Dawn's Prelude (36 page)

“No, sir. A baby. The child would be your brother.”

Marston laughed. “I have no baby brother. I’m sorry to say someone has led you on a merry chase. I hope they are paying you well for this joke.”

Wilson looked to Kloosterhof and then back to Gray. “I suppose you had no idea that your stepmother, Lydia Gray, gave birth to a child?”

“Truly?” Marston touched a napkin to his lips. “Now, that is amazing news. My father died over a year ago. I hardly see how she could have given birth to his baby.”

“The child was born last December,” Kloosterhof said matter-of-factly.

“I see. Well, that is news to me. I had no idea when Lydia left us that she was expecting. We’ve heard nothing from her and presumed she’d started a new life elsewhere.”

“That much is true, but you were known to have visited her. It was believed you were there when the child was born, and later you took that child and brought him back to Kansas City.”

“And exactly where was it I was supposed to have gone to do all of this?”

“A town called Sitka in Alaska,” Wilson replied.

Marston pushed back from the table. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.”

“There are witnesses who will testify to your being there.”

“Gentlemen, I don’t know how I can possibly help you. Goodness, Davidson, you know I’m a single man without a child anywhere in the vicinity. My sister and brother have children, but I am happily without.”

“Can we search your home?” Wilson asked.

“That’s uncalled for,” the uniformed officer stated. “This man is an honorable gentleman. If he says he knows nothing, he knows nothing.”

“That’s all right, Davidson.” Marston turned to the two detectives and got to his feet. “You are free to look through my home if you’d like. I, however, have several meetings to attend to. I will let the butler know that you will be conducting a search.” He paused at the end of the table. “Will that be all?”

“For now,” Wilson said, frowning. “We will be in touch, however.”

“Very good. If indeed I have a little brother who has been taken from the bosom of his mother, I would very much like to aid in his recovery.”

Marston then left, the men staring after him.

Evie stared out the window of her hotel room and watched the sun set over the ocean. It was a glorious sight, as the rich golds and oranges reflected back on the water.

California had captivated her. San Francisco was quite a town to behold. It was even bigger than Kansas City—at least, there seemed to be a great many more people. Turning away, she glanced at the sleeping baby. Dalton had been such a good traveler, and for this Evie had been greatly relieved. Especially now that she was on her own.

She had left Ellie in Sacramento only days before. Her sister had cried and fussed over the poor girl until Evie thought Ellie might want to get back on the train. The woman had thanked Ellie over and over, offering to have her stay with them before heading on to San Francisco. Evie had been touched by her generosity but had refused. The sooner she was on a ship bound for Alaska, the better.

Now, however, she sorely missed Ellie’s company. Constant baby care was something Evie was not used to, and at times, she found herself overwhelmed. The changes and feedings alone were enough to keep her busy, but sometimes the child cried for seemingly no reason at all.

Not only that, but Ellie had been a fine companion, easy to talk to. And, if she were to be completely honest with herself, Evie was scared. She wasn’t sleeping well, fearing that at any given moment Marston would break down the door to her room and demand she give Dalton back.

Plans were progressing well, however. Evie had managed to secure passage on the regular mail ship,
The Constantine
, and she would leave in a matter of days. It seemed God was clearing the way for her, although Evie was still struggling to wrap her mind around who He was—and that He might truly care for her. They hadn’t suffered a single problem during their trip west. Everything had gone so smoothly, in fact, that Evie was beginning to believe that prayer truly worked.

Lydia awoke screaming. The nightmare had been so real that she could still feel the piercing fire in her neck. She had been shot. A man had come into her bedroom. She could still see him.

“Liddie, are you all right?” Kjell asked. He lit the lamp beside their bed and looked back to see what was wrong.

“It really happened, didn’t it?” she asked, quivering.

“What are you talking about?”

“The night of the storm. Tell me what happened,” she pleaded.

“I wasn’t here. I don’t know exactly.”

“I was shot, wasn’t I? My wounds weren’t from the storm at all.”

“You remember, then?”

She shook her head. “Not completely. I know I stood over there.” She pointed to the corner. “I don’t know what happened, but a man came into the room and shot me. That really happened, didn’t it?”

His hesitation in answering spoke more than any admission.

“Kjell, who shot me?”

“His name was Anatolli Sidorov.”

“Was? You mean he’s dead?”

He nodded. “He is. He had once worked for me, and I had to fire him and his brother for deceptive business dealings.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why did you let me believe I was injured during the storm?”

“You
were
injured during the storm—I just never said how it happened. The doctor didn’t want us to burden you with a lot of memories. He felt it would be too much for you all at once. Lid-die, you have to understand. Everything we’ve kept from you has been for your own good.”

She put her hands to her head. “Stop it! I don’t believe it helps me at all. Maybe it’s really been for your good—yours and Zerelda’s—but it’s not for mine. I need to know the truth. I need to hear what really happened.”

Kjell reached for her, but she pushed him away. “Don’t you see, Kjell? I want to know. I need to know, even if it’s bad.” She fixed him with a questioning look. “It was very bad, wasn’t it? That’s why you don’t want to tell me.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Bad enough that it scares you, too.” She could see the fear in his eyes.

“Yes.”

She knew she had a choice to make. She could continue and hear the truth of what had happened that night. It was obvious Kjell would tell her, if she wanted him to. But what if it turned out to be more than she could handle? Lydia suddenly wasn’t at all sure that it was better to know. A rising tide of terror rose inside her. She knew that whatever awaited her in those damaged memories was powerful enough to have caused her to hide them away in the first place.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I need to know, but I’m afraid.”

Kjell reached for her again, and this time Lydia allowed him to hold her. “I’ll do whatever you ask, but please know that I have only remained silent in the hope that you might not suffer more than you already are.”

What could be worse? She couldn’t imagine that it was even possible to hurt more than she already did, but something deep inside convinced her that Kjell was speaking the truth. There was something much worse, much more horrific than she could even imagine. A monster awaited her. A monster that very well might devour her.

Chapter 31

T
he next morning Lydia sat at the table with Kjell and Zerelda and contemplated all that had happened the night before. She had warred within herself trying to figure out whether it was better to know the truth and deal with the pain or to continue to block out the memories. Something terrified her about knowing the past. She knew it would change everything . . . but then, whatever had happened had already reordered her life.

Not only that, but she couldn’t even hide behind the excuse that by not knowing, she was somehow saving Zerelda and Kjell from suffering. That couldn’t be—they knew what had happened. She had often come across her husband in prayer, tears rolling down his face, and knew he was hurting.

She put her hands around her untouched cup of coffee and made up her mind. “I think I need to understand what happened that night—what you are both trying to save me from knowing.

I realize it’s bad. I know there will be pain. And I know that your telling me won’t change that I don’t remember; however, it might allow me to stop fighting against those memories.”

Zerelda looked at Kjell and nodded. “I think she’s right. I think it’s time to explain everything.”

“Where do we start?” he asked.

“Start with that night. You told me about the man who came and shot me,” Lydia said. “Why did he shoot me? Was it a robbery?”

“In a sense,” Kjell replied. He let out a heavy breath and rubbed his temple. “Lydia, you were a widow when you came to Sitka.

You had been married to a man named Floyd Gray back in Kansas City.”

Lydia struggled to remember any part of that life. There had been fleeting images of people she didn’t recognize, but nothing solid. “What happened to make me a widow?”

“Your husband and father died in a carriage accident. They were together when it happened,” Zerelda explained. “Your husband died instantly, and your father—my brother—passed on two days later.”

“All right. What does that have to do with me being here?”

“You wanted to leave Kansas City because the family—your stepchildren—were cruel to you. You inherited money from your father,” Zerelda continued. “Remember when you mentioned the word
inheritance
being important to you, and I told you about the inheritance from your father?”

Lydia nodded. “Yes.”

“It left you quite wealthy, but it also took away some of the fortunes of the Gray family. Apparently your late husband’s will was closely tied to your father’s. I don’t know all of the details, but your lawyer could tell you better than I.”

“So I came here to live with you, and they were angry at me?”

“Yes, because they hoped to recover their fortune.”

“But why didn’t I just give it to them? It doesn’t sound like it would be worth the battle and animosity to keep hold of something like that.”

“You were pregnant,” Kjell said matter-of-factly. “You were expecting your late husband’s baby and decided that the baby was entitled to part of the fortune.”

“A baby?” Lydia shook her head. She stood and pushed away from the table. The chair fell to the floor. “What baby? What are you talking about?”

Zerelda stood and reached out for Lydia. “Try to remain calm about this, Lydia. It won’t serve you well to get upset.”

“But you’re telling me . . .” She looked at them in confusion. “What are you telling me? Are you saying I have a child?”

“Yes. A son named Dalton. Our son.”

Lydia felt as if the room were spinning. She had so often dreamed of a baby. Even now she could envision the child crying in his cradle. She longed to hold him and comfort him. Was this the child of whom Kjell spoke? Why couldn’t she remember her own son?

“Where is he? Is he dead?”

Kjell shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Hysteria edged her voice. “What do you mean? Don’t you know whether he’s dead or alive?”

Zerelda turned Lydia to face her. She gripped Lydia’s shoulders almost painfully tight. “Lydia, you have to calm down. It isn’t healthy. Please sit back down.”

She considered her aunt’s words for a moment. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, Lydia felt as if she might faint. Zerelda picked up the chair while Kjell reached out to take hold of her hand.

“Here. Sit.” His face was so full of loving compassion that Lydia continued to clutch his hand even after she returned to the chair.

The memory took hold. Though nothing more than a wisp of images, at that moment Lydia was transported back to the night of the attack. She could see the man again—the raised gun. Then glancing to her side, she saw the cradle and Dalton. With a gasp and cry, she looked at Kjell, shaking her head.

“They took him. They took my baby, didn’t they?”