Twilight's Serenade (21 page)

“But how did you get out of the hotel?” Britta asked her father, who was surrounded by family and guests. He had been telling them about the earthquake and the aftermath.

“The hotel itself was in pretty decent shape right after,” he explained. “A piece of the ceiling had come down on Dalton, which was how he got the scar on his forehead. We managed to get out of the room and make our way downstairs, but there was such pandemonium. People were hysterical. I found that opera singer I told you about—Mr. Caruso. He was clad in his robe, clutching a framed picture of President Roosevelt, trying to find his way to safety.”

“Why did he have the picture?” Britta questioned.

Her father shrugged. “Who can say? Many people were clinging to items that made little sense to me. I saw one woman cradling a hairbrush and single boot in her arms. It certainly didn’t seem like the kind of thing one would worry about when trying to flee, but panic causes folks to do strange things.”

“So what happened next, Grandpa?” Gordon asked, intent on the story.

“Well, your father and I made our way outside, but that wasn’t as good of an idea as you might think. There were so many buildings that had been weakened by the quake and pieces were constantly falling. People were running around, scared. The air was filled with dust, and at times, it was impossible to see where we were going. We had no idea what to do or where to go. I knew Dalton would need to see a doctor eventually. His head wound was pretty bad, and while I had stopped the bleeding, I knew it would have to be stitched. However, the town was in complete chaos, and there was no one who could help us.”

“It sounds so terrible,” Mother said, giving a shudder. “I can hardly bear to think of it.”

Father leaned over and patted her hand. “God was certainly busy that day. And the days that followed.”

“But how did you get hurt?” Gordon pressed.

“We were walking around, trying to find a doctor or the hospital when an aftershock hit the city. The weakened buildings around us began to crumple and fall. It was like nothing I’d ever seen. They might as well have been made of sand. Dalton and I found ourselves buried under debris. I was knocked unconscious, and when I awoke, I knew I was badly hurt. We were blessed to have been spotted so quickly. We were only trapped for about ten hours, according to our best estimate.”

“Ten hours? How awful,” Britta said. “Were you in terrible pain all that time?”

“I can’t lie. Both of my legs were broken, and I didn’t know where Dalton was. I called to him, but he never answered. It was a terrible and fearful time for me. When they finally dug me out, I wouldn’t allow them to take me away until Dalton was at my side. They found him not ten feet from where I had been, but he was so buried in debris I hadn’t been able to locate him, and he was unconscious and couldn’t call out. We were then moved to a place outside of the city. Someone had set up a tent hospital. Later we moved to another town. It was a long, arduous trip and I don’t like to think back on it.”

“But why didn’t you let us know that you were all right?” Kay asked.

“I did. I gave money to a man and asked him to wire my family. He assured me he would, and I presumed he had, as he came back to see me. He even told me there had been a reply and that the family was relieved to know that we were recovering. I sent him on this errand twice more, but apparently he was only taking my money and doing nothing. I am so very sorry about that. I can’t begin to imagine how you felt.”

“We heard that fire destroyed a lot of the town,” a neighbor interjected. “What of that?”

“The fires were bad. We were very nearly consumed by flames at one point. Remember I told you it took ten hours to get us free of the debris. Fires were engulfing the area due to broken natural gas mains. We were told that twenty-five thousand buildings were consumed by fire.”

“Twenty-five thousand!” Gordon exclaimed. “I can’t even imagine a place having that many buildings to begin with.” He shook his head. “Just think of that.”

“It’s true,” Father continued. “But as sad as that was, the loss of life was so much more devastating. The officials are only reporting that about four hundred people lost their lives, but the detective told us it is more likely to be in the thousands.”

“Oh my,” Mother said. “How tragic.”

“Coupled with that was the fact that so many people were left without homes. Hundreds of thousands of people who survived the fires and the quake itself were left without a roof over their heads. All of their possessions were lost: clothes, tools, furniture, photographs. Everything.”

“We must do something to aid them,” Mother announced. “Surely there are charitable groups working to help the people.”

Father smiled. “There are. In fact, I knew you’d want to help, so I found out about it before we left. We can arrange it as soon as you like.”

Britta saw her mother give Father a tender gaze. For a moment, no one said anything, and then Mother motioned to the table. “Enough of sad stories. We are celebrating. Now, there is still plenty of food. Let’s not let it go to waste.”

Dalton and Phoebe made their way back to the party only to be stopped by her brother. He smiled apologetically. “I wonder if I might have a word with you, Dalton.”

Phoebe seemed to sense the matter’s importance and pulled away from him. “You two go ahead and talk. I want to get back and check on the children.”

She slipped away without another word, and Dalton found himself missing her almost instantly. He turned to his brother-in-law. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve come to apologize. I don’t know if Phoebe told you about the things I said or did prior to your return, but I feel I owe you an explanation.”

Dalton shook his head. “No one has said anything to me.”

“I figured they wouldn’t. They’re a good bunch, that family of yours. My sister included. I can only hope to one day be even half as good, but the truth is, I came here bearing you a grudge.”

The admission took Dalton by surprise. “Me? But why?”

“I blamed you for my father’s death.” He held up his hand. “I know it was foolish—at least now I do—but then I was bitter and filled with hate. I had told myself all these years that if only you would have been more observant, if you would have read your letter sooner, my father might have lived.”

Dalton shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded. “I blamed myself for those very things. I can’t tell you the time I spent reliving every moment, wondering if there wasn’t some sign I’d missed.”

Ted frowned. “Truly? I had no idea.” He paused and shook his head. “Well, Phoebe did mention something to that effect, but at first I paid it no heed. I am sorry, Dalton. I never realized the misery that others were going through because my own was so fierce.”

“It must have been hard to lose your father at such a young age,” Dalton sympathized.

“The pain haunted me for years. But I hope you will forgive me now for blaming you. It was never your fault.”

Dalton sensed the man’s deep regret. He reached out and took a firm hold on Ted’s upper arm. “I forgive you. I also hope you will forgive me. If there was something I overlooked—something that might have made a difference, something I didn’t see—I hope you will forgive me for not realizing it.”

“You have nothing to be forgiven for,” Ted replied. “You’ve only ever done the utmost for my family. I’m grateful for that, and I hope now, with this behind us . . . well, I’d like very much for us to be friends.”

Dalton smiled. “Of course we’re friends. But even better, we are brothers.”

Ted clenched his jaw and appeared to fight for control of his emotions. Dalton didn’t want to embarrass the man, so he dropped his hold and patted his stomach. “I’m still hungry. What say we go get some dessert and coffee?”

“I think I could put away a piece of pie. Or two.”

Chapter 17

August 1906

Y
uri watched Britta bathe Darya and marveled at her patience. They had been married a little over a month, and never once had she lost her temper with the girls—or him. In fact, despite the fact that they lived platonically, with Britta sleeping in his former bedroom while Yuri slept on a cot just off the kitchen, she actually seemed happier than before.

If only I could say the same thing.

He turned away. His life there was good, and he had no complaints where Britta was concerned. No, the fault was all his. He was the problem, just as he’d always been.

Frowning, he left the house to bring in more wood before work. His mind battled with his heart. He cared deeply about Britta—even loved her in his own way—but memories of Marsha and her trickery haunted him. Britta was nothing like his first wife; even so, he had once again married for reasons other than love.

But Britta knows the truth,
he told himself. But it offered little comfort. She knew he had married her more out of a sense of obligation toward the children.

The children.

He shook his head and hoisted several pieces of wood. Laura had won his heart, to be sure. She reminded Yuri of what he’d been like as a boy. Happy, carefree, and so affectionate. His mother had once said he had been her most loving child, and he definitely saw that trait in Laura. Now that they were all living under one roof, she no longer had the nightmares or difficult bedtimes. That alone made him believe his decision to marry Britta had been a good one.

So while things were working well with Laura, Darya was another story. Try as he might, Yuri couldn’t quite allow himself to love her, at least not the same way he did Laura. It was no fault of the infant. She was a pleasant baby with bright eyes and an infectious smile.

“But she’s not mine.” He hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud and glanced around quickly to make certain no one had overheard. He felt guilty for his thoughts. He knew it wasn’t Darya’s fault. Marsha had been the unfaithful one.

He couldn’t help but wonder who Darya’s father might be. He would probably never know. Since his arrival home, his old cronies had been more than happy to share information on Marsha’s activities while he’d been absent. Perhaps they did so to entice Yuri to drink away the injustice done him, but he wasn’t even tempted. He had ruined his youth with liquor. He’d hurt so many people—people he couldn’t make it up to, like his mother.

With his arms straining under the weight of the firewood, Yuri made his way back into the cabin. He deposited the wood by the stove, then turned to find Britta dressing the baby.

“I’ll be going now,” he told her.

“Don’t forget, it’s Friday and we’re going to have supper with Phoebe and Dalton tonight. Kay’s coming with us.” She grinned. “I think Ted might actually ask for her hand.”

Yuri nodded. He’d heard Ted talk about it at the shop, where he’d been quite useful as Dalton’s bookkeeper. “I kind of figured it was coming.”

“Well, don’t sound so enthusiastic about it. Some folks actually enjoy being married.”

He was surprised by her comment, but quickly realized she’d spoken in a good-natured manner. “I wonder if they’ll stay here on the island,” he said, trying to accommodate her mood.

“I hope so. I wouldn’t want to see Kay go. From my experience in the States, I doubt folks would be very accepting of Ted marrying a woman who is half Tlingit.” Britta finished buttoning Darya’s gown and lifted the baby to her shoulder as Laura came into the room.

“This is too hard,” she declared, holding up her pinafore apron.

Yuri gave her a smile and reached out to help her position her arms. “You hold still, now, and I’ll put it over your head.”

Laura did as he told her, and he maneuvered the apron into place. “Now turn around, and I’ll take care of the tie.”

By the time he finished, Britta had secured Darya in the high chair, padding her with dish towels to help her keep upright. She gave the baby some toys to play with and was rewarded with Darya’s squeals of delight as she slapped at the tray. Britta laughed and kissed the infant before turning back to the small tub of water she’d used for bathing the baby.

“Would you mind toting this out to the garden for me?” she asked Yuri. “Laura is going to water the vegetables today.”