Tracie Peterson - Dawns Prelude

They hurried to get the work done. The wind was merciless, and more than once, Lydia thought it might well knock her to the porch floor. She staggered under the load of logs, bending as much as possible to buffer herself from the icy air.

At one point, Zerelda paused and cocked her ear to one side as if she could hear something. Lydia looked at her aunt questioningly.

"I think I heard a horse."

Lydia laughed and reached for another log. "I can hardly hear you speak. I don't know how you can hear anything, but I'm glad for it. That means Kjell will soon he here."

"Or it's just our little gelding protesting his meager stable. Come on. I think we have enough wood. I'll get some coffee on." She held the door for Lydia and followed her into the house. Securing the door, Zerelda began to peel off her coat. "Goodness, but I'll be glad to snuggle down in my covers tonight."

Lydia laughed and deposited the last of the wood by the fireplace. "Me too." She dusted her hands. "Is there something I can help with in the kitchen?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm going to stoke up the stove fire and put on a pot of coffee. You go back to your knitting. At this rate, Dalton is going to need all the blankets he can get."

Taking her place once again, Lydia began to work on the piece. She liked the added warmth of the blanket spread out over her lap. The chill of the night air gradually faded as her body thawed by the fire. Soon Kjell would he with them, and all would he well.

"I heard in town today that the Presbyterians are sending some missionaries up here," Zerelda said as she returned from the kitchen. "I'm excited to say that they hope to start a school for the native children and have a church."

"That would he wonderful," Lydia replied. "I know how you worry about the Tlingits and their children."

Zcrelda took a seat opposite Lydia by the fire. "Education is so important, and few whites have the training or patience to deal with natives. They've been treated so unfairly at times. I don't blame those who run away to the other side of the island. I only hope the army will leave them alone."

"I suppose they will if the Tlingit leave the army alone."

"It doesn't work that way. For some reason seeing natives free to live on their own seems to really disturb our government. I saw it in Oregon, as well. Their preference is to have the Indians caged up like animals. They set up reservations and stockades, promising them a better life, but it's not better in the eyes of the natives."

"But aren't they dangerous? I was always hearing stories about Indian uprisings hack in Kansas City. It seemed all sorts of problems were taking place on the plains and to the west."

"There is good and had in every people," Zerelda answered, "but it has been my experience that the whites have taken it upon themselves to determine where the boundaries should be. They set the rules for how everyone should live and work, what kind of clothes and religion they should practice. They don't believe we can live in peace together."

Lydia stretched and yawned, looking again at the clock. It was nearly seven.

Zerelda could see Lydia 's impatience. "He'll be here soon. If I did indeed hear someone coming, it would have to be him. He wouldn't leave the horses out in the storm, so he'll need time to care for them, as well. Don't fret so."

But a half hour later, Kjell had still not appeared. Lydia sipped the coffee Zerelda had given her and worried. "Where could he be?"

Rain was now pelting the house, and the wind had not calmed. Lydia supposed Kjell might have decided to wait until the storm passed, but what if it lasted all night?

"He'll be here when he can, Liddie. You mustn't…" Zerelda fell silent. "Sounds like the baby is fussing."

Dalton 's cry soon reached Lydia 's ears. "You do have good hearing, Zerelda." She put the coffee aside and got to her feet. "I suppose he's hungry again."

Just then something hit the porch outside. Zerelda jumped to her feet. Lydia froze in place. Her aunt was already heading to where the Winchester hung by the door. "Might be some animal seeking shelter," Zerelda told her.

"Don't go out there. If it's an animal, you certainly don't want to have to fight it now not with the storm," Lydia said. Dalton began to cry harder, and she headed for the stairs.

"It could be a tree branch has broken off and hit the porch. I need to at least check it out. Don't worry about me," Zerelda said. "I've taken care of myself for a long many years."

Lydia nodded. "I forget just how capable you are. But please, he careful."

She headed upstairs as Zerelda began to pull open the door. The cold wind blew in, causing Lydia to pick up her pace. Slipping into her bedroom, Lydia left the door open and quickly lit one of the lamps.

Dalton soothed as she whispered and cooed to him. "Just a minute, sweet baby. Mama is here."

A commotion from downstairs, however, drew Lydia 's attention. Zerelda was shouting at someone. Lydia stepped toward the open door and strained to listen. The sound of men's voices rose, along with Zerelda's insistence that they leave or she would shoot them.

Lydia put her hand to her mouth and eased into the hall. What kind of trouble was this? A shot rang out, and Lydia heard more shouting. She wanted to go to Zerelda's aid, but her feet felt rooted to the floor. How could she help?

The revolver!

Kjell kept a gun in the bedroom. She would get it and defend her aunt. But Lydia had taken only two steps when another shot rang out, and Zerelda screamed. Lydia 's legs felt like lead weights as one of the men's voices called, "Get the baby. Get him now."

Her breath came in rapid gasps as she hurried into her bedroom and closed the door. She frantically searched for some way to stop whoever it was from entering, but there was no lock, no bar. She thought of trying to slide the dresser against the door and went to give it a shove. It was too heavy. She only managed to move it a few inches.

She heard the doors to the other rooms being opened and closed. She felt bile in the back of her throat. What was happening? Why were they after Dalton? Then a hideous thought came to mind: Marston. This was his doing. He was trying to take the baby from her-to force her to return to Kansas City, where he could control her.

She again tried to push the dresser. With a strength she didn't know she possessed, she shoved it over before it caught on the rug. It now crossed the jamb by a small margin, blocking the door from opening at least for a hit. She went to get the revolver but it was gone. Kjell must have moved it. But where? There was no time to consider as someone began pounding on the door. The dresser began to shift. Hope faded.

Lydia frantically looked for a means of escape. The window was her only hope. She rushed to open it, wondering if she could ever manage to keep herself and Dalton safe on the slippery roof.

Struggling with the window, Lydia felt relief when it finally gave way and opened far enough for her and Dalton to make their escape. She was nearly blown backward by the wind and rain but gave it little thought. Instead she hurried to the bed and took up the quilt.

Lydia had barely made her way hack to the cradle when the door finally gave way and the dresser was pushed aside. A large man came storming into the room.

"Give me the baby," he said. His Russian accent was thick, and his blue eyes seemed to stare right through her.

"Who are you? Why have you come here?"

"The child." He pointed to the cradle. "I want the child."

"No!" Lydia cried, putting herself between the two. Dalton began to fuss at the sound of his mother's frantic voice.

"You will wrap him warmly and give him to me."

She was nearly hysterical by this point. It didn't matter if he killed her-taking her baby would do that anyway. "Look." She took a step forward. "Whatever Marston Gray is paying you, I will double-no, triple."