Page 32 of Echoes of Twilight (Dawn of Alaska #4)

32

A lexei inhaled deeply, drawing in the rich scent of incense curling through the nave of St. Michael’s Cathedral. Candlelight flickered over the gilded icons, casting a soft glow on the walls as the priest intoned the Moleben of Thanksgiving. Mikhail sat beside him, his head bowed, brow furrowed in concentration as he listened to the familiar words of the prayer. Beyond Mikhail, Sacha sat upright, his massive frame nearly dwarfing the pew, while Maggie nestled close to his side, her two younger half siblings flanking her. Behind them, Alexei could hear the gentle rustle of skirts and shifting boots as Kate, Nathan, Jonas, Evelina, Inessa, and Ilya listened in the row behind them.

Two full rows. That was what it took to hold his family now. But he wasn’t complaining about it. Nor was he complaining about coming to church on a Wednesday evening, not considering this was one of his favorite services of the year.

It might not be a liturgical holiday, but on the night before Thanksgiving, their priest held a special service to offer a Moleben of Thanksgiving. It was a unique way their current priest—and the priest before him—opted to embrace American culture since the transition of power.

And it was one of the few services of the year where Alexei could count on having his entire family present.

It hadn’t always been that way. Sacha had missed more Thanksgiving services than anyone cared to count when he’d been captain of the Aurora . But now that he was running the shipyard, he’d never need to miss another one. And hopefully Mikhail would never be called away so late in the year that he almost missed the service.

The priest launched into a chant, and the entire congregation murmured their responses in Russian, even Maggie and Jonas and Nathan, none of whom were Russian.

Alexei’s lips moved, his voice low as he recited the prayer. Yes, he had much to be grateful for this Thanksgiving. His ship might still be held up by the RCS, but his family was together and safe, and they had three babies on the way. Those were the things that mattered most.

Besides, he’d get the Aurora back in another day or two. The RCS couldn’t keep it forever. And rumor was that the new judge had arrived in Sitka earlier that day. Hopefully he’d hear their harassment lawsuit first thing on Monday morning, and the new governor would be forced to stop his ridiculous searches.

A creak sounded from the back of the nave, and Alexei sighed. The doors had needed oil on their hinges for the better part of the year. If the priest didn’t get it fixed soon, he just might stomp down to the cathedral with a can of oil himself.

Not that the creaky doors usually opened during the middle of a service, though. He turned to see who was joining them so late, especially since the service was almost over.

Marshal Hibbs had entered, his heavy boots now clomping against the wooden floor as he lumbered down the aisle.

Alexei’s jaw clenched. Had the man no respect for the ceremony he was interrupting? The man might worship at the Presbyterian church under Rev. Jackson, but that didn’t mean he needed to disturb services at the Russian Orthodox church.

The door creaked again, and Alexei saw two jail guards follow Marshal Hibbs into the nave.

Mikhail stiffened, then reached out to grip Alexei’s arm before whispering, “Stay calm.”

Stay calm? Why? “What do you know that I don’t?” He narrowed his eyes, trying to ignore the hard ball growing in his stomach.

“I don’t know anything other than that the Caldwells are intent on causing trouble for our family, and a Caldwell died under my watch.”

Mikhail stood, and Alexei leaped up beside him. “No.” He wrapped his hand around Mikhail’s wrist.

The congregation had fallen silent, the priest’s voice fading as everyone turned to watch Marshal Hibbs stop beside their pew.

“Mikhail Amos.” Despite his constant wheezing, the lawman’s voice still rang with authority. “You’re under arrest for the death of Richard Caldwell.”

“He’s done nothing wrong.” Alexei tightened his grip on his brother. “I won’t let you arrest him.”

Whispers rippled through the church, but he didn’t care. The more people who heard him assert his brother’s innocence, the better. Surely this had to look suspicious to the people of Sitka, especially after the ship searches.

The Marshal narrowed his eyes. “Release your brother, Mr. Amos, or I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

“Alexei.” Jonas had stood and come into the aisle, with Evelina beside him. “You have to let him go.”

“As his lawyer, I’m requesting a full explanation as to why you’re arresting Mikhail,” Evelina snapped. “Surely you’re not suggesting it’s his fault a member of his expedition slipped and fell to his death.”

“That’s for the court to decide.” Marshal Hibbs released handcuffs from his belt and snapped them around Mikhail’s wrist.

He likely would have started leading Mikhail down the aisle, but Evelina stepped in front of him. “What’s the charge? Don’t tell me it’s murder. I’ll file a motion to dismiss and get the case thrown out before anyone can take a breath.”

“Negligent homicide.”

Evelina’s face grew white, and Alexei could see her mind start to race. “But... but you can’t charge him with that. No expedition guide has ever been charged with such a thing. People die all the time in the wilderness. It’s nature’s fault, not their guide’s.”

“Tell your arguments to the judge.” Marshal Hibbs led Mikhail back down the aisle of the church.

He went willingly and without protest, and a lump lodged in Alexei’s throat. First his ships and now his brother.

He hoped Evelina was right, and she could get Mikhail’s case thrown out before it even went to trial.

But that only meant the Caldwells would try something else.

It made him wonder just how long it would be before the Caldwells tried something he didn’t have the power to fight.

* * *

Bryony hadn’t been able to write a single thing in her journal. She hadn’t sketched the mountains or the sound either. Ever since the interview with Marshal Hibbs, she’d had a sick feeling in her stomach that prevented her from doing anything at all.

She wasn’t the only one feeling sick. Rosalind had retired to her room for the afternoon, not feeling well either, which had left Bryony without a single distraction.

She didn’t like the direction the Marshal’s questions had gone, and it seemed like something she should tell Mikhail. So she’d tried going for a walk. There was a map of Sitka hanging in the library, and she’d committed it to memory, noting where the Amoses’ shipyard and warehouse were located down by the water. She’d thought maybe if she happened to walk by the office, she just might see him or one of his siblings. Then she just might be able to fall into a conversation with them, which would naturally lead to her asking after Mikhail. And then if he was either home or at the office, maybe she could talk to him and tell him about the Marshal.

But the butler hadn’t let her leave the mansion. He’d claimed there was no one available to escort her, and she most certainly needed an escort in a town like Sitka.

A gentle rap sounded on the library door, and Bryony set down her pencil, then turned to find Dr. Ottingford peeking inside.

“I hope I’m not interrupting, Miss Wetherby.”

“Not at all.” She nodded toward her journal. “I haven’t been able to get much work done.”

“I see. Well...” He stepped farther inside the room. “I just want you to know that all of this is out of my control.”

She frowned. “What’s out of your control?”

“Everything with Mr. Amos. He’s an honorable man, truly, and I wish it were happening differently. But in the world of science, funding is of the utmost importance. I hope you understand.”

“Understand what?”

He blinked at her, as though stunned by her question. “Oh... I, ah... forgive me. I assumed you’d been informed. I’m sorry, dear. It appears that I’ve spoken out of turn.”

She stood. “Spoken out of turn about what? What’s happening with Mr. Amos?”

“I’m sorry, but I need to go dress for dinner. Mr. Caldwell likes things formal, and I don’t wish to be late.” He turned and headed toward the door, then paused and looked back. “If you have any further questions, I suggest you speak with your father after dinner.”

She didn’t want to wait until after dinner. But Dr. Ottingford was right about the time—and Mr. Caldwell’s requirements for a formal dinner. Which meant she had to change as well.

She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths as she donned a formal gown, praying for Mikhail all the while. The trouble was, she didn’t know what to pray for. Did she ask God to keep him safe?

The man’s entire job was to keep other people safe in terribly dangerous situations. What could he possibly need to be kept safe from?

Did she pray that God would give him wisdom? That only made her wonder more about what was happening with him.

She still had no answers by the time she headed down the ornately carved staircase. All she knew was that she didn’t understand how Rosalind could endure living in Caldwell’s mansion. It had polished wood, intricately patterned wallpaper, and thick Turkish rugs.

But it felt like a prison.

The food at dinner tasted like sawdust. It was fancy, yes, prepared by a French chef who’d made creamy asparagus soup, stuffed artichokes, and filet mignon, but she didn’t enjoy so much as a bite of it.

She was trying to force herself to stop staring at her father and eat a stuffed artichoke, when the door to the dining room opened and the butler stepped inside. She stiffened at the sight of the man who’d refused to let her leave the house earlier. But he didn’t head toward her. He went straight to the governor and slid a white envelope onto the table beside him.

The governor set down his fork and opened it, his eyes scanning the page. Then his mouth pressed into a firm line.

“What is it, Simon?” Mr. Caldwell asked from where he sat at the head of the table. “Has something happened?”

The governor slammed the letter down on the table. “The RCS has to release the ship.”

Bryony nearly choked on her bite of artichoke.

“Do you mean the Aurora ?” Mr. Caldwell paused, a glass of deep red wine hovering near his lips.

“Yes. What other ship would I be talking about?” The governor shoved the letter at his brother. “The RCS didn’t find a single bottle of liquor in it, not even stashed in the captain’s cabin.

Mr. Caldwell set his glass of wine on the table with a thunk. “What did they do? Ban their sailors from drinking?”

“It appears that way, at least when their ships are in Alaskan waters, and that means we’ve got no legal reason to hold the ship.”

Bryony glanced at the wine goblet in front of her plate—the one she’d been served without asking for it. “I don’t understand. Is drinking illegal in Alaska?”

“Technically, yes.” The governor cut into his steak.

“They why do we have wine?”

“It’s the savages, dear.” He sent her a placating smile. “They become quite dreadful when they consume too much liquor, so Alaska banned it. The ban was never intended for us. Though I must say, enforcing the law every now and then can prove useful.”

“Didn’t you notice the bars down by the docks that we passed on the way here?” Heath asked her. “Drinking’s only illegal when someone official wants it to be.”

Mr. Caldwell smiled at Heath. “Yes, that’s a good way of putting it.”

“So in the case of the Amoses’ ships, you want drinking to be illegal so you can seize their ships?” Bryony asked.

“Precisely.” Mr. Caldwell moved his gaze to his brother. “And I think it’s time we plant some aboard the next ship that comes in. I’m tired of waiting for them to slip up. What do you say, Simon?”

The breath froze in Bryony’s lungs. Had the owner of the Alaska Commercial Company just said what she’d thought? Was he planning to have someone put something illegal aboard one of the Amoses’ ships so it could be taken away on false charges? Surely she’d heard wrong. Surely whatever feud ran between the Caldwells and the Amoses, it didn’t go that deep.

“I was hoping to let things happen naturally, but I, too, find myself growing impatient. I’ll see what I can do.” The governor speared his bite of steak with his fork and popped it into his mouth.

“How is Rosalind faring? Does she have a fever?” Bryony blurted. She couldn’t simply sit here and listen to such a conversation. She didn’t know how her father and brother appeared so calm. Dr. Ottingford was the only one who’d even stopped eating.

“Are you missing your friend, dear? Don’t worry. I expect she’ll be fully recovered by morning.” Mr. Caldwell dabbed the sides of his mouth with his napkin. “Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you the good news, Miss Wetherby. The man responsible for your fiancé’s death has been arrested.”

“The man responsible for...” The food in her mouth turned even drier, and she dropped her fork.

They couldn’t mean Mikhail. They simply couldn’t. He wasn’t responsible for anyone’s death, least of all Richard’s. Quite the opposite. All he did was save people.

Her gaze landed on Heath, cutting into his steak with a blank expression on his face. He’d been the first one to accuse Mikhail of not preventing Richard’s fall. She’d assumed that was just part of his grieving, but what if it had been more?

“What have you done?” she rasped.

Heath carefully set down his fork and knife. “All I did was answer the Marshal’s questions in a previous interview. This was a natural outcome of the lawman’s investigation.”

“There’s no need to fret, Miss Wetherby.” The governor sent her a placating smile. “You can rest assured that as governor of Alaska, I will see Mikhail Amos is prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

She shoved back from the table, her stomach twisting. “No. There shouldn’t be anyone getting prosecuted, and there was nothing natural about the Marshal’s investigation. Mikhail had nothing to do with Richard’s death. You know that.” She stood and shoved her hand toward her brother, then glared her father and Dr. Ottingford. “You all know that. How could you let this happen?”

Her father stiffened, anger flashing in his pale eyes. “We didn’t do anything other than answer a few questions. Now sit down and eat your food, girl.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She turned and hurried from the room. Chuckles erupted behind her, followed by the sound of her father apologizing, and a general consensus that women could be fickle.

Tears burned her eyes as she raced up the stairs. She was intending to go to her room, though what she’d do within those four small walls, she didn’t know. But then she spotted Rosalind’s door at the end of the hall, and she raced there instead.

“Rosalind?” She knocked twice but didn’t give her friend a chance to answer before bursting inside. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but...”

She froze the moment she entered. Rosalind wasn’t asleep or even lying abed with a cold cloth pressed to her forehead. She was sitting at her vanity dabbing makeup over a large purple and blue bruise on her cheek.

A bruise that looked awfully close to the size of a man’s hand.

“Bryony!” Rosalind whirled around, then a hand came up to her check. “I... What’s... I fell earlier today, on the stairs. I’m afraid I have a bit of a headache now, and?—”

“How often does he hit you?” She planted her hands on her hips. She should have pressed her further when she saw the bruises yesterday.

Rosalind shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me. Not you too.” Tears clouded her eyes. “I swear that’s all anyone inside this house does—lie.”

Rosalind’s shoulders sagged. “When I mess up, it makes things more difficult for my father, and there are consequences.”

Bryony came closer and rested a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You don’t deserve to be treated like this. No one does, not even when they make a mistake.”

Their eyes held in the mirror for a moment, then Rosalind shrugged her hand away. “You think I don’t know that? I won’t stay here forever. I have a plan in place, but Father’s influence is vast, and I have to be careful. Now why are you here? To check on me? Father will let me leave this room as soon as I find a way to conceal the bruise.”

“I...” There was so much more she wanted to say, but none of that would help the fact that Mikhail was sitting in a jail cell, and her father and brother and Dr. Ottingford didn’t seem inclined to tell the truth about what had happened in the wilderness. “Did you know they arrested Mikhail Amos in conjunction with Richard’s death?”

Rosalind’s gaze fell to her lap. “No, but I’m not surprised. I already told you, Father hates the Amoses. He’ll do whatever he can to attack them. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Father paid the Marshal to falsify the interview records. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Not the first time?” A sickening sensation coiled in Bryony’s stomach. “Are you saying your father has brought other fraudulent charges against the Amoses?”

Rosalind didn’t answer, but her friend’s silence told her everything she needed to know.

“I have to find a way to get him out.” She turned and headed to the window. It overlooked the mountain behind Sitka, but it was too dark to see anything.

“It’s best not to get involved,” Rosalind whispered in a small voice. “Mr. Amos’s sister Evelina is a lawyer, and his brother Alexei is powerful in his own way. If the charges are false, they’ll find a way to get him released.”

“But I feel like this is all my fault.” Bryony sank onto the bed.

“It’s not.” Rosalind left the vanity stool and came to sit beside her. “None of this is about you. You’re just caught in the middle of one of my father’s schemes.”

“Doesn’t anyone care that it’s wrong?”

Rosalind shrugged, a small gesture that seemed hopeless more than anything else. “Whenever my situation seems hopeless, I read First Thessalonians chapter five. It says to always rejoice and pray, and to give thanks in everything.”

“I don’t see how I’m supposed to give thanks that an innocent man was just arrested and charged for a death he had nothing to do with.”

She blinked. “Well, perhaps not. But maybe there’s something else we can find to rejoice about. At least that’s what I usually try to do.”

“I have to see him.” She reached out and gripped Rosalind’s hand. “How can I sneak out of this house? And don’t tell me you’ve never done it.”

Rosalind sighed. “The window in my room is right over a?—”

“Bryony?” Heath’s voice echoed down the hallway, followed by the muted sound of a fist rapping against a door. “Bryony?”

She stood from the bed and headed into the hallway before her brother had a chance to come to Rosalind’s door and glimpse her face.

He frowned the instant he saw her, crossing his arms over his chest. “What was that about downstairs? You can’t behave that way.”

“What do you mean?” Heat seared her eyes again, but she blinked back her tears. “What are you and father doing, lying about Mikhail killing Richard?”

Heath looked down for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “We’re not claiming Amos killed Richard outright. Amos is being charged with negligent homicide. That means his negligence is what led to Richard’s death.”

“Well, it’s wrong! There’s nothing negligent about how Mikhail acted during any part of our time in the wilderness. Or have you forgotten how he saved your life on the side of the mountain? About how he found a cave for us during that snowstorm? About how he could catch fish and shoot deer and snare rabbits so we didn’t starve? About how he pulled me out of a river that you wouldn’t dare jump into yourself?”

Heath just shook his head. “This is what I was talking about downstairs. You have to stop being so dramatic.”

“Stop being dramatic?” She swept forward and jabbed a finger into his chest. “An innocent man is sitting in a jail cell, charged with a crime he didn’t commit, and on the night before Thanksgiving, of all times! And you think I’m being dramatic?”

Heath at least had the decency to wince. “You’re taking this too personally, Bry. We have to be practical, especially now that Richard’s dead and we don’t know if we’ll be able to arrange a marriage between you and the next secretary of the interior. You don’t realize just how vulnerable we are, but the Caldwells do, and they’re a powerful family. They could easily see to it that Father never gets a lick of funding again. We can’t afford to get on their bad side.”

“Are you saying they put you up to this?”

“Of course they put us up to this. Preston Caldwell despises the Amoses, and he won’t stop until the entire family is ruined. All I’m saying is, we can’t afford to get in the way of it—and that includes you.”

“I won’t stand for it.” This time she couldn’t stop the tears from cresting. “All of this against Mikhail is false, and if you won’t let everyone know, then I will.”

Heath pressed a hand to his head and sucked in a breath, as though trying to stave off a headache. “You can’t. I just told you as much. Now go back to Rosalind’s room and visit with her for a bit while Father and I handle things.”

“Go back to Rosalind’s room?” She couldn’t help the high pitch to her voice. “Do you truly expect me to ignore what you’re doing? To do nothing to help Mikhail?”

“And just how do you plan to help him without ruining Father’s ability to procure funding for next year?” Heath cracked an eye open and looked at her from beneath his hand. “Why would you even consider such a thing? You’ve never gotten upset about his methods before. In fact, as I recall, you were willing to marry Richard to help us.”

“I wasn’t willing to marry Richard. I just hadn’t found the courage to tell anyone no.”

“Well, I suggest you forget you found any courage.” Heath dropped the hand from his head and sucked in another breath. “Amos’s wily sister is a lawyer, and even though she’s a woman, people around town say she’s quite good. She’ll get her brother acquitted, and life will go back to normal.

“We’ll stay in Sitka as long as the Caldwells need us for this case against Amos,” he continued, his tone almost bored. “And then we’ll return home and hopefully not come back—at least not until you’re married to someone influential. I don’t like being thrust into the middle of this war between the Caldwells and the Amoses, and neither does Father.”

Heath heaved out a sigh, then stepped around her and opened the door to her room. “I know you developed feelings for Amos while we were in the wilderness, but you have to understand that nothing can ever come of them—for the good of the family. Now maybe instead of visiting with Rosalind, you should spend the evening resting.”

Rest? She rooted her feet to the floor, not taking a step toward the room. What, exactly, did her brother think a little rest was going to help with?

Heath just shook his head. “I mean it, Bryony. Get some rest. Things will look better in the morning.”

Then he turned and headed for the stairs, leaving her standing alone in the center of the hallway.