Twilight's Serenade

by Tracie Peterson

  “This is my youngest daughter, Britta. She’s going to take care of Laura while I help you deliver this baby. Britta, take Laura and then get some water heating on the stove.”

  “There’s a pot going already,” Marsha told her. “I put it on when I sent Caleb for you. Figured we’d need it.”

  Britta’s mother nodded. “That was wise. Now, let me check you to see how far along you are.”

  Uncertain how to handle the situation with the little girl, Britta moved slowly to the opposite side of the room. Kneeling, she did the only thing that seemed natural and extended her arms and smiled.

  “Would you like to come play with me?”

  To her surprise, the child practically leaped into her embrace. Without a word, Britta rose and carried Laura from the room just as Marsha began screaming again.

  Laura reached up and patted Britta’s face. “Who are you?”

  Smiling, Britta glanced around to see where she might seat the child. Laura, however, had no intention of being put down and clung to Britta fiercely.

  “I’m Britta, and I know you are Laura.”

  The child pulled back just enough to nod. “I’m hungry.”

  Britta lost her heart to Yuri’s daughter. She looked just like him. “Let’s see if we can find you something to eat.” Laura tightened her grip and Britta realized there would be no putting her down. Easing her to one side, Britta freed up her right arm and began opening cupboards to see what she might find.

  There was really very little. A tin of crackers and a can of sardines seemed hardly the appropriate meal for a child, but that was the best that Britta could do for the moment. She offered Laura a cracker and was trying to figure out what to do about opening the sardines when her mother appeared.

  “She’s having a rough time of it.” Her voice was barely audible.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know. She’s complaining of such horrible pain in her head. She’s been in labor for some time now, however, and the baby is very close to being born.”

  “What is to be done?”

  “There isn’t much I can do. Hopefully the doctor will arrive soon. She’s asking for whiskey to ease her pain. Have you seen any?”

  Britta shook her head. “Just empty bottles.” Britta bit her lip and looked at the child in her arms. “Yuri should know what is happening.”

  Her mother searched through the same cupboards Britta had just explored. “No one knows where he is. As I said, he’s not been here in some time.”

  “Perhaps Dalton has heard from him?” she asked hopefully.

  “If he has, he’s said nothing about it to me,” her mother replied.

  Just then, a knock sounded on the door. Relief washed over Mother’s face. “That will be the doctor.”

  She hurried to let him in while Britta continued to hold Laura. The child munched on her cracker and seemed no more interested in her mother’s condition than she did in who might be at the door.

  The doctor conversed for a moment with Lydia, and then both of them crossed the room without a word. Britta couldn’t help but wonder at the seriousness of the situation. Women had babies every day. Why should this delivery be any different? But despite the fact that they’d entered a new century, full of modern wonders, women continued to die giving life to their offspring. Perhaps Marsha Belikov would die and free Yuri from the misery of their marriage.

  As soon as the thought came to mind, however, Britta immediately felt guilty. She might not like that Yuri had put himself into a loveless marriage, but she couldn’t wish his wife dead.

  “More,” Laura said, drawing Britta from her thoughts.

  She handed the child another cracker and waited to see what the next few minutes might bring. She heard Marsha scream and shivered at the sound. It was unlike anything she’d ever heard. This cry sounded like something unnatural—something dark and disturbing.

  When Lydia came rushing from the room, Britta couldn’t help but ask, “What is happening?”

  “Marsha has fainted. It’s to her benefit. I must get some water.”

  Britta watched as her mother paid little heed to the clutter and pulled a dirty pan from beneath a stack of dishes. She quickly discarded it, however, and took up a towel and grabbed the entire pot off the stove. Hurrying back to aid the doctor, Lydia offered no other word of explanation.

  Seconds seemed to creep by, but Britta busied herself with Laura and pretended not to notice. When a baby’s cry filled the cabin, Britta exhaled a heavy breath of relief.

  “Baby’s crying,” Laura said, as though Britta might have missed it.

  “Yes. That will be your new brother or sister,” she told the child.

  “Sister,” Laura echoed.

  Britta smiled. The little girl was quite charming, but so poorly cared for. Even now she was shivering. “Let’s see if we can get you something warm to wear.”

  A search of the cabin revealed little. Britta finally gave up, figuring that whatever clothes the child might have were probably in the bedroom. She wrapped Laura up in her own wool coat and placed her on a crude stool. “Sit here while I see how your mama is doing.”

  Laura was none too happy to be discarded and sat in a quiet pout. Britta went to the doorway and could see from the expression on the doctor’s face that things were not going well. The baby had been wrapped securely in a blanket but placed aside to cry while the doctor and Britta’s mother were bent over Marsha’s still body.

  The doctor straightened. “There’s no pulse.”

  “Is there nothing we can do?” Lydia questioned.

  “I’m afraid not. My guess is that she burst something in her head. The pain she felt was so intense, it must have been an aneurysm.” He reached for his stethoscope and bent to listen to the woman’s heartbeat. He didn’t tarry there long. “She’s gone.”

  “That quickly?” Britta spoke the question without meaning to.

  Her mother cast a glance her way. The sorrow in her expression left little doubt. “She passed just as the baby was born. The doctor had to work to clear the baby’s airway to get her breathing on her own. By the time we turned our attention back to Marsha, she was gone.”

  The doctor pulled the sheet up over the woman. “I’ll see to the child now.”

  Britta had never seen death up close. She hadn’t even been home when her great-aunt Zerelda had passed away. “The baby . . . is the baby all right?” she asked her mother.

  “Seems to be. It’s another little girl.”

  Lydia came to where Britta stood. Together, the women waited for the doctor to speak. It seemed that he took forever to examine the baby.

  “The child appears quite healthy. For all her delay in the birth canal, she doesn’t seem to have suffered much more than a bit of skull deformity, which will pass in time,” the doctor announced. He looked to Britta’s mother. “Who is to care for them?”

  “There isn’t any family. The father . . . well, you know Yuri.”

  He nodded in a most somber manner. “I’ll arrange for them to go to the orphanage.”

  “No!” Britta declared. The doctor and her mother both looked at her in surprise, but she didn’t care. These were Yuri’s children. She couldn’t let them go to an orphanage without first trying to find their father. “I could take care of them.”

  The doctor appeared skeptical, but her mother grew thoughtful. “We could take them to the house. We certainly have the room. Britta could care for them there until we are able to locate Yuri.” She searched her daughter’s face for a moment. “This will require a great deal from you. Are you sure you want the responsibility?”

  “I must at least try,” Britta said. “I could not forgive myself if Yuri returned to find his children gone and then learned that I did nothing to help them.”

  Her mother seemed to understand, and for this, Britta was relieved. She had no idea how she might have fought such a battle without her mother’s approval.

  “Very well,” the d
octor said, finishing his exam of the baby. “You know how to care for an infant, Lydia. I’ll leave the situation to you.”

  Britta felt her pulse quicken as the full impact of her decision began to sink in. Had she made a terrible mistake? Glancing at the form of Yuri’s dead wife, she felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Was it wrong to be glad that such a woman had passed from the earth? To imagine that she might yet have the chance to win Yuri’s affection for herself?

  Of course it’s wrong! She hated herself for even thinking such thoughts. What kind of woman am I that I would covet a dead woman’s husband while she’s not yet in the grave? A terrible and awful person—that’s what. She stiffened and turned away from the room. She couldn’t stand to face the scene any longer. Worse still, she could hardly bear her own conscience.

  Chapter 2

  Yuri Belikov tossed back the last of his whiskey and lurched to his feet. The room swayed for a moment, and he clutched at the table to keep from falling over.

  “Come on, time to get you home,” someone said, coming alongside him.

  Yuri recognized one of the men he worked with at the gold mine. Blinking hard in an attempt to focus, he shook his head. “Don’t need help, Murphy.”

  The man laughed and aimed Yuri toward the door. “Of course you don’t, but I do. Come on.” They made their way outside and staggered toward a run-down stretch of buildings that edged up the mountain.

  He couldn’t remember how Murphy had gotten him into bed, but when Yuri awoke a few hours later, his head was splitting in pain. No matter how hard he tried to drink himself into an unconscious state, it never lasted long enough. Getting up, Yuri went to the chest at the end of his bed and fetched a half-empty bottle of liquor. He downed a generous portion, letting the bottle linger at his lips as he felt the liquid burn down his throat. He took another long drink, then sealed the bottle once again and placed it gently in the trunk.

  “My consolation,” he murmured, stumbling back to bed.

  The wind had picked up and the chill in the room was enough to send Yuri under the covers without delay. He thought of how nice it might be to have a woman at his side with whom he could share the warmth. Unbidden memories of the wife he’d left in Sitka flooded his mind.

  Marsha had been nice enough when he’d met her working at one of the local drinking houses, but that soon ended after she tricked him into marriage. Yuri often thought back to the morning he’d opened his eyes to find himself legally wed to the woman he’d only known on a professional basis.

  “What do you mean, calling me husband?” he’d asked.

  She had laughed harshly at his question. “You don’t remember, do you?” She held up her hand to show him a small gold band. “We were hitched last night. You said it was the perfect way to celebrate a new century.”

  Yuri sat up and stared at the woman as if she’d lost her mind. “I wouldn’t marry you. I wouldn’t marry anybody.”

  She only laughed at him. “My cousin did us the honors last night. If you even try to annul this, he’ll see you thrown in jail.”

  “On what grounds?” Yuri asked, trying desperately to clear his mind.

  “On the grounds that I’m having your baby,” she told him with a smug smile.

  “You’re pregnant?” He looked at her in disbelief. “Given your line of work, how in the world can you be sure it’s mine?”

  Pushing back her wavy brown hair, she shrugged. “One father is as good as another. You very well could be the father, and I will swear in a court of law that you are. That’s all that matters.”

  Yuri stared up in the darkness as the memories faded. Nothing had ever been the same after that. Instead of moving on to Nome as he’d planned, Yuri found himself strapped with a wife and little else. She wasn’t even grateful that he was willing to take care of her. There was no kindness in her, and she wouldn’t let him so much as touch her.

  When Marsha suffered a miscarriage a couple of months later, Yuri suggested they go their separate ways. That quickly changed her attitude; she poured on the sweetness, telling Yuri how much she loved him—how sorry she’d been for the way she’d treated him. She went out of her way to entice him to her bed, but Yuri wasn’t interested and made no pretense of being so.

  Still, it wasn’t long before the demon in him turned to liquor and Marsha’s seductions worked. But much to Marsha’s frustration, she didn’t conceive until nearly two years later, and when she made the announcement, Yuri was still not convinced the baby was his.

  They left Dawson City and headed to Sitka. Yuri hadn’t wanted to return to his hometown, but given their situation, he desperately needed to make a living. Dalton had promised him there would always be a job for him, and true to his word, he’d hired Yuri on the spot. No questions asked.

  That had been at least a million years ago, Yuri thought. Nothing about that time had been pleasant or good. Well, there had been Phoebe, Dalton’s wife. She had encouraged Yuri to be a faithful and loving husband to Marsha. Phoebe had even insisted on having them to dinner at least once a week, and despite the fact that Marsha was always obnoxious and insulting, Phoebe continued to extend such gracious invitations.

  When Laura was born at the first part of December in 1902, Yuri had marveled that anything so beautiful could be a part of him. At least he hoped she was a part of him. Given Marsha’s tendency toward promiscuous behavior, he couldn’t be sure. The infant managed to captivate him despite her hateful mother. Still, Marsha found a way to ruin that, as well.

  Yuri rolled over and punched down the pillow. He hated himself for having deserted them, but he’d had no choice. There was something downright destructive in Marsha’s nature, and he didn’t like the person he became when he was with her. Marsha’s harsh tongue and insulting tirades always drove him back to the bottle, and it wasn’t long before he couldn’t keep up with his job and Dalton had to constantly search for him.

  Then there was the issue of Laura. Marsha held her like a trump card. She’d ignore the baby and treat her miserably, but when Yuri showed the child the slightest bit of attention, Marsha would put an end to it. She had no desire to be a mother to Laura, but neither did she want Yuri being a loving father.

  It baffled him, but not enough to make him stick around. Yuri figured, like everything else in his life, if he dared to love he would only come up on the short end of things. With that in mind, he left. He left Marsha and Laura, Dalton and Sitka, and struck out for no place in particular. He’d been wandering ever since.

  A nagging voice told him he should go home—that he should try to make the marriage work. But that seemed more impossible than striking it rich from the gold fields. He didn’t love Marsha. He never had, and he had forced himself not to love Laura, either. Sometimes he even told himself that she wasn’t really his child at all—that Marsha had never been faithful to him. That always managed to ease his conscience just a little.

  The thing he hated the most, however, was letting Dalton down once again. Throughout their lives, Dalton had been the only constant Yuri had known. Even his parents had moved away—returning to Russia to care for aging family members. Dalton had remained, however. No matter how often Yuri turned to the bottle—no matter how many times he failed to keep his promises to stay sober, Dalton had forgiven Yuri and given him another chance.

  Just as he’d put Laura from his heart and mind, Yuri had worked with meticulous care to remove the memories he shared with his best friend. But some things couldn’t be forgotten.

  “I’m worthless,” he whispered in the chilled air. The pain in his head was fading, and Yuri found himself falling back to sleep. “I’m not worthy of love or friendship. Not now—not ever.”

  Britta stared at the run-down shack and shook her head. Her fourteen-year-old nephew stood at her side. “Isn’t much of a place, is it?” she murmured.

  “Looks like it could fall down around us. You sure you want to go inside?” Gordon asked.

  “I have to. I need to find clothes fo
r Laura and see if Marsha had anything set aside for the baby.”

  Britta drew a deep breath and headed into the cabin. She had left the children with her mother and Kay, hoping that a trip to the Belikov house might reveal some much-needed supplies. Gordon had accompanied her at Lydia’s request, telling him that she didn’t want Britta to be alone. Who knew what kind of trouble might await her? The doctor had arranged the previous day for the undertaker to come for Marsha’s body, and folks would know that the place was now deserted. It wouldn’t take long for some squatter or renter to take over.

  Britta left the door open, despite the cold, and walked to the only window. Pushing back the dirty draperies, she allowed light to spill into the house.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Gordon told her. “How could anyone live like this?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “I felt the same way when I first saw it. Now it seems even worse.” She began picking through the clutter, looking for anything that might be of use for Laura or the baby. She spied a small traveling case in the corner of the room.

  “If you don’t mind, Gordon, check in the other room and see if you can find any of Laura’s clothes. Look for baby things, as well. I’m going to open this trunk to see if there might be something kept in here.” She went to the small chest and pushed aside an array of trash upon it. Tin cans fell to the floor along with wadded-up paper and moldy crusts of bread.

  She knelt beside the piece and reached for the top. The trunk latches were broken, so Britta had no trouble lifting the lid. Inside she found little that would be helpful. There was an old satin gown, hopelessly stained from spills and wear. The material all but fell apart as Britta lifted it out of its resting place. Below was a stack of envelopes that bore barely legible writing but were carefully tied together. How strange. It seemed odd that anyone should have saved these things so carefully in a house that was such an abomination.