by Cassie Hayes
“You sure you can handle all this sewing yourself, dear?” Eddie asked, tipping her empty glass at Vladimir for a refill.
Anyone else would have been shocked by the sight of a lady drinking alcohol in a shop like that, but Poppy had seen so much worse in her life that it barely phased her. When Mrs. Austin warned her that Eddie might be a bad influence, it had taken all of Poppy’s strength to not laugh out loud. Sure, she was loud and brash and opinionated, but she was also funny, big-hearted and generous to a fault. She’d come to truly love the old woman.
“Of course. The school has several sewing machines, and the Austins have already agreed to let me use them at night. Won’t take any time at all.”
“At night?” Vladimir scowled in concern. “What about Matthew?”
“What about him?”
“Will he not be lonely?” Vladimir shot a glance over at Eddie who smirked at Poppy. What were these two up to?
“You both know our situation. Ours is a marriage in name only. Besides, the way he keeps talking about Boston, I don’t think he’ll be here much longer.”
Poppy winced at the pang in her chest at the thought of Matthew leaving. Their evening chats before retiring had become the highlight of her day, something she looked forward to, even if they usually ended with him waxing rhapsodic about some part of Boston he missed. Except for her mother, there was nothing in Massachusetts for Poppy to miss.
He did seem to be warming up to Sitka though — well, at least he wasn’t complaining about it as much. If he’d only stay until the long, temperate days of summer, then surely he’d come to love it as much as she already did. They could take walks in the woods, laughing at the way the deer pranced away from them or searching out the fallen totem poles the Tlingits at the Rancherie had told her about. Maybe stroll down the park at Indian River, the stretch the locals called Lovers’ Lane. But that wasn’t going to happen. He’d be gone before long, just one more man who didn’t want to be around her.
Eddie opened her mouth to say something when a ruckus outside stopped her. Horses whinnied in surprise, men shouted, a dog yelped in pain, and then a scream pierced the air, sending ripples of terror down Poppy’s spine.
It was a child’s scream.
Before the terrible sound even stopped, Vladimir sprinted for the door, shouting his nephew’s name.
* ~ * ~ *
Sitka wasn’t really that bad. Sure, it was a tiny outpost in the untamed wilds of the north, but it boasted a surprising amount of quality culture for its size. The Muscovites had seen to that when they dominated the region, as evidenced by old Governor Baranof’s now-ruined ‘castle’.
Snow crusted the steps up to the landmark, so Matthew observed it from the foot of Castle Hill. Far from grand, the shabby building had still played host to some of the world’s most influential leaders when the settlement was known as the ‘Paris of the Pacific’.
After Poppy left for her daily duties, Matthew wanted to get a better look at his new, and temporary, home. The crisp air stung his nostrils, but refreshed him as he walked. It was easy to see why she loved the area so much. Black-green trees with snow coating their limbs like frosting towered over the town. Far from being overwhelming, they offered a sense of protection, like a mother wrapping her arms around a child. To the west, the sea stretched out to eternity, as far as he could tell. It demanded respect, but he didn’t fear it. Rather, it was a canvas on which untold adventures were painted, and as many more were yet to be.
In fact, Poppy was already planning a summer side-trip to Muir’s glacier, hoping to save enough to take a cabin on Queen, one of the newest and most luxurious steamships that visited Glacier Bay in the summer months. Over the past few weeks, she’d shown him her scrapbook crammed to bursting with articles and essays on all sorts of places, but mostly Alaska. Curiosity always nipped at his brain when she sang the praises of the places she’d never seen, almost making him want to stick around to see what this place looked like in summer.
None of the women he knew back home had Poppy’s spirit of adventure. They’d rather attend teas with other ladies of standing than walk on a glacier. Helping the less fortunate consisted of attending charity balls, where only a tiny fraction of the proceeds actually helped anyone, except the organizers of the charity du jour. Yet Poppy was up to her ankles in icy mud every day, trying to do whatever she could for the residents of the Rancherie.
Taking a deep breath of the icy air, Matthew turned to head back to the mission. If his father hadn’t piddled away his influence, Matthew would probably have been working in an established private practice instead of tending to skinned knees and loose teeth. If he went back to Boston today, though, no amount of glad-handing would get him such a prestigious position. No one wanted to be associated with a gambler’s son. He’d be lucky to work in a hospital for the poor.
In a way, he was no worse off than if he’d stayed in Boston. At least here, no one knew about the family scandal. There was something appealing about starting over, starting fresh. The town was growing, not quickly, but fast enough to support another doctor. Perhaps…
The piercing scream of a child rent the air around him, setting his heart to pounding. Instinct took over and his feet propelled him in the direction of the commotion, just down the street from Vinchenko’s store.
“I’m a doctor,” he shouted as he shoved his way into a glut of gawking people. “Let me through, I’m a doctor!”
He pushed through to a clearing where young Alexander lay in the frigid mud, cradling an arm and keening in pain. Vladimir reached him at almost the same moment, his eyes wild with fright.
“Help him, Matthew!”
Together they carried the boy into the back room of the shop and settled him on the floor. Eddie shooed out all the bystanders and locked up behind them, while Poppy found a blanket to cover the crying boy.
“Alexander,” Matthew said, his tone soothing and calm, “can you tell me what happened?”
Pain pinched up the poor boy’s face, but he managed a nod.
“I was playing with Dog when he ran into the street. The man was driving his wagon too fast. He was gonna run over Dog so I kicked him out of the way and banged my arm on the wagon. ”
Alexander sniffled and looked up to Matthew with pleading, tear-filled eyes.
“You don’t think he’ll hate me now, do you, Dr. Turner? I only did it to save him.”
Poppy leaned in, smoothing hair from his brow.
“Of course, he won’t hate you, Alexander,” she said. “Why, I bet silly ol’ Dog is planning a parade for you right now for saving his life. Wouldn’t that be something?”
The boy smiled weakly.
“Now let the doctor fix you up, okay? You don’t want to miss your parade.”
Poppy’s way with children never failed to impress him.
“Poppy, could you find me some clean cloths and a pan of water?”
With a curt nod, she was off collecting what he asked for, and then some, almost anticipating his needs. Together, with the help of Vinchenko, they got the boy’s shirt off and his muddy upper body cleaned. Relief washed over him that his broken arm wasn’t a compound fracture. After the shock and fear from the accident had worn off, he barely winced as Matthew palpated his forearm. That was a good sign.
“Well, son, it looks like your arm is broken. The good news is that it doesn’t need setting. The bad news is that you’ll have to wear it in a sling for a good long while to allow it to heal. And no rough-housing with Dog in the street anymore, got it?”
Alexander nodded, the tears drying. Vladimir stuck a big paw out to Matthew, his tears still streaming down his weathered cheeks.
“Spasibo, Matthew. Thank you for helping him. I thought…”
His voice cracked and he blinked back more tears. Poppy threw her arms around him and let the man sob into her shoulder. Spasms of jealousy clenched Matthew’s abdomen in an unpleasant way. Of course, he knew there was nothing romantic between the two, but t
hey’d become very close in a short period of time. He was alarmed by how much she cared for the man, and how she trusted him implicitly. She didn’t trust any man.
“I have an idea,” she said when Vladimir got himself under control. “How about I make dinner for everyone at Vladimir and Alexander’s tonight? Alexander will be the guest of honor, of course, since he’s the town’s newest hero. Maybe even Dog could join us?”
She shot a look at Vladimir who nodded vigorously, still sniffling. Her smile lit up her face — the whole room, really — and an inexplicable gratitude washed over Matthew when she cast it in his direction.
“It’s a date!”
Chapter 12
Grace comes in many forms, but that night it came in the form of Poppy. After working at the Rancherie all day, she whipped up a delicious salmon stew for the five of them, including moist cornbread and a bread pudding as delicious as any Matthew had ever eaten. And all of it was done with a cheerful smile and hardly a hair out of place. She was nothing like the women back in Boston and, to his surprise, he was glad for it.
“Poopy, you fine cook,” Vladimir said, rubbing his bulging belly. “Where you learn to cook like dat?”
Poppy smiled at the praise as she cleared the table.
“I learned a lot from my mother, of course. She had to make due with very little all my life. I guess some of her creativity rubbed off on me. And my old roommate Sarah taught me so many wonderful recipes. But the credit for the stew goes to Savak-tla down at the Rancherie. It’s not as good as hers, of course, but I’m going to keep trying till I get it right.”
“My auntie’s stew is good, too,” Alexander chimed in. The boy looked tired but his color was good after gobbling down a big bowl of the stew. “Maybe you could come visit her with me sometime.”
“I’d like that very much, Alexander. Thank you for the invitation.” She glowed as if she’d been invited to meet the Queen of England.
Eddie labored to her feet and picked up a dish.
“Well, I guess it’s time for this old lady to earn her keep,”
“Thank you, Eddie. Maybe Alexander the Great has enough energy to bring a few dishes into the kitchen as well.”
The boy jumped up and started clearing, Dog following so closely he almost tripped. So much for the mutt hating him.
Vladimir led Matthew to a small sitting area and poured him a drink. Vodka, not ‘wood-ka’, as he’d eventually discovered. It wasn’t fine Scotch, but it would do.
“Thank you again for helping Alexander today, Matthew. I was so scared. Alexander everything to me, like my own son.”
The grave concern etched on the man’s face made Matthew wonder how his own father would have reacted. Annoyed, probably.
“You’re a good father, Vladimir.” Matthew winced at the bitterness in his own voice. Vladimir’s shrewd gaze narrowed.
“Matthew, you know your father love you. He just…he not know how to show it.”
Matthew wasn’t so sure about that.
“I could never please him. He pushed and pushed and no matter how well I performed — in school, in society, in life — it wasn’t good enough. I’ve spent my whole life trying to please a man who will never be satisfied. You know I came here because I thought…”
His throat seized up, unable to confess his true reason for seeking out revenge on an innocent man.
“Tell me,” Vladimir urged, the very image of a patient, loving father.
Clearing his throat, he tried again.
“It wasn’t the money. I mean, it was, but the money wasn’t what I really wanted. I thought if I could somehow retrieve our fortune that he’d finally be proud of me.”
Pain clenched his chest, but a weight lifted from his shoulders. He’d never admitted that to anyone, never thought he could.
“What an idiot I am! To yearn so much for the approval of a man who didn’t deserve it himself.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their vodka and staring into the roaring fire. Under different circumstances, it would have been a pleasant moment, but anger at himself and his father burned hot inside his heart.
“Matthew, fathers not angels. They just men, like all of us. They make mistakes. Your father…always good man. So proud of his children, loved his wife. Spoke only good things about you, at least to me. But he have demons, your father. Sometimes demons too strong.”
“But what about his family? He betrayed us. How am I supposed to forgive that? How can you?”
Vladimir flicked his dark gaze from the fire over to Matthew.
“Anger is fire. Longer you hold on, more you get burned. It eat you alive, unless you let go. Da, I very mad for short while. But I remember what good friend Caleb was to me for many years, and I forgive. Not forget, but forgive. Only way to live happy, Matthew.”
Forgiving his father seemed impossible, but as he sat staring into the flickering flames, Vladimir’s words sank in. The sad truth of the matter was that he loved his father, no matter his sins. Another sad truth was that if Matthew hadn’t earned his love and respect by now, he never would. And maybe Vladimir was right, that his father was proud of him but just didn’t know how to express it. How hard would it have been to say, ‘I love you, son, and I want you to be happy’?
When was the last time he’d been happy, anyway? Attending grand parties had always been a chore, one that he pretended to enjoy for the sake of propriety — to make his parents happy. All the superficial glamour of high society confounded him. Compared to what he’d seen in his travels to find Vladimir, it was all so pointless. Just a bunch of conceited fools acting as if they were all better than each other. It never ended.
The only time he could remember feeling genuinely satisfied with his life was at school, when he was away from his family. Why had he never made that connection before? And if he was so miserable at home, why was he so anxious to get back?
“To confront him,” he mumbled. Vinchenko raised a bushy eyebrow but stayed silent, allowing Matthew to think.
Deep in his soul, he simply wanted to yell at his father, to chastise him, to prove to the man that he was no better — if not worse — than the son he didn’t respect. How disappointing to discover such a petty side to his personality. He thought he was a better man than that.
It’s time to become that man.
A flash of blue caught his eye but when he turned, nothing was there. Only the wish that Poppy had been standing there, smiling at him with a warmth that would set the house ablaze. But that would never be. They’d become friends, certainly, but she’d made it very clear there would be nothing more between them. He sighed from the bottom of his toes.
“I kept thinking I needed to get back to Boston to resume my life, but maybe there’s nothing there for me anymore.”
Vladimir bobbed his head thoughtfully.
“But I’m not sure if I can have what I want here.” He didn’t dare say the words out loud. Once he did that, there would be no turning back for him.
Vladimir swallowed the last of his vodka and leaned back in his hand-carved chair, a smile twitching his mouth.
“Matthew, if I learn anything in life, it that you never know how things will turn out. Patience, my friend.”
* ~ * ~ *
Poppy tiptoed away from the wall hiding her from view and hurried back to the kitchen. It wasn’t as if she’d meant to eavesdrop on Matthew and Vladimir’s conversation — she’d only been retrieving a wayward bowl — but when they started talking about fathers, she couldn’t stop herself.
Vladimir’s words about letting go of the anger sank into her soul, drawing tears to her eyes. For as long as she could remember, she felt nothing but hate for her father. She’d nursed that emotion and built up walls around her heart, denying entry to all but a select few women who’d proved themselves worthy. It was exhausting, always being so vigilant.
But since arriving in Sitka, she’d felt lighter, more open, like a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders.
Not only had she made friends with a few teachers at school, but Eddie was almost like a grandmother to her, not to mention Vladimir and Matthew. Sure, she and Matthew had started out rough, but he’d behaved like a perfect gentleman since his apology. And Vladimir…he was the father she’d always prayed for.
Searching her heart as she entered the kitchen, Poppy wondered where all the hate for her father had gone. All she felt for him was pity. She’d never be able to say she loved him, but she no longer hated him and that felt so completely liberating.
Eddie looked up from where she sat perched on a stool drying dishes.
“You know, an old lady like me could get used to eating like we did tonight. You should move in with me. I rattle around that big ol’ place like a marble in a maze.”
Alexander lay sleeping on the floor near the stove, using Dog as a pillow. The mutt looked happier than a pig in mud at being allowed inside the house for the first time. Poppy had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.
“Why are you chewing on your lip like that?” She didn’t know all the details of Poppy’s unfortunate life, but she was sharp enough to guess the important parts.
“I think…I don’t hate my father anymore.”
“Oh?” She gave Poppy a shrewd look.
“I’m not going to write him a love letter or anything, and I’m still going to send for my mother as soon as I can, but I think I’ve let go of all the pain he’s caused in my life. I didn’t even know it until…until just a moment ago.”
When you were eavesdropping.
A smile bloomed on Eddie’s face, making her look half her age — which was still older than her mother.
“That’s wonderful to hear, child. Now maybe you can move on and realize that not all men are like him.” She paused until Poppy met her rheumy gaze. “Because they’re not.”
She knew that, but suspicion was a hard habit to break, especially after being proven right so often. But in the other room sat two men who were unlike any she’d ever known. She’d already chosen to trust Vladimir when she asked for his help with her clothing effort, but Matthew… Trusting him would mean exposing her heart in a way she’d never dared.
