[Song of Alaska 02] - Morning's Refrain (7 page)

Realizing that further action might only serve to cause more humiliation, Phoebe remained still for a moment. She didn’t know exactly what to do. If she got up, she would have to face Dalton. But if she didn’t get up, he might think her injured and make an even bigger fuss. Finally, she leaned up on her elbow and shot him a sheepish smile. “So much for kissing.”

Dalton burst into a roar of laughter. “Like that would ever stop me.”

Phoebe eased into a sitting position. “What about the lut . . . Whatever it was.”

“Lutefisk.” He sat up and dusted off his hands. “I doubt there’s a man worth his salt that would let smelly fish keep him from kissing a beautiful girl.”

She felt her cheeks grow even hotter. A million butterflies fought for position in her stomach. Phoebe looked at the cookies, now scattered about the ground. “I baked those for you,” she offered. “It was my way of apologizing for being so rude when you rescued me.”

To her surprise, Dalton reached over and picked a cookie up off the ground and popped it into his mouth. After a moment, he smiled. “Apology accepted.”

Phoebe couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m Phoebe Robbins.”

“Yes, I know.” Dalton flashed a smile that left her feeling as though she’d melted into the ground. “I’m glad to meet you. I’m Dalton Lindquist.”

She nodded, finding it impossible to speak. Maybe life in Sitka wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Chapter 5

D
alton studied the staircase for a moment. With most of the Tlingit workers off to hunt and trade, Dalton’s father had asked for his help with his construction project, and this, in turn, presented an opportunity for them to talk. Still, as much as he wanted to know Father’s thoughts on the past—on what had happened when his mother had been injured—Dalton was at a loss as to how to start the conversation.

“You seem to have a lot on your mind lately.”

Dalton looked up and nodded. “I suppose I do.”

Father smiled and gave his blond-brown beard a scratch. “The stairs will keep. Why don’t we take a walk?”

They left the house his father had been building for one of the new government families. The day was overcast, but so far, the rain was holding off. His father seemed to be in no hurry to solicit conversation, so the two men simply walked for a time along the rocky shore. Kjell Lindquist had been a good father and mentor, teaching Dalton how to work with wood. Dalton had always felt at home in the sawmill and workshop where his father made furniture and other things for the family. Dalton’s true love, however, was building boats. It wasn’t so very different from making furniture.

The path wound away from the water and up the hill, leading them to a stand of spruce and alder. Salmonberry bushes were blooming with their purplish-pink blossoms, while other flowers colored the ground from place to place.

“I’ve always loved this island,” Dalton said, not really meaning to speak the words aloud.

“For some, it’s a hard place to even like,” his father countered.

Dalton looked at the man and nodded. “Until lately, I always felt I belonged here.”

“But not now?”

There was no condemnation in his tone, but Dalton felt guilty just the same. “Ever since Mother and Evie told me about the kidnapping—about my brothers and other sister—I’ve felt out of place.” Dalton waited for his father to comment, but he said nothing as the path turned and took them higher.

“I’ve always known that Mother was expecting me when she came to Sitka. No one ever talked about my father, and for a lot of years, I figured it was because the sorrow was too great. I honestly never figured it was because he was such a heinous man. I mean, there were times when comments were made about trouble in the past, but I gave it no thought.”

“There was no need for you to give it consideration. You were just a child.” Father picked up a rock and gave it a toss to the water below. “Nothing in the past was your fault or yours to make up for. It hurt your mother to remember those days, so it was just as easy to forget about them.”

“Until I had to force the issue,” Dalton said, feeling terrible for the pain he’d caused. “I never wanted to hurt her. I still don’t.”

“But?”

Dalton looked at his father. “But I find myself vacillating from one feeling to the next. On one hand, I want revenge for her. I hate that anyone would cause her fear or pain, but that they would try to kill her . . . well, that just makes me want to return the favor.”

“I felt the same way,” his father admitted.

He shook his head. “On the other hand, I feel a strange need to know more, to know them—my brothers and sister. Even my father. Does that make any sense at all?”

Kjell considered the words for a moment. “I think there’s a reason and purpose for everything, Dalton. I can see why you would want to meet them and know them better. I can vouch for the fact that, nineteen years ago, they were very dangerous people. Especially your brother Marston. He was the one who seemed to instigate everything. Mitchell is his twin and went along with the plan, but Marston seemed to always make the decisions.”

“I just feel like I . . . that I . . .” Dalton shook his head again. “I don’t know who I am. But that sounds crazy. I’m Dalton Lindquist. I live in Sitka, and I have a wonderful family who loves me. You’ve been an incredible father to me. I don’t want you to think otherwise. I will always love you and be grateful that you chose to be my father. I should be happy with that . . . and I hate it that I feel so restless instead.”

“It’s not nearly so important to know who you are, as to know
whose
you are.”

“I don’t understand.”

Kjell reached out and touched his shoulder. “Son, you might have been conceived a Gray and born a Lindquist, but there’s something so much more important. You chose to belong to God—to accept that Jesus died for your sins and rose again to give you life eternal. You made those choices a long time ago. You belong to Him. That’s where your identity should come from. That’s where you can find peace when everything else goes wrong.”

“But there’s still a need to understand my earthly past. You know who your parents were—who your people are. You didn’t have this horrible thing hanging over your head—this secret shame of what once happened.”

“Everyone has something in their past that they’d just as soon forget, Dalton. But even so, you had nothing to do with the choices and decisions that others made before you were born—or even after. Your father’s actions might have set certain courses in motion for you, but they needn’t determine your future.”

“Do you think my brothers could have changed? Do you think my other sister would want to know me like Evie does?”

Father shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Folks can certainly change, if they allow the right influences. Of course, they can change for the worse, too.”

“It doesn’t sound as though my brothers could have become much worse.” Dalton moved away from his father and walked to the edge of the trail. The water below looked as gray as the sky. Seals surfaced and dove as they played in the harbor, and Dalton wished he could be as carefree. Maybe it would have been better if he’d never known the truth. And if that were possible, then maybe knowing anything more would be a mistake.

“Dalton, no matter what you decide, talk it over with your mother. She deserves to know what your plans are in this matter.” Kjell paused until Dalton turned to face him. “All of your life, she’s only wanted to keep you safe. Her fear of what they might do to you kept her vigilant. I don’t think she’s ever really had a moment when she wasn’t looking over her shoulder to make certain you weren’t in danger.”

“But—”

Kjell held up his hand. “Just hear me out, son. Your mother loves you—probably in a way that goes even deeper than the love she has for our girls. She almost lost you, and she knows she could lose you still.”

“No one is going to steal me away. I’d feel sorry for the man who tried,” Dalton said with a cocky grin.

“Maybe not physically, but emotionally or spiritually, it wouldn’t be difficult to sway a man who wasn’t on his guard. Your brothers are men who have spent their lives learning the art of manipulation. They are devious and conniving, and I have no reason to believe they have changed. I don’t know them like your mother once did, but it would be wise to listen to her counsel. If you plan to go to them—to get to know them better—I ask only that you talk to your mother first. Heed her warnings and truly consider whether the changes you are making are going to be worth the price you’ll pay.”

Phoebe sat opposite her father at the dining table. Mother had hired a local Russian woman to cook and clean, and her father was not at all pleased.

“You should have consulted me,” he told her.

“I thought the running of the household was to be my responsibility,” her mother replied. “I have certain obligations and duties and cannot possibly hope to keep up with everything. The woman will not be living with us, so she needn’t get in your way.”

“Still, you know how I feel about strangers being amongst our things.”

Phoebe had heard the argument with every move they’d made. Sooner or later, her mother would simply find a girl, despite her husband’s protests.

“Her name is Darya Belikov. She comes highly recommended by Mrs. Lindquist. Darya is the wife of a local boat builder and has four children of her own. They live just three blocks away. She will come around noon each day and clean the house, then prepare our dinner. I’ll still be taking care of breakfast and the noon meal, so stop fretting.”

“With two grown women in the house, hired help should be unnecessary.”

Phoebe’s mother smiled. “Yes, but I also have three men who care nothing for picking up after themselves and certainly have no talent at mending, laundry, or candle making.”

Tired of the battle, Phoebe’s father blew out a heavy breath and pushed away from the table. “I suppose if it must be.” He got to his feet. “I won’t be home until late. Lyman and I have a great many things to see to, not the least of which is a meeting we shall attend with a group of naval officials.” He leaned over and kissed Phoebe’s mother on the head. “I do hope you have a good day, my dear.”

Once he’d gone, Phoebe picked up the breakfast plates and headed for the tiny kitchen. She had lived in much bigger houses in the past and found this small, run-down place to be adequate at best—that’s all that could be said for it.

“I would think,” she said as Mother joined her with the last of the breakfast things, “that Father would weary of this argument.

You have the same conversation with each move.”

Mother laughed. “I suppose we do. Still, it’s his way. He knows we will have a cook and housekeeper, but he doesn’t like it. He fears that someone might learn something about him that would cause scandal for his friend.”

“But Father has an impeccable reputation,” Phoebe said, shaking her head. “He’s never been in trouble.”

“Everyone has things in their past that they are ashamed to admit to. Your father is no different. His family background does not always complement the man he’s become today.”

Phoebe knew about her grandfather’s underhanded dealings and even the jail time he had served. He had owned a bank, and Phoebe’s father had worked for him. When it came out that Grandfather had swindled a great many people, it was presumed that her father was also guilty. It seemed that society was only too happy to wrap future generations in the sins of their fathers.

“Well, I can’t imagine that anyone in this isolated place would even care, much less try to use Father’s family against him.”

“Still, it grieves him. He had such high expectations for his future. If not for that bad fate, he might be the governor here or even president one day. At the very least, he might still own the bank his father started. Those who know the truth aren’t about to let him forget, and those who want to know the secrets of his past will stop at nothing to learn them.”

Phoebe knew her mother was right, but still it troubled her. Her father was a good man, and he deserved to stand on his own merits.

“I was wondering if you would mind making a trip out to the Lindquists for me,” her mother said, suddenly changing the subject. “Mrs. Lindquist sent word that we could pick up some bear fat from their recent kill. I thought you might take the wagon and retrieve it. We’ll see if we can work with it for the candles.”