Chapter One
Sitka, Alaska; December 29, 1888
Everyone looked so very happy.
Rosalind Caldwell shrank deeper into her coat as she stared through the frosted glass, watching as men and women twirled around the dance floor. Muted music from the three fiddlers filtered outside, creating an air of happiness despite the dark Alaskan night and the snow falling around her.
In the center of the room, one of her oldest friends, Bryony Wetherby Amos, danced with her new husband, Mikhail.
She looked beautiful with her long red hair curled with a hot iron and woven with flowers sent from California. Her hair splayed against her cream-colored dress as Mikhail twirled her in his arms, the expression on his face filled with love.
Mikhail twirled Bryony again, and her wedding dress fanned out as she laughed. The music swallowed the sound of her laughter, but Rosalind didn’t have to use her imagination to know how vibrant and free it sounded.
And Mikhail . . .
Rosalind swallowed. Hopefully her future husband would look at her like that.
The problem was, that wasn’t how marriages worked in her world. She tried to picture the faceless stranger her father would choose, who would one day call himself her husband. Perhaps he’d be older, a seasoned politician or a wealthy businessman with a calculating mind and an eye for connections. Or maybe he’d be young and ambitious, willing to do anything to climb higher in society.
She just hoped he wasn’t cruel.
She forced her gaze back to Bryony and Mikhail. Bryony tipped her head back and smiled into her husband’s eyes, and Mikhail leaned in close, murmuring something against her temple.
“You’re allowed to go inside, you know.”
She jumped at the sound of the voice behind her, then sucked in a breath and turned around.
Almost as though she’d conjured him, Yuri Amos stood a few feet away, his dark hair dusted with snow, his suit coat open despite the cold. “Yuri, what are you doing out here?”
A crooked smile tilted one side of his mouth. “Making sure you don’t catch your death of cold, it seems. If you do, I’ll have to haul you inside and set you next to the stove. Then my siblings will notice what I’m up to, and Evelina will fuss until I promise to knit you a scarf, Kate will lecture me on frostbite and propriety, and Alexei will demand to know why you froze in the first place. It’s much simpler to make sure you don’t get frostbite in the first place. Trust me on this.”
“I’m perfectly warm.” It wasn’t a lie. Her fur coat and hat kept her warm in the ways that counted.
The cold loneliness that crept into her chest as she watched Mikhail and Bryony dance was another matter entirely.
She ran her eyes down Yuri’s lithe form and over the shoulders that were neither too wide nor too slender but seemed to fit perfectly with his narrow hips. “You, on the other hand, seem to have forgotten your coat entirely.”
He shrugged, his breath fogging in the air. “I’m conducting an experiment. I want to see how long I can last before Evelina calls me an idiot.”
Her lips tilted up into a quick smile before she could stop them. He was always doing that, finding little ways to make her smile. Never mind that she had little in her life to smile about.
“You still don’t have to stand out here.” He nodded her direction.
“I do, and we both know why.” The smile dropped from her face, and she glanced back through the window, her throat growing thick as she watched Mikhail plant a kiss against Bryony’s temple. “Bryony looks so very happy with your brother.”
“She is.”
Her throat tightened even more. If Bryony had married into any other family, Rosalind would have been inside celebrating with her. But not the Amoses. “I’m glad. She deserves to be happy.”
“So do you.” The soft words filled the night, and she could feel the warmth of Yuri’s gaze on her. It hadn’t left her since he’d appeared.
Just what was he hoping to learn by studying her for so long?
Nothing good, she was certain. Just like she was certain nothing good would come of the two of them being alone out here in the dark.
“I’m going to San Francisco,” he suddenly announced.
He was? She moved her gaze back to his, then forced herself to take a long breath while her mind filled with questions. How long will you be gone? Why are you leaving? Will you return quickly?
She didn’t want to think about why any of those things mattered, so she shoved the thoughts aside and forced herself to focus on the practical aspect of his absence. “Do you have January’s installment to give me?”
“Yes.”
She nodded toward where his hands were tucked into the pockets of his suitcoat. “Did you bring everything with you now?”
“I would have, had I known you were coming.”
Right. He wouldn’t have expected to see her here. “Then we need to set up another time to meet. When do you leave?”
“Next Tuesday, unless the ship is late coming into port.”
It was Saturday night. That only left her with Sunday and Monday. “I’ll see if I can move my visit to Millicent’s up to Monday afternoon, and I’ll sneak off to meet you after I have tea with her.”
He gave a single nod of his head. “The usual time and place?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.” Yuri’s breath cast another plume of white between them. “I’m guessing two weeks, maybe three. I’m sure Alexei will set my mail aside for me, but if something in San Francisco takes longer than I expect, do you want me to see if Bryony can meet you at the beginning of February?”
He might be gone that long? What would he be doing?
She clamped her lips shut. It wasn’t her business. Not any of it.
Just answer the question, Rosalind. It was simple and straight forward, and he deserves an honest response.
“No,” she found herself saying. “I don’t think so. The fewer people who know about this, the better.”
Yuri raised his eyebrows. “I thought Bryony was your friend.”
“She is, but she doesn’t need to know everything.”
Silence stretched between them, as thick as the snow piling at their feet. A new song from inside filtered through the cracks around the window, laughter mixing with the fiddlers’ tune.
“You should come to San Francisco.” Once again, Yuri’s words seemed to come from nowhere, bold and unexpected against the frigid night.
She found herself flinching at the offer. “You want me to run off? With you?”
How could the idea sound so very foreign when she’d been thinking the same thing only moments before he’d joined her?
But Yuri hadn’t factored into her plans earlier. “You want me to run off—with you?”
“Not with me.” He held out his hands, as though that might somehow make him look innocent. “I just want you away from here. We’ll get you a new name, a ridiculous hat, and you can claim to be an heiress from Boston. No one will suspect a thing.”
He sent her a crooked grin, and for one small moment, she let herself imagine being on the ship as it pulled away from Sitka, the icy air stinging her face as lightness filled her chest.
But the dream shattered before it could fully take form. “I can’t leave. Things aren’t ready.”
“You’ve been saying that for the past year.” Yuri shoved a hand into his hair. “Just come with me. San Francisco is a big enough city for you to disappear in for a month or two while you figure out where to go next.”
Her pulse pounded at her temples. “If you think my father won’t have men searching for me at every port city on the Pacific Ocean the day after I disappear, then you don’t know him very well. If I leave, everything needs to be perfect. If it’s not perfect and I mess up just one detail . . .” She broke off, her fingers curling into the thick fur of her coat.
She couldn’t afford the price her father would demand if she failed.
“Maybe you need to think more about what God can do to help you leave than about how afraid you are,” he said.
She blinked at him. “What?”
Yuri rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”
She took a step closer. “No. Don’t apologize. I want you to explain yourself.”
He shifted in the snow. “I was reading in the Bible about fear, and God brought me to Isaiah chapter forty-one and verse ten. ‘Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’ So I was thinking, maybe instead of being scared to leave Sitka, you should ask God to strengthen you, because the Bible promises he will.”
She silently repeated what she could remember of the verse, committing the reference to memory. Isaiah 41:10. She could certainly do with less fear in her life. She’d have to look the verse up and read it when she got home.
“I meant what I said earlier too.” Yuri’s voice turned soft and low. “It’s not just Bryony who deserves happiness. You deserve to be happy too.”
Did she? It certainly sounded good to hear him say so. Perhaps that was why she was half in love with him. He was always nice. Always kind. Always gentle.
Those were traits that didn’t exist in her father’s world.
If she ever did leave Sitka, if she ever truly decided to walk away from the life her father was carefully planning for her, she would have to do it without anyone knowing . . .
Including Yuri.
She turned toward the water, staring at the dark waves lapping the shore. “I’ll meet you on Monday. At the usual time. I should be able to talk Father into letting me have an extra visit with Millicent, especially with the holidays, and I’ll sneak off to visit you after I’m at her house. Bring everything you’ve received with you.”
She took a step back, then turned and strode off into the night.
For a few seconds, she thought Yuri might follow, or at least call after her for leaving so abruptly.
But he didn’t. He stayed where he was, watching her as he leaned against the wall of the warehouse-turned-ballroom. And she could swear she felt the heat of his gaze on her the entire way back home.
It was a ridiculous notion. There was no possible way for him to see her after she rounded the first corner and turned up the hill leading to her family’s mansion on the far side of town. But she still felt as though his eyes were on her.
The house was dark when she reached it, just as she’d known it would be. She’d been careful when planning how to sneak out for a glimpse of Bryony’s wedding reception.
She headed around the back of the mansion to the kitchen entrance, just to be certain Father wasn’t up late in the parlor.
But after she turned the doorknob and let herself inside, she found a form shrouded in shadows, his hands folded tightly on the table.
“Father?” she rasped, every last bit of warmth draining from her body.
He said nothing as the door clicked shut behind her, only watched—as though he’d been counting every second she’d been away.
