Page 10 of Echoes of Twilight (Dawn of Alaska #4)

10

B ryony woke to an icy cold. It numbed her nose and cut through her bedroll and gnawed at her fingers before the day even started. The cloudless sky from the day before was gone, replaced with a slate gray that touched the tops of the mountains. Frost glittered on the underbrush, painting the world in shades of silver and white. In another time and place, the frost would have seemed beautiful, but all it did that morning was remind her of how cold the air had turned overnight.

Rustling sounded from the other side of the camp, and she looked over to see Richard stirring. That only made her want to stay inside her bedroll longer, never mind how cold she felt. She’d been genuinely worried about both Richard and Heath when they’d left her and Father and Dr. Ottingford in the valley for so long, and she thought they had perished in the wilderness.

But the camp had been rather peaceful without Richard there. Or at least it had been more peaceful for her. Father and Heath probably didn’t get a heavy sensation in their chests each time they looked at him.

Sighing, she shimmied out of her bedroll. The cold wind cut through her skirt and trousers before she could get her coat on, and by the time she finally had her arms through the sleeves, her teeth had started chattering.

She made short work of rolling up her bedroll, then moved toward the fire pit, her half-numb fingers fumbling with the flint until smoke finally rose and a few of the twigs lit.

“Good morning, my little artist.”

She turned to find Richard had come up behind her. “I’m not your artist.”

He gave her a smile she recognized all too well, tight, annoyed, and patronizing all at once. She’d lost track of the number of times he’d given her that smile over the years, yet he wanted to marry her. “But you are, and you did good work while I was gone. I especially liked your sketch of the valley with the glacial lake.”

“How did you...”

He held out his hand, and only then did she realize he was holding her journal. He must have taken it last night while she’d been helping with supper.

She yanked it away from him. “I didn’t give you permission to look in it.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t a kind sound. “You’re not going to be able to keep it from me.”

“I can keep it from you if I want to.” She tucked the book close to her chest.

Richard’s gaze moved to something on the opposite side of the fire, and she followed it to find him looking at Mikhail, who was awake and climbing out of his bedroll. “Do you really want to have this conversation right now?”

She didn’t, but something told her that if she ended up having it in front of Mikhail, he’d take her side.

He’d been genuinely interested in her well-being yesterday, stopping to ask several times throughout the day if she’d been eating enough. He’d seemed pleasantly surprised when he looked at her maps and sketches and writings before dinner too. And he’d listened to everything she’d said, treating her as though she had something of value to contribute, not like an annoyance.

“Bryony, stop lollygagging and get the coffee started,” her father called from where he was extricating himself from his bedroll. “It’s cold out here.”

“Just a minute.” She turned her back on Richard and stalked over to her pack, where she buried her journal clear down at the bottom of it.

Not that it would stop Richard from going through her things again, but she didn’t know what else to do with it. Perhaps she could ask Mikhail to put it in his pack, but then he’d want to know why she couldn’t carry it in hers, and that would just lead to problems.

She returned to the fire, which was starting to burn in earnest, grabbed the percolator, and headed to the stream for water. When she returned, she put the grounds in the top and set it in the coals, then grabbed a biscuit from last night and some leftover venison. She would have sat on a nearby rock to eat it, but movement from the other side of the camp caught her eye.

Mikhail seemed to be emptying every last thing from his pack—and it wasn’t a small pack. He pulled out what looked to be an extra blanket, a rope, a hatchet, and a canteen.

Had he lost something? Why would he be unpacking so much? Especially after telling everyone last night that he’d want to break camp as early as possible in the morning.

He continued unpacking, a tin cup followed next, then a fishing line, then several smaller items that she couldn’t see clearly. When he finally got to what must have been the bottom of the pack, he turned it upside down and shook it.

A pile of smooth, round rocks tumbled out, one after the other.

But that made no sense. Why would a man as experienced in the wilderness as Mikhail Amos pack something that was sure to slow him down?

She couldn’t stop herself from heading toward him. Did he realize how fascinating he was? How everything he did was so utterly and completely different from what she expected? “Why do you carry rocks in your pack?”

Mikhail looked up as she approached. “For stamina. I make a habit of carrying more weight than I need so that if I find myself in a difficult situation, I can lighten the load. Then it feels like I’m carrying nothing.”

She looked down at all the things he’d set on the ground, which she could now see clearly. Not a blanket but two extra coats, a small hatchet, fishing line and hooks, rope, a metal canteen, a bundle of dried meat, oilcloth, a tin cup, several pouches that looked to be filled with dried herbs, and a sewing kit.

Just how strong was the man in front of her? Because the collection of items in his pack would double, perhaps even triple, the weight of hers. And then he added rocks on top of it? And not just a few rocks either.

“Should I start doing that?” She bent down and picked up one of the rocks, testing the weight of it in her hand. “Will it make me stronger?”

“Carrying rocks in your pack?” Richard said from behind her.

She looked over her shoulder to find him approaching.

“Honestly, Bryony. You’ve no need to be strong, not when you’ll be my wife.”

She pressed her lips together, her jaw snapping tight. One moment he admitted to taking her journal, and the next he was talking about them getting married. Did the man understand nothing about what she wanted in life? “And what do you expect me to do as your wife? Sit in the parlor and host afternoon tea?”

“And dinner parties, yes.” Richard didn’t even glance at her as he spoke. He briefly ran his eyes over the contents of Mikhail’s pack, shook his head, then turned away and headed back to his bedroll, which he had yet to pack.

“And he wonders why I haven’t agreed to marry him,” she muttered under her breath.

Choking sounded from her right, and she snapped her gaze over to find Mikhail watching her, a faint smile etched across his usually stern features. “Don’t tell the lout yes. You’ll be miserable.”

She would certainly be miserable, though she hadn’t intended for him to overhear what she’d said. “You really think I should refuse Richard’s offer of marriage?”

The smile dropped from Mikhail’s face. “Yes.”

“Then why does everyone else think we should marry?”

“Because they’re imbeciles.”

“But they’re not.” She gestured toward her father, who had sauntered to the fire and was pouring himself a cup of coffee. “My father’s a scientific genius. He’s discovered more plant species than any other scientist alive today.”

Mikhail bent and started putting things back in his pack. “Then maybe we have an imbecilic way of treating women. Maybe the problem is that men, as a whole, treat women like imbeciles, when you’re every bit as capable as men.”

She blinked. Never in her life had she heard such a thing. “I don’t know how you can say that. I’m certainly not as strong as a man. Even if I carried rocks around in my pack for two years, I wouldn’t be as strong as you.”

“That wasn’t what I meant. Men and women are different physically.” He stuffed more things into his pack—an extra canteen, a journal, the coil of rope. “But as a society we assume every woman ever created will be happy to stay home and bear children and host teas as long as her husband is rich enough. But it seems to me that the truly happy women are the ones who use the skills God has given them to live rich and full lives.”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Because she couldn’t think of a single possible thing to say.

Did all men in Alaska think this way? The women too? No one in Washington, DC, could voice such things without getting laughed out of the room. “Women... we... that is... we don’t have skills the way men do. There’s no place for us in politics or science or anything of the like. Our job is to have children and make a good home for our husbands.”

“You should meet my sisters.” Mikhail put one of the parkas at the top of his pack, then picked up the other one. “I’m not sure how long you’ll be in Sitka after we return, but if there’s time, I’ll send to Juneau for them.”

Her mouth fell open again, but just like last time, she could barely think of something to say. “I... you... you want to introduce me to your family? Why?”

“Because neither of my sisters would be content to sit in some fancy parlor back in Washington and host teas.” Mikhail’s golden eyes latched onto hers. “One’s a lawyer, and the other is a doctor.”

“A lawyer and a doctor? But those aren’t womanly professions.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you insinuating a woman is incapable of being a doctor or a lawyer? Perhaps I shouldn’t bother to introduce you after all.”

She felt suddenly hot. She’d never heard of women in such professions. She could only imagine the ridicule she’d get if she returned to Washington, DC, and said she wanted to become a lawyer. Her father and brother would certainly kick her out of the house, claiming they wanted nothing to do with someone who would bring shame to their reputations.

“Are they... are they trained?” she rasped. “Did they go to school for those things?”

“Absolutely.”

“But... how?” And why did Mikhail want to introduce her to them?

“The same way you could go to school for cartography, I assume. Or botany. You certainly know enough about both to hold your own against any male student.”

“Women don’t become botanists. It isn’t done.” The words flew out of her mouth without a thought. She could still remember the first time she’d heard them. She’d been six, and one of her father’s associates and his family had come over for dinner. His wife had asked her a few questions, and somewhere during the conversation, she’d declared that one day she was going to be a botanist like her father.

Most of those at the table had broken out into laughter.

But she’d never forgotten the serious look in her father’s eyes. He’d known she wasn’t speaking on a childish whim. He’d known even then how much she loved plants and nature. So he’d looked her straight in the eyes and said, “Women don’t become botanists, Bryony. It isn’t done.”

Any time she’d brought up the matter afterward, she’d gotten the same response from her mother and her father. Then her mother had died, and she’d started going on expeditions with her father and Heath every summer. But whenever she brought up the possibility of getting any kind of formal training in botany, the answer was always the same.

Women don’t become botanists. It isn’t done.

But they did become teachers. And being a teacher meant she’d get to teach at least a little science. At least there was that.

“Tell me, do any of your fancy colleges back home admit women?” Mikhail tightened the drawstring on the top of his pack.

“Wellesley, but that’s in New England, and they don’t offer botany degrees. Most of the women who go there become teachers.”

“Hmm. That doesn’t sound like a good fit for you. What about the college where your brother studied? I assume that’s in Washington, DC. Does it have any rules about admitting women?”

“I... I don’t know. But my father and my brother would be mortified if I were to apply to my brother’s college. They work with other scientists regularly, like Dr. Ottingford. Surely you don’t expect me to do something that would cause embarrassment for them. Why it might even impact the funding Father gets for research.”

“That’s where you’re wrong again, because I expect your father and brother to support the abilities God has given you, not tell you to bury them.” He shut the top flap of his pack, covering the remaining opening so no rain or snow could get inside, then turned to face her. “That’s nothing but selfish.”

“But...” She kept her mouth open, hoping she could think of some smart response, but once again, nothing came to her mind. Her father and brother supporting her desire to study botany, or maybe even cartography? She couldn’t imagine such a thing, not in a hundred years.

“Here. Put this on.” Mikhail stepped closer, then draped the parka he’d been holding around her shoulders. “You’re shivering. These too.”

He handed her a pair of fur mittens, then jutted his chin toward the rock that was still in her other hand. “This isn’t the time to put rocks in your pack. This is the time to make your pack as light as possible and carry only what you need. If you want to get stronger, walk with rocks in your pack after you get home this winter, and start off with them if you go on another expedition next spring. But right now, you need to put every ounce of energy you have into keeping yourself alive.”

He took a step closer and started hooking the large, tusk-shaped buttons on the front of the parka closed, working from top to bottom. When he was finished, he stepped back, sweeping his eyes down her once before nodding. “That should keep you warm. Let me know if it doesn’t.”

Then he turned and was off, stalking to the fire without waiting for any response.

He grabbed some biscuits and leftover venison, then poured himself a cup of coffee. There was nothing kind in how he moved or how he interacted with the others, all of whom were now by the fire having breakfast and drinking coffee.

And there had certainly been nothing kind when he’d spoken to Richard and Father and Heath last night before he’d left to hunt.

But she couldn’t forget the kindness in his eyes a moment ago when he handed her the mittens and helped her put on the parka.

Who was this man with a heart of gold hidden beneath porcupine quills?

And why did she enjoy talking to him so much?