Poppy: Bride of Alaska (American Mail-Order Bride 49) (11 page)

She had to admit that, for the first time in her life, she counted a man as a friend. Naturally, every time he talked about going back to Boston, a part of her ached to ask him to stay, but that would be pointless. Why would he?

“Child, you’ve suffered through more than most people ever have nightmares about, and you came out the other side for the better. You’re strong and independent, just like me. It’s why we get along so well.”

It was her turn to stop walking. Her expression was full of love and understanding, and it made Poppy want to run for her life.

“I know you don’t need a man, dear, but you obviously want one.”

Poppy opened her mouth to protest but Eddie put a finger to her lips and winked.

“One in particular.”

* ~ * ~ *

Matthew couldn’t help smiling as Poppy prattled on and on about the people at the Rancherie. This new outreach position really suited her. She’d taken to teaching more easily than he thought but the school’s rules were rubbing her raw. Now she had free reign. It was nice to see her happy. If anyone deserved a little happiness, it was Poppy Adams…er, Turner.
 

“And then the mother, I think her name was Savak-tla, waved me over and gave me a bowl of something hot.” Her cheeks glowed with excitement and he honestly couldn’t wait to hear the rest of the story.

“What was it?”

“Dried salmon stew! Matthew, I swear, it was better than just about anything the cook here has made since we arrived. It was a small bowl, and I didn’t want to eat up all their food, but I certainly could have had seconds, it was that delicious.”

“If they have so little to eat, why did you accept the food at all?”

A wrinkle gouged the spot in between her eyes. For a moment, he worried that his question was too forward, that he’d offended her. After a rocky start, they settled into a comfortable friendship and he didn’t want to rock the boat. Then she answered.

“Because to do otherwise would have been unthinkably rude. Many cultures around the world have a similar custom. If you go to someone’s home and are offered food or drink, you accept. Period. To refuse would imply that you either don’t think they’re worthy or that they can’t provide. Either way, you accept. If they offer a second round, it’s then acceptable to politely decline. You didn’t know that?”

He laughed at her surprise.
 

“Poppy, I grew up in the upper crust of Boston society. We traveled to Europe one year, but we stayed at hotels and ate at fine restaurants. Never once, that I can remember, were we invited into anyone’s home.”

Her perfect, plump lips curved into a smile and a few stray auburn curls bounced as she shook her head. He couldn’t stop the mental image of her hair cascading around her shoulders, and his fingers twitched with a desperate need to touch them.

“Who would have thought I would know more about the world than you,” she said, ducking behind an ornate Oriental screen to change. Vladimir gave it to them once he heard about their situation. Matthew had objected to telling the man he’d once blamed for his family’s downfall, but Poppy sniffed at his concern, insisting that Vinchenko was as good a man as she’d ever met.

What about me? Will she ever think I’m a good man?

The thought had been popping up more frequently lately and no answer comforted him. He’d lied to her on multiple occasions and made it clear that her needs were secondary to his own. Plus there was the whole ‘deceiving the mission’ thing with his plan to skip out on his contract.

Part of him wanted to point out that she’d deceived Mr. Horton back in Seattle about being a teacher, but the reality was that almost anyone who could read could teach. As it turned out, Poppy happened to have a knack for it. Naturally, she’d charmed all the children, even breaking through to the wildest of the bunch, a feat no one had thought possible. For a lowly, uneducated seamstress from the poorest part of Lawrence, she’d certainly created a fulfilling new life here in Alaska, a place she very clearly loved with all her heart.

“Did you see the auroras tonight?” she asked while she changed into her nightclothes.
 

He always tried to avert his eyes when she went behind the screen, not so much to preserve her privacy — the screen was very effective — but because even a glimpse of her arm poking above it or her bare toes peeking out from under it sent his pulse racing. It was a short journey from there to thinking about their lone kiss, the way her lips softened under his and how she pressed into him.

There you go again!

“Mmmhmm,” he mumbled, trying desperately to clear his mind of the images flitting through it by pulling his sleeping palette from its hiding place under the bed.

“Weren’t they just breathtaking? I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life, have you?”
 

Poppy rounded the screen dressed neck to toes in a thick pink flannel nightdress, ready for bed. Her hair tumbled down in waves that caressed her neck in a way that made him envious, her eyes bright with excitement. Her simple beauty took his breath away, but he managed to croak out a single word.

“Never.”

Vladimir’s nephew scooted past Poppy and Eddie as they entered the dry goods store early the next morning, running down the boardwalk as only a boy on an adventure can run.
 

“Alexander,” Vladimir shouted from inside, “only few minutes with silly dog, then school!”

The women entered laughing at the eternal struggle between children and their guardians over going to school. Vladimir greeted them with open arms and light pecks on each cheek.
 

“Poopy, Eddie, what nice surprise. Come. You want to place order? I get new shipment tomorrow of many pretty things when steamer arrive.”

The arrival of the monthly winter steamship was a big event for the residents of Sitka. Instead of bringing the summer tourists and their fists full of greenbacks, it brought not only much-needed supplies, but also eagerly anticipated news from the outside world. Poppy was hoping for updates from her friends, though her heart really ached for a letter from her mother, as unlikely as that would be. Her father would certainly rather put the two cents a stamp cost toward a bottle of redeye than waste it on a letter to her.

“Not today, Vlad,” Eddie said, perching her large bottom on a stack of Oriental rugs to take the load off her arthritic knees. “Although I’d take a snootful of that ‘woodka’ stuff you drink.”

“
Da
,” he said, pulling a bottle from behind the counter. “What can I do for you, pretty ladies?”

The women outlined their plan to help the under-clothed at the Rancherie as Vladimir listened, arms crossed and expressionless. When they finished, he didn’t speak, just stared out the window. Had they overstepped?
 

Over the last month, he’d gone out of his way to make her and Matthew feel welcome, helping them whenever he could. His generous and respectful demeanor made her suspicious at first, but he showed the same respect to every single person who walked in his doors — man, woman, white, Tlingit, it didn’t seem to matter to Vladimir.
 

But his silence caused a fog of worry to bloom in her heart that perhaps she’d misread the man. Eddie seemed nonplussed as she sipped her vodka, waiting patiently. Finally, Vladimir sniffed and wiped at his eyes.
 

“You—“ his voice cracked with emotion and he shook his head. Was he crying? “You ladies do wonderful thing. So many need so much.”

“So are you in?” Eddie asked bluntly, as was her habit.

“
Da
. Yes, very honored. Alexander has family in Rancherie. He always take food when he visit. Now he take clothes, too.”

They spent the next hour picking out warm fabrics, settling on the most needed items, and filling out an order for more supplies. With any luck, the goods would be sent back up on the next steamer in a month’s time.
 

“You sure you can handle all this sewing yourself, dear?” Eddie asked, tipping her empty glass at Vladimir for a refill.
 

Anyone else would have been shocked by the sight of a lady drinking alcohol in a shop like that, but Poppy had seen so much worse in her life that it barely phased her. When Mrs. Austin warned her that Eddie might be a bad influence, it had taken all of Poppy’s strength to not laugh out loud. Sure, she was loud and brash and opinionated, but she was also funny, big-hearted and generous to a fault. She’d come to truly love the old woman.

“Of course. The school has several sewing machines, and the Austins have already agreed to let me use them at night. Won’t take any time at all.”

“At night?” Vladimir scowled in concern. “What about Matthew?”

“What about him?”

“Will he not be lonely?” Vladimir shot a glance over at Eddie who smirked at Poppy. What were these two up to?

“You both know our situation. Ours is a marriage in name only. Besides, the way he keeps talking about Boston, I don’t think he’ll be here much longer.”

Poppy winced at the pang in her chest at the thought of Matthew leaving. Their evening chats before retiring had become the highlight of her day, something she looked forward to, even if they usually ended with him waxing rhapsodic about some part of Boston he missed. Except for her mother, there was nothing in Massachusetts for Poppy to miss.

He did seem to be warming up to Sitka though — well, at least he wasn’t complaining about it as much. If he’d only stay until the long, temperate days of summer, then surely he’d come to love it as much as she already did. They could take walks in the woods, laughing at the way the deer pranced away from them or searching out the fallen totem poles the Tlingits at the Rancherie had told her about. Maybe stroll down the park at Indian River, the stretch the locals called Lovers’ Lane. But that wasn’t going to happen. He’d be gone before long, just one more man who didn’t want to be around her.

Eddie opened her mouth to say something when a ruckus outside stopped her. Horses whinnied in surprise, men shouted, a dog yelped in pain, and then a scream pierced the air, sending ripples of terror down Poppy’s spine.

It was a child’s scream.

Before the terrible sound even stopped, Vladimir sprinted for the door, shouting his nephew’s name.

* ~ * ~ *

Sitka wasn’t really that bad. Sure, it was a tiny outpost in the untamed wilds of the north, but it boasted a surprising amount of quality culture for its size. The Muscovites had seen to that when they dominated the region, as evidenced by old Governor Baranof’s now-ruined ‘castle’.
 

Snow crusted the steps up to the landmark, so Matthew observed it from the foot of Castle Hill. Far from grand, the shabby building had still played host to some of the world’s most influential leaders when the settlement was known as the ‘Paris of the Pacific’.

After Poppy left for her daily duties, Matthew wanted to get a better look at his new, and temporary, home. The crisp air stung his nostrils, but refreshed him as he walked. It was easy to see why she loved the area so much. Black-green trees with snow coating their limbs like frosting towered over the town. Far from being overwhelming, they offered a sense of protection, like a mother wrapping her arms around a child. To the west, the sea stretched out to eternity, as far as he could tell. It demanded respect, but he didn’t fear it. Rather, it was a canvas on which untold adventures were painted, and as many more were yet to be.

In fact, Poppy was already planning a summer side-trip to Muir’s glacier, hoping to save enough to take a cabin on
Queen
, one of the newest and most luxurious steamships that visited Glacier Bay in the summer months. Over the past few weeks, she’d shown him her scrapbook crammed to bursting with articles and essays on all sorts of places, but mostly Alaska. Curiosity always nipped at his brain when she sang the praises of the places she’d never seen, almost making him want to stick around to see what this place looked like in summer.

None of the women he knew back home had Poppy’s spirit of adventure. They’d rather attend teas with other ladies of standing than walk on a glacier. Helping the less fortunate consisted of attending charity balls, where only a tiny fraction of the proceeds actually helped anyone, except the organizers of the charity
du jour.
Yet Poppy was up to her ankles in icy mud every day, trying to do whatever she could for the residents of the Rancherie.

Taking a deep breath of the icy air, Matthew turned to head back to the mission. If his father hadn’t piddled away his influence, Matthew would probably have been working in an established private practice instead of tending to skinned knees and loose teeth. If he went back to Boston today, though, no amount of glad-handing would get him such a prestigious position. No one wanted to be associated with a gambler’s son. He’d be lucky to work in a hospital for the poor.

In a way, he was no worse off than if he’d stayed in Boston. At least here, no one knew about the family scandal. There was something appealing about starting over, starting fresh. The town was growing, not quickly, but fast enough to support another doctor. Perhaps…

The piercing scream of a child rent the air around him, setting his heart to pounding. Instinct took over and his feet propelled him in the direction of the commotion, just down the street from Vinchenko’s store.
 

“I’m a doctor,” he shouted as he shoved his way into a glut of gawking people. “Let me through, I’m a doctor!”

He pushed through to a clearing where young Alexander lay in the frigid mud, cradling an arm and keening in pain. Vladimir reached him at almost the same moment, his eyes wild with fright.

“Help him, Matthew!”

Together they carried the boy into the back room of the shop and settled him on the floor. Eddie shooed out all the bystanders and locked up behind them, while Poppy found a blanket to cover the crying boy.

“Alexander,” Matthew said, his tone soothing and calm, “can you tell me what happened?”

Pain pinched up the poor boy’s face, but he managed a nod.