Rosalind’s smile grew even larger. “Father said we can donate some of our books that we don’t use, and I went to the mercantile yesterday. Mr. Fredricks has a catalog with thousands of books that can be ordered.”
“That’s good to know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wonder if you might recommend a budget to be spent on each category of books, allotting a certain amount for fiction and a certain amount for?—”
“Rosalind’s going to be rather busy planning our wedding,” Vandermeer interrupted. “She’ll have limited time to help.”
Rosalind’s head snapped toward her fiancé. “But Father said he wanted me involved with?—”
“That was before our wedding was announced.” Vandermeer laid a hand over hers where it rested on his arm.
Something smoldered inside Yuri. “When is the wedding?”
Please, Father, help it be some distant date a year or two away, enough time for Rosalind to come to her senses, or for me to plan a way for her to leave Sitka if that’s what she wants.
“It’s been set for the last weekend in May.” She whispered as if it were an execution date.
Four months. He barely resisted curling his hand into a fist. That wasn’t nearly enough time.
“We’ll be married in time for me to take Rosalind somewhere new for the summer. The change in scenery will be good for her.” Vandermeer patted Rosalind’s hand, and Yuri had the sudden impulse to wrench her away from the towering man.
Anyone who really knew her would be able to see that she’d shrunk in on herself while standing beside Vandermeer. She kept staring at her shoes rather than looking at him or her fiancé.
Vandermeer was still speaking, something about travel arrangements and the move down to Seattle after the wedding.
Yuri barely heard him. His eyes remained on Rosalind, and her gaze finally flickered up to meet his.
Their connection lasted only a second before she broke it, but Vandermeer must have noticed, because his grip on Rosalind’s arm shifted, his fingers flexing slightly. “Of course, I can always inquire about Rosalind getting a position on our library committee down in Seattle. Once she settles into her new role as my wife, that is. She’ll have a household to run, guests to entertain, and children to bear and raise first. And I’ll expect my wife to be home when I return in the evenings. I certainly can’t have her traipsing about town whenever she pleases. Perhaps the Seattle library committee meets in the afternoon.”
Rosalind was still as stone, her head ducked toward the ground once again. The only hint of emotion he could find was that the fingers of her free hand were curled into the fabric of her sleeve. Her hands were gloved, so he couldn’t tell if her knuckles were white, but he wouldn’t be surprised.
Vandermeer didn’t seem to notice.
“Sounds like you have it all planned out,” Yuri rasped, the words like gravel in his throat.
“A man has to run his household properly. Women can get all sorts of ideas if you don’t set the right expectations. I ran into that a bit with my first wife, but we straightened matters out soon enough.” The man sent him a wink, then loosed a low, dark chuckle.
Yuri had to shove both hands into his coat pockets to keep from balling one of them into a fist and sending it flying toward Vandermeer’s jaw.
Rosalind chose that moment to look up at her fiancé and give him a tight smile. “We should go, Mr. Van— Leeland. Father will be expecting us soon. Just let me collect the mail.”
Vandermeer released her arm only long enough for her to step up to the counter, where Mr. Hooper was waiting with a bundle of mail.
She retrieved it without a word, then returned to Vandermeer and put her hand back on his arm. The bell above the door chimed as she and her fiancé disappeared into the afternoon.
Yuri stared at the door for a few seconds, then let out a slow breath and looked down at his hands. They were shaking.
“Are you all right, Yuri?”
Yuri’s gaze snapped up to the postmaster’s. Had Mr. Hooper witnessed their entire conversation?
“I’m fine,” he muttered, his eyes moving back to the doorway that Rosalind had disappeared through.
It was a lie. He wasn’t fine.
And he’d never felt so powerless in his life.
13
That Afternoon
