Page 38 of Echoes of Twilight (Dawn of Alaska #4)

38

B ryony drew in a breath as she stared up at the large, sprawling mansion, complete with white pillars holding up the long porch.

She should probably be with Mikhail right now, celebrating how easy it had been for him to get his negligent homicide charges thrown out, yet she hadn’t felt like celebrating. Not with how things stood between her and her family.

She might have told her father and brother that she was planning to stay in Alaska—and she was—but it seemed like they should still have some kind of conversation. Maybe if she had the chance to explain herself to them in a reasonable conversation, they’d understand why she didn’t want to leave.

She slid her hand into the pocket of her coat, where the letter she’d spent the weekend writing and rewriting was encased in an envelope, then drew in a deep breath and walked up the steps to the giant porch.

The knocker on the front door echoed loudly, and a few moments later, the door creaked open to reveal the butler. His eyes widened with the faintest flash of surprise before he schooled his features. “Miss Wetherby, I don’t believe anyone was expecting you. I’m afraid Miss Rosalind is indisposed today, but you’ll find your father and brother in their rooms packing, if that’s who you were looking for. Allow me to show you the way.”

She didn’t need him to show her anything. Her father and brother had stayed across the hall from her room on the second floor of the house. But the servant insisted on leading her up the stairs anyway, and she had a sick feeling it was to make sure she visited with her family rather than Rosalind.

The door was cracked open, but the butler knocked on it anyway. “Mr. Wetherby? Your daughter is here to see you.”

“Bryony?” Her father turned from where he was overseeing two maids who were folding his clothes and putting them into his trunk, and he scratched the side of his head. “Does this mean you’ve decided to return to Washington with us after all?”

“Is that what you’re packing for?” She scanned the room. It certainly looked as though every last one of his belongings was being stowed in the trunk. “I didn’t... that is... I knew the plan was always for you to return home, but I had hoped it wouldn’t be this soon.”

“There’s a ship leaving at three today, and we intend to be on it.” Heath’s voice carried from behind her, and she turned to find he’d entered the room.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” Father made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go see to it that your own items are in order. We had the maids pack up your room after you refused to return, but they might have missed something.”

“You had them pack it up so you could deliver my belongings to me at the Amoses? Or so that you could take my things back to Washington, DC?”

“To Washington, DC, of course.” Her father tugged his stopwatch from his pocket and glanced at it. “Did you think I’d leave you with a wardrobe full of silks and satins and velvets if you were planning to stay here? Do you have any idea how much those fancy dresses cost?”

She wasn’t sure why the statement made her want to cry, but it did. “A lot, I’m sure, but I don’t suppose they cost too much more than the fancy suits you buy for yourself and Heath.”

He scowled. “That’s not the point.”

Wasn’t it?

She sighed, then slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I didn’t come here because I want to go back to Washington, DC. I still intend to stay in Alaska. I know my decision probably seems abrupt, but I’ve been thinking for a long time that Washington, DC, is no longer a good fit for me. I tried to explain why in this letter.”

She extended the missive toward her father.

He stared down at it but didn’t reach out. “You truly mean it? You won’t return to Washington, DC, with us?”

“I assume this means you’re going to marry Mikhail Amos?” Heath drawled.

She licked her lips. “I don’t know. That’s not why I’m staying.”

Heath snorted. “Really?”

“All right, fine. It might be part of why I’m staying, because, yes, I love Mikhail. But even if he doesn’t love me back, even if his case had gone to trial and he’d been convicted and imprisoned, I’d still be staying in Alaska.”

Heath just shook his head. “Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be a bad choice. His family has more money and influence than I realized at first. But the Caldwells are powerful enemies, and there might not be anything left of the Amos family in a year or two.”

“Or maybe there won’t be anything left of the Caldwells,” she snapped. “They seem rather intent on twisting the law to their advantage. I don’t think I’ve ever met such an underhanded group of people in my life.”

“Sure you have. That’s half the politicians in Washington, DC.”

“Fine, perhaps you’re right. And it’s all the more reason not to return home with you.”

“But you need to return with us.” Her father looked between her and Heath, his brow drawing down in confusion. “You need to marry someone who can help us. It’s your duty as a daughter.”

“There was a time when I thought that, but did you know there’s a story in the Bible about a master who has three servants?” She went on to explain the story, about the first servant with five talents, and the second servant with two, and the final servant who buried his talent in the dirt.

By the time she finished, her father was scratching his head, causing a tuft of snowy white hair to stick up. “I don’t see what these servants or talents have to do with anything.”

“Don’t you?” For being so smart, there were some things her father could never seem to comprehend. “My talents are writing and drawing and maybe even mapmaking, not hosting fancy teas or flattering politicians or looking pretty.”

“You’re pretty, Bry.” Heath leaned a shoulder against the wall and ran his gaze down her. “Richard never would have agreed to marry you had you been hatchet-faced.”

“Yes, of course she’s pretty. And she needs to use those looks to catch a good husband—like Jameson.” Father frowned, lines of impatience creeping across his face. “If he’s not named the next secretary of the interior, he’ll be named to some other position in the president’s cabinet soon. He’s both well respected and a widower in need of a new wife. You won’t even need to ruin your looks by bearing him children. He’s probably happy enough with the three he already has.”

“Father, no.” This time tears did smart her eyes. “I’m not marrying Mr. Jameson or anyone else for your research funding. And I want children of my own. And even more, I want to marry a man who won’t care if my looks do get ruined by being pregnant. I never should have let you pick a husband for me in the first place. I explain it all in this letter, if you’d just...”

She tried extending the letter to him again, but he batted her hand away. “I’m not interested in reading anything you wrote.”

“But—”

“It’s time you leave. We have packing to do.”

A fresh round of tears scalded her eyes, but she swallowed them down. “What about my things?”

“They’re not your things. They’re mine. I paid for every one of them.” He turned back to his trunk, which the maids had stopped packing at some point.

“Not my journal. Can I at least take that?” She’d left it in the library when she snuck out of the house.

“Fine. You can have the clothes you were wearing the night you left, but I’m keeping the rest of it.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be this way. We can still have some kind of a relationship, even if I’m living in Alaska. We can write letters at the very least.”

“Write letters?” He whirled back to face her, his eyes stormy. “Why would I want to hear from a wayward daughter who doesn’t understand her duty to her family? Do you realize how much trouble you’ve caused for us? How much more trouble this will cause once the Caldwells realize that you really are planning to stay here and marry an Amos? They were furious when they realized you’d snuck out to see Mikhail Amos at the jail and then spent Thanksgiving with his family. I might well end up facing consequences for that.”

“You’re talking about your funding again,” she spat.

“Of course I’m talking about my funding.” He threw up his hands. “I can’t run a lab without it.”

Oh, why did everything always have to revolve around his funding? Why couldn’t he see anything other than that? She backed out of the room. “I’m sorry, Father.”

His scowl only deepened. “If you were sorry, you’d be coming home with us, not blathering on about servants and talents.”

“When I say I’m sorry, it’s because of this. She waved her hand between the two of them. You and me. That we can’t have a better relationship. That when you look at me, you don’t actually see me, just someone you can use to help you get closer to what you want for yourself.”

“And I’m sorry that you refuse to do your duty as a daughter and procure a good match for our family. Good-bye, Bryony.”

He slammed the door shut behind her, then barked something at the maids.

She whirled toward the stairs, trying to swallow the worst of her tears until she reached the door.

But Heath was standing at the top of the staircase holding her journal. “Here you go.”

She reached out and took it, then swiped a tear away from her cheek. “Are you angry at me too? For staying?”

He blew out a breath. “It will make things more difficult. Father’s not wrong about that. And like I already said, when I look at the Amoses, I’m not sure good things are headed their way. But... well, let’s just say I’ve met Jameson before. I don’t think you’d be happy with him, and I don’t think you would have been happy with Richard either. So as much as I want you to return to Washington, DC, and marry someone who will make my life easier, I can’t resent you for wanting happiness, not when I want the same thing myself.”

He nodded toward the journal in her arms. “And I hope Amos can get the journal published for you. It’s the least you deserve after Richard took all the credit for the others.”

Her throat was suddenly too thick to speak. But she didn’t need to, because Heath moved close and caught her in a hug.

It felt stiff and awkward, not nearly as warm or comforting as hugging any of the Amoses. But at least her brother was trying.

“Write to me at the Department of the Interior.” He released her and took a step back. “I’d like to stay in contact, and Father won’t see the letters there.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, knowing this might well be the last time she’d ever speak to her brother in person.

Then she made her way down the stairs, staving off tears for a few seconds more as she turned her back on the only life she’d ever known.

* * *

Mikhail bathed as soon as he got back to the house. His family might not have said anything about how badly he stank, but he had no intentions of proposing to a woman while he smelled of mud and mold and an unvented outhouse.

But he was impatient enough to see Bryony that he didn’t take time to warm the water, which meant it was a rather quick bath in frigid water that was barely warmer than the ocean.

The trouble was, as soon as he was dressed and ready to face the woman he loved, she was nowhere to be found. Not in the parlor. Not in her room. Not in Alexei’s study. And apparently not in the kitchen either.

“She left,” Inessa told him as she pulled a loaf of fresh bread from the oven. “She was here only for a minute or two after court, and then she rushed out.”

“Where did she go?” He stalked from one side of the kitchen to the other, then turned and paced back the other direction.

His sister shrugged. “She didn’t say, and it didn’t seem like my place to ask.

“Well, you should have.”

She rolled her eyes. “Heaven save me from ever acting like a fool if I fall in love.”

“I’m not acting like a fool.”

“No? Then why are you prancing around the kitchen upset that I didn’t interrogate our guest before she went for a walk?”

“Because I need to know where to find her.” He threw his hands into the air.

“I would try the Caldwells.”

He came to a halt. “Why would she go there?” He’d assumed she’d gone to one of the beaches surrounding the town to think, and he’d been hoping Inessa could at least point him in a general direction.

“Because she spent all weekend writing and rewriting a letter for her father, and she had one with her when she left. I’m assuming it was the same letter. That, and she looked worried.”

“And you couldn’t have told me that five minutes ago?” He strode toward the back door.

“You weren’t in the kitchen five minutes ago,” she tossed over her shoulder.

He slammed the door behind him with a growl and rushed up the street, never mind he’d forgotten to grab a coat. He didn’t feel the wind as it lashed through town or even the sprinkle of rain on top of his head. The only thing he felt was his heart about to beat through his chest.

Why hadn’t Bryony waited for him if she wanted to give her father a letter? Surely she knew that he’d gladly have escorted her.

Not that the Caldwells’ butler would have let him into the house, but he still could have waited on the porch while...

Oof! He stopped in his tracks, the wind rushing out of his lungs as he looked down at the person who’d just rounded a corner and plowed into him.

“I’m sorry, I?—”

“Bryony?”

She looked up, her chignon sliding to one side of her head at an unnatural angle from the impact. “Mikhail?”

“Where are you going?”

“Home.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder. “Where I was hoping to find you.”

Had she just called his family house “home”? Warmth unfurled in his chest. “That’s funny, because I was coming to find you. Inessa suspected you might have gone to give your father a letter.”

Tears clouded her eyes. “He didn’t take it.”

The lout! The horrible, narcissistic, egotistical lout. If the feeling of Bryony in his arms wasn’t so satisfying, he’d be tempted to barge into the Caldwells’ fancy mansion and give the man a piece of his mind—or maybe his fist.

Instead he stroked an errant strand of hair back from Bryony’s face and gave her an extra squeeze. “I’m sorry, angel.” He turned her toward the house and extended his arm. “Now come, let’s go back home where it’s warm and you can tell me about it.”

She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “There’s nothing to tell. Father didn’t want my letter. That’s all.”

“What does it say?”

“Lots of things, but mainly that I’m staying in Alaska.”

He grinned. “Are you now?”

She gave him a little shove. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know. Alexei said he told you when he visited the jail.”

“He did, but maybe I wanted to hear the words from you.”

The smile she sent him was so soft and warm, he wouldn’t be surprised if the snow melted clean off the mountains they’d hiked over all those weeks ago. “I’m staying in Alaska.”

His throat felt suddenly thick. “That just might be the best news I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”

“Really?” She slid her palm down his arm until it reached his hand, then twined her gloved fingers with his bare ones. Never mind that they were walking down one of the busiest roads of Sitka, where anyone might see them. “I assumed the best news you’ve ever heard would have been about an hour ago, when the judge dismissed your case.”

“That too.” He slanted her a glance. “I’m told I have you to thank for that.”

She blinked, seemingly confused. “Really? Me?”

“Yes. I heard that the interview you had with Evelina gave her enough information to get the case dismissed.”

She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, tears filling her large hazel eyes. “It was the least I could do after how my family treated you. I want to say I don’t know what they were thinking or why they would do such a thing, but I understand it far too well.”

“Understand it, but you clearly want nothing to do with it.” He shifted closer to her as they walked, causing their shoulders to bump.

“No. I want nothing to do with what they did.” Her fingers tightened around his. “Which is just as well, because they want nothing to do with me. At least not my father.”

“And that’s why you went to the Caldwells? To try and make some kind of peace with them?”

She nodded. “I suspected they might be in a hurry to get out of Sitka after the Caldwells lost the case, and sure enough, there’s a ship leaving this afternoon at three. I wanted to at least try to...” She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know what I was trying to do. In my mind, it was supposed to be an important, helpful conversation. I would explain to Father and Heath why I was staying, and they would understand and wish me well, maybe even offer to ship some of my belongings here so I don’t have to return to Washington, DC, for them. But none of it went how I hoped.”

“I’m sorry, Bryony.”

“It’s all right. I think deep down, I knew how the conversation was going to go, even though I was hoping for something better. Here.” She pulled the envelope from her pocket, tore it open, and handed him the letter.

They were nearly home, with less than a block to go, but he paused to look at it.

The words swam in front of him, just like they always did, and he handed the letter back to her after only a few seconds. “If you want me to know what it says, you’re going to have to read it to me.”

“You won’t read it for yourself?” She looked up at him, her brow furrowed in such a way that he wanted to take his thumb and smooth the wrinkles from it. “I know it’s long, but it helped to get all my thoughts on paper and sort through everything, even if Father wanted nothing to do with it.”

His shoulders rose and fell on a sigh. “That’s not why you need to read it to me.”

There was a time when he would have tried to talk his way around it, when he might have even married the woman beside him without telling her the truth and let her discover it on her own after a year or two.

But he was done hiding his secrets. Done insisting he could do everything on his own without help from anyone else—even God. Alexei’s words in the jail had triggered something inside him. He’d spent too much of his life trying to do everything on his own, and he refused to carry that kind of burden anymore.

“I don’t understand,” she said as they rounded the house. “Why can’t you read my letter?”

He led her up the front steps, away from the kitchen entrance where Inessa was sure to be lurking, then opened the door.

Warmth enveloped them as they stepped inside. He helped her out of her coat, then guided her into the parlor, where he hoped to have at least a bit of privacy—until Ilya or Inessa discovered where they were.

He closed the door behind them, then drew in a breath and turned to her. “Because I can’t read. At all.”

“What?” The smooth patch of skin between her eyebrows furrowed again.

“I have something called word blindness.” He reached out and took her hand, settling it in his larger palm. “Doctors don’t understand it fully, but they know that with some people, the letters move around when they look at words, and it makes reading nearly impossible.”

“Does this word blindness happen all the time or just sometimes?”

“All the time.”

“So you can’t read ever ? Not even a little bit?”

He nodded, waiting for the familiar feeling of humiliation to climb into his chest. But for some reason it didn’t.

“So when you read my journal in the wilderness?—”

“I only pretended to read it that first time. The next time you brought it out, I asked you to read it to me. I said I wanted to hear your words in your own voice, remember? It wasn’t exactly a lie. I did want to hear it in your voice, but my main reason for asking was because I couldn’t read the words myself.”

He didn’t know how he expected her to respond. He knew her too well to think she’d mock him or want nothing to do with him, but he didn’t expect her to cry.

But tears filled her eyes anyway. Then she reached up and rested a hand on his cheek, the warmth from her palm seeping into his skin. “It must be terrible not to be able to read.”

“It is terrible. It’s my biggest weakness by far, and if there’s anything about myself I wish I could change, it’s that. But I’ve learned recently that I don’t have to be strong all the time, or perfect. I just have to be willing to let others help when I need it. After all, even Christ needed help carrying his cross, so I suppose that puts me in good company.”

He nodded toward the letter she’d set on the small table beside the window. “If you want me to know what it says, either you can read it to me or I can ask Kate. She’s the one who usually helps me with my reading and writing.”

She dropped the hand from his face, and a flush stole over her cheeks. “No, ah... I think we can do this without Kate. The letter might say a thing or two about you that I’m not sure I want your sister reading, but it mainly just talks about how I don’t want to leave Alaska.”

A smile crept over his face. “That’s good. I don’t want you to leave either.”

“You said that earlier, but on the ship you said that you would write a publisher for me, and I thought that meant?—”

“That I wanted you to move thousands of miles away, where I can’t see your smile every day or watch your hair tumble around your shoulders?” He reached out and fingered a strand of hair that had fallen from her lopsided coiffure. But even as cute as the slanting bun looked atop her head, he missed how she’d worn it in the wilderness, wild and free.

“Where I can’t sit with you at night while you sketch landscapes and write in your journal?” he continued. “Where I won’t know if your brother and father are treating you well or if you’re getting paid the way you should for your writing and the cataloging you do for your father? Where I won’t know if some snake is trying to court you with the full intention of stealing your work and making money off it?”

His throat closed, and when he spoke again, he barely recognized the sound of his own voice. “No, angel. I don’t want you anywhere other than here, with me, as my wife.”

He dropped to one knee, then reached out and took her hand. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh, Mikhail.” Her cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink. “I want nothing more.”

He stood and crushed her against his chest, his face hovering just above hers. “Even though I can’t read?”

“I don’t care that you can’t read.” Then she pressed up onto her tiptoes and fused her lips to his.

He sank into the warmth of the kiss, into the smell of lavender water wafting from her skin and the feel of her body through the thinness of her dress. He held her such a long time that he was certain he’d forever remember how it felt to take her in his arms.

Finally he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Me either. I know you’ll be gone every summer, but we’ll make up for it during the time we spend together each winter.”

“Make up for it? You misunderstand. I’m not going to offer to marry you and then leave you behind. You wouldn’t be happy sitting at home for months at a time either. You love the wilderness too much. You’re coming with me next summer, and I expect you to bring a whole stack of journals.”

“You want me to come with you?” She blinked at him. “With journals? Does that mean you want me to sketch what we find and draw maps?”

He grinned. “Yes, that’s exactly what I want—but only if you want it too.”

She jumped into his arms. “Yes. I want it so much I can barely breathe.”

“Good, because the work you’re doing is valuable to explorers and cartographers and scientists. More valuable than you or your father or brother ever realized.”

“Will I still be able to publish my field guides?”

“Yes, under your own name if you want to, or at the very least, under your own initials. B. R. Amos. Or even B. R. Wetherby if you want to use your maiden name for your work.”

“No. I don’t want to give any credit to my father. I want to use my new name—or rather, the name I’ll have once we’re married.” She squeezed him even harder. “Oh! This is so amazing. I never dreamed you’d want me with you on your expeditions.”

He shook his head. “How could you think otherwise? God has given you so many talents, but they shine brightest in the wilderness. It’s where you belong.”

“I can’t wait until our next expedition!”

He chuckled. “Normally, I’d agree with you. That’s the way I feel every fall and winter too. But this winter I have other plans.” He positioned one arm against her back, and the other against her legs, then swept her into his arms and nuzzled his mouth next to her ear. “They involve getting to know my new wife better. Because I want you with me every moment of every day, from now to eternity. I don’t care where we go together or what we do. I just want you by my side.”

She flung her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. “I feel the same way.”

He lowered his head to kiss her again, soaking in the way she felt in his arms, slight but somehow strong, the way her hair tickled the top of his head. Soaking in everything about the wonderful woman God had given him.

A year ago, he never would have guessed that he’d find himself about to be married, never would have guessed that he’d be openly admitting to his word blindness, never would have guessed that the thought of a woman beside him could bring him so much incredible happiness, regardless of whether he was in Sitka or in the wilderness.

But God had given him each and every one of those things, and he was convinced it made him one of the most blessed men to ever live.