Chapter 8
Sitka; Two Days Later
Her father hadn’t found out. Rosalind’s heart had pounded when she returned home with the letters from Bryony burning in her pocket, but her father hadn’t suspected a thing.
Rosalind knelt beside the small hearth in her room where the rug met the corner floorboard.
She pried the floorboard up carefully, then slid her newest stack of four letters into the narrow cavity beneath.
It wasn’t much space, but she liked to keep her letters for at least a couple months before burning them in the fire, just in case she needed to reference one later.
She pressed the board back down and smoothed the rug over it, then rose to her feet and glanced around. The room was quiet, her writing desk was in order, and her bed was neatly made.
But she listened for a moment, just to make sure no one was lurking outside her door, then moved to the window seat that overlooked the small garden behind the house and picked up her copy of Pride and Prejudice.
Everything about the letters made her unbearably nervous.
It was so very impossible to do anything without her father learning of it, and part of her was amazed she’d secretly managed to donate money beneath his nose for three years.
Now that the Amos family knew what Yuri was doing for her, would her father find out?
She knew what would happen if he did. He’d find a way to strip from her the trust account her mother had left her, never mind that it was in her name.
Her father was very good at getting what he wanted, and she had no doubt he was powerful enough to bribe the owner of the bank in Washington, DC, into putting his name on her account.
Then he’d transfer the money out.
And if he didn’t do that exact thing, he’d think of something else.
If Yuri were here, he would probably tell her not to fear because God was with her and could make her strong, like that verse in Isaiah talked about. But she wasn’t sure how to be strong when it came to her father, wasn’t sure how to be anything other than fearful.
Sometimes she felt like Joseph from the Bible, cast into a pit and then sold into slavery for years and years.
God eventually brought Joseph out of slavery and made him a powerful man.
Was that what the verse in Isaiah meant?
Would God one day deliver her from everything if she trusted him instead of being so afraid of her father?
A knock sounded at her bedroom door. She recognized it as Foster’s, but she found her body tensing anyway, her fingers tightening around the novel she’d opened but hadn’t yet started to read.
“Come in.” She tried to appear calm as she turned to face the door.
The long-time servant poked his head inside the doorway. “Miss Rosalind, your father would like to see you in his study.”
Sweat slickened her hands. “He would?”
“Yes, miss.” Though the words were simple, there was something soft about how he said them.
Foster had been with her family for as long as she could remember, and though the man did her father’s bidding without so much as a blink, he was still kind beneath his starched shirt and straight suit.
“I wouldn’t worry overmuch,” he added. “He’s in a good mood.”
She pressed her lips together. Hopefully he was right about her father’s mood. And hopefully he would still be in a good mood after their conversation.
Still, the dull ache in her wrist increased into a sharper pain as she headed toward the door. Foster followed her down the stairs to the study with the heavy oak door at the end of the hall.
At one time she could have told Foster that she would be right down, then taken a few minutes to compose herself before going to see her father. But those days were so long ago, they seemed like another lifetime, and she didn’t even try to buy a few extra minutes for herself.
Foster knocked for her, and her father’s voice called out. “Enter.”
Foster turned the knob, and she took a steadying breath, then lifted her chin and stepped inside.
The study was warm, the fire in the hearth casting flickering light across the dark-paneled walls lined with bookshelves.
The scent of tobacco lingered, mixing with the faint aroma of brandy from the glass her father held as he stood near the window, one hand in his pocket, staring out over the town below.
Rosalind kept her back straight as she waited.
He didn’t turn but rather kept his gaze riveted on something outside. “As I’m sure you’re aware, our family name has taken a bit of disparaging since Thanksgiving.”
She frowned. It had? How so? Her uncle was the governor, and the Alaska Commercial Company was running smoothly and making a profit—it always did with her father at the helm.
“I’m talking about the harassment lawsuits the Amos family filed.” He turned to face her then, his eyes dark and sharp.
She swallowed. Was this what Foster had meant by saying her father was in a good mood? Surely the butler had misread him.
“People are starting to talk. Your uncle came down too hard with the forced searches of the Amoses’ ships last fall, and now they’re wary.”
They had every right to be wary. Her uncle had made no secret of using his new position as governor to serve himself first and foremost. “I see.”
“I don’t think you do.” Father took a slow sip from the glass. “That woman lawyer—Evelina Amos Redding—has just filed three more harassment cases against our family.”
Were they really against their family? Or against the governor’s office?
The first two had been aimed at her uncle, one for ordering the Revenue Cutter Service to search all Amos ships entering Sitka and hold them as long as possible, forcing them to miss deadlines and lose profits.
The other had been of a similar nature but was filed by a blacksmith whose business license her uncle had refused to renew after the blacksmith refused to renegotiate prices for his government jobs.
The entire town had been taken aback when the Amoses filed that first lawsuit against her uncle for searching their ships just before Thanksgiving, but Rosalind had thought it a clever move. It had forced him to scale back, at least in public.
She didn’t know anything about these new lawsuits, though. “Is there something I can do to help?”
Her father walked to his desk. “Yes. Your uncle and I have decided we need to do something that will foster the townsfolk’s goodwill.”
She blinked. “You have?”
“We received word just last week that Andrew Carnegie has awarded a grant to establish a library in Sitka.”
“A library?” The words left her before she could temper her tone. “That’s wonderful.”
“While your uncle and I certainly appreciate Carnegie’s generosity, his grant alone is insufficient.
” He set down his brandy glass with a thunk.
“We need additional funds to ensure the library meets the standards befitting a town of Sitka’s stature.
So we’ve decided to make a rather large donation ourselves. ”
“That sounds like an excellent idea.”
“Then you understand why it’s important you hold a position on the newly formed library committee.”
“A library committee?” Once again, the words slipped out in a rush, her smile rising before she could stop it. “You want me to serve on a library committee?”
“This isn’t fun and games, Rosalind.” Her father pinched between his eyebrows and drew a slow breath through his nose.
“The entire town will be watching, and I need someone on the board to demonstrate that our family is committed to Sitka’s advancement and ensure our name is properly associated with the library’s success. ”
“Yes, sir.” The picture was becoming clearer now. She wasn’t going to have a seat on the committee because she loved books or might be good at helping to organize and structure Sitka’s first library. She was going to serve on the committee to make sure her family looked good.
Still, she couldn’t help but be excited. A library. Right here in Sitka. She only hoped this wasn’t the type of project that would take years to complete, that the inhabitants of Sitka would be able to start lending books in short order.
“The first meeting is in two days. I expect you to attend.”
“Of course.” She could hardly wait. Not only would she get to pick out books for a library, but she’d also get time out of the house. She was tempted to ask how often the library committee was scheduled to meet—if they could meet every week, or even twice a week, rather than once a month.
After a building was procured and books were ordered, would the library expect committee members to catalog and shelve them? She could volunteer to do so. That might get her out of the house for days.
And then, once the library was open, maybe she could volunteer to serve as librarian. All in the name of being a good library committee member, of course. All for the sake of keeping the Caldwell family name in good standing with the townsfolk.
“I suggest you wipe that silly grin off your face.” Her father scowled at her, then picked his brandy back up and took a sip. “This is a serious endeavor, and the first thing I need you to do is make sure the library is named after our family.”
“Oh.” She tried to hide her grimace. “I’m not sure I’ll have complete say over the name. I assume everyone on the committee will have an equal vote.”
His eyes flashed. “Then it’s your job to convince them of the merits of naming the library after our family.”
Were there merits to it? Would the Caldwell Public Library somehow be able to serve the community better than the Sikta Public Library or the Alaska Public Library?
“Don’t hesitate to remind the other committee members that we’re donating a large sum of money. See that it gets done, Rosalind. At the first meeting.”
So that’s how things were going to be. Her fingers curled around the fabric of her skirt. “Yes, Father.”
He studied her a moment longer, then lifted one brow and angled his head ever so slightly toward the door. “That will be all.”
She didn’t need to be told twice. She headed toward the door with the careful, well-mannered steps her father expected to see. Only when she was out of sight did she let out a slow, shaking breath.
The library committee. She wanted to be excited, but nothing her father wanted from her was ever as simple as it seemed.
Just what would happen if she couldn’t manage to get the new library named after her family?