Island Left Behind: The Bressoffs of Alaska

By Cherime MacFarlane

He waited too long. Dmitri will never see his father again.

 

Count Dmitri Bressoff is dead.

Dmitri III must give up hiding out in London and go home. The injuries he suffered as an ambulance driver in the war to end all wars have left him suffering from shell shock. His father was on his way to find Dmitri and bring him home when he met with an accident. Guilt gets added to the rest of his problems.

To reach Seattle and Bressoff Island fast, he hires a pilot with a biplane. Hattie Morrison agrees to teach him how to fly. The sensual young widow claims to be married to her plane and won't allow another man into her heart. On reaching the island, Dmitri finds his childhood playmate can't stand the sight of him. Why does Marina hate him?

Bressoff island is reeling from the loss of the Count and his best friend, Alexis. Not only has Karin lost her husband, but her oldest son in the war. Her daughter has taken over running the mill. Marina's problems mount because Juneau is now the capital of Alaska Territory. With Sitka no longer prominent in the government, shipping is bypassing their island.

Things are about to change radically for the Bressoff family and the island they have called home for several generations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cherime MacFarlane
• Release date: Jul 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201839819

Cherime MacFarlane

Meet Award-Winning, Best-Selling Author Cherime MacFarlane. A prolific multi-genre author, she has a broad range of interests that reflect her been there-done that life. Romance, Historical Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, all sorts of characters and plots evolve from a vivid imagination. As a reporter for the Copper Valley Views, Cherime MacFarlane received a letter of commendation from the Copper River Native Association for fair and balanced reporting. She was part of the Amazon Best Selling in Anthologies and Holidays, and Fantasy Anthologies and Short Stories. The Other Side of Dusk was a finalist in the McGrath house award of 2017.

Book preview

Prologue

S ir,

The tall blond man with the stormy gray eyes looked up from the chess game. Glass of brandy in hand, he glanced up at the servant who acted as butler and general dogs body.

What is it?

A communication, a telegram delivered for you. I gave the lad two pence.

He held out a hand and the man who called himself a valet, but was so much more, handed the missive to Dmitri Bressoff III.

Jamie Dillard, one day slated to become Viscount Alterton, turned his attention from the board game to his friend. Telegram? Goodness, hope it’s not bad news, Bressoff.

Dmitri broke it open with a shaking hand. His right arm hadn’t worked properly since his service in the War to End All Wars. Lucky to be able to walk on both legs, have limited use of the arm, and with lungs that supported breathing, he did try to look on the bright side. Or had until he overheard Clara twittering to one of her little female hangers-on at the ball given by Dillard’s parents.

Discovering she only wanted him for his money, found him to be boringly provincial and not in the least titillating, put him back in the doldrums he’d only just clawed his way out of. A month of non-stop imbibing had nearly destroyed him.

A chill went down his spine when he opened the thing. The words burned in his brain. Poppa dead. Train wreck. Traveling to see you. Come home. Mamma.

The glass with the remainder of his brandy, the chess board and pieces, the paper itself—all flew across the room. Feeling as if hung over, Dmitri staggered to his feet.

Brown, pack. I must go home. The words didn’t want to come. He had to force them out. My father is dead.

The man he called his best friend in all the world stood. Sorry, Bressoff. You’ll need a ship. I’ll find you a berth. I gather you won’t care what you’re on if it leaves in the next twenty-four hours. I’ll return with something for you before the end of the day.

He couldn’t open his mouth to reply. The crystal brandy decanter hadn’t been scooped up when he cleared the game table. Dmitri uncorked it and drank straight from the container. The fluted crystal stopper rolled off the table and hit the hardwood floor.

Dmitri took another drink, but the words didn’t go away. Poppa dead. Poppa dead. He should have gone home before this. He’d stalled, not wanting his family to see the shell of a man he’d become.

Instead, he lounged around London even after the debacle of his engagement. Anya, his half-sister, and her husband, Stanislaus, ran the business for Poppa. And the old man kept his hand in. Or had. Poppa dead. His mother needed him home.

Did she really mean home, the one on Bressoff island located off the main channel of the Inside Passage through Southeast Alaska? Somehow, he thought she might. Mamma had gone to the place she and Poppa loved—the big log house. He would never make it in time for the funeral.

He suspected the family would bury Poppa in the family cemetery next to his mother, father, and first. wife. Mamma had been with him since she was a young girl and they loved one another desperately. How would she handle losing her husband?

The horrid message lay on the floor with the corner of the chess board over it, the black knight lying on top. He couldn’t look at it again. Dmitri wanted to forget the other half of the message. Poppa had been planning to visit him. He understood why; he’d avoided his family as if they had plague. He was the reason Poppa was dead. Now, along with the memories of the others, those who died in the fucked war that chewed up men and spit out garbage, he would always bear the guilt. Poppa died coming for him.

LEXIE AND MARINA WALKED together to the village. The double funeral had taxed them to the limit. Mamma rested in the guest bedroom with Karin by her side. The two widows were a comfort to each other. Karin, Alexis’ wife, had lost more than her husband. Two years into the senseless war, she’d lost her oldest son.

Alexis had come out of retirement and ran the mill on Bressoff Island until Marina elbowed him aside and took over the reins. Boys together, the two old men were best friends for life. When Dmitri senior thought to take some of the load off Anya and Stanislaus by making the trip to Chicago and another to Toronto, Alexis kept him company. They died together in the train wreck.

Everyone assured the family since they were asleep and the whole thing happened so fast, death was instantaneous. Mamma and Karin chose to believe. But Lexi and Marina wondered. They had only spoken of it once.

Lexi had a second purpose in walking Marina home. Andre would be waiting in the old schoolhouse where her mother taught all those years ago. A new teacher now occupied the building her Poppa built with his two hands.

Andre and Poppa had come to an agreement. He gave Andre a ship and the money to fill it with goods. In two years, if Andre could turn the investment into a thriving business, Poppa wouldn’t oppose their marriage.

Poppa’s first wife was Tlingit; he had no objection to Andre’s race. He’d doubted Andre’s ability to care for Lexi. An educated man, Andre attended Sheldon Jackson as a boy. His goal, to become a Presbyterian minister, did not move her Poppa. Since Andre would not take money from Count Dmitri Bressoff, then the Count declared he must earn it.

What would happen to them now? Mamma had never been against the marriage. Anya and Stanislaus supported the union. Her brother was another kettle of fish. Since he went off to fight in the war, he seemed to cut off all contact with his family. Poppa had planned to find him and bring Dmitri home.

Her Poppa died because her brother chose to gad about London and spend money as if it were water. Anya and Stanislaus, Mamma and Poppa had feared the end of the war. There would be many injured and unable to care for themselves. And then there were the businessmen who had made piles of money from the war. How would they fare when the war machine no longer needed to be fed?

She and Marina had sat in on the discussions held on the island and in the Seattle office of the diverse and far-flung empire Poppa had assembled. Poppa anticipated there would be a period of contraction after the war. He spoke of unscrupulous business practices which could unbalance the economy. Did her brother, Demi, know? Did he even care, or was it enough to let the others run what he should have come home to?

A puff of smoke from the stove inside the school heartened her. Andre waited. Classes had been cancelled so all might attend the Count and Alexis’ funeral. Her feet were cold, and she shivered inside the bearskin coat Poppa had often worn.

Soon Andre would warm her. The big mastiff by her side hurried to the door of the school and pawed at it. Andre had given Theo to Lexi to protect her. The dog knew her love’s scent. Lexi pushed open the door and hurried into his arms.

Chapter One

Seven days from the day he boarded the ocean liner, Dmitri landed in New York harbor. He had to take a second-class cabin. It was all Jamie could find on short notice and his friend had apologized several times on the way to the dock.

Dmitri had to concentrate to hear what his friend said. He wouldn’t have cared if he had to take steerage. He must get home to his family. The cabin, the food... none of the things Jamie seemed concerned about made a difference to Dmitri. Not now. Poppa died trying to get him to come home. Guilt rode him hard all the way across the Atlantic.

What had bothered him was how to get across the country in the fastest time possible. He ate because he must, didn’t sleep well... a few hours a night, and brooded. Poppa shouldn’t have tried to come for him. Why had a seventy-six year-old man thought he needed to come find and bring home his thirty-six year-old son?

Because you wouldn’t go home on your own. The small voice in his head reprimanded him each time Dmitri tried to shift the blame anywhere else. He could not deny that truth. The other, less palatable truth—his spirit was as injured as his body—Dmitri refused to accept. That had nothing to do with his staying in Britain.

Except, it had.

Running with the so-called Bright Young Things as they partied through the West End did nothing to fill the hole where his heart used to be before the war. Clara accused him of fiddling while the rest of the world died of the Spanish Flu. It was only part of the outlandish things she threw at him when he broke their engagement.

He could have mentioned she was the one who introduced him to the set, but didn’t bother. Why argue with someone whose opinion no longer mattered? The person he wanted to pour his heart out to, the man he should have gone home to, couldn’t help him now.

How could he know? Poppa had been in excellent health. The man still split firewood for the kitchen stove on the island, for the love of God!

You are sure of this? You didn’t go home to see your father; how do you know? In truth, he didn’t know. Had no way of counteracting the dreaded accuser because everything it said was correct.

A failure of a son, the only son of his beloved Poppa, now hurried home to... lay flowers on his father’s grave? Hold his mother’s hand? Take over the business?

No, not that. Stanislaus Rakov, his brother-in-law, along with his sister, Anya, and his mother, Camille, took care of the business. He wasn’t equipped to take over.

Another lie. One he told himself. Poppa had trained him. Then the war, the one to end all wars, played its siren song in his ear. He wasn’t a conscript; he volunteered. The government would have taken him anyway after the Selective Services Act passed in 1917. He had no doubt. Perhaps he should have waited and let them call him up. He would have had more time with Poppa.

The entire six days he kept to his cabin and the conversation between him and the accuser went on. He emerged into the sunlight of a bright day and blinked like an owl. As he had a second-class ticket, he had to wait on the first-class passengers, calling to friends on the dock like a bevy of peafowl.

He didn’t want to wait; it drove him to mumble obscenities under his breath and the accuser took him to task. The only reason he stood here waiting to be allowed to disembark was due to his foolishness.

At last! He bounded down the gangplank, turning sideways to slip between couples and families with children. Grumbles sprouted in his wake, but he got to the dock and made for the sign being held aloft, Island Enterprises.

During the war, the family had decided to remove the family name from the closely held business and chosen the new one, Island Enterprises. Another thing he had no control over. Breathing heavily, he stopped in front of the man who lowered the sign.

Count Bressoff, come with me.

Dmitri wanted to tell the man not to call him that. Count Bressoff was his father’s title, not his. It would have used up valuable time he could ill afford to give up. Perhaps he would have Rakov issue a company-wide memorandum saying the title died with Poppa.

Carpet bag clutched in one hand; Dmitri followed the driver to the car parked a little way from the turmoil of the dock. With no luggage to speak of, he could move faster than those burdened with steamer trunks.

Tourists, or the rich and famous out to see the damage done to Europe, were returning to their cushy homes. Americans had suffered little in the way of deprivation. He’d heard of the campaigns to get people to reduce their intake of meat and grains. Meatless Mondays and wheat-less Wednesdays put forth by the government had indeed cut consumption.

The people on the ocean liner had homes to return to which hadn’t been destroyed. They could sink into their soft beds and ring for the servants whenever they felt like it. Then again, who was he to talk? They’d always had a cook and his mother always had one of the Russian girls to help with him and Lexie.

On reaching the black touring car, the driver opened the back door and Dmitri found himself facing someone he knew. It took him a moment for the name to come to mind. Petyr?

The man with the kippah perched on the back of his head nodded. Yes. It is a shame to meet under such horrid circumstances. But I have been your man in New York for several years now. There is a large Jewish community here which suits my needs. Enough of that. We must get you to the Teterboro Airport. You’ve a pilot waiting. I checked and this person is said to be most reliable, doesn’t drink to excess. Some of the pilots who’ve returned from the war do have a drinking problem.

Petyr’s statement didn’t surprise Dmitri. Finding a pilot who limited his intake of alcohol must be difficult. In particular, if the individual had seen any action.

We must get you to the ferry. I have a car waiting on the Jersey side. We needn’t wait on a taxi.

Not up to small talk, he spoke when addressed. Otherwise, on the entire ferry ride and the ride in the car to the airport, silence reigned in the car. Petyr didn’t push him.

The shack they were directed to by a mechanic didn’t engender confidence in Petyr. Oh, dear, he mumbled.

Dmitri looked over at the shorter man. It doesn’t matter what the office looks like, as long as the plane flies.

Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take a train? They are fast these days.

And hampered by being attached to rails and timetables. No, I need to fly. It will accommodate my needs alone, not the requirements of others as well.

As you say. Petyr pushed open the door and walked inside, Dmitri on his heels.

A cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth; a man stood at a bench along the far wall, tinkering with a part. The sight of the cigar stirred painful memories in Dmitri. Poppa almost always had one of the things between his fingers or in his mouth. He quashed the twinge. Mamma needed him and he couldn’t dwell on certain things.

Good day. We’re to meet H.F. Morrison here for a flight.

The man turned and the cigar went into an ashtray. Hang on. Two strides took the man to a door. He opened it partially, stuck his head into the attached hangar and called out, Morrison, your flight is here.

He glanced at them. Pilot’s doing a preflight check; it’ll be a minute. With a greasy finger, he pointed at two chairs. Have a seat.

Back at the bench, he swiveled to glance at them again. Which of you two is going?

I am, Dmitri responded.

The man shook his head. You do realize you’re flying in an open biplane? You’re going to freeze without a decent coat.

Oh, dear. Petyr jumped to his feet. Where can we buy something?

No place I know of right now. Shit, let me look in the bin.

The man disappeared back into the hangar. He returned with two old blankets. When he stepped to the side, someone following him came into view. A woman worked to fasten a thick jacket which appeared to have a sheepskin lining.

A mass of bright red hair resisted containment in a messy bun. Cheeks the color of buttermilk tinted with the faintest pink of rose petals led his gaze to bright blue eyes. Petite, the top of her head might come to his chin. Full was the only word he could find to describe her figure. Before he began to wonder what she did here, the woman advanced on him.

Her hand shot out and a toothy little smile turned up her lips. Pilot H. F. Morrison, at your service. Since the engagement said the person I would be flying to Seattle stood over six feet, you must be my passenger.

From habit, Dmitri’s hand went to hers. As they shook, she winked at him. Close your mouth, a fly might get in.

You’re the pilot? Petyr’s question held a note of strain. Sir, is this safe? Petyr addressed the man at the bench.

Yeah. Safe as any flight ever gets. Hell, these days you’re more likely to get run over by a car then crash in a plane.

But... she’s...

So I’m a woman. What does that have to do with anything? I fly as good or better than most men. Since I don’t spend my nights getting drunk, I’m a hell of a lot better than three quarters of the rest. If we’re going to make any distance today, though, we need to get started.

She looked at his carpetbag and the two old blankets he now held. Fella, you are going to be one cold goose. Spinning on her heel, the woman turned toward the hangar. Say your farewells and meet me outside. Let’s do this.

Petyr lifted a hand to his arm. Dmitri shook his head. I’m going.

Then I will pray for a safe journey. Send a wire when you reach Seattle. Give my regards to the family.

Outside, Petyr watched as the woman settled him in the passenger seat. She got in the cockpit and the man from the office put both hands on one blade of the wooden prop. A leg out behind him, he leaned away from the blade and called out, Clear!

He pushed the prop down hard. The engine sputtered, caught, and gauges on the panel in front of Dmitri came to life. A trainer, the aircraft had been used to train pilots in the war.

Curiosity piqued, he leaned toward the woman who somehow managed to turn the plane toward the runway. Why did you call me a ‘goose’?

No giggle, a full hearty laugh floated back to him. All passengers are geese or, in your case, a goose. Hang on tight, gosling, we’re going for a ride. The plane lifted into the air.

Below Dmitri, everything began to get smaller. He could see the Hudson River, which soon turned into a narrow silver ribbon. Everything became tiny except for the sky. All around them the limitless sky presented itself.

A few thin clouds appeared on the horizon. Enthralled, Dmitri felt everything fall away. Here, in the sky, the accuser’s voice had no power. He felt as free as the bird she had named him. Dmitri didn’t mind being a goose.

It would be cold. The woman and the man hadn’t exaggerated. Still, it seemed a small price to pay for freedom. Struts sang with the wind playing through them. Canvas wings thrummed in response to the wind and the pounding engine.

He leaned forward. This is fantastic! Dmitri shouted. You get to do this every day?

Vibrant and full, her laughter fluttered back. When I can afford the gas. Grand, isn’t it?

Teach me to fly.

In three days? You want a lot, fella.

I’ll pay you to move to Seattle. In fact, I’ll pay you to become my private pilot.

Right. Until you learn how to fly yourself.

There will be times when I need a pilot. I’ll keep you on a permanent salary and you can fly on the side if you like.

I’ll think about it. Now, be quiet and, if you really want to learn, watch those gauges. They tell you everything that’s going on with Tommie. Those come first.

Tommy?

Yeah, Tommie with an ‘ie’. That’s her name. Shut up and let me fly this bird.

Chapter Two

Hattie landed the plane right before the sun sank below the horizon. Before landing, she flew low over a building at the edge of town and waggled the wings as she flew past. On touchdown, she explained she had buzzed the place to let the man know she must fill the fuel tank. She would walk back and make sure the fuel found its way to the field.

As she strode away, Hattie turned and walked backward long enough to tell Dmitri a tent sat in the fuselage behind his seat. He could set it up. Then she turned and jogged off.

He hadn’t expected to sleep in Buckingham Palace, but a real bed would have been nice. Still, he’d slept rough before, with Poppa in fact. The accuser leaped on him with both feet square in the region of his heart.

Dmitri swallowed hard and climbed back into the plane to find the tent. Hattie returned with a man whose smile turned to a scowl on spotting him. When he was introduced as her paying fare, his expression changed to a grimace.

The man driving the truck with the carboys loaded with fuel for the plane hadn’t expected to find him. His presence made the man irritable. The why of it had him wondering what took place when there wasn’t a passenger.

He had a suspicion... one he didn’t care for at all. Why did he look at me that way?

I didn’t notice anything. Hattie pulled a loaf of bread, a small demijohn, and tin of some sort of meat from the cockpit.

Then you’re blind, which I don’t believe for an instant.

Oh, shut up and eat this. She handed him two thick slices of bread with slabs of meat between them.

Having eaten worse, far worse, Dmitri took a bite of the sandwich and found he was hungry for the first time in... weeks. He devoured the sandwich and the second she made him met a quick demise.

The water in the container tasted sweet and he found himself thirsty as well. Hunger and thirst slaked, he looked at the woman seated on the ground across from him combing her hair out. A leather cap with earflaps had kept most of her ginger hair from getting out of control, but a few shorter tendrils around her face needed attention.

One task accomplished, she brought out two bedrolls and threw one at him. This is it for the night. Let’s turn in. If we can get an early start, we should be a third of the way to Seattle by tomorrow evening.

He hated crawling into the shelter where he could no longer see the stars. Dmitri had forgotten how the stars shone when you got out in the country away from city lights. Poppa had taught him to read them, how the great bear heralded the change of the seasons. Navigation came next along with lessons in sailing Poppa’s small schooner, the Arctic Tern. And so many other things—how to hunt the small deer and huge moose, how to avoid bears whenever possible.

With no way to escape the man who guided him into manhood, he crawled on hands and knees into the small shelter.

What’s so special about Seattle and why the rush?

Lost in thoughts of his father, her question came as a surprise. Ah, well... Poppa died in an accident. Mamma needs me.

Sorry to hear it. My husband killed himself a few months ago.

I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Morrison.

There’s nothing to be sorry about. He died in the war; the bullet he ate only closed the coffin. He tried to make it look like an accident, but I knew better.

Back on hands and knees, he rolled the bedding out after removing the strap. Dmitri didn’t want to bring up anything having to do with the war.

Hattie reclined on her side, head on her arm. Did you fight?

I don’t want to talk about it.

Why not? Were you one of those conscientious objectors? She made the words sound dirty.

No. I went to France and volunteered.

Did you serve in the Foreign Legion?

Her probing irritated him. No. I was with the American Hospital. We drove ambulances to every major battle the French Army fought. I hauled out supplies, ammo, and hauled back the dying and dead. A shell caught my vehicle and almost tore me apart. I’ve a bad leg and can’t raise my right arm over my head. Will you drop it now? Have you stuck the knife far enough in?

You’ve answered my questions. How do you expect me to give working for you consideration if I don’t know who I’m working for?

Very well... it’s a fair point, but I don’t want to talk about the war. Can we drop it?

The confines of the tent didn’t give them much room. Still, he tried to end her interrogation by turning his back on her. What he didn’t expect was to have the woman tug him over to lie flat.

Don’t get angry. I’m finished with that part of discovery. Now comes the other part.

He turned his head and her lips found his. Not a gentle kiss by any means, Hattie nipped at his lower lip and licked it when he gasped. Strong fingers pulled the shirt from his trousers and wiggled their way up his chest.

What?

Don’t tell me you’re a virgin. I refuse to believe it. You want flying lessons; I want something too. There’s only one rule, nothing that ejaculates gets inside me. I’m not getting pregnant. I’m married to that plane. Morrison taught me to fly; he willed the plane to me. I don’t want another man.

Hattie crawled on top of him. How do you feel about sixty-nine?

I don’t know....

I guess there are a few other things I can teach you beside how to fly a plane. How come you don’t know about this, little ambulance boy? What sort of women have you been keeping company with? I bet they were no damn fun at all.

Before morning arrived, Dmitri learned all about sixty-nine. He discovered Hattie gave superior attention to a part of his body Clara refused to have anything to do with. They could camp out all the way to Seattle as far as he was concerned.

A HARD TASKMASTER, she drove him during the day while teaching him what she called the art of flying. He came to believe her; it was more than a skill. The other things they did at night left him drained and he slept hard until she shook him awake in the morning.

One full day devoted to takeoffs and landings delayed their arrival. The last night in the small tent, when they collapsed on the bedding, Dmitri swore he would remember the taste of Hattie until the day he died.

I’ve come to a decision. She put her hand on his bare thigh and caressed it in rhythmic strokes. I won’t work for you. You’re a danger to my independence. But I may stay in Seattle for a while.

Very well. But there are places I’d like to show you from the air. North of Canada is Alaska. It’s my home. I’m not sure about airfields, an airboat would serve better, but there’s so much to see.

Airboat? Did you know Tommie can function on a float? I understand the Navy ordered a couple configured that way. If I did it, convert I mean, I think I’d want to go to the Curtiss OX-5 engine.

I could help with expenses. If you stay in Seattle, we could find out who is best...

No, no, my friend. I arrange what I want and how I want. Remember this, Bressoff, you are my good friend, but will never be more than that. If you try to take things further, I’ll hop in my plane and buzz off into the blue sky.

Her hand found his semi-hard cock. A talented tongue swirled around him and Dmitri groaned. They might not sleep, but who needed it?

Chapter Three

W here do we land? I couldn’t find a suitable place when I attempted to locate one. I assumed you’d know more than I did.

He leaned over and got close to her ear. Find the harbor first. Do we have sufficient gas? Are we low?

Hattie shook her head. We should be fine if I can get it down in under an hour.

Good. When you find the harbor, I’ll direct you from there. On sighting the little white house his parents often used when staying in Seattle, Dmitri sighed in relief. Stanislaus had kept the new road up. Poppa’s lot still sat vacant, but had a cleared place. The Devins’ large home and equally large carriage house sat behind his father’s house.

He used his arm to point to the hill. There, that road, land there.

Where will I put Tommie?

In the shelter of that large barn behind the second house.

I don’t like this. If it gets windy, the plane could be damaged.

If we nose it up to the side of the barn, the building will protect it and we can tie it down to the corral post on the back and the hitching post in front.

Hitching post? You’re insane. How can that hold anything?

My great-uncle was a ship captain. The damn thing could hold a battleship.

She buzzed the road once and came back on what he knew to be the final approach. Dmitri kept quiet. Landings were never easy and with the woods on the opposite side of the road, she needed to pay attention. Hattie must have seen the drop-off on the far side of the narrow strip of trees, but didn’t mention