Tracie Peterson - Dawns Prelude

"What a martyr," Jeannette said in a huff.

Marston turned to his sister. "Be still, Jeannette. Lydia is right. She has borne a great deal since coming to reside in this house."

Lydia felt a wave of shock wash over her at Marston's defense. He had never offered her any consolation or acceptance. He and Mitchell had treated her with cruelty and oppression over the years, and she had never expected any such support.

As if reading her mind, Marston turned back to Lydia. "I am particularly sorry for my part. I'm afraid I desired only to please my father, and because of that, I acted in a manner most unbecoming a gentleman."

Lydia frowned. She didn't know what to say and so said nothing. The others seemed taken aback by Marston's comments. They sat in silence, as if trying to figure out if this were some sort of game being played out.

"We are hoping you can understand our position," Mitchell said.

Releasing the hack of the chair, Lydia gave a brief nod. "I think I understand it very well."

Marston got to his feet. "I believe we have imposed long enough." Mitchell and Jeannette followed him to the door, with Evie slowly sipping the last of her tea before rising.

Marston Gray had baffled Lydia completely. He had started out the conversation demanding as usual, only to apologize for twelve years of ugliness. Funny how people believed that casual words of apology could somehow erase all of the pain and suffering they had caused.

Lydia heard Evie approach and turned to face her. Evie had never been cruel to her but had often found herself forced to go along with her siblings. "I'm sorry that life here has been such a grief."

"I'm equally sorry for you, Evie. I'm sorry that you had to grow up without the love and affection of a mother… or father." She wanted to comment on knowing that Evie hadn't found these things in a husband's love, either, but thought it might be unkind.

Evie nodded and reached out to take hold of Lydia 's hand. "I hope you will go far away from here. You deserve to have a happy life. I hope and pray my brothers will leave you in peace. It isn't as if they don't have plenty of their own money. They might have to reorganize their lives a hit and make new plans for their future, but honestly, neither one will suffer all that much."

"I am glad to know that," Lydia replied. "I hope the same is true for you and Jeannette."

"Oh goodness, my husband has more money than he knows what to do with, and while Jeannette may have to learn to curb her spending, perhaps she will still wear the latest fashions."

Lydia smiled. "And that is truly all that will matter to Jeannette."

Evie grinned in return. "Well, that and her social standing. I suppose if somehow it is determined that without Father's money she is less than desirable in the upper classes of this city, she will suffer most heinously" Evie walked to the door and pulled on her gloves. She turned and looked at Lydia as if realizing this would he the last time she would see her.

For a moment Lydia met Evie's gaze, uncertain what to say. She didn't want to share any detail that might cause problems for her departure the following day "I hope you will he happy," she finally murmured.

A shadow seemed to pass over Evie's countenance and then was gone. She smiled. "I hope you will he, too, Lydia."

There was something of a farewell in her tone that made Lydia sad.

Gerald Lytle was a companionable sort of man. Standing only a little taller than Lydia, he was stout and well muscled and a good conversationalist.

"I am glad to meet you, Mrs. Gray. This trip is one I have often dreamed of taking." He paused and lowered his gaze just a hit. "I hope you don't mind my saying so."

Lydia was touched by his concern that he might somehow have breached etiquette with his comment. "Of course not. I'm quite happy for your company. I was uncertain how I would make the journey on my own."

"I've wanted to take the train west since the tracks opened last year." His animated tone actually served to excite Lydia. "Of course, there are still Indian troubles, but I do not want you to worry. I have brought my rifle, and should the need arise, I will protect you to the death."

You are most kind." Lydia smiled and motioned to her few things. "This is all I'm taking." She reached for a case. "I gave my servants the day off."

"I can carry that for you," Mr. Lytle said, rushing forward.

"No. I would trust no other to handle my violin. It has been my only comfort and consolation for many years."

"I can well understand," he said as he collected the other things. "Music soothes the soul as nothing else can."

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, that is true."

They departed the house, and Mr. Lytle handed Lydia up into the carriage. He secured her bags, then took his seat opposite her. He seemed to sense her mood and said nothing more.

Lydia couldn't help but stare at the house. She wondered at the lost years there-of the time when she had been a prisoner of Floyd Gray. With a kind man, she might have had happy memories. Even though the marriage was not of her desire, a loving man might have changed her heart for the better. She might have known great joy and passionate love. Instead, something inside her had died and would remain buried there at the Grays' estate.

Her gaze traveled upward to the widow's walk, off of which she knew Charlotte Gray had thrown herself. She had no doubt longed for an escape, just as Lydia did. Floyd had probably neglected and abused her in the same manner he had Lydia, and in Charlotte 's case, she had grown too weary to hear it.

Well, now we both have our escape, Lydia thought. We are both set free, and I shall be set upon a new path of hope. The carriage started down the drive, while Beethoven's Ninth Symphony built to a crescendo in her head. The words played out in her mind.

Oh friends, not these tones!

Let its sing more cheetfid songs,

And mnore joyful.

Joy! Joy'

And mote jot fiu l! Jot fu l! The word pierced her heart. She would he joyful and happy. Truly happy for the first time in her life.

The journey to Sitka had been an arduous one for Lydia. Having never traveled so far, she suffered during the seemingly endless miles of train soot and smoke, only to discover that the ocean voyage was worse. Now, as the Neu'beriz stood anchored in the harbor off Sitka 's shores, the gentle rocking of the waves made her sick.

Please, just let us get ashore, she thought, pressing a scented handkerchief to her nose. The sweet scent of lavender calmed her momentarily.

Miss Sophia Cracroft stood not far away on the deck with her aunt, Lady Jane Franklin, who was searching for some memento of her husband, Sir John Franklin. He had died some twenty-four years previous while trying to discover a northwest passage from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Lady Franklin, a delicate but sturdy seventy-nine-year-old English woman, remained hopeful that her husband's journey records might yet appear in one of the far-north settlements.

Lydia didn't know much else. She had been told that Lady Franklin preferred to keep to herself or to the company of her niece. Gazing out now across the water to Sitka, Lydia tried to focus on the small log settlement.

"That's the Indian village to the left."

One of the ship's officers was at her left shoulder. She couldn't recall his name hut gave him a brief smile. "Are the Indians happily settled there?"

"I suppose they might be," the man replied. "They call that area the Ranche. The Russians gave it that name after a term they picked up in one of their California colonies."