“Where are your manners, Miss Britta?” Mrs. Lindquist asked.
The girl paused. Her eyes grew wide. Giving a brief curtsy toward Phoebe and her mother, the little girl offered her apology. “I am sorry, and I am perfectly happy to meet you.”
Phoebe couldn’t suppress a giggle. She dipped in return. “And I am perfectly happy to meet you.”
“I’m Kjerstin,” her sister announced. “She’s Britta.”
“And I am Phoebe, and this is my mother, Mrs. Robbins.”
After a moment of silence, Britta turned back to her mother. “So can we go see the jellyfish?”
“Not just yet,” their mother replied. “Why don’t you run upstairs and change your clothes. I was just about to give Mrs. Robbins a tour of the house. I believe Miss Phoebe would like to speak to your brother.”
Britta leaned close to Phoebe. “Don’t let him kiss you. He’s been eating lutefisk.”
Phoebe had no idea what lutefisk was, but the fact that Dalton’s little sister would tell a complete stranger not to kiss her brother was rather shocking. She didn’t know what to say, and when she looked up to meet the equally surprised faces of the women around her, she was further humiliated to find Dalton had overheard the entire thing.
He only laughed. “Britta, you are such a ninny.”
Everyone chuckled except Phoebe. She felt hopelessly embarrassed and quickly moved away from the group. “I’ll be right back.” She made her way to the wagon, where she’d left the cookies. Taking several deep breaths, she fought against the pounding of her heart.
My, but his eyes were even bluer than she’d remembered. He had a stubbly growth of whiskers that suggested he’d not shaved that day, and all Phoebe could think about was touching his face.
“You are the ninny,” she chided herself in a mumble.
She reached over the side of the wagon for the plate of cookies and had just lifted them over the edge when Dalton spoke from directly behind her.
“Might I help you?”
Phoebe had such a start that she threw the plate high into the air. This was followed by a muffled cry and a frantic flailing to secure the lost treats.
Losing her balance, she stumbled back against Dalton. He tried to steady her, but they both realized too late that this was impossible. He fell backward, his hands still secured about her waist. Phoebe followed him down, landing on top of his stomach—and a loud groan broke the silence. The only problem was, it wasn’t her loud groan.
“I’m so sorry.” She tried to free herself, but her gown was caught beneath his hip. When she fought to pull it away, Dalton quickly raised up. When he did so, the dress released and Phoebe pitched face-first onto the ground.
Realizing that further action might only serve to cause more humiliation, Phoebe remained still for a moment. She didn’t know exactly what to do. If she got up, she would have to face Dalton. But if she didn’t get up, he might think her injured and make an even bigger fuss. Finally, she leaned up on her elbow and shot him a sheepish smile. “So much for kissing.”
Dalton burst into a roar of laughter. “Like that would ever stop me.”
Phoebe eased into a sitting position. “What about the lut … Whatever it was.”
“Lutefisk.” He sat up and dusted off his hands. “I doubt there’s a man worth his salt that would let smelly fish keep him from kissing a beautiful girl.”
She felt her cheeks grow even hotter. A million butterflies fought for position in her stomach. Phoebe looked at the cookies, now scattered about the ground. “I baked those for you,” she offered. “It was my way of apologizing for being so rude when you rescued me.”
To her surprise, Dalton reached over and picked a cookie up off the ground and popped it into his mouth. After a moment, he smiled. “Apology accepted.”
Phoebe couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m Phoebe Robbins.”
“Yes, I know.” Dalton flashed a smile that left her feeling as though she’d melted into the ground. “I’m glad to meet you. I’m Dalton Lindquist.”
She nodded, finding it impossible to speak. Maybe life in Sitka wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Chapter 5
Dalton studied the staircase for a moment. With most of the Tlingit workers off to hunt and trade, Dalton’s father had asked for his help with his construction project, and this, in turn, presented an opportunity for them to talk. Still, as much as he wanted to know Father’s thoughts on the past—on what had happened when his mother had been injured—Dalton was at a loss as to how to start the conversation.
“You seem to have a lot on your mind lately.”
Dalton looked up and nodded. “I suppose I do.”
Father smiled and gave his blond-brown beard a scratch. “The stairs will keep. Why don’t we take a walk?”
They left the house his father had been building for one of the new government families. The day was overcast, but so far, the rain was holding off. His father seemed to be in no hurry to solicit conversation, so the two men simply walked for a time along the rocky shore. Kjell Lindquist had been a good father and mentor, teaching Dalton how to work with wood. Dalton had always felt at home in the sawmill and workshop where his father made furniture and other things for the family. Dalton’s true love, however, was building boats. It wasn’t so very different from making furniture.
The path wound away from the water and up the hill, leading them to a stand of spruce and alder. Salmonberry bushes were blooming with their purplish-pink blossoms, while other flowers colored the ground from place to place.
“I’ve always loved this island,” Dalton said, not really meaning to speak the words aloud.
“For some, it’s a hard place to even like,” his father countered.
Dalton looked at the man and nodded. “Until lately, I always felt I belonged here.”
“But not now?”
There was no condemnation in his tone, but Dalton felt guilty just the same. “Ever since Mother and Evie told me about the kidnapping—about my brothers and other sister—I’ve felt out of place.” Dalton waited for his father to comment, but he said nothing as the path turned and took them higher.
“I’ve always known that Mother was expecting me when she came to Sitka. No one ever talked about my father, and for a lot of years, I figured it was because the sorrow was too great. I honestly never figured it was because he was such a heinous man. I mean, there were times when comments were made about trouble in the past, but I gave it no thought.”
“There was no need for you to give it consideration. You were just a child.” Father picked up a rock and gave it a toss to the water below. “Nothing in the past was your fault or yours to make up for. It hurt your mother to remember those days, so it was just as easy to forget about them.”
“Until I had to force the issue,” Dalton said, feeling terrible for the pain he’d caused. “I never wanted to hurt her. I still don’t.”
“But?”
Dalton looked at his father. “But I find myself vacillating from one feeling to the next. On one hand, I want revenge for her. I hate that anyone would cause her fear or pain, but that they would try to kill her … well, that just makes me want to return the favor.”
“I felt the same way,” his father admitted.
He shook his head. “On the other hand, I feel a strange need to know more, to know them—my brothers and sister. Even my father. Does that make any sense at all?”
Kjell considered the words for a moment. “I think there’s a reason and purpose for everything, Dalton. I can see why you would want to meet them and know them better. I can vouch for the fact that, nineteen years ago, they were very dangerous people. Especially your brother Marston. He was the one who seemed to instigate everything. Mitchell is his twin and went along with the plan, but Marston seemed to always make the decisions.”
“I just feel like I … that I …” Dalton shook his head again. “I don’t know who I am. But that sounds crazy. I’m Dalton Lindquist. I live in Sitka
, and I have a wonderful family who loves me. You’ve been an incredible father to me. I don’t want you to think otherwise. I will always love you and be grateful that you chose to be my father. I should be happy with that … and I hate it that I feel so restless instead.”
“It’s not nearly so important to know who you are, as to know whose you are.”
“I don’t understand.”
Kjell reached out and touched his shoulder. “Son, you might have been conceived a Gray and born a Lindquist, but there’s something so much more important. You chose to belong to God—to accept that Jesus died for your sins and rose again to give you life eternal. You made those choices a long time ago. You belong to Him. That’s where your identity should come from. That’s where you can find peace when everything else goes wrong.”
“But there’s still a need to understand my earthly past. You know who your parents were—who your people are. You didn’t have this horrible thing hanging over your head—this secret shame of what once happened.”
“Everyone has something in their past that they’d just as soon forget, Dalton. But even so, you had nothing to do with the choices and decisions that others made before you were born—or even after. Your father’s actions might have set certain courses in motion for you, but they needn’t determine your future.”
“Do you think my brothers could have changed? Do you think my other sister would want to know me like Evie does?”
Father shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Folks can certainly change, if they allow the right influences. Of course, they can change for the worse, too.”
“It doesn’t sound as though my brothers could have become much worse.” Dalton moved away from his father and walked to the edge of the trail. The water below looked as gray as the sky. Seals surfaced and dove as they played in the harbor, and Dalton wished he could be as carefree. Maybe it would have been better if he’d never known the truth. And if that were possible, then maybe knowing anything more would be a mistake.
“Dalton, no matter what you decide, talk it over with your mother. She deserves to know what your plans are in this matter.” Kjell paused until Dalton turned to face him. “All of your life, she’s only wanted to keep you safe. Her fear of what they might do to you kept her vigilant. I don’t think she’s ever really had a moment when she wasn’t looking over her shoulder to make certain you weren’t in danger.”
“But—”
Kjell held up his hand. “Just hear me out, son. Your mother loves you—probably in a way that goes even deeper than the love she has for our girls. She almost lost you, and she knows she could lose you still.”
“No one is going to steal me away. I’d feel sorry for the man who tried,” Dalton said with a cocky grin.
“Maybe not physically, but emotionally or spiritually, it wouldn’t be difficult to sway a man who wasn’t on his guard. Your brothers are men who have spent their lives learning the art of manipulation. They are devious and conniving, and I have no reason to believe they have changed. I don’t know them like your mother once did, but it would be wise to listen to her counsel. If you plan to go to them—to get to know them better—I ask only that you talk to your mother first. Heed her warnings and truly consider whether the changes you are making are going to be worth the price you’ll pay.”
Phoebe sat opposite her father at the dining table. Mother had hired a local Russian woman to cook and clean, and her father was not at all pleased.
“You should have consulted me,” he told her.
“I thought the running of the household was to be my responsibility,” her mother replied. “I have certain obligations and duties and cannot possibly hope to keep up with everything. The woman will not be living with us, so she needn’t get in your way.”
“Still, you know how I feel about strangers being amongst our things.”
Phoebe had heard the argument with every move they’d made. Sooner or later, her mother would simply find a girl, despite her husband’s protests.
“Her name is Darya Belikov. She comes highly recommended by Mrs. Lindquist. Darya is the wife of a local boat builder and has four children of her own. They live just three blocks away. She will come around noon each day and clean the house, then prepare our dinner. I’ll still be taking care of breakfast and the noon meal, so stop fretting.”
“With two grown women in the house, hired help should be unnecessary.”
Phoebe’s mother smiled. “Yes, but I also have three men who care nothing for picking up after themselves and certainly have no talent at mending, laundry, or candle making.”
Tired of the battle, Phoebe’s father blew out a heavy breath and pushed away from the table. “I suppose if it must be.” He got to his feet. “I won’t be home until late. Lyman and I have a great many things to see to, not the least of which is a meeting we shall attend with a group of naval officials.” He leaned over and kissed Phoebe’s mother on the head. “I do hope you have a good day, my dear.”
Once he’d gone, Phoebe picked up the breakfast plates and headed for the tiny kitchen. She had lived in much bigger houses in the past and found this small, run-down place to be adequate at best—that’s all that could be said for it.
“I would think,” she said as Mother joined her with the last of the breakfast things, “that Father would weary of this argument.
You have the same conversation with each move.”
Mother laughed. “I suppose we do. Still, it’s his way. He knows we will have a cook and housekeeper, but he doesn’t like it. He fears that someone might learn something about him that would cause scandal for his friend.”
“But Father has an impeccable reputation,” Phoebe said, shaking her head. “He’s never been in trouble.”
“Everyone has things in their past that they are ashamed to admit to. Your father is no different. His family background does not always complement the man he’s become today.”
Phoebe knew about her grandfather’s underhanded dealings and even the jail time he had served. He had owned a bank, and Phoebe’s father had worked for him. When it came out that Grandfather had swindled a great many people, it was presumed that her father was also guilty. It seemed that society was only too happy to wrap future generations in the sins of their fathers.
“Well, I can’t imagine that anyone in this isolated place would even care, much less try to use Father’s family against him.”
“Still, it grieves him. He had such high expectations for his future. If not for that bad fate, he might be the governor here or even president one day. At the very least, he might still own the bank his father started. Those who know the truth aren’t about to let him forget, and those who want to know the secrets of his past will stop at nothing to learn them.”
Phoebe knew her mother was right, but still it troubled her. Her father was a good man, and he deserved to stand on his own merits.
“I was wondering if you would mind making a trip out to the Lindquists for me,” her mother said, suddenly changing the subject. “Mrs. Lindquist sent word that we could pick up some bear fat from their recent kill. I thought you might take the wagon and retrieve it. We’ll see if we can work with it for the candles.”
“We’ve never used bear before,” Phoebe said skeptically. The worst part about making tallow candles was the smell of the fat. She could only imagine the odor of bear. Perhaps they could add extra frankincense to counteract the pungency of the wild animal. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Perhaps bear fat was mild compared to that of ox or sheep, but she doubted it.
“We must experiment with what we have at hand,” her mother replied. “Mrs. Lindquist said candles would sell well here. Oh, and she told me she might very well be able to get us some beeswax.”
“That would be wonderful.” Candles made from the wax of bees were by far and away superior to any other, as far as Phoebe was concerned. “Do we have plenty of cream of tartar and alum for bleaching?”
Her mother tied on an apron. “I believe
so. We will order more if need be. Your father said that the governor has assured us we needn’t fret over supplies. He will ensure that our orders are combined with his own.”
A fine mist fell as Phoebe made her way to the Lindquist place.
She tried to wrestle with an umbrella and the reins for a time, to no avail. Giving up on keeping dry, Phoebe pressed on. Did it always rain in this place?
When Phoebe arrived, Miss Rockford was sitting on the porch, bent over her sewing. She gave a little wave and went back to work even as Phoebe drew the horse to a stop.
“Hello, Miss Rockford,” Phoebe called as she lifted her umbrella. Dismounting with the cumbersome thing in hand, however, only added to Phoebe’s frustration.
The older woman smiled. “Good morning to you.”
Phoebe tried to shake off as much of the rain as possible. Zerelda got to her feet and motioned to the door. “Come on inside and dry by the fire. You mustn’t get a chill.”
Grateful for the warmth of the house, Phoebe settled onto a small stool by the fire and Miss Rockford returned with a cup of hot tea. “This will warm you from the inside,” she told Phoebe.
“Thank you so much. I’m afraid I’ve not learned the secret of driving a wagon and keeping my head dry.”
The woman laughed. “Up here, we gave up on such things long ago. Most folks don’t even worry about it. You’ll know you’re one of us when you give it no thought at all.”
“It seems like it’s always threatening rain or actually raining,” Phoebe replied. “I had no idea it would be so damp all the time.”
“We have our dry spells, too,” Zerelda said with a grin. “Why, last month there was a whole twenty-four-hour period when it didn’t rain even once.”
Phoebe couldn’t help but giggle. “Was there a celebration?”
“Of course. Folks closed their businesses and enjoyed the day. Before long, you’ll get used to it.”
“I can’t imagine ever getting used to it. The isolation alone must surely be maddening.”
Morning's Refrain Page 5
