Twilight's Serenade (27 page)

Mother looked at her for a moment and nodded. “It’s a battle I have not yet overcome. I still allow Marston Gray to wreak havoc with my happiness.”

“I wish you wouldn’t, Mother. I fear it is making you old before your time—even sick. You don’t want him to have that kind of power over you.”

“I hadn’t thought of him having power over me,” her mother replied, shaking her head. “But it’s clear that he does. I have to find a way to diminish his capacity to trouble me.”

Britta reached out and took hold of her mother’s hand. “Mama, you are the strongest woman I know. I’ve always been amazed at your ability to do what must be done. I know that you rely on God for such strength, and it has inspired me to do likewise. Things aren’t perfect for me with Yuri and the girls, but I know that God has a purpose for this. Just as He has a purpose for Marston coming to Sitka.”

“You’re right, of course. Daily I give this to God and then wrestle it back from Him. I have to learn to let it go once and for all. I just can’t bring myself to trust that Marston Gray is honorable.”

“No one said you needed to. I don’t believe he can expect that, either. Let him do his good deeds and assuage his conscience. Like Dalton said, the money can be given over to charity. You needn’t even handle it. He can get one account, and Mr. Gray can leave his fortune there. Dalton will take care of it all, and you can be free.”

Mother met her gaze. “I hope that is true.”

Yuri and Britta sat in front of the fire as a gentle rain fell outside. The girls were asleep, leaving the couple time to themselves. Britta was focused on sewing, as Yuri had often seen her in the evening. He wondered if she missed her old life—the life of excitement and opulence that she’d enjoyed prior to moving back home. She had once told him a story of performing in an orchestra for Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands. Her violin solo had made the woman weep with joy. He couldn’t imagine giving up such a life to rear his children and live in Sitka. Did she regret her decision?

A part of him wanted to ask her, but he didn’t want to break the companionable silence between them. Yuri thought back to his first memories of her. He remembered Kjerstin and Britta being close friends with his sisters, Natasha and Illiyana. He and Dalton had joked that the girls would probably grow up to live in one big house together. Then his family had moved back to Russia. He knew it had devastated Britta and Illiyana, especially. That’s why they had run away that night so long ago. The night he and Dalton had rescued them from the side of the mountain.

“You are very quiet tonight.”

Yuri looked up to find Britta had abandoned her sewing and was now just watching him. He smiled. “I was just enjoying the evening. Sometimes quiet is good for the spirit.”

“I can stop talking if you’d prefer.”

“That’s all right. I don’t mind at all.”

“What were you thinking about?”

Yuri drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “The past.”

She nodded.

He tried to put his thoughts into words. “I can’t help but wish I’d done things differently.”

“What would you have done?”

Yuri considered her question for a moment. “Maybe I would have taken you more seriously when you told me you were going to marry me.”

Britta giggled. “I suppose it’s hard to believe a seven-year-old knows her own mind, but I did.”

“It certainly appears that way.” He shifted and looked at her for a moment. “I don’t have the best memory, but I recall a time you were running wild through the yard, your hair flying out behind you. You were chasing something or someone.” He laughed. “I remember your father saying the man who married you was in for a reckoning.”

“That’s an awful thing to say. I wasn’t that bad. Just high-spirited. At least that’s what Aunt Zee used to say.”

“You are, indeed, high-spirited,” Yuri agreed. “I suppose that’s what fascinates me most.”

“But why?” Britta looked at him oddly. “It hardly seems to be a trait that would make a woman valuable to a man.”

“But of course it makes her valuable. Especially in Alaska. Your high-spiritedness will help you to endure anything that comes your way. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, Britta Lindquist.”

“Belikov,” she corrected.

He nodded. The firelight cast such a warm glow on her face that she seemed to practically shine from within. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Take down your hair.”

She didn’t ask him to explain or bother to protest the idea; instead, Britta immediately pulled the pins from her hair. Brown waves rushed down like water over a falls. The firelight picked up tiniest hints of red. Yuri had never wanted anything more than to run his hands through the long, lush bulk.

Britta seemed to understand and moved closer. Kneeling by his feet, she smiled up at him. “Is that better?”

He held out his hand, hovering it just over her head. He felt charged with anticipation. Letting his fingers touch her ever so gently, Yuri closed his eyes and ran his hands through her hair. He tried to remember if he’d ever felt this way about another woman but knew he hadn’t. There was no other experience, no other moment in his life, that had prepared him for what he was feeling.

“It’s like silk,” he whispered.

She took hold of his hand and drew it to her neck. “So is my skin.”

His eyes opened in a flash, and he tried to pull back his hand, but Britta would have no part in that. He met her gaze and easily recognized the passion in her dark brown eyes as a reflection of his own. “Britta.” He barely breathed the name.

She rose to her feet, pulling him upward with her. Yuri stood only inches from her. He could smell the sweet scent of the soap she used. He wanted to hold her—to make her his wife in full. But nagging, lingering doubts began to flood his mind.

What if I fail her as I did Marsha?

What if I’m never able to be the man she needs me to be?

What if . . .

“Yuri,” she whispered. “I’m tired of the walls between us. Can’t you trust me just a little?”

He inhaled slowly. “I trust you, Britta. It’s myself I don’t know.”

She drew his hand to her lips. “Then why not let me help.” She kissed his hand. “You see, I know Yuri Belikov very well. I can tell you just about anything you’d like to know.”

“Tell me, then, that I won’t make a mess of this. Promise me that, and I’m yours.”

Britta dropped his hand and gave a lighthearted laugh. “You’re already mine, Yuri.”

For a moment he did nothing, said nothing. She was right. Somehow, somewhere along the way, he had already given her his heart.

Chapter 22

October 1906

B
ritta rolled over in bed and stretched. Life was better than she could have hoped for. She was content in her role as wife and mother and could not imagine being happier anywhere else in the world.

Yuri had already gone to work, but the place beside her still bore the proof that he shared her bed. She pulled his pillow to her face and breathed in. His scent lingered there, and she reveled in the closeness they shared. Things were really changing between them. Yuri was starting to relax, to trust. She could see daily how his confidence was growing, and it pleased her more than words could say.

Realizing she couldn’t afford to waste any more of the day, Britta got up and began to make the bed to begin her morning routine. Her mother had once asked her if she missed her life abroad and in the States. Britta could honestly tell her no. That life had been filled with parties and people, all with the purpose of keeping her from dealing with the real feelings that haunted her. She hated being alone in those days, always afraid of what she might have to face down deep within. Now she was happy to live quietly. She no longer feared what might surface.

With the bed made, she quickly dressed in a serviceable blue wool skirt and long-sleeved blouse. She made mental notes of the projects she would need to complete that day. She was thankful that her mother had already promised to fix supper for everyone. That made one less chore. Still, there were numerous other tasks that vied for her attention.

“Laura?” she said, softly opening the door to the girls’ room.

She found Laura sitting up in bed looking at a picture book. The child was positively engrossed, examining each page.

“Good morning, my darling.” Britta went to the edge of the bed and waited for Laura to crawl into her lap.

The little girl put the book aside and quickly maneuvered into her mother’s arms. “Kisses.” She wrapped her arms around Britta’s neck and gave her a wet kiss on the mouth, then just as quickly pulled away. “I was reading.”

“I saw that. It won’t be long until you will be able to go to school and learn all of those words for yourself. But for now, we have chores to do. I put your clothes out last night, so wash your face and get dressed.”

Laura scooted off Britta’s lap and hurried to the washbowl. She was happily splashing water when Britta went to ready the baby. Darya was still sleeping, looking ever so content. For a moment Britta just watched her. It was such a peaceful sight.

She ran her finger along the baby’s cheek and froze. The infant’s skin was cool, almost cold to the touch. Britta put her hand to the baby’s face, then quickly pulled the quilt from her body. She lifted the child’s limp body in her arms.

“Darya! Darya!”

Britta patted the baby’s back and then tapped her cheek, but the baby didn’t move. A steel-like band tightened around Britta’s chest. Panicked at the sight of the lifeless infant, Britta looked in panic to Laura.

The girl was clueless as to what was happening, however. She was just starting to strip away her nightgown.

“Wait,” Britta practically screamed. “Go get Grandma—right now. Go. Hurry!”

Laura looked at her mother with a curious expression and then gazed down at her gown. “You said don’t go outside in my nighty clothes.”

“Laura, just do what I ask. Tell Grandma it’s . . . tell her . . .” Britta barely contained a sob as she pulled the infant to her chest. “Tell her the baby is sick.”

Finally sensing the urgency, Laura didn’t ask another question. Instead, she hurried out the door. Britta could hear the screen door slap against the frame as the child flew across the threshold.

Nothing in her life felt worse than the weight of the dead child in her arms. Britta knew in her heart it was too late to do anything, but until her mother declared the situation hopeless, she had to believe there might be a chance.

She looked at the baby and shook her head. “Please breathe. Please, Darya. Please.”

The shock of the moment held her tears at bay; it also blurred her ability to reason. What had happened to cause this? Had she fed the baby something that didn’t agree with her?

“Didn’t agree with her?” Britta said with a touch of hysteria. Such a thought seemed almost nonsensical. It wasn’t a matter of not agreeing with her—something had killed her baby.

It seemed forever before Lydia appeared with Laura—and Kay—in tow. “Mama, we comed back.”

Britta met her mother’s worried glance. Her mother seemed to understand and came forward to take the baby from her arms.

“She’s . . . I . . .” Britta shook her head over and over. “No. No. No.” She couldn’t stop saying the word.

“Give her to me.” Her words were soft but insistent. “Kay, dress Laura, then take her to Phoebe. She can play with Connie. Then bring the doctor and Yuri back to the house.”

“Here’s my dress,” Laura said, holding up the red plaid material.

“Get your shoes and socks, and we’ll get dressed in the front room, where it’s warmer,” Kay told the child.

Everything seemed to happen in a matter of seconds. Lydia examined the infant for a moment, then tore away the tiny gown and pressed her ear to the baby’s chest.

The room began to spin, and Britta made her way to the edge of Laura’s bed. This wasn’t happening. This was just a bad dream. Any moment now she would wake up. She watched her mother move to place Darya in the crib. When she turned to face Britta, there was no doubt as to the child’s condition.

“I’m so sorry, Britta.”

“No!” Britta jumped to her feet, ignoring the dizziness. “She’s fine.”