments of tension and frustration, but nothing like now.

Phoebe caught sight of movement near the small garden patch. Four-year-old Connie was busy digging a row in order to plant, and Alex was fishing. How precious they were to her.

What will I do if Dalton is lost to us? How will I ever go on?
How will I support our family? Gordon is only fifteen and Alex is
not yet eight—who will teach them to be men?

She thought of the boat shop and all that Dalton had done to build that business. She supposed she could hire someone to take over. Perhaps Yuri could help her, now that he was sober and trying to get back on his feet. Yes, maybe that would be the answer. She could talk to Yuri about helping.

You act as though he’s already dead,
she chided.

But she was always the practical one. She had her candle-making, but that couldn’t earn her a living. Of course, Lydia would suggest she and the children come there to live. Maybe she would tell Phoebe to sell the shop and their house. Lydia was wealthy in her own right.