Ashes and Ice Page 3

  Miranda looked up at the dark-haired Mr. Barker and smiled. “My sister-in-law has agreed to accompany us to lunch. It is with her encouragement that we accept your invitation.”

  “Marvelous,” the man said, flashing brilliant white teeth. “I shall cherish your company.”

  ————

  The luncheon seemed to last forever. Perhaps, Grace thought, it was due to the monotonous self-promoting lecture given by Mr. Barker. Or perhaps it was due to the bland and unappealing food. Either way, when Grace and Miranda made their way up the steps to the Colton house, both breathed a sigh of relief. Pausing on the porch, they looked at each other and broke into fits of laughter.

  “I thought that it would never end,” Miranda confided. “What a conceited man.”

  Grace nodded, completely agreeing. “He seemed so very much in love with himself, I seriously doubt he could have shared love for anyone else.”

  “Not without deeply wounding his own feelings,” Miranda added.

  “I had so hoped you would enjoy your outing. With so many dashing young bachelors vying for your attention, it seems only fair to expect that one of them should be the right one.”

  Miranda’s smile faded. “I know. I keep thinking that, as well. There have been others, men who Peter said were not worthy of me. He’s been so good to try and look out for me.”

  “Peter is a good man. He cares very much for you, but you have to make choices based on what your heart tells you. Peter might well think Mr. Barker a perfect suitor. The man is a banker and holds a respected position in the community. Your brother would probably admire him greatly and think you amicably suited.”

  “I suppose that is true. Peter does sometimes make choices for me that I would just as soon not have made.”

  Grace could well understand that, her husband being a strongly opinionated man. “Well, no harm done. Mr. Barker seemed to understand quite well that you lacked interest in his need for adoration.” Grace smiled and opened the front door to the house. “Perhaps we should try Corky next time, eh?”

  Miranda laughed. “All that red hair. My word, but it fairly glows.”

  “And just think of the redheaded children you might find yourself mother to,” Grace laughed, and Miranda flushed at the thought as she giggled.

  Their laughter quickly faded, however. Grace stepped into the house to find Peter awaiting their return. She had thought he was on his way to Seattle and hadn’t expected to find him home.

  “Peter!” Grace could see the anger in his eyes and hoped to calm him. “Why, if we’d known you were still in town, you could have joined us for lunch.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Grace agreed to accompany me to lunch with Mr. Barker,” Miranda answered.

  Peter’s expression darkened as his eyes narrowed. “Who is Mr. Barker?”

  “Oh, surely you remember him, Peter. He came to see Father on business about a month ago.”

  Grace pulled the shawl from her shoulders and untied her bonnet. “He attends our church and was quite smitten with your sister.”

  “Why wasn’t I consulted on this, Miranda?”

  Grace could see the look of contrition on Miranda’s face. “I’m sorry, Peter. I presumed you were quite busy with the company. You and Father have both had so much to do in transporting goods and people to Alaska. It simply never entered my mind that you would want to hear about Mr. Barker’s invitation.”

  “Besides,” Grace interjected, “she’s a grown woman and fully capable of making up her own mind when it comes to the company she desires to keep. She learned easily over melon slices and strawberries that Mr. Barker is far more interested in Mr. Barker than in anyone else.” Grace flashed Miranda a smile before placing her bonnet and shawl aside.

  When she turned back to her husband, she found him most furious. “I will speak to you later, Miranda. For now, I will have words with Grace on the matter. Come to our room, madam, and let us resume this discussion.”

  Grace followed Peter, knowing that he would lash out at her in his anger. How many times would this be the course of their discussions? He always flared up like a fire feasting hungrily on old wood. Then he would become calm and apologetic, almost childlike in his desire to please. Sometimes Grace thought she’d married two different men.

  They entered their bedroom, and before Peter could close the door, Grace jumped in to speak. “Please hear me out before you take offense with me.”

  He turned to eye her, the rage held in tight restraint as he replied, “Very well.”

  Grace took a seat and began to pull off her gloves. “I did not purposefully set out this morning to cause you irritation or pain. I am sorry that I have apparently managed both. As Miranda stated, we realized your busyness and thought only to take care of the situation ourselves. Your mother found it acceptable, and in your father’s absence, as well as your own, we believed this to be the only necessary authority on which to act.”

  “Are you finished?” he asked in a low guarded tone.

  “No.” Grace surprised them both with her answer. She threw her gloves aside and worked to keep her own anger in check. “I’m tired of your accusing tones and angry lectures. Don’t think me to be so ill-witted that I believe for one moment this is about Miranda. Oh, certainly you wish to have control over her life, but we both know that this behavior of yours is fueled by my desire to help ease the tensions between our family and Mr. Paxton. So rather than chide me for accompanying your sister on her outing, why not simply deal with the real issue at hand?”

  Peter’s jaw tightened, and Grace could clearly see that her words had struck a chord. He paced the room a moment before stopping directly in front of her. “You had no right to interfere. You are my wife, and as such you answer to me. My sister is unmarried and answers to our father, and in his absence she, too, answers to me. Do you understand?”

  “I understand that you wish to control the lives of the people around you. I understand that you hold no respect for God or His authority over you, yet you demand that others allow you your rightful authority over them. Seems to me there are double standards in this.”

  Peter shook his head, his sandy brown hair falling onto his forehead. “I do not care what it seems like to you. Grace, there are certain rules of society and decorum that I expect you to honor. My father has expected no less from my mother and sister, and I expect no less from you.”

  “You knew before marrying me that I didn’t agree with this philosophy of life,” Grace replied. “You blamed it on Karen, but in truth, I was raised to believe women have the ability to reason for themselves.”

  “Perhaps that’s why your father arranged a marriage for you with Mr. Paxton.”

  Grace frowned. “My father arranged that engagement based on Mr. Paxton’s blackmail and nothing more. He wouldn’t have forced me into such a relationship had there been another way. And you and I wouldn’t be married now had I stayed behind to be the dominated little woman that you demand of me now.”

  “Perhaps that would have been for the best,” Peter snapped.

  Grace was silent a moment, the strength of his words a blow to her heart. “Yes, perhaps you’re right.” She bowed her head and wondered why it should be that this man she loved so dearly should hurt her so deeply.

  For several moments neither one spoke, then Peter came to her and put his hand under her chin. Lifting her face, Grace knew he would see her tears and be remorseful. For just once, however, she wished he could see the pain prior to the delivery and stop before apologies were necessary.

  “I didn’t mean what I said.”

  This was always his way. His words were to be respected, honored, and obeyed—except when he qualified them in the aftermath of his anger with that simple, meaningless statement.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continued, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

  Grace didn’t know what to say. She didn’t feel like accepting his lame excuses, and yet she had no desi
re to continue fighting.

  “Peter,” she said, forcing her gaze to meet his, “words are powerful. They can maim and injure just like any weapon forged by man. They can also nurture and encourage. I can’t help but believe that you know my heart—know how very much I love you. But at the same time, I find it very difficult to accept that you love me. Especially when you say the things you do.”

  Peter pulled her up and wrapped her in his arms. “Grace, there are just certain things I wish you’d leave well enough alone. I don’t mind that you are intelligent and witty, but I do mind when your actions make me to look the fool.”

  Grace shook her head. “How did I do that?”

  Peter dropped his hold. “I told Barker nearly a month ago that I didn’t wish for him to court my sister. I knew the man was conceited and full of his own accomplishments. I knew Miranda would abhor him.”

  Grace felt foolish. She’d not considered that Peter might have already spoken to Barker about Miranda. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  “I know that, but had you simply bothered to check, I would have given you my reasons. Miranda knows that, and it grieves me that she should seek other counsel.”

  “But she’s lonely and she desires to marry and have a family of her own,” Grace replied. “You can’t expect her to wait around forever.”

  “I don’t expect that at all. I only ask that she wait until the right man comes along. I want to save her the pain of being married to someone for whom she is completely ill suited.”

  The words penetrated Grace’s heart like no other. Tears came to her eyes and she turned away before asking, “Ill suited as we are?”

  Peter turned her to face him. “Grace, we are not ill suited. We’re perfect for one another. We love so many of the same things, and while you get a little spirited from time to time, I know we’ll come to work through our differences.”

  “You mean that in time I’ll come to do things your way and then you’ll be happy,” Grace said, reaching up to wipe tears from her eyes. “Peter, I’m not that kind of a woman. My faith is the foundation for my existence. It’s not a Sunday occupation or a social matter; it is my very life. I won’t give it up as you think I should. I’ll go on desiring to forgive those who’ve wronged me.”

  “With exception to your husband,” Peter said, letting go of her. “Forgiveness is something you offer everyone else, but not me.”

  “That’s not true, Peter. I do forgive you. I know you don’t understand my need for church or my desire for us to pray together and share God’s Word. I can even admit to knowing that you don’t mean many of the words you speak in anger, but Peter, those words still hurt. Even after I’ve forgiven you, my heart is still tender.”

  He frowned, as if understanding for the first time. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you, Grace. I sometimes speak without thinking.”

  “That is a danger we must all work to avoid. Words spoken in haste cannot be taken back. And while they may be forgiven, the memories will linger to warn the heart of future encounters.”

  “But I don’t mean anything by it,” Peter said in selfdefense.

  “Perhaps that is what makes it even worse,” Grace replied. “If you mean nothing by those words, perhaps you mean nothing by other words. How can I believe what you say when a good portion of the time you tell me you didn’t mean it?”

  Peter shrugged. “I don’t have an answer for you. I lose my temper and I speak out of line. I’m sorry. I’m used to dealing with people who respect me and don’t question my advice.”

  Grace knew her next statement could either send them deeper into the argument or settle the matter more peaceably. She felt a weariness in her heart and chose the latter.

  “I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t mean to make you feel that I held no respect for your advice. I will suggest to Miranda that she speak to you on all these matters. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m feeling rather tired. I think perhaps I’ll rest a bit.”

  Peter smiled and looked as though he might suggest joining her when a light knock sounded at their door. Grace felt relieved as Peter turned to see who it was.

  Miranda stood on the other side, her expression rather tentative. “Peter, Father needs to see you in the study.”

  He glanced back at Grace and then nodded to his sister.

  “Grace was just going to rest for a bit. Perhaps you and I might talk a bit on our way downstairs.”

  They left the room with Peter closing the door behind him. Grace sunk onto the bed and felt such utter despair that she immediately burst into tears. She loved this man so very much, yet he had the power to hurt her like no one else. Not even Martin Paxton had caused her this much pain. But then, she hadn’t loved Martin Paxton.

  Burying her face in the bed pillows, Grace sobbed herself to sleep, hoping and praying that God would somehow show her what she was to do in order to live in peace with this man she so dearly loved.

  —[CHAPTER FOUR]—

  KAREN STOOD SHIVERING in the cold. Staring at the charred rubble that had once been a prosperous business, she wondered what she should do next.

  “You were sure lucky to get out of there alive.”

  Karen turned to find Mrs. Neal, the proprietor of the Gold Nugget Hotel. “Hello, Roberta. Yes, I suppose we were lucky.” Her words were not at all enthusiastic, but Karen felt the truth of their meaning. They had all survived, everyone but Aunt Doris. That loss was more than Karen cared to dwell on, and she tried to put on a brave front for the sake of the children.

  “I came over when I saw you out here. Wanted to tell you that you and the kids could take up a room at my place. I’ve had a good number of fellows head off for the north. There’s a nice big room on the back side of the second floor. There’s only one bed, but your boy could sleep on the floor. It ain’t buggy at all, so you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

  Karen smiled and gave the old woman a hug. She’d become acquainted with Mrs. Neal through the small community church where the old woman pounded out church hymns on a well-worn piano. Most everyone in the area knew Roberta Neal. The widow always lent her opinion and support, be it solicited or otherwise.

  “Thank you, Roberta. That would be most helpful. We’ve stayed a few days in Mr. Ivankov’s tent down by the Tlingit village, but I’m sure he’d like to have his property back. He’s heading north to Sheep Camp, and I wouldn’t want him to be delayed on our account.”

  “Well, you just move your things right on in this afternoon,” Mrs. Neal replied.

  Karen laughed. “Well, there really isn’t much in the way of things to move. The clothes on our backs are pretty much the sum total.”

  Mrs. Neal nodded and headed off down the street. “There’s no need to fret about that. The Ladies Church Society is collecting things for you even now. They’ll be bringing items over to the hotel this afternoon. You just gather your young’uns and come.”

  Relief flooded her at the news, giving her the tiniest hope for the future. Karen had wondered what they would do. She’d considered trying to buy a place or have something built, but the cold weather was hardly the time to start new projects.

  “We’ll be there after lunch,” she called out after the woman.

  Turning her gaze back to the charred remainders of the Colton Trading Post, Karen wondered how best to get word to Peter. She knew he’d be back within a week or two to bring supplies. She supposed it could wait until then, since there was no guarantee the mail would reach him any sooner.

  To say she was discouraged would be an understatement. Karen tried to sort through her tattered emotions and determine what was to be done. She turned away from the rubble and made her way to the small cemetery where her mother was buried. Despite the cold and the dark, heavy clouds overhead, Karen felt confident that this was the only place she would find any real peace.

  A handful of other graves kept company with her mother’s resting-place. Karen knelt beside the simple white marker, mindless of the frozen ground. She gentl
y touched the letters that spelled out her mother’s name and sighed.

  “I came here to find you both,” she murmured. “I knew I’d find you already gone, Mother, but I honestly expected to reunite with Father. How can it be that you are both gone from me now? Now, when I need you the most.”

  She almost laughed at how silly that seemed. She was thirty years old, almost thirty-one. Surely at this age a person no longer needed their mother and father. But Karen had no one else. Grace was gone and married, and all the time and effort she’d poured into that relationship was now a thing of the past. There were, of course, Jacob and Leah Barringer, but they belonged to Bill, and he had pledged to come back for them. Karen had no reason to believe it would be otherwise.

  Then there was Doris. Her beloved aunt was now resting in the arms of Jesus, as the simplistic eulogy delivered by Pastor Clark had suggested. It had been Aunt Doris’s wish to eventually settle in Seattle, so Karen had arranged for her body to be shipped there. Karen knew her sister Willamina would be happy to handle the arrangements.

  “Poor Aunt Doris.” Karen thought it so tragic that the once-vibrant spinster’s life should end this way. She had given Karen such hope, especially on days when things had gone particularly bad. She had always reminded Karen to keep her focus on things above and not things below. But now Karen felt lost, without a purpose.

  “I miss her so much,” Karen again spoke aloud. “I can’t remember a time in my life when she wasn’t my very favorite aunt. It seems strange that she will never again advise me or speak to me of her past experiences.” She turned her gaze to the thick blanket of clouds and asked, “Why, God? Why has this happened? Why have you allowed Martin Paxton to destroy my life?”

  And she was convinced that the blame rested solely with Paxton. There was no doubt in her mind. The fire, according to those who had examined the remains, had begun in the front of the shop, well away from lanterns and stoves that might have sparked a flame. To Karen’s way of thinking, that pretty much signaled that someone had set the fire. Martin Paxton had sworn revenge on each of them, so it seemed an easy conclusion that he had arranged the disaster—perhaps even set the blaze himself.