Twilight's Serenade

by Tracie Peterson

  “It wasn’t my fault!” Theodore shouted.

  Phoebe noted a strange tone in his voice as he continued. “If Dalton would simply have taken notice of Father’s sadness—of his desperation—he might have lived. If nothing else, Dalton should have read the letter Father penned him.”

  She softened her tone. “But he didn’t.”

  “That’s right. He didn’t.” Theodore began to pace. “He didn’t realize when Father left, or he might have done something different.”

  “Don’t you mean you might have done something different?”

  He moved toward Phoebe. “We’re not talking about me.”

  “Aren’t we?” She watched as his face contorted. “Teddy?”

  He began to pace. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

  She put out her hand and stopped him. “Teddy, I don’t want you to go. I want you to tell me what’s bothering you. What has caused you to become such a hardened man?”

  He looked at her for a moment, and she could feel him tremble. “It’s . . . I can’t.” He dropped his chin and shook his head. “It’s too much.”

  “Tell me,” she encouraged. “Then maybe you won’t feel so alone.”

  For several moments he said nothing, and Phoebe thought perhaps he never would. The silence wore on as Theodore seemed to fight against his demons. He shook his head again. “You’re right. I failed him. He asked me to go with him.” A hoarse sob broke from his throat. “He knew he wasn’t strong enough to make the trip alone.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you see? It was my fault. I should have gone with him.” He crumpled to the ground. “If I’d gone with him, he wouldn’t be dead now.”

  Phoebe knelt beside him. “You can’t know that, Teddy.” She put her hand on his shoulder.

  “But he asked me to go. He came to me the night before he left and told me he thought it would be best if I went with him.”

  “Perhaps he only wanted you to accompany him so that you could go back and take Mother the letters, instead of trusting them to strangers. Maybe he only needed to know that someone would share the news sympathetically with Mother once he was gone.”

  He shook his head. “I cannot bear the thought of what might have been. I was a terrible son to him. I was more interested in my own affairs. I was nothing but a disappointment to him, and because of that, he killed himself.”

  “Teddy, that’s not true. Father had never been able to overcome the shame of his father’s actions. When Grandfather swindled their friends and neighbors out of their money—when he took off with the bank funds—he brought the whole family under suspicion. You might not remember this, but even after Grandfather went to prison, people were sent to spy on us. They were certain that Father had played some role in the embezzlement. After all, he was second in command at the bank.”

  “I do remember.” Theodore pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “I should never have come back here. It’s like Father’s misery and fear is all around me.”

  “Teddy, you have grieved for far too long. You’ve blamed yourself—wrongly. Now is the time to let go of the past and see God for the loving and generous Father that He is. He is there for us—despite our earthly father leaving. Where Father was weak, God is strong. Where Father had no hope, God is hope.”

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe. It’s hard for me to believe.”

  “It’s not easy for anyone to put their trust in someone they can’t see or hear. It requires a faith that is not of our own doing. It is a faith borne of God himself—it’s a gift from Him.”

  He looked at her with such sorrow. “I never meant to hurt you. I’ve made a complete fool of myself, I know. What should I do? I can go, but . . .” He grew quiet and hung his head.

  Phoebe hugged him for a moment, then released him lest he be embarrassed by her action. “You don’t have to go, but you do have to apologize to Lydia. She is hurting so much already.”

  Theodore stood and pulled her to her feet. “Oh, Phoebe, I’m so sorry.”

  She nodded but couldn’t say anything more. The words were stuck in the back of her throat, and to force them would surely bring on her own tears.

  He seemed to realize that she needed to be alone. “I’ll go right now and apologize.”

  Phoebe turned away. She wanted to take a few moments to strengthen her resolve before she faced everyone once again. How could she help Lydia when her own heart was so heavy? How could she possibly be what everyone needed her to be?

  “Mother?”

  She turned to find Gordon watching her. Phoebe smiled. “What is it, darling?”

  “I heard what you said to Uncle Ted.” He looked skeptical. “How can you be so nice to him after what he said about Father?”

  Extending her hand to him, Phoebe waited until he came to her. “Gordon, God has forgiven me of my sins and all the bad things I’ve said about others. How could I not forgive my own brother for his mistakes?”

  “But he hates Father.”

  “No, Gordon. He hates himself. He hates that he couldn’t save our father from taking his own life. He blames himself. Surely you must have heard that.”

  “Maybe he just wanted you to feel sorry for him.”

  Phoebe hugged him close and began walking slowly back toward the house. “That isn’t Ted’s way. Besides, even if that is what he needed, I do feel sorry for him. He isn’t strong in the Lord. He’s been angry at God for so many years that he no longer knows how to feel anything else toward Him. Love is what he longs for, but it’s the very thing he can’t seem to find.”

  Gordon considered this for a few moments. “But you always told me that God gave His love freely. It shouldn’t be hard to find.”

  “Maybe not, but for some it is difficult to accept. Pray for him, Gordon. Forgive him and pray that he will open his heart to Jesus. He’s so very lost right now, and that must surely be terrifying.”

  Gordon had been her most responsive child when it came to issues of faith. He often seemed wise beyond his fifteen years, and when he promised to seek his uncle out to ask forgiveness, Phoebe wasn’t surprised.

  “Bitterness is a terrible thing, Gordon. We must always stand guard against it, lest we fall into the same circumstance.”

  “I will be careful, Mother. Just as I will continue to pray for Father and Grandfather. Sometimes my faith isn’t very strong,” he admitted, “but then I remember Father said that walking with Jesus is a lifelong journey. You don’t see or understand everything at once. It comes in steps along the way.”

  Her son’s reminder of Dalton’s teaching touched her deeply. “Indeed it does.”

  Yuri wasn’t at all surprised to find Britta asleep later that day. She was dozing in the rocker with Laura curled up in her lap. Careful not to wake the sleeping child, Yuri lifted Laura into his arms and took her to bed. She barely stirred. Clearly the activities of the day had been too much for her. A good nap would do them all some good.

  Darya was sleeping peacefully in her crib, and Yuri couldn’t help but pause a moment after tucking Laura in. He watched the sleeping infant and wondered who her father might be. She was a sweet baby—well, at least most of the time. He grinned as he thought of how she would smile at him, then laugh as if she knew a secret. Lydia shared that Aunt Zee had always said that a baby’s laughter had to do with hearing the songs of angels. He wondered if it might be true.

  “I’m losing my heart to you both,” he whispered, casting yet another glance at Laura. “But I don’t see how I can keep you.”

  He walked back into the front room, where Britta was still dozing in the chair. She looked so content—and so very beautiful. As a little girl, she had always seemed happy and carefree. But that was only reasonable, he thought. She had grown up with good parents who loved her. But so had he. Where had things gone so wrong for him? How was it that he had ended up a drunken gambler? His mother had loved him as much as Lydia loved Britta. Sh
e had lovingly tucked him in to bed at night and prayed with him. She had listened to his dreams and encouraged his plans. He couldn’t remember a negative or cross word ever coming from his mother’s lips.

  His father had been firm, but loving. He and Kjell were a lot alike in their work ethics and concern about family. Why had those feelings escaped Yuri? How could he have lived with such fine examples and turned toward a life of such tragedy?

  How he missed his father’s encouragement and advice, his mother’s tenderness and strength. His mother was lost to him now, but what of his father and sister? Were they still living? Now that he was back in Sitka, he needed to sit down and write them a letter. First and foremost, he owed them an apology for the way he’d acted over the years. They had never stopped believing in him.

  Neither had Britta.

  He watched her stir. Britta Lindquist had been a godsend to his children—to him. Yet she was sacrificing a proposal of marriage, and all because of his girls. Of this, Yuri was convinced.

  I can’t let her give up a life of happiness.

  Maybe the best thing would be to give the children up to Kjerstin and her husband as Lydia had once suggested. The girls deserved to have a family—a mother and a father who were stable and could offer them love and security.

  But could I bear to break Britta’s heart that way?

  Chapter 12

  June 1906

  Britta, we need to talk,” Brenton said in his usual charming manner. “You seem to avoid me at every turn.”

  She sat in the yard, mending one of Laura’s dresses, while Darya played on a quilt at her feet. Laura was pulling her dolls in a wagon across the grass, oblivious to the tension Britta felt. Britta shielded her eyes from the sun as she glanced upward and tried to smile.

  “I suppose now would be just as good a time as any.” She put aside the mending and got to her feet.

  “You make it sound like a chore, Britta. Don’t you remember how you used to love our discussions? We would sit for hours, conversing over coffee or tea about everything under the sun.”

  “I do remember,” she said quietly. “Those days seem like a lifetime ago.”

  “Not to me.” Brenton reached out to take hold of her hand. “Britta, in case you’ve forgotten, it’s June now. You promised me an answer to my proposal.”

  Britta pulled her hand out of his grasp. “I can’t marry you, Brenton. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  He frowned and moved closer. “How could it not be fair?”

  “I . . . I don’t want to leave Alaska,” she said, unable to admit to him that she didn’t love him. Despite her frustration at his unexpected arrival, she hated the thought of hurting him. “Now that I’m home, I don’t ever want to leave again. I was born here, and I will die here.”

  “And you would give up love for a place?”

  He wasn’t making this easy. And while at one time she thought perhaps he held the key to her happiness, she now knew she would have to admit the truth. But instead of blurting out that she wasn’t in love with him—that someone else held her heart—Britta was silenced as Brenton pulled her into his arms and kissed her with great passion.

  For a moment Britta really tried to muster up feelings that matched his enthusiasm, but it was pointless. Even with Brenton’s lips upon her own, she could only think of Yuri. It was his face she saw, his voice she heard whispering in her ear.

  “Papa!”

  Britta pulled back abruptly to find Yuri watching them from across the yard. Laura ran to him, and Yuri lifted her into his arms and began closing the distance between them. Britta knew she’d done nothing wrong, but it felt as if she’d just been caught cheating.

  She quickly bent to pick up Darya. “I need to change her diaper,” she said and hurried to the house before either man could say a word.

  Instead of going into the cabin, however, Britta hurried up the steps to her childhood home, feeling different emotions all tangled inside her. Why couldn’t Brenton just leave? Why couldn’t Yuri love her? What would happen to the girls? Too many questions and not enough answers.

  To her surprise, Mother sat at the table as if waiting for her. Britta looked at her for a moment and sighed. She longed to tell her everything, and it seemed that fortune or God or both had presented her with the opportunity.

  She sat opposite her mother and only then realized that Darya was nodding off to sleep. It seemed that everything was perfectly arranged for their discussion. Mother smiled at her gently.

  “Why can’t life be simple?” Britta asked.

  “I used to wonder that myself. It so often seems that for every glorious moment, there are a dozen that stand in opposition.”

  Britta nodded. “That’s exactly how it feels.”

  “Are you ready to talk to me about it?”

  “Yes.” Britta thought about Brenton and Yuri. She glanced at Darya and then back up to her mother. “I’m in love.”

  “I know,” her mother replied softly.

  “You do?” Britta questioned and then shook her head. “No, it’s not what you think. I’m not in love with Brenton.”

  “I know.”

  Britta felt as if a huge load had been lifted from her shoulders. Mother had already guessed the truth. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised, but she was.

  “How?”

  Lydia smiled. “Because I’m in love and recognize what it looks like.”

  “But how did you know it was Yuri?”

  She gave a light chuckle. “Britta, you have loved him since you were a child. I had thought leaving Sitka would change that for you. Hoped it, really, because he was married.”

  “That was my intent, as well. When Brenton proposed and then offered me the orchestra position, I thought for sure I could make it work. I thought if I just stayed far enough away from here—from Yuri—I could forget him. But I can’t. It’s not just the children I love, Mother. It’s him. It’s always been him.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “What can I do? Yuri’s heart has a wall around it. Marsha forced him into a loveless marriage and . . .” She lowered her voice. “Darya isn’t even his. Yuri has struggled all of his life to feel that he belongs, and yet he feels so alone.”

  Mother nodded. “I’ve never told you much about my marriage to Dalton’s real father, and that is because it wasn’t at all pleasant. My husband was a very harsh man who beat me.”

  “Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry.” Britta shook her head. “Why was he so cruel?”

  Lydia folded her hands. “I never really knew. He was determined to be the best at his business and make a vast fortune, and while doing so, he viciously eliminated anyone who got in his way or threatened him.”

  Britta carefully watched her mother’s sad face. “Why did you marry him, then?”

  “I was forced into it. My father arranged the marriage as a business agreement.”

  “How awful.”

  Her mother nodded slowly. “It truly was. However, I don’t say these things in order to dwell on the bad. Rather, I want you to know that my heart was just as hard as Yuri’s when it came to the idea of ever falling in love.”

  “What changed that? How can I help him?” Britta asked.

  “Your father simply loved me, and his love wore down my defenses,” Mother replied. “He was so patient with me, so gentle. I’d never known that a man could be so kind and considerate until I met your father.” Tears came to her eyes. “I miss him so much.”

  “Oh, Mama, I do, too. I pray every day that we’ll hear something, but then I find myself fearing that the news will be bad.” Britta longed to go to her mother and hug her close, but Darya was sleeping so peacefully that she hated to disturb her.

  “At this point, it’s the not knowing that grieves me. I just don’t want to be without him. He’s everything to me.”

  Britta nodded. “I’ve felt that way about Yuri since he saved my life when I was seven.”

  Her mother fixed her with a fi
rm gaze. “Then you must do what you can to win him over—to help him fall in love with you. Pray that God will guide you and give you the right words to say. But, Britta, don’t lead Mr. Maltese on. If you don’t intend to marry him, you need to release him.”

  “I will, Mama. I know that I need to. I guess I just wanted everyone to have a fairy-tale ending.”

  “And what exactly would that entail?” she asked.

  “Oh, you know, happily ever after—the hero rescues the princess. Just little things like that,” Britta said in a wistful tone. “I don’t think that’s asking for much, is it?”

  “If only it could be like that on earth. But I’m afraid we will always have difficulties here. Jesus told us that much, but He also promised to always be with us. We get our happily ever after, Britta, but it doesn’t truly come until we go to be with Him in heaven.”

  She sighed. “I suppose you’re right, Mama, but you can’t blame me for wanting at least a little of it now.”

  After seeing Britta in the arms of Brenton Maltese, Yuri wasn’t sure what to do. The sight of them kissing had made him feel nauseous. He wanted to take Maltese by the collar and throw him aside for imposing himself on Britta. He found himself wanting to protect her, but in truth, he knew that Britta was strong enough to defend herself.

  Still, he worried that Britta truly loved Maltese and wasn’t able to admit it because of the children. Knowing how much the girls loved her, he considered giving them to Britta. But that wouldn’t be fair to a new bride. Besides, if she married Maltese, they would go away to England, and he would never see the girls again.

  “But maybe that’s the answer,” he murmured.

  If Britta and Maltese were to marry, they could create a family for Laura and Darya. Then again, maybe Britta wouldn’t want the responsibility. She had a chance at a prestigious orchestra position, at living out a dream.

  Yuri remembered times when she had soloed in the little orchestra Lydia directed. Britta could make the most amazing music and emotion pour out of her violin. It was unlike anything he’d ever heard. Even Lydia had commented that Britta had far surpassed her abilities.