Twilight's Serenade

by Tracie Peterson

  “If he returns,” her mother countered.

  Yuri opened his eyes to incredible pain. The last thing he remembered was a loud explosion. The ringing in his ears made him wonder if he’d ruptured his eardrums. He moved his hand to cup it around his right ear and drew it back, covered in blood.

  “Just stay still, Yuri,” Murphy told him in what seemed like a whisper.

  Yuri tried to move, but every part of his body hurt. He glanced to his right and saw that men were being laid out beside him. He realized for the first time that he was outside of the mine. What had happened? He reached up painfully to grab hold of Murphy’s shirt.

  “Murph, what’s going on?”

  “Joe drilled into a loaded hole.”

  Yuri could barely hear the words above the ringing. A loaded hole made sense. When the miners were ready to dynamite, they would pack drilled holes with dynamite and fuses. Often the fuses would be connected and several holes were set off at the same time. Sometimes the dynamite didn’t blow, however, and when another man came along to tamp or drill again, he’d set off the uncharged stick with a mere spark.

  Closing his eyes, Yuri knew the situation wasn’t good. He must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes again, Murphy and another man were preparing to load him on a stretcher.

  “I can walk,” he told them and struggled to sit up. Everything went black for a moment, and Yuri fell back. He fought to remain conscious.

  “You ought not to do that,” Murphy told him. “You’ve got a bad head wound and probably a broken arm. No telling if there’s injuries elsewhere.”

  Yuri said nothing as the men lifted him onto the stretcher. He wondered if anyone else was injured. Joe, he knew, was probably dead. Most men didn’t make it through an accident like that. Yuri had been working about six or eight feet away from Joe. At least that’s what Yuri thought he remembered.

  They carried him to a waiting cart, where Murphy instructed the driver that he could go. “There’s no one else.”

  What did he mean by that? Yuri wondered. Was no one else injured or was no one else alive? He didn’t consider the question long as the world once again faded to shades of gray and then nothing.

  Yuri heard someone talking but couldn’t make out the words. He fought to open his eyes and found an older black man standing over him. The man smiled and gave Yuri’s chest a pat.

  “You just rest easy, young man. Don’t get up on my account.”

  The ringing had subsided, and as Yuri’s mind cleared, he could see that he was now on a bed in a small but well-lit room.

  “Where am I?” he asked, his throat aching from all the dust he’d swallowed.

  “You’re at my place,” the man replied. “I’m Morris James. Doc asked me to look after you. Seems you’re doin’ rather poorly.”

  Yuri nodded and felt white-hot pain streak through his head and down his neck. He moaned and closed his eyes. “What about the others?” he managed to ask.

  “You’re the lucky one. Doc tried to save one, but the man didn’t make it. Four total died. You got your own problems to be sure, but Doc thinks you’ll live.”

  He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Yuri’s life didn’t really amount to much, and death might very well be the answer to all of his problems. Still, he said nothing about his thoughts. What he really wanted was a drink.

  “You got any liquor?”

  The man laughed and Yuri opened his eyes. “Something funny?”

  “Seems strange to me that a man is laying there not so far from the pearly gates, and he asks for a drink.”

  “Nothing strange at all.” Yuri began to feel a tingling pain down his left arm and tried to readjust it. His body seemed to protest any movement whatsoever. “I hurt.”

  “I’m not doubtin’ it, son. The doc has something here for you to take. It ain’t liquor, but I think it’ll help you, just the same.”

  Yuri let out a groan. “I want whiskey. I have some money. Couldn’t you just go buy me a bottle?”

  Morris shook his head. “Liquor ain’t gonna help what’s ailing you.”

  “It’ll numb the pain.”

  This time the man gave a chuckle, and Yuri couldn’t help but frown. “You sure laugh a lot.”

  “ ‘A merry heart doeth good like a medicine,’ ” Morris said, pouring some liquid from a bottle onto a spoon. “The doc stitched up your head and said your arm ain’t broke. The shoulder was dislocated, but not broke. Here, take this.” He eased a well-muscled arm behind Yuri’s neck and guided the spoon into his mouth.

  Strangling on a groan of pain as Morris placed him back down, Yuri waited for the medicine to offer some effect. “What was that stuff?”

  “Not sure. Doc said it would help with the pain, though.” Morris secured a cork back in the bottle. “Still, seems to me you got yourself pains that no medicine can touch.”

  Yuri’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you say that?”

  Morris pulled up a chair and sat down. Yuri could see that he was dressed in old, worn clothes, but the man was meticulously well groomed and clean. The garments had even been neatly pressed.

  “I been prayin’ for you since they brought you down from the mine. God’s given me thoughts about you being a man who’s in trouble. Trouble of the spirit. He wants me to help you.”

  This time it was Yuri who let out a bitter laugh. “You’re mistaken. God doesn’t care about me.”

  “I’m often wrong about things, but not this time. God’s made this too clear. You’re in trouble, and you need help.”

  “Even if I did, there’s nothing you can do,” he said, feeling his limbs grow heavy. Apparently the medicine was working. It felt wonderful to let the sensation wash over him. “Nothing anybody can do,” he murmured. “I’ve made too many mistakes. Disappointed too many people, and now it’s too late.”

  “So long as you got breath, it ain’t too late where God’s concerned,” Morris told him. “But for now, you just rest easy. Me and the good Lord will watch over you. Just don’t go dying on me. We got a lot of work to do.”

  Yuri closed his eyes and smiled. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Chapter 4

  April 1906

  Dalton and Kjell Lindquist entered the restaurant and settled at a table by an open window. After ordering their lunch, Dalton picked up their earlier conversation.

  “After we meet with Mr. Kirkpatrick and finalize the transfer of the boat,” he began, “I was wondering if we could maybe go to the Chinese part of town. I promised Phoebe I would bring Rachel something special from San Francisco for her birthday. Li Ming at the Sitka Laundry told me of some wonderful deals you could get on jade jewelry.”

  His father, Kjell, nodded. “I see no reason not to add that to our day. It would be good to pick up something for your lovely wife, as well.”

  Just then Mr. Kirkpatrick came rushing up to the table. “I’m sorry to be late. I had just finished inspecting the new boat when my accountant needed me to attend to other business.”

  “It’s perfectly all right,” Dalton said, getting to his feet and extending his hand. “How did you find the boat?”

  “Perfect,” Kirkpatrick said, shaking hands. He took a seat and smiled at Kjell. “Your son does the finest work I’ve ever seen. I’d like to order three more boats.”

  “I’ve always been proud of his abilities,” Kjell told him.

  The man motioned to the waiter and ordered coffee. “I’m afraid I can’t have lunch with you, but here is my check, as well as a purchase order for the next three boats. If you take this draft to my bank, they will happily wire the money to your bank in Seattle or elsewhere.”

  Dalton took the pieces from Kirkpatrick and studied the purchase order. “You want the other three to be identical to this one?”

  The man nodded enthusiastically. “They will serve my men quite well.”

  “I have other orders,” Dalton told him, “and I will need at least two months to complete them. I might
be able to hire additional men, however.”

  “I would like my boats as soon as possible,” the older man declared. The waiter brought his coffee, as well as lemonade for Dalton and Kjell. “I would be happy to increase the price by ten percent in order to have you build them before you complete the other order.”

  Dalton frowned. “I’m sorry, but in that case I can’t accept your order.” He pushed the paper back toward Kirkpatrick. “I would very much like to accommodate you, but I gave my word to complete the cannery order first. I won’t go back on it.”

  “What if I increase the price by twenty percent?”

  Dalton looked at his father and then back to Kirkpatrick. “I can’t. I would like to have the order, but I’m a man of my word.”

  Kirkpatrick put down his coffee cup and smiled. “Which is exactly what I want in a business associate.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded letter and passed it to Dalton.

  Dalton opened the letter as Kirkpatrick tore up the purchase order. Dalton felt a twinge of regret as he considered how important the money from those three boats might have been to his family. Even at the quoted price, they were worth nearly twice as much as the cannery order.

  He didn’t mourn the loss for long, however. The paper revealed another purchase order. This one requested ten boats. He looked up at Kirkpatrick. “I don’t understand.”

  The older man finished his coffee before replying. “I have dealt with a great many men in my business. Some were honest and others were not. I’ve found that those who could easily cast aside their word for my benefit would also do it for someone else. I like to know that I can count on a man and his word.”

  The situation was still not clear to Dalton. “But I can’t hope to complete this order for some months. It’ll take me into next year—even if I hire additional men.”

  “I realize that,” Kirkpatrick said. “I’m also perfectly fine with it. As you know, my fishing business is extensive. I own ships up and down the coast. As you are able to complete the boats, I will replace my poorer vessels. I find the Lindquist craft to be superior to any I’ve used before. You understand the needs of the fishing crew, and your vessels are solid compared to some of the cheaper boats I’ve used. The more efficient the boat, the less time and money I lose in repairs and other complications.”

  For several minutes, Dalton said nothing. He was blessed in the way the Lord had just worked, but also humbled. He had never really thought of anyone else appreciating his strong stand to keep his word, yet here was a man who did.

  “So are we agreed?”

  Dalton looked up at the man. “Yes. I am very grateful and happy to work further with you, Mr. Kirkpatrick.”

  The man smiled. “Wonderful. Oh, and I almost forgot.” He reached inside his coat and brought out two tickets. “I thought you might enjoy these. I understood after speaking with your father that your family is quite musical. These will admit you to hear Enrico Caruso next Tuesday night, the seventeenth. He’s performing in Carmen with the Metropolitan Opera Company at Tivoli Opera House.”

  “Mr. Kirkpatrick, I don’t know what to say. Father and I had wanted to attend but were told the performance was sold out.”

  “And indeed it is, but I have my connections.” He got to his feet and took up his hat. “I hope it proves to be a tremendous experience for both of you.” He gave a bit of a bow to Kjell and then Dalton. “I will look forward to hearing from you when you determine a schedule for the production of my boats.”

  “I will be in touch,” Dalton told him.

  After Kirkpatrick had gone, Dalton found his father beaming with pride. “What?” Dalton asked, looking around him as if Kjell had discovered something important.

  “You’ve made me very happy, son. You could have attempted to make promises to Kirkpatrick—hoping you might be able to get additional qualified help. But instead, you were willing to let a lucrative deal go in order to keep your word. I couldn’t be prouder.”

  Dalton lowered his face at his father’s praise. Kjell had married Dalton’s mother only a short time before Dalton’s birth, and while Dalton was the child of another man, Kjell had always loved him as his own.

  “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

  “Your work is admirable, and you are honorable with your wife and children.”

  Dalton looked up. “Do you ever regret not having a son who is of your own blood?”

  “I have a son of my own heart, and that is far more important. No. I have never regretted a single moment of my life. Your mother is all I could have longed for in a wife, and your sisters are beautiful examples of womanhood. But you, Dalton, you have been something very special to me, and you always will be.”

  Yuri heard the wolves howling—screaming, really—and put his hands to his ears. Only then did he realize it wasn’t wolves at all. He was the one crying in agony. His body hurt so much. The shaking only made the pain worse.

  “Please . . . give me . . . a drink,” he begged.

  Morris came to his bedside with a wet cloth and wiped Yuri’s forehead. “Now, you know I can’t do that. I have some tea for you. The herbs in there will ease what ails you.”

  Yuri shook his head, which only caused more pain. His left arm ached from having raised his hand to his ear. “I can’t . . . can’t bear this.” His teeth chattered. “I can’t.”

  Pain ripped through his midsection, and Yuri grabbed at his stomach with his right hand. Morris helped him to rise just enough to take some of the tea. “I promise this will help. You got the tremors. You’re far worse off now from the poison you’ve got in your body than the wounds you got from the explosion.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The demon that’s got hold of you is making you sick. Your body and spirit are fighting against it.”

  Yuri forced down some of the tea and found it did have a calming effect on his stomach. He closed his eyes and felt Morris ease him back to the pillow. Without warning, Morris began to pray, talking to God as if He were sitting right there with them.

  “Now, Lord, you see your child Yuri lying here all worn out and wounded. He needs you and your healing touch.” Morris paused. “I know He needs to get right with you. He’s been livin’ a sinner’s life like all of us. We’re all of us sinners gone astray.”

  Morris paused again, and Yuri opened his eyes to see what he might be doing. He found Morris gazing upward and nodding as if he were hearing comments back from the Almighty.

  “I know he belongs to you, Father. And I know like the Prodigal Son, he’s gone astray. He’s wantin’ to come back home now. He’s needin’ to be released from the vile hold the demon of whiskey has on him.” Morris looked down to Yuri. “Isn’t that right, Yuri? You can tell Father God, yourself.”

  Yuri frowned. Was it really that simple? Pain tore through him once again. “Yes!” he cried out. “I want to be free of this.” Sweat poured from his face and ran in rivulets with his tears. “Oh, please, tell me I can be free.”

  Morris offered him more tea and nodded. “The good Lord can set you free, son. The Good Book says that Jesus himself is truth, and that truth will set you free. You just have to ask for it.”

  “I want it,” Yuri said, moaning. “I want to be a good man. All my life, I’ve disappointed everyone.” He panted for breath as the pain faded once again. “I made a mess of my life. I’ve hurt so many people.”

  Nodding, Morris closed his eyes. “O Lord, I know you hear the prayers of them that seek you in honesty and truth. I know it, ’cause you heard my prayers. Please release this man now from the hold Satan has on him. Set him free, Lord. Free to live a new life. Free to make things right.”

  Yuri looked upward. “Please, Lord. Please save me.” He didn’t know what all had been in the tea, but a warmth and peacefulness washed over his body. Yuri felt himself grow sleepy and allowed the medicine to take him.

  When he awoke some hours later, Yuri was amazed to realize that the worst of the pain was only a
memory. His arm still ached, but not like it had before. Even the throbbing in his head had subsided. For the first time in a very long time, Yuri’s mind was clear of the dull haze that usually accompanied his waking thoughts.

  “You ready for somethin’ to eat?” Morris asked, coming to his bedside with a plate. “I fried you some bread in bacon grease. Figured it might give you a bit of strength.”

  “I guess I am hungry.” Yuri put his hand to his abdomen. “The pain is gone.”

  Morris grinned. “I think the good Lord gave you a miracle. You’re even getting your color back.”

  “Can God really save me?” Yuri asked. “Just like that? After all the wrong I’ve done?”

  Morris’s smile only widened. “He sure can. Ain’t nothin’ Father God can’t do.”

  Yuri nodded. “I believe you.”

  “Don’t be believin’ me, Yuri. Believe Him.”

  The afternoon of April seventeenth promised rain, but then, many days in Sitka did just that. Britta sat uncomfortably sandwiched between her sister-in-law and mother on the front porch sharing conversation and tea. It hadn’t been her desire to participate in the gathering, but with Darya asleep just inside the house and Laura playing happily outside with Connie, Britta had no choice.

  Kay smiled at Britta from the seat opposite where she sat. “I want to hear more about your plans. Have you decided about the orchestra?”

  “What’s this?” Phoebe questioned. “What orchestra?”

  “Britta has been offered first-chair violin in a brand-new orchestra,” her mother said proudly. “The problem for Britta is that it is located quite far from home—in England.”

  “And she’s worried about the children,” Kay interjected.

  Out on the lawn, Laura and Connie were enjoying the cool afternoon with a game of tag. Laura didn’t seem to care that her mother had died, nor that her father had long been gone from home. She did appear to enjoy occasional moments with the baby, but it was Britta that she cherished above all.