Twilight's Serenade

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Twilight's Serenade Page 22

by Tracie Peterson


  It seemed only reasonable then that when Marston approached the man at the bank on a day when the manager was home with a bad case of gout, Redley was more than willing and able to do anything he asked.

  “I’ve forgotten my account numbers. You know there are several accounts that I’m commingled on. Most are under the name Lindquist, but my sister Evie’s account is separate. Her last name is Broadstreet,” he told Redley. Marston studied his fingernails as if the matter were of no real importance. “Anyway, my brother has contacted me, saying the time has come for us to make a healthy investment. I need your help, and I’m hoping you might even act as my representative.”

  “What is it that you need me to do, Mr. Gray?” Redley asked.

  Marston smiled. “We are going to withdraw most of one account. I am to take the money with me to California.”

  “You’re leaving?” Redley asked, visibly upset. “I thought . . . well, we did speak about other matters.”

  Laughing, Marston enjoyed the man’s panic. “Indeed we did. That is why I want you to personally accompany me. In fact, we ought to take additional funds so we can set you up in style once we’ve arrived.”

  Redley gave a smile of confidence. “I would be honored.”

  “Good. Then I will trust you to follow my instructions and meet me tonight at the hotel. We have a ship to catch in the morning and must act quickly.” Marston paused and glanced around him. “But say nothing to the people here. I wouldn’t want anyone to know that we will have the cash with us. It might leave us vulnerable to thieves.”

  Redley nodded. “Of course.”

  Marston smiled. “I knew you’d understand.”

  Chapter 25

  November 1906

  Britta, won’t you change your mind and come to church with Laura and me?” Yuri asked, his hand on her shoulder. “I could really use you at my side.”

  “I’m just so tired, Yuri.” She pushed back her hair, which hadn’t been brushed thoroughly in days. “Maybe I’m sick. I’ll just go back to bed.”

  Yuri frowned. “You haven’t been eating much. It’s clear you’re wasting away.”

  She slid beneath the covers. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  He sat beside her on the bed, and she looked up hesitantly. Reaching out, Yuri touched her cheek. “I know you miss her. I miss her, too. But Laura misses you, as well. She needs you. Please don’t let this sorrow steal you away.”

  “I’m trying to manage it the best I can,” Britta said, her voice barely audible.

  “I know, but this isn’t healthy. You aren’t eating. You’re sleeping all the time, and . . .” He looked away. “I know about the whiskey.”

  “What?” She sounded startled.

  Yuri met her wide eyes. “Doc told me about it. Said he’d prescribed it for you to help you sleep. Thing is, he didn’t intend for you to do nothing but sleep.” He cupped her chin. “Britta, I know the danger you’re putting yourself in. It’s got to stop.”

  For a long time, she said nothing. Then in a voice that sounded as though it belonged to a child, she whispered, “But . . . if I don’t take it . . . I have such horrible nightmares.”

  “I’ll be here to help you through them,” he promised, “but the drinking has to stop. You have no idea how quickly it can take control of your life. I . . . well, you convinced me that sharing my heart with you was the right thing. You knew it would be hard for me, but you stood your ground and in doing so, stood by me. I can do no less for you.”

  “But what if I was wrong? Wrong about all of this? What if we never should have married? Maybe you and Laura should just go before I cause you harm, too.”

  “You’re not going to harm us,” he countered. “That’s what I’ve been trying to make you see. You have been nothing but good for us. Darya didn’t die from neglect; she died because these things happen. Babies stop breathing. Babies get sick. It happens.”

  “But it shouldn’t,” she said sadly. “It shouldn’t happen this way.”

  Yuri gathered her in his arms, glad that she didn’t fight him. He cradled her for several minutes, saying nothing. Words seemed unimportant. “Please don’t give up on me,” he finally murmured.

  This caused Britta to pull back and look at him oddly. “I never gave up on you. This isn’t about my giving up on you.”

  “Then don’t give up on yourself, either,” he encouraged. “Life doesn’t always turn out the way we’d like it to, but we can’t quit trying. Don’t give up just because death makes it hard.”

  “Death is the easy part—it’s life that’s hard. And frankly, I just don’t know if I have the strength to go on.”

  Yuri could still hear Britta’s words ringing in his thoughts long after the church service concluded. He allowed Phoebe and Dalton to take Laura home with them, although he thought he probably shouldn’t have. Laura needed to be with her own family, but unfortunately Yuri knew he and Britta were in no shape to be a comfort to the little girl.

  “May I walk with you?” Lydia asked, coming up from behind him.

  Yuri turned and nodded. “Only if I may speak to you about Britta.”

  She smiled. “I was hoping the same thing.”

  He extended his hand and took hold of Lydia’s elbow. “I don’t know what to do for her. She’s so lost in her grief. I try to speak to her about it, but she’s . . . well, I don’t know.”

  “She’s afraid, Yuri. She’s terrified of it happening again. She’s afraid of losing Laura, you. She’s reliving the pain of losing Illiyana and Zerelda. She’s faced again with the fact that loving someone can be very painful.”

  “Is there nothing I can do? Must I sit by and watch her suffer like this and have no recourse—no means to ease her pain?”

  Lydia considered this a moment, all the while keeping her focus on the road ahead. “You have to be patient with her. Britta feels she’s to blame for Darya’s death.”

  “That makes no sense. If anyone is to blame, it would be me. I didn’t love her as I should have.”

  “Neither of you are to blame,” Lydia said, shaking her head. “There is no reasonable answer for why Darya passed on. We can only accept that it has happened and endure the sorrow that comes with loss. However, as a mother, Britta takes the responsibility upon herself. I did the same. Even though my first husband beat me and caused me to lose the children I might have bore him, I blamed myself. I suppose partly because I kept thinking that if it were my fault, I could somehow control it and never allow it to happen again. Of course that wasn’t the case. I think Britta is wrestling with much the same. She probably pores over and over in her mind all the things she could have done differently. The details of each and every day are probably laid out before her like a great puzzle that she must put together.”

  Yuri nodded. “I would imagine so.”

  “The only thing you can do is love her, Yuri. Love her and be tender with her. Help her through the sad times, and encourage her to enjoy the good ones. Little by little, hope will return and joy will slip in alongside—when you least expect it.”

  Marston secured the latch on his suitcase. Redley should arrive most anytime. Pulling out his pocket watch, Marston popped open the lid and checked the time. It was nearly nine-thirty p.m. His plan was to get the money from Redley, then tell him the plans had changed—they weren’t to take the morning ship, but rather one later that very night. This would give Marston more time to distance himself from Seattle.

  A knock sounded on the hotel door. “Just a minute,” he announced, tucking the watch back into his vest pocket. He opened the door and found Redley standing on the other side— empty-handed.

  “Come in.” Marston looked in the hall after Redley entered the room. He wondered if the man had forgotten the case containing the money. Seeing nothing there, he secured the door and turned to the younger man. “Where’s my money?”

  Redley met Marston’s eyes. “There’s a problem. It’s more of a delay, really.”

  “And what w
ould that delay consist of?” Marston tried not to let his anger overcome the moment.

  “The account cannot be accessed without Dalton Lindquist’s approval. We will have to wire him in Alaska and get his agreement for you to withdraw the funds.”

  Marston shook his head. “You have the letter of transaction. That gives me authority.”

  “To deposit into the account, yes. But not to withdraw.”

  The news hit Marston like a lead weight. “Are you saying that my brother actually gave word that I not be allowed access to withdraw funds?”

  “I’m afraid so. There are notations for all of the accounts you mentioned. Not only his, but the other Lindquist account . . . oh, and the Broadstreet account, as well.”

  “I can’t believe this. What madness. He and I . . . we had an agreement. He’s up in Sitka, and it’s difficult to get in touch with him.”

  “I know. I tried to wire him. I thought I could clear this up and bring you the money in spite of the situation.”

  “You wired him?” Marston felt a sense of desperation. If Dalton learned what he was doing, he’d surely have the law on him.

  “I tried to, but the line is down. Apparently the cable is broken somewhere along the way. They assured me it happens more often than not. When the line is restored, they will send the telegram.”

  “This is most annoying.” Marston knew he needed to get out of town immediately. All he needed was for Dalton to get wind of this and figure out that Marston was attempting to take money from his account. Money that definitely didn’t belong to him. “I suppose I shall have to simply take back my ten thousand dollars and hope that I can still make the proper investments in California. If you have your carriage, I’d appreciate a ride to the bank.”

  “That won’t help you. I mean, I can give you a ride. That isn’t the problem.”

  Marston narrowed his eyes. “Then what are you prattling on about?”

  “The money. You can’t take out the money.”

  “I already understood that point. The larger funds are off limits . . . temporarily.” He smiled. “It’s an inconvenience, but I’m hopeful that the ten thousand I deposited will cover the need. It can act as security until the remainder can be obtained.”

  Redley looked at Marston as if he’d suddenly grown horns. “No, you can’t do that. The money cannot be withdrawn.”

  The terrible feeling of having been caught in the middle of a prank began to sink in. Marston kept hearing the words the younger man said, but they weren’t making sense—until now.

  “Are you telling me that I cannot withdraw my own money— the money I deposited a few weeks ago?”

  “That’s correct. When Mr. Lindquist set up the account, he put the same provision on it that he placed on the others. He would have to be notified of any transaction, be it transfers or deposits or withdrawals. Deposits were to be allowed under any condition, but all other dealings would have to first receive his approval.”

  Marston thought he might well be sick. Ten thousand dollars was now lost to him, and all because of his brother’s lack of trust. He was seething. The cash he’d brought with him was diminishing at an alarming rate, and he needed to be able to access more soon. Now, however, he would have to leave Seattle and do so quickly, or the law might catch up to him.

  “I suppose,” he finally said, turning away to walk to the window, “that I have no choice but to wait.” He tried to sound unconcerned. “I will wire my associates and explain the situation. Perhaps they can even send confirmation to my brother and hurry the matter along.”

  “I am sorry for the delay,” Redley said. Marston could hear the relief in his tone. “It will allow me, however, to give at least a small amount of notice to my manager. I felt rather bad leaving without at least speaking to him personally.”

  Marston glanced at the man and nodded. “I will leave you to that matter, then, while I attend to the other.”

  Redley smiled. “I hope this won’t change things between us.”

  “Of course not.” Marston smiled, as well. “We will continue as I always planned.”

  Britta awoke to the feel of Yuri’s arms around her. She stiffened and tried to pull away, but Yuri would have no part of it.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, chuckling.

  “I . . . you . . . frightened me.”

  He kissed the nape of her neck. “No need to be frightened. It’s just me, and it’s cold so I thought I would snuggle up here. You’re nice and warm.”

  Britta felt him trail kisses along her ear and jaw. She trembled at his touch, longed for it, but in the back of her mind, her fears resurfaced. Fears of finding herself pregnant—of bearing a child and watching it die.

  She again tried to pull away. “Don’t. Please.”

  “What’s wrong, Britta?”

  Ashamed to admit the truth, she made up an excuse. “I don’t feel well. I need to get up.”

  He let her go, and Britta hurried into her robe. “I’ll be back. Don’t worry about me.”

  She hurried from the room and paused momentarily in the hall. Where could she go? What could she do? It was the middle of the night. Slowly, she walked to the kitchen and tried to settle her nerves. Britta lit a lamp and placed it on the table. She then poured herself a glass of water and sat down to think. What was she going to do?

  “Are you feeling better?” Yuri asked.

  She hadn’t heard him, and for just a moment, she wanted to run as far from him as possible. How could she possibly hope to explain her fears? How could she expect him to understand?

  “A little,” she whispered.

  He came to sit across from her. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She shook her head and sipped the water. She couldn’t even meet his gaze. “I’m fine. Really.” She struggled for something more to say. “It won’t be long until Thanksgiving, and then Laura’s birthday. After that, Christmas.”

  “True enough, but none of that matters as much as knowing what I can do for you right now, Britta.”

  She forced herself to look up and give him a weak smile. “It will matter when there’s no Thanksgiving feast on the table and you’re hungry.”

  “Britta,” he said softly, almost pleading.

  She trembled and focused on the glass of water.

  “Please let me help you.”

  She was quiet for a long moment. “You can’t.”

  “I find that hard to believe. I’m your husband, Britta. I want to make this better for you.”

  And that’s the problem, she thought. You’re my husband and you’re asking more of me than I’m ready to give.

  “I know you care,” she replied finally. “I’m glad you do. It’s just that I’m . . . I want to be able to put this behind me. Believe me, please.”

  “I do. I understand.”

  She looked at the table. “If anyone can, I’m sure you do.”

  “You’re afraid.”

  Those two simple words hit her like nothing she’d ever imagined. “Yes.” She could barely speak.

  He reached out and covered her hand with his. “Me too.”

  Her head snapped up. “You?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “But what do you have to be afraid of?” She knew her own fears. Fears of having another child and losing it. Fears of Laura dying. Even fears of Yuri meeting with an untimely death.

  “I’m afraid I’m losing you, and I’ve only just allowed myself to love you.”

  She shook her head with great purpose. “No. You aren’t losing me. I still love you, Yuri. I will always love you. You don’t need to be afraid of that.”

  “But you’ve been distancing yourself from me. When I try to talk to you, you want nothing to do with me. When I try to hold you—to kiss you . . .” His words faded.

  Britta swallowed her pride and blurted, “I’m terrified I’ll get pregnant.” Once the words were out, she couldn’t stop the flow. Getting to her feet, she knocked over
the water glass but did nothing to retrieve it. “I’m afraid I’ll have your baby, and that baby will die just as Darya did. I’m afraid Laura will die.” She began to sob.

  “She could get sick. She could get the measles or some other awful disease. She could die. You could die.” Britta buried her face in her hands. “I can’t bear this. I can’t bear the thought of what might happen.”

  Yuri was immediately at her side. He took her into his arms and let her cry. He didn’t try to stop her tears or to speak words of comfort; he simply held her and waited for the anguish to pass.

  Still not speaking, Yuri led her to the couch and drew her down beside him. He sat there holding her, and in the comfort of his arms, time seemed to stand still. Britta held back from speaking for fear the spell would be broken and the consolation would end. Why couldn’t they just stay there forever?

  “It seems,” Yuri said, breaking the silence, “that we are both afraid.”

  “Terrified,” she whispered.

  He raised her face to meet his. “God hasn’t given us a spirit of fear. The Bible says that much. I think it’s in the second book of Timothy.”

  “I remember that verse,” Britta said, nodding. “He’s given us a spirit of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”

  Yuri smiled. “Seems to me we’re going about this all wrong. We’re trying to do this all on our own. We need the Lord to help us.”

  “But I can’t talk to God. I’m angry at Him, Yuri. Angry that He would let Darya die.”

  “I know, sweetheart. But more important, He knows.”

  She looked at him as the truth of his words sunk in. Of course, God knew how she felt. God knew everything—it wasn’t like she could keep Him from knowing her heart. Yet she certainly had tried. The very comfort and hope she needed was in Jesus, yet she was hiding from Him as if she could avoid the situation altogether.

  “I don’t know what to do next,” she said, feeling like a little child. “This is just too hard.”

  “I know.” He smoothed back her damp hair. “Without God, it is too hard for either of us—even if we try to face this together. We need Him, Britta. He’s the only one who can help us through.”

 

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