Dawn's Prelude by Tracie Peterson Page B

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 bear 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 us sing more cheerful songs,
And more joyful.
Joy! Joy!
    And more joyful! Joyful! The word pierced her heart. She would be joyful and happy. Truly happy for the first time in her life.

Chapter 6
    May 12, 1870
    T he 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 Newbern 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 but 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.”
    Lydia let her gaze travel to the rows of long log houses. They were quite large, and she supposed several families could live within one structure. A high wooden stockade ran up from the beach to the first of three blockhouses. Aunt Zerelda had told her many stories about the Tlingit Indians of the area. Her