Dawn's Prelude (15 page)

“Lydia will never want any of us around her child,” Mitchell said, shaking his head. “She hates us all. She’ll refuse to come.”

“Then maybe she needn’t come at all.”

Mitchell’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

“Just this: Perhaps I will go to Alaska and approach the subject from a concerned stepson’s perspective. I will gently woo her with compliments and appreciation for her generosity, proclaim myself a changed man because of her sweetness, then propose that she is in desperate need of my help. After all, a widowed woman alone in the world, struggling to raise a child, will face many difficulties.”

“But this is a rich widow.”

“It doesn’t matter, Mitchell. Good grief, man, you’re married— have you not yet come to understand the emotional needs of your wife? Money means little to a woman when she is frightened and insecure about her future. Now that a child is involved, I would imagine her fears are even greater.”

“But what if she doesn’t even want the child? We haven’t yet considered that possibility.”

Marston thought about it for a moment. Everything he knew about Lydia Rockford Gray told him that would not be the case.

If anything, she would keep the baby as a trophy, of sorts. A mark of her victory over her abusive husband and the family that had done her such harm.

“If she doesn’t want the child, I will offer to take it and raise it as my own. Honestly, Mitchell, there are more possibilities than obstacles here. If she doesn’t want to cooperate, she can die, for all I care.”

Mitchell’s mouth dropped open, but no words were uttered.

Marston couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t look so shocked. We’ve talked about her demise before this. The notes here say she has already made provision for the child. She’s asked Robinson to make up a will that leaves all of her worldly goods to the child, in care of his or her great aunt, Zerelda Rockford. She intends to keep the child, but even if she didn’t, it’s not the child or Lydia I care about. It’s the business and the money she’s robbed from us.

That’s all that truly matters at this point, and resolution of this problem is all I shall concern myself with.”

Lydia accompanied her aunt to the Indian settlement to take some of the extra supplies she’d brought to Alaska. Zerelda assured her they wouldn’t need so much, and there was great poverty amongst the Indians.

“They’re proud, but exceedingly poor. We will trade with them, and that way they can support themselves,” Zerelda told Lydia. “I think it’s important that folks feel useful and know the value of working. We do no good to any man by giving him everything.”

“I agree. I saw the damage done by that with many of our wealthy neighbors. Their sons had no reason to worry about where their money would come from, and therefore they did nothing to better themselves.”

Zerelda nodded sadly. “We cannot continue to provide for their needs, then fault them for lacking ambition to improve their situation.”

They had borrowed a small one-horse cart from a friend, as well as a very gentle old gelding. The wagon, though rickety, was solid enough. The seat was barely adequate for one person, but neither Lydia nor Zerelda were all that big, so they squeezed in together just fine.

Riding along in silence for several minutes, Lydia couldn’t help but think back on the things Kjell had told her on the night of the last dance. She couldn’t help but wonder what her aunt might have to say on the topic. “Zerelda, do you ever question God?”

Zerelda chuckled. “I suppose I used to do it more than I do now. He never saw fit to consult me, so I started to figure He didn’t owe me any answers.”

“But doesn’t He want us to understand?”

Her aunt looked at her. “Understand what?”

“Life. Death. The reason things happen as they do. If I could better understand why I had to go through all the pain and ugliness of my past, I might feel more inclined to trust God. If He would just give me that much.”

“And you think knowing why my brother made the choice he did in giving you to Floyd Gray would honestly help you to trust God?”

Lydia knew it sounded silly, and in all truth, maybe she was just fooling herself. “I don’t know. It just seems better when I understand
why
something is happening. When I was a little girl and my doll fell in the river, I was heartbroken and insisted my father go in after her. Mama explained that he couldn’t do that because he couldn’t swim and would die. That helped me to understand, and in knowing why a thing couldn’t be done, I was better able to accept what had happened.”

Zerelda nodded. “It sometimes helps to know the whys, but not always. If you knew why God had allowed you to marry a heartless man and miscarry the very babies you longed to mother, it wouldn’t take away the past.”

“No, but it might give that past meaning. Right now it feels as if it was all for nothing.”

“But what of the child you carry?”

Lydia put her hand to her waist. “What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t have this baby if not for Floyd.”

“If Floyd had lived, I most certainly wouldn’t have this child.

He would have beaten me like all the other times.”

“So maybe God has a special purpose for this child and interceded on his behalf and yours.”

She considered her aunt’s words for a moment. “Then what of the others? Were they not also precious? Did they have no special purpose? Is God so uncaring that He saves one child and deserts another?”

Zerelda pulled back on the reins. “Child, I know you’re hurting. I know you want to fill that empty space inside you with answers. But answers aren’t what will make you feel better. Only God can do that. Only making it right with Him will fill that longing.”

Lydia sat quietly pondering her questions when they passed without trouble through the stockade gate. The Ranche was bustling with activity. The gate wouldn’t be locked until six o’clock, hours away, so the people moved freely in and out of the settlement, and business carried on as usual. Lydia felt uncomfortable at the sight of the marketplace, where deer carcasses, wild ducks, and drying halibut hung. The smell was pungent, and Lydia feared her nausea would return.

All along the road, native women sat by their wares, ready to do business. Zerelda stopped the wagon before one such woman whose chubby toddler sat at her side, happily chewing a piece of leather hide.

Zerelda got down and squatted beside the woman. Lydia watched as they talked for several minutes. The woman nodded enthusiastically and showed Zerelda several baskets. Her aunt motioned, and Lydia climbed down to join them.

“She has some lovely basket work. One of the larger ones would serve well for a baby bed. At least to begin with.”

Lydia examined the workmanship and was notably impressed. The basket was as lovely as anything she’d ever seen.

“Daax’oon sitkum,”
the woman told Zerelda.

“It’s a good buy. Figures roughly two dollars.” Zerelda got up and went to the cart, where she took up a heavy wool blanket and several other items. She spoke again to the woman and spread out the items on the ground. The woman considered each article. After a while, she and Zerelda seemed to come to an agreement.

Zerelda turned to Lydia. “I’ve also arranged to have some fish for our supper.”

The woman went to a stack of fresh fish. She chose two large ones and wrapped them in newspaper. When she returned, Zerelda took up the bundle and nodded. Lydia placed the basket in the wagon and waited while Zerelda concluded her business. This experience was followed with several additional trades with other women until finally all the goods in the wagon were exchanged.

As they prepared to turn the cart for home, one of the Tlingit women rushed out to greet them. She jabbered excitedly about something, but Lydia couldn’t understand a single word. Zerelda stopped the cart.

“There’s been a new birth. We’re invited to come see the baby.”

Lydia followed Zerelda inside the darkened house. They were led past several boxlike partitions, used to divide the various family areas. Several families lived together in one long house, Zerelda told her. They were all of one clan.

Against one wall, Lydia could see that someone had adorned the wood with playing cards and handbills. The pieces seemed to hold a place of respect just as the fine oil painting of Charlotte Gray had back in Kansas City.

Zerelda and Lydia were ushered to the farthest side of the room and presented with a young woman, really no more than a girl, breastfeeding her infant. Lydia’s aunt immediately squatted down and began to converse. The girl seemed quite happy to see Zerelda. Apparently they were friends.

Lydia couldn’t help but wonder at the girl’s age. She didn’t look much older than thirteen or fourteen. She was so tiny and clearly very happy with her baby. The girl spoke rapidly and with such animation that Lydia couldn’t help but smile. The entire atmosphere was like a party. Lydia felt her own baby kick, as if to join in the celebration.

Once Zerelda and Lydia were bid farewell and headed for home, Lydia couldn’t help but request an explanation of the situation. “That girl seemed much too young to be a mother.”

“They marry young here. When a girl begins her monthly cycles, it becomes public knowledge. She is isolated for several months in a small building away from the main house. Chastity is highly valued here, so during her time of isolation, she will see no one but the older women and small children. She is taught that she is no longer a child but a woman ready for marriage. With everyone in the village knowing this, suitors will approach her parents to declare interest or the family will simply begin the finalization of contracts already agreed upon.”

“How awful. And I thought to escape that kind of thing up here,” Lydia said, remembering her own marriage contract.

“At least in their village, it isn’t considered the oddity that it is in our world. Still, many of the girls die during childbirth. Their bodies struggle with the changes and the new responsibility of growing a life.”

“She seemed happy. Do you think she’ll be all right?”

Zerelda smiled. “She told me that the baby is her mother come back to life. The girl’s mother died just before her marriage, and when she found herself pregnant almost immediately, the shaman told her that this was a sign of her mother’s reincarnation.”

“And she believed it?” Lydia asked, amazed at such a thought.

“She did indeed. She is happy that this child has come to her, because it is the return of her mother. She believes her mother will help her now, and she will be strong and brave because of this.”

“It seems such a hard life, especially for the women,” Lydia said, shaking her head. It was difficult to imagine the little girl mothering a child.

“They manage,” Zerelda replied. “They have for hundreds of years, and they will go on despite our presence. The family will help her, and she will be fine.”

“I hope I shall manage half so well,” Lydia murmured, putting her hand to her growing abdomen. The idea of giving birth frightened her more than she liked to admit.

Chapter 12

October 1870

I
t wasn’t long before Lydia’s condition, both physical and financial, was the talk of the town. Frankly, Lydia would have just as soon been unknown and left alone, but instead, she had become quite popular. People showed up at all hours of the day, especially would-be suitors. They came pleading their affection and desire for marriage. Some suggested the arrangement for convenience to both, while others were more creative. One man begged Lydia to marry him and let the baby be his, as he had suffered mumps as a young man and could not have a child of his own.

Kjell said such proposals were to be expected and Zerelda agreed. They lived in much too isolated a place for Lydia’s presence and situation to go unnoticed. Women were a premium commodity in this part of the world; white women were even more scarce.

“It’s hard to imagine they would want to marry me when they don’t even know me. I’m a stranger to most of them.”

“Yes, but you are a rich stranger,” Zerelda mused. “And more important, you are the right gender—a woman.”

“A woman great with child,” Lydia said, looking at her expanded belly.

“But you won’t be that way forever,” Zerelda said, laughing.

“Men have learned to overlook such things when the other benefits outweigh the concerns. Besides, you’re quite pretty.”

Lydia had never considered herself such. Floyd had often commented on how much more beautiful his first wife had been and Lydia had always lived in the sad shadow of Charlotte Gray. Charlotte had been beautiful in her youth, with blond hair and blue eyes. Her voluptuous figure gave her a womanly silhouette, whereas Lydia had always been tall and waiflike. Floyd had often complained that she was too skinny. Well, that certainly wasn’t a problem now.

“Oh look,” Zerelda said, gazing out the window. “Kjell has come to visit, and he’s brought his guitar.” She started toward the door.

“It would be so wonderful to have the two of you play together.”

“We shall see,” Lydia said, not wanting to promise anything. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.” She moved to the kitchen and checked the fire in the stove. Lately her emotions were rattled by his presence.