Yuri tapped the ax into the tree stump, letting it rest there before eyeing his brother. “You’re making her do the Indian clubs too?”
Mikhail merely crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not making her do anything, but if she’s going to join me on my expeditions, then she needs to be in good shape physically. Surely you don’t expect me to take her into the wilderness unprepared.”
Most people wouldn’t expect a wilderness guide to take his wife with him at all, but Bryony was different. She seemed genuinely excited about heading into the wilderness with Mikhail this spring, and she didn’t seem to mind the exercises he’d concocted for her either. If anything, she looked happy standing beside the kitchen door, her cheeks flushed pink and loose strands of copper hair clinging to her temples.
Yuri just shook his head and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm.
“Tell me, Yuri...” Bryony leaned an elbow on the railing beside her. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Rosalind Caldwell, would it?”
“What makes you think that?” Yuri yanked the ax out of the stump and grabbed another log from the pile. Maybe he wasn’t done splitting wood after all.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Bryony cocked her head to the side. “Maybe the fact that there’s a rumor going around town about Rosalind’s recent engagement to some railroad baron. Or maybe it’s that you look like you’re imagining a certain someone’s face on every log you split.”
Yuri brought the ax down harder this time, sending the wood flying once again. “I saw her yesterday.”
Mikhail exchanged a glance with Bryony. “Rosalind Caldwell? Where?”
“The post office.”
Bryony came down the steps. “Did she seem all right?”
“She seemed... proper.” Yuri set another log in place. “Polite. The way she always is in public.”
Bryony frowned. “That doesn’t answer the question.”
Yuri blew out a breath. The image of her shrinking under Vandermeer’s grip flashed through his mind. “Like I said, she looked and acted like she usually does. I can’t tell you whether that means she’s fine. I can just tell you she acted normal for the situation.”
“How was her wrist?”
“She said it was fine the other night after the library committee meeting, so I didn’t ask after it further.” He couldn’t even imagine how he would have asked, not with Vandermeer glowering at him each time he glanced at Rosalind.
“Did you look at it the other night?” Bryony sounded even more concerned now.
“No. She said it was fine. Why? Don’t tell me you think she lied.”
Bryony bit the side of her lip.
Yuri narrowed his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I was... ah, wondering if . . . if her wrist had . . . gotten worse.” Bryony’s words were slow and careful, almost as though she internally debated each one before speaking.
“Why would it get worse? Does she often trip while walking down the stairs? She’s never seemed clumsy to me.” On the contrary. Everything about Rosalind was poised and refined. Always. She was the most graceful person he’d ever met.
Bryony glanced at Mikhail, and something unspoken passed between them. Then she looked at him with an expression that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
“What’s going on?”
“You really don’t know, do you?”
His hands tightened around the handle of the ax, though he didn’t swing it. “Don’t know what?”
Bryony and Mikhail exchanged another glance.
Yuri found himself gritting his teeth. “What?”
Bryony let out a slow breath. “He hits her.”
The words landed like a punch to his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs.
