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.
“But so is Dalton.” Funny, she often forgot about his inheritance. Dalton had made such an effort to live as if there were no inheritance that Phoebe seldom considered it. This time, however, she did and breathed a sigh of relief. They wouldn’t have to move.
“Mother!” Gordon called. “Come quick.”
Phoebe’s hand went to her throat. Was it possible? Had Dalton returned? She rushed through the house and met her son at the door. She looked at him with great expectation.
“Grandmother is here.”
“Lydia?” she asked. Why would he make such a scene about that?
“No. Grandmother Robbins. She’s here with Uncle Ted.”
Phoebe’s mouth dropped open. Her mother and brother— here? She stepped outside and saw them coming up the walk. Her mother looked lovely in a summer traveling suit of gray and navy. She smiled and opened her arms to Phoebe.
“We came as soon as we heard about the earthquake. The train took forever to cross the country, but our time on the ship passed quickly. Gordon said that Dalton is still gone. We had hoped that might not be the case, but I felt such a sense of urgency that I just knew it was God’s prompting.”
Phoebe had nearly forgotten that she’d written to her mother almost a month ago about Dalton’s trip. She hugged her mother, relishing the embrace. “It’s so good to see you both.” She gave Theodore a hug but found him less receptive. At thirty-two, he had become a hard and bitter man, according to their mother.
“We’ve had no word from him or his father. They were supposed to have left by the twentieth, but if that had happened, they would surely have notified us or been home by now.”
Her mother nodded and appeared to consider the matter. “And you’ve been in contact with the authorities?”
“Yes. We have sent word that they are missing and asked for information from all the hospitals that took in victims from the quake. We’ve also left word with the . . . morgues.”
“Sensible,” Theodore replied. He looked around the yard and then back to his sister. “Looks like nothing has changed.”
Phoebe frowned but said nothing.
“Where are the other children?” her mother quickly interjected. “My, but I’ve longed to meet Connie. I can’t believe she’s already four years old.”
“Alex is fishing, and Connie is digging in the garden. Rachel is inside. Why don’t you both come in and rest. I’ll put on some coffee.”
They made their way inside with Gordon bringing up the rear. He came to Phoebe’s side. “Mother, there was no other word.”
“Perhaps you will find yourself in the same situation we did,” Theodore said.
“What are you saying?” Phoebe managed.
He shrugged. “Only that perhaps Dalton won’t return. Young Gordon may lose his father just as we did. Only in this situation, his father won’t be dead because of the lacking of another.”
Their mother was appalled. “That’s a horrible thing to say, Ted.”
“That may be so, but no doubt true enough. Had Dalton been more observant, our father might not have died.”
“You take that back,” Gordon demanded. “My father is a good man.”
Theodore stared at Gordon for a moment but said nothing. Their mother elbowed him in the side. “Apologize.”
He glanced at his mother. “Very well. I’m sorry that speaking the truth has caused such an uproar.”
Phoebe felt Gordon bristle. “You have no right to talk like that. I remember my father telling me the story about our grandfather’s death. He took his own life—probably because you were such a horrible son!” With that, Gordon ran from the gathering even as Phoebe called to him.
“Gordon! Gordon, come back!” Phoebe wanted to slap her brother. Instead, she fixed him with a hard glare. “You will mind your manners or house yourself in town. Do you understand? My husband—my children’s father—is a good and loving man. He may very well be dead or dying. You have no right to say such hideous things!” He was younger than Phoebe by only a few years yet looked older. Still, instead of the anger she’d seen earlier, Ted seemed startled. Could it be Gordon’s retort had actually weakened that hard façade of hatred?
“I must tend to my son,” Phoebe said. “Mother, you know your way around. Please make yourself at home.”
She left them and hurried down the path Gordon had taken. “Gordon, where are you?” Phoebe had a feeling she already knew the answer and made her way to the boat shop.
The shop was quiet, despite the fact that the cannery order needed to be completed in a matter of weeks. It was Saturday and that meant work stopped at noon. “Gordon, please come out and talk to me.”
He stepped from the shadows. “I don’t want him in our house. Why did he come here if he hates my father so much?”
Gordon looked so vulnerable. The question of his father’s well-being had taken its toll on her son, who was eager to be a man.
“I’m sorry, Gordon. Ted has never been the same since losing our father. He blames himself, I’m sure. He was only your age when Father died.”
“And now my father may be dead, as well,” Gordon said, tears streaming down his face. “And he wants him to be dead. I know he does. I hate him!”
She went to him, and despite his age and the fact that he towered over her, Phoebe wrapped Gordon in her arms. “Ted is lost. He doesn’t kn
ow the love of God. He hates so much that he refuses to see that others love him and care about him. Pray for him, Gordon, but do not become like him. Do not hate him in return.”
Gordon said nothing. He clung to his mother, shaking as he cried out pent-up tears of fear and misery. Phoebe let him spend his energy, not saying a word.
O God, she prayed in silence, please help us. We need you so.
Chapter 9
May 1906
Britta awoke to the sound of her mother’s gentle voice. “Wake up, Britta. Yuri needs you.”
She sat up and looked at her mother for a moment, trying to figure out what in the world she was saying. Mother seemed to understand and held out Britta’s robe.
“The children woke up, and now they are crying and won’t go back to sleep.”
Then Britta remembered. This was the first night they were trying out new sleeping arrangements. After having put Laura and Darya to bed in their new room at the cabin, Britta had returned to the house, leaving Yuri in charge of his daughters. They had hoped the children would sleep through the night and Britta would arrive before they awoke in the morning. It was all a part of attempting to bring the trio together as a family.
“What time is it?” Britta asked. She pulled on the robe and couldn’t suppress her yawn.
“It’s nearly three,” her mother answered.
Britta nodded and hurried downstairs. She didn’t even stop to put on her boots but made her way barefoot through the wet grass to Yuri’s cabin. She could hear the children crying and worried that they might be sick.
Yuri was pacing the porch, a look of panic in his eyes. “I’m sorry to have your mother wake you, but I didn’t know what to do.”
“Why are you out here instead of with the children?” she asked.
He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to calm them. Laura awoke from what seemed to be a bad dream. When I tried to comfort her, she withdrew to the corner of the bed and began to scream for Mama. That, in turn, woke the baby. Darya started crying, I’m sure, just to keep Laura company.”
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