Free [Yukon Quest 01] - Treasures Of The North by Tracie Peterson Page A

other women. ‘‘I know that in time this will right itself and Grace will be returned to us. But in the meanwhile, I also know she will be safely kept from the ugliness of this situation.’’
    Grace frowned. That her mother expected this to develop into something ugly and distasteful worried her greatly. Certainly she expected Paxton to be angry, even threatening, but he was a businessman and as such, surely even he would recognize there to be more power in keeping her father on his feet than in defeating him. He might never recoup the full extent of his losses otherwise.
    Sleep came fitfully to Grace that night. The biggest worry they had was how to arrange clothing and traveling needs for the two women. Karen had finally hit upon having a couple of the carriage servants deliver two crates marked Oranges to her aunt. Inside would be trunks of neatly folded clothes, shoes, and other personal articles. When Karen and Grace finally made it to Doris, they would simply change clothes and slip away to the railway station, hopefully unnoticed.
    Hopefully . It wasn’t a word that held the greatest reassurance for Grace. Sitting up, unable to sleep, Grace drew her knees to her chest and tried to pray. Oh, how hard it was to pray when her world seemed amiss and words refused to come. She rocked back and forth, laboring to voice her petition to God, but her mind refused the order she so longed for. Rational thought was not possible.
    I hope God understands. Surely He does, she reasoned. He is, after all, God. He knows all—sees all .
    Outside a summer storm raged over the city, flashing brilliant streaks of lightning. In those moments when her room was illuminated ever so briefly, Grace caught glimpses of her many beloved possessions—her vanity chest lined with all kinds of perfumes and accessories, her books and cherished trinkets from childhood. How could she leave them all?
    They are so much a part of me, she thought. Her doll collection was extensive and had been started when she was born. There were eighteen very special dolls, one given each year of her life. After that, her father had chided her when she’d questioned why the dolls had stopped. Instead, very prim and proper gifts were received. A carriage of her own with matching bays. New bedroom furnishings. Those were the type of gifts a grown woman of means might receive. The dolls, like her childhood and innocence, were to be packed away and given to another.
    ‘‘Oh, Father,’’ she murmured, ‘‘why did this ever happen? What did you do to cause such grief to fall upon your shoulders— and my own?’’
    She loved her father and mother despite their distance during her younger years. She had watched them from afar. Though not as the stick figures her mother had mentioned in her own confessions, but rather as beings of importance. People to be revered and in awe of, but not to be close to or loved by.
    Grace supposed she understood that her parents, in their own way, did love her, but their love was far more calculated than Grace desired it to be. She had seen her friends and other families from the church or social settings. She had watched mothers and daughters share amiable moments of what could only be described as true camaraderie. And she had longed for that type of friendship with her own mother.
    ‘‘Now it seems I might have it, but for my escape,’’ she thought aloud. ‘‘Mother is so changed. She feels so responsible for this, and yet I know she doesn’t approve of Mr. Paxton any more than I do.’’
    His very name caused her to shudder. Suddenly feeling chilled, in spite of summer’s warmth, Grace slipped beneath her covers just as another flash of lightning illuminated the room. Pulling the sheet high, like she did as a child, Grace murmured a prayer for protection.
    ‘‘See me here, O God,’’ she whispered. ‘‘See me and guard me. Protect me from harm and deliver me from the hands of my enemy.’’
    Morning came too soon, as