Mikhail seemed to be emptying every last thing from his pack—and it wasn’t a small pack. He pulled out what looked to be an extra blanket, a rope, a hatchet, and a canteen.
Had he lost something? Why would he be unpacking so much? Especially after telling everyone last night that he’d want to break camp as early as possible in the morning.
He continued unpacking, a tin cup followed next, then a fishing line, then several smaller items that she couldn’t see clearly. When he finally got to what must have been the bottom of the pack, he turned it upside down and shook it.
A pile of smooth, round rocks tumbled out, one after the other.
But that made no sense. Why would a man as experienced in the wilderness as Mikhail Amos pack something that was sure to slow him down?
She couldn’t stop herself from heading toward him. Did he realize how fascinating he was? How everything he did was so utterly and completely different from what she expected? “Why do you carry rocks in your pack?”
Mikhail looked up as she approached. “For stamina. I make a habit of carrying more weight than I need so that if I find myself in a difficult situation, I can lighten the load. Then it feels like I’m carrying nothing.”
She looked down at all the things he’d set on the ground, which she could now see clearly. Not a blanket but two extra coats, a small hatchet, fishing line and hooks, rope, a metal canteen, a bundle of dried meat, oilcloth, a tin cup, several pouches that looked to be filled with dried herbs, and a sewing kit.
Just how strong was the man in front of her? Because the collection of items in his pack would double, perhaps even triple, the weight of hers. And then he added rocks on top of it? And not just a few rocks either.
“Should I start doing that?” She bent down and picked up one of the rocks, testing the weight of it in her hand. “Will it make me stronger?”
“Carrying rocks in your pack?” Richard said from behind her.
She looked over her shoulder to find him approaching.
“Honestly, Bryony. You’ve no need to be strong, not when you’ll be my wife.”
She pressed her lips together, her jaw snapping tight. One moment he admitted to taking her journal, and the next he was talking about them getting married. Did the man understand nothing about what she wanted in life? “And what do you expect me to do as your wife? Sit in the parlor and host afternoon tea?”
“And dinner parties, yes.” Richard didn’t even glance at her as he spoke. He briefly ran his eyes over the contents of Mikhail’s pack, shook his head, then turned away and headed back to his bedroll, which he had yet to pack.
“And he wonders why I haven’t agreed to marry him,” she muttered under her breath.
Choking sounded from her right, and she snapped her gaze over to find Mikhail watching her, a faint smile etched across his usually stern features. “Don’t tell the lout yes. You’ll be miserable.”
She would certainly be miserable, though she hadn’t intended for him to overhear what she’d said. “You really think I should refuse Richard’s offer of marriage?”
The smile dropped from Mikhail’s face. “Yes.”
“Then why does everyone else think we should marry?”
“Because they’re imbeciles.”
“But they’re not.” She gestured toward her father, who had sauntered to the fire and was pouring himself a cup of coffee. “My father’s a scientific genius. He’s discovered more plant species than any other scientist alive today.”
Mikhail bent and started putting things back in his pack. “Then maybe we have an imbecilic way of treating women. Maybe the problem is that men, as a whole, treat women like imbeciles, when you’re every bit as capable as men.”
She blinked. Never in her life had she heard such a thing. “I don’t know how you can say that. I’m certainly not as strong as a man. Even if I carried rocks around in my pack for two years, I wouldn’t be as strong as you.”
“That wasn’t what I meant. Men and women are different physically.” He stuffed more things into his pack—an extra canteen, a journal, the coil of rope. “But as a society we assume every woman ever created will be happy to stay home and bear children and host teas as long as her husband is rich enough. But it seems to me that the truly happy women are the ones who use the skills God has given them to live rich and full lives.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
Because she couldn’t think of a single possible thing to say.
Did all men in Alaska think this way? The women too? No one in Washington, DC, could voice such things without getting laughed out of the room. “Women... we... that is... we don’t have skills the way men do. There’s no place for us in politics or science or anything of the like. Our job is to have children and make a good home for our husbands.”
“You should meet my sisters.” Mikhail put one of the parkas at the top of his pack, then picked up the other one. “I’m not sure how long you’ll be in Sitka after we return, but if there’s time, I’ll send to Juneau for them.”
Her mouth fell open again, but just like last time, she could barely think of something to say. “I... you... you want to introduce me to your family? Why?”
