Twilight's Serenade (31 page)

It had been a simple matter to befriend the bank manager’s young assistant, Cyrus Redley. Marston was quite charming when he wanted to be, and the man was a jackanapes. His conceit and overconfidence made him a perfect target for a man as seasoned at using people as Marston Gray was.

He began their friendship by commending the man and boosting his ego with praise. Marston often told Redley that he was in the wrong position—that he should be the manager of the bank given his fine mind and ability with numbers. Redley devoured the words and grew fat on them.

Next, Marston invited the young man to join him at dinner. On more than one occasion, he exposed Redley to opulent indulgence. The man was greedy and longed for the life Marston introduced. So when Marston began talking about his need for a personal secretary, Redley was primed to take the bait.

“I have a vast fortune, you understand,” Marston had told the man, “but I have no child, no heir. I would like very much to train up a man to take over my position—to continue the business. I’d like to have a companion to accompany me around the country on my various business trips. Perhaps you could be that man.” Redley all but clapped his hands in delight.

Marston finished securing the man’s adoration when he handed Redley a wad of bills as a bonus for all the help he’d given. “I reward those who benefit me” had been Marston’s comment. Redley’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sizable amount.

It seemed only reasonable then that when Marston approached the man at the bank on a day when the manager was home with a bad case of gout, Redley was more than willing and able to do anything he asked.

“I’ve forgotten my account numbers. You know there are several accounts that I’m commingled on. Most are under the name Lindquist, but my sister Evie’s account is separate. Her last name is Broadstreet,” he told Redley. Marston studied his fingernails as if the matter were of no real importance. “Anyway, my brother has contacted me, saying the time has come for us to make a healthy investment. I need your help, and I’m hoping you might even act as my representative.”

“What is it that you need me to do, Mr. Gray?” Redley asked.

Marston smiled. “We are going to withdraw most of one account. I am to take the money with me to California.”

“You’re leaving?” Redley asked, visibly upset. “I thought . . . well, we did speak about other matters.”

Laughing, Marston enjoyed the man’s panic. “Indeed we did. That is why I want you to personally accompany me. In fact, we ought to take additional funds so we can set you up in style once we’ve arrived.”

Redley gave a smile of confidence. “I would be honored.”

“Good. Then I will trust you to follow my instructions and meet me tonight at the hotel. We have a ship to catch in the morning and must act quickly.” Marston paused and glanced around him. “But say nothing to the people here. I wouldn’t want anyone to know that we will have the cash with us. It might leave us vulnerable to thieves.”

Redley nodded. “Of course.”

Marston smiled. “I knew you’d understand.”

Chapter 25

November 1906

B
ritta, won’t you change your mind and come to church with Laura and me?” Yuri asked, his hand on her shoulder. “I could really use you at my side.”

“I’m just so tired, Yuri.” She pushed back her hair, which hadn’t been brushed thoroughly in days. “Maybe I’m sick. I’ll just go back to bed.”

Yuri frowned. “You haven’t been eating much. It’s clear you’re wasting away.”

She slid beneath the covers. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

He sat beside her on the bed, and she looked up hesitantly. Reaching out, Yuri touched her cheek. “I know you miss her. I miss her, too. But Laura misses you, as well. She needs you. Please don’t let this sorrow steal you away.”

“I’m trying to manage it the best I can,” Britta said, her voice barely audible.

“I know, but this isn’t healthy. You aren’t eating. You’re sleeping all the time, and . . .” He looked away. “I know about the whiskey.”

“What?” She sounded startled.

Yuri met her wide eyes. “Doc told me about it. Said he’d prescribed it for you to help you sleep. Thing is, he didn’t intend for you to do nothing but sleep.” He cupped her chin. “Britta, I know the danger you’re putting yourself in. It’s got to stop.”

For a long time, she said nothing. Then in a voice that sounded as though it belonged to a child, she whispered, “But . . . if I don’t take it . . . I have such horrible nightmares.”

“I’ll be here to help you through them,” he promised, “but the drinking has to stop. You have no idea how quickly it can take control of your life. I . . . well, you convinced me that sharing my heart with you was the right thing. You knew it would be hard for me, but you stood your ground and in doing so, stood by me. I can do no less for you.”

“But what if I was wrong? Wrong about all of this? What if we never should have married? Maybe you and Laura should just go before I cause you harm, too.”

“You’re not going to harm us,” he countered. “That’s what I’ve been trying to make you see. You have been nothing but good for us. Darya didn’t die from neglect; she died because these things happen. Babies stop breathing. Babies get sick. It happens.”

“But it shouldn’t,” she said sadly. “It shouldn’t happen this way.”

Yuri gathered her in his arms, glad that she didn’t fight him. He cradled her for several minutes, saying nothing. Words seemed unimportant. “Please don’t give up on me,” he finally murmured.

This caused Britta to pull back and look at him oddly. “I never gave up on you. This isn’t about my giving up on you.”

“Then don’t give up on yourself, either,” he encouraged. “Life doesn’t always turn out the way we’d like it to, but we can’t quit trying. Don’t give up just because death makes it hard.”

“Death is the easy part—it’s life that’s hard. And frankly, I just don’t know if I have the strength to go on.”

Yuri could still hear Britta’s words ringing in his thoughts long after the church service concluded. He allowed Phoebe and Dalton to take Laura home with them, although he thought he probably shouldn’t have. Laura needed to be with her own family, but unfortunately Yuri knew he and Britta were in no shape to be a comfort to the little girl.

“May I walk with you?” Lydia asked, coming up from behind him.

Yuri turned and nodded. “Only if I may speak to you about Britta.”

She smiled. “I was hoping the same thing.”

He extended his hand and took hold of Lydia’s elbow. “I don’t know what to do for her. She’s so lost in her grief. I try to speak to her about it, but she’s . . . well, I don’t know.”

“She’s afraid, Yuri. She’s terrified of it happening again. She’s afraid of losing Laura, you. She’s reliving the pain of losing Illiyana and Zerelda. She’s faced again with the fact that loving someone can be very painful.”

“Is there nothing I can do? Must I sit by and watch her suffer like this and have no recourse—no means to ease her pain?”

Lydia considered this a moment, all the while keeping her focus on the road ahead. “You have to be patient with her. Britta feels she’s to blame for Darya’s death.”

“That makes no sense. If anyone is to blame, it would be me. I didn’t love her as I should have.”

“Neither of you are to blame,” Lydia said, shaking her head. “There is no reasonable answer for why Darya passed on. We can only accept that it has happened and endure the sorrow that comes with loss. However, as a mother, Britta takes the responsibility upon herself. I did the same. Even though my first husband beat me and caused me to lose the children I might have bore him, I blamed myself. I suppose partly because I kept thinking that if it were my fault, I could somehow control it and never allow it to happen again. Of course that wasn’t the case. I think Britta is wrestling with much the same. She probably pores over and over in her mind all the things she could have done differently. The details of each and every day are probably laid out before her like a great puzzle that she must put together.”

Yuri nodded. “I would imagine so.”

“The only thing you can do is love her, Yuri. Love her and be tender with her. Help her through the sad times, and encourage her to enjoy the good ones. Little by little, hope will return and joy will slip in alongside—when you least expect it.”

Marston secured the latch on his suitcase. Redley should arrive most anytime. Pulling out his pocket watch, Marston popped open the lid and checked the time. It was nearly nine-thirty p.m. His plan was to get the money from Redley, then tell him the plans had changed—they weren’t to take the morning ship, but rather one later that very night. This would give Marston more time to distance himself from Seattle.

A knock sounded on the hotel door. “Just a minute,” he announced, tucking the watch back into his vest pocket. He opened the door and found Redley standing on the other side— empty-handed.

“Come in.” Marston looked in the hall after Redley entered the room. He wondered if the man had forgotten the case containing the money. Seeing nothing there, he secured the door and turned to the younger man. “Where’s my money?”

Redley met Marston’s eyes. “There’s a problem. It’s more of a delay, really.”

“And what would that delay consist of?” Marston tried not to let his anger overcome the moment.

“The account cannot be accessed without Dalton Lindquist’s approval. We will have to wire him in Alaska and get his agreement for you to withdraw the funds.”

Marston shook his head. “You have the letter of transaction. That gives me authority.”

“To deposit into the account, yes. But not to withdraw.”

The news hit Marston like a lead weight. “Are you saying that my brother actually gave word that I not be allowed access to withdraw funds?”

“I’m afraid so. There are notations for all of the accounts you mentioned. Not only his, but the other Lindquist account . . . oh, and the Broadstreet account, as well.”

“I can’t believe this. What madness. He and I . . . we had an agreement. He’s up in Sitka, and it’s difficult to get in touch with him.”

“I know. I tried to wire him. I thought I could clear this up and bring you the money in spite of the situation.”

“You wired him?” Marston felt a sense of desperation. If Dalton learned what he was doing, he’d surely have the law on him.