Twilight's Serenade (12 page)

“But so is Dalton.” Funny, she often forgot about his inheritance. Dalton had made such an effort to live as if there were no inheritance that Phoebe seldom considered it. This time, however, she did and breathed a sigh of relief. They wouldn’t have to move.

“Mother!” Gordon called. “Come quick.”

Phoebe’s hand went to her throat. Was it possible? Had Dalton returned? She rushed through the house and met her son at the door. She looked at him with great expectation.

“Grandmother is here.”

“Lydia?” she asked. Why would he make such a scene about that?

“No. Grandmother Robbins. She’s here with Uncle Ted.”

Phoebe’s mouth dropped open. Her mother and brother— here? She stepped outside and saw them coming up the walk. Her mother looked lovely in a summer traveling suit of gray and navy. She smiled and opened her arms to Phoebe.

“We came as soon as we heard about the earthquake. The train took forever to cross the country, but our time on the ship passed quickly. Gordon said that Dalton is still gone. We had hoped that might not be the case, but I felt such a sense of urgency that I just knew it was God’s prompting.”

Phoebe had nearly forgotten that she’d written to her mother almost a month ago about Dalton’s trip. She hugged her mother, relishing the embrace. “It’s so good to see you both.” She gave Theodore a hug but found him less receptive. At thirty-two, he had become a hard and bitter man, according to their mother.

“We’ve had no word from him or his father. They were supposed to have left by the twentieth, but if that had happened, they would surely have notified us or been home by now.”

Her mother nodded and appeared to consider the matter. “And you’ve been in contact with the authorities?”

“Yes. We have sent word that they are missing and asked for information from all the hospitals that took in victims from the quake. We’ve also left word with the . . . morgues.”

“Sensible,” Theodore replied. He looked around the yard and then back to his sister. “Looks like nothing has changed.”

Phoebe frowned but said nothing.

“Where are the other children?” her mother quickly interjected. “My, but I’ve longed to meet Connie. I can’t believe she’s already four years old.”

“Alex is fishing, and Connie is digging in the garden. Rachel is inside. Why don’t you both come in and rest. I’ll put on some coffee.”

They made their way inside with Gordon bringing up the rear. He came to Phoebe’s side. “Mother, there was no other word.”

“Perhaps you will find yourself in the same situation we did,” Theodore said.

“What are you saying?” Phoebe managed.

He shrugged. “Only that perhaps Dalton won’t return. Young Gordon may lose his father just as we did. Only in this situation, his father won’t be dead because of the lacking of another.”

Their mother was appalled. “That’s a horrible thing to say, Ted.”

“That may be so, but no doubt true enough. Had Dalton been more observant, our father might not have died.”

“You take that back,” Gordon demanded. “My father is a good man.”

Theodore stared at Gordon for a moment but said nothing. Their mother elbowed him in the side. “Apologize.”

He glanced at his mother. “Very well. I’m sorry that speaking the truth has caused such an uproar.”

Phoebe felt Gordon bristle. “You have no right to talk like that. I remember my father telling me the story about our grandfather’s death. He took his own life—probably because you were such a horrible son!” With that, Gordon ran from the gathering even as Phoebe called to him.

“Gordon! Gordon, come back!” Phoebe wanted to slap her brother. Instead, she fixed him with a hard glare. “You will mind your manners or house yourself in town. Do you understand? My husband—my children’s father—is a good and loving man. He may very well be dead or dying. You have no right to say such hideous things!” He was younger than Phoebe by only a few years yet looked older. Still, instead of the anger she’d seen earlier, Ted seemed startled. Could it be Gordon’s retort had actually weakened that hard façade of hatred?

“I must tend to my son,” Phoebe said. “Mother, you know your way around. Please make yourself at home.”

She left them and hurried down the path Gordon had taken. “Gordon, where are you?” Phoebe had a feeling she already knew the answer and made her way to the boat shop.

The shop was quiet, despite the fact that the cannery order needed to be completed in a matter of weeks. It was Saturday and that meant work stopped at noon. “Gordon, please come out and talk to me.”

He stepped from the shadows. “I don’t want him in our house. Why did he come here if he hates my father so much?”

Gordon looked so vulnerable. The question of his father’s well-being had taken its toll on her son, who was eager to be a man.

“I’m sorry, Gordon. Ted has never been the same since losing our father. He blames himself, I’m sure. He was only your age when Father died.”

“And now my father may be dead, as well,” Gordon said, tears streaming down his face. “And he wants him to be dead. I know he does. I hate him!”

She went to him, and despite his age and the fact that he towered over her, Phoebe wrapped Gordon in her arms. “Ted is lost. He doesn’t know the love of God. He hates so much that he refuses to see that others love him and care about him. Pray for him, Gordon, but do not become like him. Do not hate him in return.”

Gordon said nothing. He clung to his mother, shaking as he cried out pent-up tears of fear and misery. Phoebe let him spend his energy, not saying a word.

O God,
she prayed in silence,
please help us. We need you
so.

Chapter 9

May 1906

B
ritta awoke to the sound of her mother’s gentle voice. “Wake up, Britta. Yuri needs you.”

She sat up and looked at her mother for a moment, trying to figure out what in the world she was saying. Mother seemed to understand and held out Britta’s robe.

“The children woke up, and now they are crying and won’t go back to sleep.”

Then Britta remembered. This was the first night they were trying out new sleeping arrangements. After having put Laura and Darya to bed in their new room at the cabin, Britta had returned to the house, leaving Yuri in charge of his daughters. They had hoped the children would sleep through the night and Britta would arrive before they awoke in the morning. It was all a part of attempting to bring the trio together as a family.

“What time is it?” Britta asked. She pulled on the robe and couldn’t suppress her yawn.

“It’s nearly three,” her mother answered.

Britta nodded and hurried downstairs. She didn’t even stop to put on her boots but made her way barefoot through the wet grass to Yuri’s cabin. She could hear the children crying and worried that they might be sick.

Yuri was pacing the porch, a look of panic in his eyes. “I’m sorry to have your mother wake you, but I didn’t know what to do.”

“Why are you out here instead of with the children?” she asked.

He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to calm them. Laura awoke from what seemed to be a bad dream. When I tried to comfort her, she withdrew to the corner of the bed and began to scream for Mama. That, in turn, woke the baby. Darya started crying, I’m sure, just to keep Laura company.”

Britta considered chiding him for leaving the children alone but it would serve no good purpose. “Would you mind warming a bottle of milk for the baby while I see what else needs to be tended to?”

He nodded and opened the screen door.

Britta made her way inside and went immediately to the girls’ room. She found Laura sitting on her bed, the quilt wadded up around her and her doll pressed tight to her chest.

“Whatever is wrong?” she asked, taking Laura in her arms.

“I waked up, and you were gone. You stay here, Mama.”

Britta smoothed back the child’s long hair. “Now, we talked about this. Your papa is going to stay here at night. I will come be with you in the daytime.”

“No. I want you.” Laura clung hard and fast to Britta’s neck.

Darya continued to fuss and Britta knew the baby probably needed to be changed. “Laura, I want you to lie down while I take care of the baby. I’ll be right here, and I’ll talk to you the whole time.”

Laura pulled back and looked skeptical. “You stay?”

“For a little while.”

Britta went to work soothing Darya. She changed the baby’s diaper and cradled her close. With everyone quieting down, Britta felt confident that all was well. Her earlier fears that perhaps they were sick passed away as she began to hum a lullaby.

“Here’s the bottle,” Yuri said as he came into the room. “I hope it’s warm enough.”

“Did you test it on your wrist the way I showed you?”

He looked sheepish. “I did, but . . . well . . . my skin is so rough. I worry that I don’t have the same degree of sensitivity that you do.”

Britta didn’t argue with him. She took the bottle and dripped a bit of milk on her skin. It was slightly cooler than she would normally have used, but once Darya saw the chance to eat, there was no turning back. She could only pray that the baby wouldn’t get a stomachache, or there would be no sleep for anyone tonight.

Yuri stood to the side as Britta instructed Laura to cover up. “Would you like to hear a story?” The little girl nodded, so Britta began, “Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess named Laura. . . .” She often put the child’s name into stories to keep her attention, and this time was no exception. She wondered what Yuri might think of her practice, but continued to feed Darya and entertain Laura.

As she figured, it was only fifteen or twenty minutes before both girls were fast asleep. She yawned and got to her feet. Darya didn’t so much as move when Britta placed her back in her crib. What a beautiful child—so angelic. Britta couldn’t help but touch her baby-fine hair. It was darker than Laura’s and had a bit of a curl to it. Britta tried to remember Marsha to gauge if the child favored her mother, but it was late and exhaustion overcame her thoughts.

She slipped from the room, finding that Yuri had already made his way out. She didn’t see him and wondered if he had already gone to bed. Disappointed that she couldn’t tell him good-bye, Britta made her way outside, closing the door behind her. A lighted lantern awaited her trip home. No doubt Yuri had thought of this.

“You’re very good with them,” Yuri said.

She startled, surprised that he was there. Britta could see him approach from the far side of the porch. “They are wonderful children, but this is an adjustment for them. Laura is used to my being there at night. She’ll get over it in time.” But in her heart, Britta didn’t want Laura to get over it. She relished that the child needed and wanted her. It not only gave her an excuse to remain close to the girls, but it gave her a reason to be near Yuri, as well.

A breeze picked up and blew Britta’s long brown hair across her face. To her surprise, Yuri reached out and brushed it back in place. He studied her for a moment, as if seeing her for the first time. Something in his expression gave Britta hope that he might love her. She longed to declare her love for him but knew it wasn’t the right time. Instead, she reached for the lantern and turned to go.

“I’ll be here to fix breakfast—hopefully before they wake up.”

“Britta . . .” He barely breathed her name.

She turned and smiled. He was standing in the light of the lantern, a stunned expression on his face. “What?” she asked.

He stared at her for a few more seconds, then shrugged. “Uh . . . nothing. Guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Good night, Yuri.”

Yuri was frantic by the time Britta arrived the next morning. It felt like he’d barely gone to sleep before Darya started crying again. He got up to find that morning’s light was already casting a golden glow against clear skies. Apparently, the affairs of the night had caused them all to oversleep.

He went into the girls’ room and felt a sense of helplessness. Seeing the squalling infant, he wasn’t at all sure what he could do to comfort her. Against his better judgment, he picked her up and found that Darya quickly quieted. She gazed at him with dark blue eyes that seemed intent on piercing through his well-placed walls of defense.