[Song of Alaska 02] - Morning's Refrain (16 page)
“How gracious of her,” Marston said, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Your mother—the one who stole our family’s fortune, the one who did everything in her power to keep you from knowing your true family—she’s the one who wouldn’t want you to exact revenge?” He laughed. “That’s only because she’s already taken her revenge. She doesn’t need any help in that matter.”
“If my mother had had her revenge, as you suggest, you would be in prison and this family wouldn’t have received a penny of inheritance.” He noted Mitchell’s reaction. “Oh, didn’t you think I knew about that? My mother wasn’t forced to give back any of the money or properties she inherited from our father, and yet she did. This woman you accuse of being selfish and deceitful was actually quite merciful, as I understand it.”
“Perhaps that is just the problem. You don’t understand anything,” Marston countered.
“I understand enough. I read the account of the kidnapping trial. I saw how you got off without so much as a fine for murdering Anatolli Sidorov. You did as you have always done—you bought your way out of trouble.” Dalton looked at Evie. “I can see this is an utter waste of time.”
“Why, because it doesn’t suit your idealistic nature?” Marston gibed. “You two are such dreamers. Our father would be sorely disappointed in the both of you. You have no understanding of what he had to go through in order to build the Gray fortune. He provided us with an opulent way of life—one you enjoyed as a child, Evie. He even managed to arrange your union to a very wealthy man, and then you deserted the marriage.”
“Dalton, you’re right. This is a waste of time.” Evie got to her feet and looked down at Marston and Mitchell. “You are both like Father. You believe that anything is acceptable, as long as it accomplishes something you want or believe you need.”
“Everyone is that way, Evie. Why can’t you open your eyes and see that?” Jeannette surprised them by interjecting. “Why can’t you simply appreciate what you were given?” She, too, got to her feet. “You are spoiled and indifferent to our needs, and I quite resent that.”
“Just as I resent having to carry the burden of knowing our father to be a murderer. Has it never occurred to any of you that if he would kill his own wife, he was capable of killing anyone? There were probably others, and you are fools if you think otherwise.”
“You take that back!” Jeannette rushed forward. “You take that back now. Our father . . . our father . . .” She swayed as though she would soon faint. “Oh dear.” Jeannette stumbled back toward her chair. “Oh, you’ve caused me a state of apoplexy. You may well . . . have murdered me.” She put the back of her hand dramatically to her forehead and moaned.
“If you’re going to die, do it quietly,” Marston said. Jeannette’s eyes flared open for a moment, then she sank with no great grace into the chair and appeared to be unconscious.
Evie had seen her sister pull such theatrical productions years ago, although she didn’t remember them being quite so dramatic. She looked to Dalton, who was frowning, and gave him a wink. She crossed the room and rang for the maid.
“Well, aren’t you going to do something?” Mitchell asked Evie after she talked briefly with a young house girl.
“About what?” she asked casually. She didn’t so much as acknowledge her unconscious sister.
“About Jeannette, of course. Are you completely heartless?”
“I have never been heartless. You, however, are hopelessly mired in having your own desires met, even at great price to others. You have no concern for your fellow man, and your spirits are corrupt.”
Just then, the maid returned. Evie went to her and took the pitcher that the girl held. Without regard to her brothers, she marched directly to where Jeannette was pretending to be in a faint. She poured the contents of the pitcher on her sister’s head, soaking her in cold water. Jeannette shot up from the chair, screaming obscenities that Evie hadn’t heard in years.
“What in the world is wrong with you? You’ve ruined my hair— my gown!”
“I’m sorry, Jeannette, but you fainted. I’ve found over the years in Alaska that water seems to bring people around better than anything. In fact, the doctor has even told me that the shock is good to invigorate the heart. I was hoping to postpone your death.”
Evie smiled and walked back to her housemaid with the pitcher.
“Thank you.”
Dalton was suppressing a smile, but Marston didn’t even bother. He pretended to applaud Evie as she returned. “Handled like a true Gray.”
She glowered at him. “Think what you will, but I have no desire to relate myself to that name.”
“I can see that my mother was exactly right in her assessment of them,” Dalton told Evie. He shook his head sadly. “In fact, I believe she spoke most kindly of them, given the truth of the situation.”
“Your mother knows nothing but her own selfish ambitions,” Marston stated, getting to his feet.
“Does no one care that I am drenched in water?” Jeannette asked. “I will probably catch my death.”
“Oh bother, Jeannette,” Mitchell said. “It’s still at least ninety degrees. I doubt it will do anything but make you a bit cooler than the rest of us, so do be quiet.”
“I’m going home,” she said in a huff. “I hardly need to remain here and be insulted by you four.” She headed for the door, glancing once over her shoulder as if waiting for someone to stop her.
“Good evening, Jeannette,” Marston called after her. “Give my regards to your husband.”
Evie might have applauded him as he had her earlier, but at this point, she wanted only to put her brothers in their place, once and for all.
“I want you both to hear me and hear me well,” she said, focusing her attention on Marston and Mitchell. “I am hiring a lawyer to see to the sale of this house and its contents, as well as to handle the transfer of the inheritance Thomas left me. I plan to return to Alaska as soon as my responsibility to these matters is complete.”
“I forbid it,” Marston said angrily. “You have selfishly not even thought to ask how we are doing, but I will tell you anyway. Mitchell and I have suffered great financial loss. We are barely able to keep to our obligations. Your husband owed both of us money, and I intend to see you pay us with interest.” He stepped forward in a threatening manner, but Dalton took hold of Evie possessively. Marston stopped.
“As for you,” Marston said, narrowing his eyes as he considered Dalton, “you would do well to realize that just because my financial situation is stretched, it doesn’t mean I don’t still have friends in places of power. I would hate for your misplaced notions of playing the hero to get you hurt.”
“Are you attempting to threaten me?” Dalton asked, not once looking away from Marston’s enraged glare.
“I’m not threatening anything. I’m making observances.” He smiled, and Evie felt a chill run down her spine as he added, “And often my observances lead me to action.”
She’d had enough. Taking a step forward, she faced her brothers with a bravado she didn’t really possess. “This conversation is done. I am not staying, Marston. I am not assisting you and Mitchell in any way. If you have debts with my husband, then see his secretary, Mr. Trayton Payne. The man keeps meticulous records of all of Thomas’s business dealings. The terms and conditions of your loan to my husband will be kept in his possession. I am certain Mr. Payne will settle the matter amicably with you both.”
She held up her hand as Marston started to comment. “Enough. I won’t hear any more threats or ‘observances.’ I will, however, issue one of my own: You will leave Dalton alone. You will leave his family alone. You will have nothing to do with any of us. If you should so much as step foot in Sitka again, I will go to the newspaper and tell them every painful hidden secret that this family has, and then some.” She smiled, feeling her strength grow. “You and your families and businesses will be in ruins once I finish explaining all of the details.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” Marston declared. “It would ruin you, as well.”
“And see, that’s the nice thing about living in Sitka,” Evie said, looking from Marston to Mitchell and back again. “No one cares about the scandals of people a world away. I’ve got good friends and family in Alaska, and it won’t matter to any of them that my father murdered my mother, that my brothers instigated a plot to commit multiple murders for money, or that my husband had a male lover.” She paused. “They won’t care, but all of Kansas City society will stand on tiptoe to hear the latest and juiciest bits of Gray-Gadston gossip. So you had better consider my words carefully.”
“And you have the gall to tell me you’re nothing like us,” Mar–ston said, laughing. “You are the worst of us.”
Evie felt the words pierce her only momentarily. She squared her shoulders. “If you cross me, you’ll see just how painful I can make your life, and it won’t require me to tell one single lie or kill anyone.” She turned to Dalton. “I believe I’ve worked up an appetite. What say we have supper now?”
She took hold of Dalton’s arm and started to walk away, but paused when they reached the door. “If you are hungry and willing to behave yourselves, you are still welcome to join us. Otherwise, I bid you good-night.”
September 1889
T
he first of September dawned rainy and overcast, but by the time church concluded, Phoebe was happy to see that the clouds had cleared and the sun shone bright. She greeted some of the people and thanked the pastor for his sermon before seeking out her mother.
“I’m going home now,” she told her in a low tone. She didn’t want anyone overhearing and questioning her as to why she wasn’t joining her parents for lunch.
“I wish you would reconsider. The governor and his wife will be disappointed that you aren’t there. They might even think that you are snubbing them.”
“Just explain that I had a previous engagement. Yuri asked me to go on this picnic two weeks ago. We were just waiting for a nice day, and this is it. I made him a promise.”
“I think Mr. Belikov has been paying a great deal of attention to you. Perhaps too much,” her mother warned.
“Perhaps, but I find him good company,” Phoebe replied. “If Dalton Lindquist would ever return, I would enjoy his company, too.”
If he ever comes calling,
she thought. Mrs. Lindquist seemed convinced her son liked Phoebe, but of course, he was still on his trip south.
“Very well. I shall make your excuses. Do practice discretion and modesty. I wish I could send Theodore or Grady with you.”
She glanced heavenward at her mother’s comment. “I intend to be the model of decorum. Sitka’s residents hardly worry about the same rules of etiquette that bind folks in the south.” She smiled, realizing she’d found something to appreciate about Sitka.
Phoebe moved off down the street, glad to be free of her family for the day. Lately her brothers had been unbearable in their sullen dispositions. After a summer of doing most everything their hearts desired, the school year was upon them. Phoebe had argued with them just the day before about why an education was so important. Not that they listened to her any better than they did their parents.
At home, Phoebe quickly changed clothes. Her simple brown wool skirt would serve her much better than her Sunday best. She found a decent shirtwaist and the skirt’s matching jacket and donned those quickly before rearranging her hair. She let down the blond mass and began braiding it into one tight plait to hang down her back. When this was accomplished, she traded out her Sunday leather shoes for a sturdier pair of boots. Yuri had said they would hike a little ways up the mountain and visit his favorite spot. From there, she could look down on the harbor for a beautiful view.
She thought of Yuri with a smile. He was amusing and charming. She loved to hear about his relatives in Russia and of his exploits on Baranof Island as a child. Most of all, she liked to hear him tell about the adventures he and Dalton had shared over the years. Sometimes they were boyish accounts of camping trips that turned complicated. Other times they were accounts of life at the boat shop, where they worked together to learn the trade. No matter what the story, however, Phoebe felt she got to know both Dalton and Yuri a little better. Today he had promised to tell her a little more about the Russian Orthodox Church. She had been fascinated by the green domed church and its priest. The man, Father Donskoi, had a reputation throughout the town of being compassionate and giving. The Tlingit loved him, Zee had told her, because he showed them respect and treated them as equals.
Phoebe heard Yuri approaching. He was singing a song in Russian, one she’d heard before. Sitka was a blend of many cultures, really—Russian, native Alaskan, and American—a sort of stew created of people and their traditions.
She grabbed her walking stick, a gift Yuri had made, and met him at the door. “Good afternoon,” she said.
Yuri grinned and turned to reveal his knapsack. “I have our lunch packed and ready.”
“Wonderful. I must say the day has turned out quite pretty.” She secured the door and held up her walking stick. “I am looking forward to using this.”
He shifted his rifle to his left hand, then offered her his right arm. Phoebe hesitated. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea and believe her to be more interested than she was. Instead, she stepped ahead of him and turned to ask, “Which way?”