Poppy_Bride of Alaska

by Cassie Hayes

  “Mmhmm,” she replied noncommittally.

  “Poppy, men are like stars.” Eddie placed the last bowl on the kitchen queen to be put away and gave her a gentle look. “There are plenty of them out there, and the good Lord knows some are brighter than others. But there’s only one who can make your dreams come true.”

  Could Matthew be that one? She’d resigned herself to a solitary life in the tenements, never truly believing her dreams of traveling Alaska and leaving her old life behind could ever come true. But they did, and all because of Matthew.

  When the man himself rounded the corner, her heart skipped a beat. His smile nearly made her knees buckle. She clutched at the sink behind her for support, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered she was.

  “Ready, Poppy? Tomorrow’s a school day and we still need to take Mrs. Westchester home.”

  “Nonsense,” Eddie sniffed, waving a dismissive hand at him. “Vlad can see me home, can’t you, Vlad?”

  Vladimir shot a confused look at Eddie who shot him a stern one right back. Something flickered in his eyes before answering, “Da.”

  Poppy flushed at their blatant attempt to get her and Matthew together. They’d been pulling stunts like this almost since they arrived in Sitka, which didn’t irritate her half as much as the realization that it actually seemed to be working. On her, at least.

  “And Matt, I’ve told you a dozen times, call me Eddie. Mrs. Westchester was my mother-in-law.” Her overly exaggerated shudder let everyone in the room know exactly what she thought about that.

  “Very well, Eddie. Thank you for having us, Vladimir, and for the talk. It was…good. Night, Alexander!”

  The boy barely stirred at Matthew’s shout, simply snuggling in closer to Dog and sighing with contentment. Poppy’s heart ached for the boy over the loss of his parents but he couldn’t have found a better replacement than Vladimir.

  Outside, Matthew held Poppy close, keeping one hand firmly on her waist as they picked their way down Vladimir’s icy walkway. Her lungs refused to work for a moment as the heat from his body warmed her, even through their thick coats. She snuck a peek up at him in hopes she could read his mind but his face remained stony, that same old muscle twitching in his jaw. An inexplicable desire to kiss it caused her foot to falter.

  “Watch out for the ice,” he said, tightening his hold as he guided her to the carriage.

  Ah! It was simply one more courteous, gentlemanly gesture on his part. Disappointment niggled at the base of her throat. Eddie was right, of course. Not all men were like her horrible father, and Matthew had proven to be the exact opposite. Other than that first altercation with Vladimir, she’d never seen him lose his temper, though that wasn’t to say he never became frustrated. She saw that from him plenty, especially where she was concerned, but she never felt threatened.

  In fact, the only time he’d ever used his strength against Poppy was the day he kissed her to within an inch of her life. Her lips and cheeks tingled, remembering her body’s reaction to him and how tempted she was to keep kissing him. But the walls around her heart were still thick back then. Over the past month, though, he’d somehow broken through without her even knowing.

  When a person spends her whole life protecting herself because no one else would do it for her, it’s hard to let go of that control. Pushing people away came naturally to ‘Massachusetts Poppy’, and probably saved her skin more than once. But she’d turned into ‘Alaska Poppy’, an adventurous woman who took risks, physically and emotionally, opening herself up to friendship.

  Maybe Eddie was right. Maybe it was time to open herself up to love, as well.

  When Matthew steadied himself in the snow to help her into the carriage, Poppy stopped in front of him. Heart thudding in her chest and her breath coming out in fast little puffs of smoke, she slid her eyes up his chest to lock onto his warm, hazel gaze. The patient sadness she saw there pinched her heart. If only she could make it better…

  Flinging her arms around his neck, Poppy lifted onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. They were stiff and unresponsive at first, but quickly softened, turning eager while staying restrained. He held her lightly, tentatively, which she couldn’t blame him for, considering how she ended their last kiss. But her body yearned for him to hold her tight, to never let her go.

  “Matthew,” she whispered against his mouth, drawing a low moan from him.

  He buried his face in the crook of her neck, leaving a hot trail of kisses until he reached her ear. As he nuzzled and nibbled her earlobe, sensations she’d never experienced before shot through her like bolts of lightning. She clutched at his shoulders to steady her failing knees and sighed at the pleasure coursing through her.

  So this is what all the fuss is about…

  Pulling back, Matthew gazed down at her, his eyes flashing in the dim moonlight, breath rushing out of him in deep, harsh plumes.

  “What was that for?”

  She smiled, brushing a finger down his cheek.

  “For being you.”

  Chapter 13

  “What’s got you in such a fine mood today, Doc?” asked Tex, one of the school’s handymen, as Matthew stitched up a gash in his leg he received while shoveling snow.

  Matthew quit whistling immediately and shrugged. He couldn’t tell the renowned gossiper that his wife had upped and kissed him for the first time the night before, and that hope bloomed in his heart that their marriage might become real one day very soon. He could barely admit that last part to himself but after the ride back to the school, Poppy snuggling into his side the whole way, he could no longer deny it. He cared for her deeply, and in a way no respectable man should care for a mere ‘friend’.

  When they reached their bedroom door, they exchanged awkward glances and then burst into laughter. Seems they both worried about what would come next, and as much as Matthew wanted a more intimate relationship with Poppy, she had a long history of not trusting men. He’d go as slow as she needed, and told her so. That night, lying on his palette on the floor, he slept better than he had in months.

  “Slept like the dead,” he finally said. “A good night’s sleep will do that to you. You should try it sometime, Tex.”

  “Bah, got too much to do ‘round here to sleep. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

  Laughing, Matthew bandaged the wound and sent the man on his way, all the while thinking about the kiss Poppy gave him. After talking with Vladimir, Matthew knew in his heart that he wanted something more with her, but he never thought she might want the same thing. But that all changed the moment her lips touched his. Of course, it had taken him by surprise but…what a surprise!

  Sun glinted off his instrument case, drawing his gaze outside. Several inches of snow lay shimmering on the ground, softly undulating like gentle waves on a frozen sea. Green peeked out on the mountainside but sky blue was the only other color in sight. A stillness seeped into his bones, a feeling of belonging. Peace. Even at the height of his social life in Boston, he’d never felt that certainty that he was meant to be there.

  His time in Sitka showed him a different way, another path for his life, and he intended to take it. Boston held nothing for him now, if it ever had. Though their social standing was damaged, his family didn’t need him. Father still earned a handsome salary, and his younger brothers were old enough to contribute to the family coffers for a while. No, it was time he let go of what he thought his life would be and look forward to what could be, if he let it.

  The sharp whistle of an arriving steamship broadened his smile. For weeks, Poppy had wondered aloud when her friends would write to her, and how she hoped letters would arrive on the next ship. It wouldn’t hurt to go down and check for her while she was tending to a class whose teacher had taken ill. Maybe if he brought back a stack of letters, she’d give him another kiss.

  That thought kept him warm through the cold slog to the wharf. Crowds of fur-clad bodies bustled about, offloading crates of much-needed supplies, but so f
ar as he could see, no mail bags. A handful of Tlingits huddled at one edge, trying to sell their wares to the disembarking passengers, none of whom gave them a second look. That wouldn’t be the case in the summer, when the tourists came, but for now, their sales were meager.

  While he waited for the mail to be off-loaded, he perused what the women had to offer. Most of the items were either intricate handwoven baskets or roughly carved trinkets. The former would have taken hours and hours to complete, while the latter just a few minutes. No doubt more would be available during the summer, when the real money arrived.

  One young girl caught Matthew’s eye. Covered head to toe in fur, her dark brown eyes peeked out from her hood, hopeful that someone would be interested in her carvings. Hers were simple but finely finished, unlike the others. He picked out one and gave the girl her asking price, no haggling. Poppy would love it.

  “Mail’s here!” came the shout across the wharf, and he hurried to get close to the man with the bag. Sitka had its own post office, but with postal service being what it was, it only opened at odd hours, and usually at the whim of the postmaster. Most people simply accosted the man on the wharf, so he had little choice but to rummage through until he found their mail.

  “Poppy Turner,” Matthew told the man. He’d stumbled over calling her that since marrying her, but he liked how it sounded. It felt right.

  After a few minutes of searching, he shoved a handful of letters at Matthew. Three envelopes addressed to Poppy, each in a different flowing script. She’d be so pleased to hear from her friends. Eager to get back to the school and warm up, Matthew turned to push his way through the crowd.

  “You Matthew Turner?” The postmaster called, holding up another envelope.

  A letter for him? He’d written his father from Seattle, finally telling him about his mission to win back the family fortune. It must be from him, admitting what he’d done. Matthew imagined the apologetic tone Father would take, pleading for his son’s forgiveness.

  Instead of feeling satisfaction at the idea, a sadness swept over him. Without even knowing it until this moment, Matthew had forgiven him. Vladimir’s words from the night before rang in his ears. His father wasn’t a monster; he was a man who’d made mistakes.

  Snatching the letter from the man’s hand, Matthew scooted out of the way and noticed the handwriting. His mother’s. That made more sense. She must have been worried, not knowing where her eldest son had run off to. Either that or she didn’t care for how it looked. Above all else, Mother strived to keep up appearances, even in their darkest days.

  Tearing open the envelope, Matthew pulled out the letter and began reading:

  Dearest Matthew,

  Your father is dead. He fell from the roof of the shipping company a week ago, the day after receiving your letter. Our dear friend, Dr. Parker, ruled his death accidental, but I do not believe that to be the case. He was despondent over the news that you were seeking retribution against Mr. Vinchenko, for he knew you would then discover his terrible secret, which he confessed to me that very day. I think he could not bear the thought of disappointing you, and threw himself from that building.

  As you can imagine, our tragedy has further damaged our standing in the community. An untimely death is one thing, but rumors are circulating about the true nature of Caleb’s passing. Already, invitations to holiday parties are being ‘lost’, and I fear we will soon become social pariahs.

  You must return to Boston immediately and take your rightful place as the head of the family. Your brothers are too young to have settled on professions yet, but as a doctor, you will return prestige to our name. It might take longer than I would like, but eventually we will be accepted again.

  Thankfully, your father paid for the house outright and had yet to mortgage it to pay for his sinful vices. Until your return, I will live quite comfortably on the life insurance policy he left us, but please hurry home. I would like for you to be here well in advance of the summer season.

  Yours,

  Mother

  Numbness leaked into every part of his body as he read until he had no thoughts except one: His father was dead and it was all his fault.

  * ~ * ~ *

  “Class dismissed.”

  Poppy couldn’t stop herself from laughing as the children scurried from the room, eager to get in a little play time before their next class started. She’d done her best to not stray too far from Mrs. Austin’s curriculum for the class, but half the day was spent learning the Tlingit names of the children she didn’t know. Then reading Ralph Waldo Emerson poems led to Kalemste reciting a Tlingit poem in his native language.

  If Mrs. Austin hears about this, you’ll be in a heap of trouble.

  She didn’t care one whit. Seeing their little faces light up at hearing their native tongue gave her so much joy. If her contract was terminated, she and Matthew could move into Eddie’s house until she found work. Doing what, she didn’t know, but it didn’t matter as long as they were together.

  “Missy, look,” Kalemste said from the doorway pointing to his hat and grinning.

  She grinned right back. In fact, she’d barely stopped smiling all day. The kiss she and Matthew shared the night before still lingered on her lips, and she could hardly wait for another. He insisted he would wait patiently until she trusted him fully, but what he didn’t know was that she already did.

  It was a bit of a mystery to her, but she loved the man with all her heart. He wasn’t without his faults — she would make sure to chase out every ounce of snootiness he’d been raised with, and what was with his need to keep his shoes polished so brightly? — but she wanted to make theirs a real marriage. Her friends from Lawrence would never believe it but it was true.

  Thinking of her friends, a surge of excitement spun through her tummy. Today’s ship just had to have letters from some of them or she might go crazy from missing them. The whole town heard it arrive that morning, and it was scheduled to leave at any minute. She’d have to wait until the postmaster decided to open tomorrow, which set her teeth on edge.

  I'll just have to find some way to distract myself until then.

  She tried to hide her wicked little grin as she hurried back to their room. Matthew would surely be there, and maybe they could get a little play time in before dinner.

  Throwing open the door, she found the room empty. Slightly disappointing but they had the rest of their lives to look forward to. She’d change and then go track him down. Probably in his office, patching up a skinned knee or treating a stuffy nose.

  As she moved toward the Oriental dressing screen, something on the bed caught her eye. Letters! There was something else, too. A small carving of a blackfish that was unmistakably Tlingit. A gift from Matthew that sent her heart soaring.

  Clutching it to her chest, she fell back against the pillows, beaming like all the lovesick schoolgirls she used to tease. She didn’t even care. She was in love with someone who loved her back.

  Sighing deeply, she groped around until she found the first letter. It was from Roberta.

  My dear Poppy,

  Words cannot express how much I miss you and our camaraderie. Jakob is a good man, and I love him dearly, but I'll always miss our little apartment in Lawrence. Wisconsin is more beautiful than I ever dreamed it could be, and my two new dear sons make me very happy.

  I never dreamed that, when the factory burned down, my life would turn in this direction. I thank God every day for all the blessings he's given me. Sometimes I wish I could live here with my new family, but still have my wonderful friends from Lawrence around.

  I hope that Alaska and Dr. Turner are everything you need to be happy. I pray for you daily. May our paths cross again someday.

  Much love,

  Roberta

  Tears filled Poppy’s eyes that Roberta had found such happiness. While she counted all her roommates as her best friends, Roberta held a special place in her heart for watching out for her all those years ago.

 
The tears started falling when she picked up the next letter and saw that it was from Gabrielle. Sweet Gabby, who deserved so much more than being forced to choose between marrying a stranger and the poorhouse.

  Dear Poppy,

  I wish you were here. I miss our late night conversations when we figured everything out together. I need someone to talk to.

  I made it to Texas tired, but safe and sound. There was a little mix-up when I first arrived but it all got straightened out eventually. My husband to be, Boone Dillingham, suffered an injury and was unable to meet me. A lovely couple were there to help, though, and I was escorted to my new home soon thereafter. Boone and I married that night while he lay recovering in his bed!

  Poppy, make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into if you agree to marry a fellow “in name only.” I never imagined that Boone would be so polite and perfectly handsome! My heart pounds when he’s near. I’m sticking to my plan, though. He may be good-looking, but I’ll stand firm. I don’t need affection to be happy. I’m not saying it’ll be easy. I’m just saying I’ll be strong and true to my agreement.

  I hope you get this letter and can write and let me know what has happened to you. Please stay in touch.

  Much love,

  Gabrielle

  Poppy laughed out loud that Gabby was having the same trouble keeping herself distanced from her new husband. Her next letter would no doubt admit to giving in to what her heart yearned for, at least Poppy hoped so.

  The last letter was from Sarah, who could never be dissuaded from thinking marriage was the most wonderful thing in the world. Maybe she was right all along, Poppy mused.

  Dearest Poppy,

  I miss you, my sweet friend. Marriage is all at once nothing like I thought it would be and more than I could've dreamed it would be. Remember when I was so convinced that all immigrants were romantic? Karl, though a good man, is very much the antithesis of romantic. It seems German immigrants are anything but romantic.