Sweet Love, Survive

by Susan Johnson

  Kitty’s composure, already slim and fragile after weeks with the general and the long hours of the previous night, could carry no more pressure. With a brief, uncontrollable shudder, it snapped. Her lips quivered and a flood of tears burst forth. She was freezing. Exhausted. Lonely. Abandoned by her husband and now the recipient of the least comforting words a pregnant woman could hear: “What a mess.” Fresh tears sprang into her eyes and Kitty sobbed her heart out, dripping rivulets down her frigid cheeks.

  Apollo gazed at her for a long moment. Why hadn’t she terminated her pregnancy? he wondered, his mind turning to the private hospital in Petersburg where society ladies used to have their abortions before the war. The last time he’d been in Petersburg he’d noticed their retreat had been turned into a hospital for soldiers, and he had wondered where they went now—knowing that with so many embattled males around there must be quite a demand for that sort of thing. Slaughter and procreation are blood kin. He supposed in the turmoil of the White rout Kitty hadn’t known where to go for an abortion. It never occurred to him she would have chosen to keep the child. Bringing himself back from his musings, he reminded himself since she was going to have the child, the problem must be dealt with. He refocused on the woman in his arms.

  Her sad eyes were enormous, her face as white as chalk, two dark half arcs of sleeplessness were like bookmarks on satin beneath her eyes. Yet despite the high tempered strain, her face was still beautiful, framed with heavy honey-rose waves of hair, her pale pink lips accenting her pallor. A beautiful Astrakhan princess. She shouldn’t cry, he decided. It wasn’t her fault he wanted her more than he should. He was no different from the general. They both wanted to own her, and now she was his for the asking. Was pride going to deny him his desire?

  The question staring at him defied his impulses for thirty seconds. And then it occurred to him—the first positive thought in a snakepit of heinous emotions—that, outside of pride, there was nothing to stop him from going home … and taking Kitty with him. No husband to care, no Aladino to return to, no Russia left for them, only the mountains and … his home. He had, after all, lived most of his young life purely on impulse, bereft of a delicacy of morals, and on thinking it over, he decided, Why stop now?

  His cool, golden stare softened and his face came to life despite the bitter cold and the exhaustion he was feeling. His hands moved tentatively, brushing Kitty’s face lightly, then suddenly his fingers sank into the gilded rivers of her hair. Bending, he kissed her fully on her cold mouth, and her rose lips opened slowly, softly, bewitching him with their promise.

  She wept then in painful memory and thankfulness, her glossy pale hair streaming over his arm, the pulse of his breathing warm and quiet against her cheek. He hugged her to him, cuddling her to his chest, murmuring endearments. As he clasped her with all his strength, Kitty pressed into him as if he were the only refuge in the world, and in the shelter of his big body, she could feel the shattering misery in her heart begin to thaw, melting from the warmth of his comforting arms and soft lovewords.

  After long, breathless moments, Apollo’s arms released her and his tanned fingers caressed Kitty’s cheek tenderly. “We’re going home. Can you stand the trip into the mountains?”

  Her big, moist emerald eyes mirrored her joy. She nodded.

  “Good,” Apollo said—and he knew he had agreed to be the father of her child, whosever it was.

  The following week they traveled only by night, resting in deserted peasant huts, cellars, remote caravanserai, even caves—any shelter offering concealment from Red patrols. Since current news rarely penetrated to the rocky trails of the Caucasus foothills, they weren’t aware of the Red Army capture of Novorossiisk three days after their departure, no more than they knew that behind them by only days were sixty thousand Cossack troops of the Don and Terek. Left behind by the last ship in the bay, these scattered units of the White Army were attempting to break their way south and east to the tenuous freedom still available in Georgia. From their vantage point high on the mountain trails the small party could view the rapid massing and transport of thousands of Red troops westward along the north coast of the Black Sea, but they had no way of knowing the reasons for the vast deployments. They simply counted their blessings. With some urgent campaign drawing so many troops westward, their journey east would be that much safer. Living on wild game and nourishing Kalmuk tea, they traveled slowly over precarious mountain terrain.

  Apollo was solicitous on the hard trek; helpful during Kitty’s bouts with nausea; attentive to her delicate stamina, carrying her with him on Leda more often than not. He kept the pace to one Kitty could manage, making sure she always had the best of their food, the warmest position by the fire, all of the fur robe and burkha when they curled up together to sleep.

  After the first week a certain sense of security prevailed, for no one but a mountain man could navigate the perilous tracks fringing the deep and seemingly bottomless chasms. Although it was March, the temperatures at the higher mountain elevations were chill; none of the party had been thoroughly warm for many days. Each night, however, they came closer to the mountain aul ruled by Apollo’s great-grandfather, Iskender-Khan.

  On the last days of the trek, Karaim and Sahin dared to enter local villages for food and supplies, since the Red Army had scarcely penetrated into those areas of the Caucasus. Still, they avoided the main roads, for an armored car or cavalry troop would occasionally be sighted. Although the mountain villages were largely removed from the political schisms disrupting the mighty Russian empire, there were instances, even in the remote mountains, where a native, having left to join the army or work in the cities, brought back the credos of Bolshevism.

  Kitty noted, on the long journey, that she was often the recipient of Karaim’s and Sahin’s cool, watchful gaze. She remarked upon their careful scrutiny to Apollo and was placidly told, “They disapprove of my taking you for my woman because you’ve been dishonored by the general. With due consideration for both my honor and my desires, they have expressed their conclusions on the subject. They said, ‘She is yours. Her life belongs to you. You can take it or spare it. The Adat permits either.’ They expect you’re only a passing whim of mine, and when you disappoint me or begin to bore me, they’ll be happy to kill you.”

  Kitty’s eyes widened in astonishment.

  “Don’t worry,” Apollo teased, his eyes alight with amusement. “I’m very hard to disappoint.”

  Two days later the four riders reached Apollo’s home and were welcomed into the prosperous mountain valley by volleys of rifle shot echoing from all the sentry posts encircling the fortified aul.

  “That’s Pushka’s palace over there,” Apollo said, pointing out his great-grandfather’s square-towered fortress, crenellated and medieval in character, situated at the end of a narrow, winding trail halfway up the valley wall.

  “And there’s ours,” he continued, his arm sweeping to the opposite end of the valley. The elaborate fortress-villa built by Apollo’s father Prince Alex some twenty years before was perched on a rocky escarpment overlooking a breathtaking view of the entire area. Now its hundreds of windows were twinkling in the rays of the afternoon sun. The white marble of its exterior, brought up laboriously from the coast, glistened like snow in the moonlight; the whole structure, with its numerous terraces, wings, towers, and colonnaded porches, was a masterful combination of elegance and utility, designed to function as both keep and home.

  “It’s magnificent,” Kitty whispered, reining in her horse. The very prosaic manor house of Aladino paled in comparison; like a working member of the corps de ballet next to the prima ballerina. Apollo’s home would have housed any of the imperial Caesars with luxury and ease.

  Apollo’s mouth quirked into a fond smile. “Papa, I’m told, was out to dazzle Maman.”

  “And succeeded admirably, I expect,” Kitty replied, smiling back.

  “Papa has always been extravagant with Maman. He dotes on her. As a matter of fact,
that’s why they’re in France now. Maman wanted to leave—so we children would have a future, she said. Papa would have preferred to stay, but he couldn’t stand to see Maman unhappy. When I refused to leave Papa took my side; he understood, even if Maman couldn’t. I send cables whenever I can to let them know I’m still alive. Papa made me promise to do that much, at least, to save Maman from worrying. He protects her from every discomfort. He says it’s to save himself from her fiery temper, but it’s really for love.”

  “How lucky they are,” Kitty said, and a sense of melancholy struck her at the memory of her own disastrous marriage. But that was all in the past, she reminded herself, and she loved Apollo with a totality of feeling never experienced before. Could their life together hold on to such happiness, even in these troubled times? Before the morbid thoughts of war intruded any further she quickly asked, “Did your father build it before you were born?”

  “No, after. But I was too young to remember.” Apollo, too, recognized the difference between the peaceful married years of his parents and the uncertain future he and Kitty faced. That he wanted her he didn’t doubt, but how much a husband, the war, and a stranger’s child would challenge that certainty he had no way of knowing. As resolutely as Kitty, Apollo pushed aside the pessimistic musing, continuing his narrative in a voice unrevealing of his inner doubts. “I was two,” he went on pleasantly, “when it was completed, so Papa’s aerie is the only home I’ve ever known. And now, sweet dushka,” he said gently, his pale eyes filled with love, “it’s yours as well. Welcome home.” Leaning over, he slipped an arm around Kitty’s shoulders and kissed her softly on the cheek.

  Tears sprang to Kitty’s eyes; tears of happiness, relief, but tears of sadness, too, for all that had been lost in her young life. “Thank you,” she said simply, lifting her face toward Apollo to offer the softness of her lips, hoping with all her heart they had reached safe haven at last. Kneeing Leda closer to Kitty’s mount, Apollo kissed Kitty’s full, pink mouth with almost hesitant care. They had gone through so much to find each other—but from this moment she was his, and they were secure in his home valley. Remote from any villages and roads, accessible by only the most tortuous, perilous mountain trails, and protected by a single pass so narrow two men could hold off an army indefinitely, the valley of Dargo was safe from the outside world.

  At a discreet cough from Karaim, Apollo resumed his seat in the saddle, his mouth curling into a boyish grin “See what decadent civilization does to one’s morals?” he said to Kitty sportively. “Mountain warriors with their oriental restraint don’t approve of overt signs of affection to females in-public.”

  Kitty raised one eyebrow impishly. “Do I run any risk of violence from your two bodyguards over this breach of etiquette?”

  “No, rest assured, kitten. You’re my chattel,” he went on with bland geniality, his mocking tone disguising the very real truth from a countess unfamiliar with mountain ways and much used to living her own life. “They won’t raise a hand to you unless I sanction it.”

  “It seems, then, that if I value a long life, I must gratify you at all costs.” Her soft, feminine voice was husky with suggestion.

  “I look forward to the experience,” Apollo said, a teasing light in his yellow cat eyes, “with bated breath.”

  Their gaze held for one lush, expectant moment before Kitty, her glance swiveling in Karaim and Sahin’s direction, inquired, “How close are they going to stay around—as bodyguards, I mean? Forgive me for asking, but I’m new to these quaint ways.”

  “Quite close, actually.”

  “Not in the bedroom, though, if I remember.”

  “Well … not always.”

  “Apollo!” Kitty cried.

  “Never with you, love,” he quickly acceded, flashing a grin. “Those days are past.”

  “Are you sure?” Kitty asked, suddenly plaintive, her memories of Peotr’s infidelity creating a need for reassurance.

  “Very sure, dushka.” Apollo’s hand went out and his fingers lightly glided over the curve of Kitty’s cheek. As if reading her mind, he said quietly, “Everyone isn’t like Peotr.” Wanting to erase the unhappiness and anxiety from her face, he added, “I won’t hurt you, little kitten, I promise.”

  Then, since Karaim’s and Sahin’s horses were restlessly pawing the ground, Apollo—with a degree of confidence he was far from feeling—declared, “But now we must see my great-grandfather, Iskender-Khan. I’m sure he was informed of our approach many hours ago when the first glimpse of us was reported by the lookouts. Karaim, Sahin, and I were recognized, but I know he’s anxious to meet the lady accompanying us. Don’t worry; although he appears formidable, Pushka rarely disapproves of anything I do.”

  “That sounds ominous. What does he do when he disapproves?”

  “Never mind.”

  “What do you mean, never mind?” Kitty was looking at him with that narrow-eyed look he had first seen at the general’s apartment.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” he replied, evading her question. “He’ll fall in love with you the minute he sees you.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  “Would you please not argue with me, chattel of mine, in front of Karaim and Sahin?” he said teasingly. His voice took on a mock plaintiveness. “I’m losing face by the second. Just be pleasant to Pushka—as pleasant as you always are,” he added, forestalling the retort coming to Kitty’s lips, “and all will be well. Later this evening, after dinner with Iskender, we’ll be in our own home. Now be a dear and follow me.” Kitty was silenced by Apollo’s hand. “Not another word now. We can fight tonight, if you wish, in the privacy of my bedroom.” His lids half-lowered over speculative yellow eyes, taking in the mildly affronted beauty beside him. “As a matter of fact, the idea’s damn enticing. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you in bed.”

  “Months.”

  “And you missed me,” he said with all the old arrogance.

  “Not really,” Kitty lied.

  “I missed you like hell.” His voice dropped to a scarcely audible murmur. “I missed every delectable part of you.”

  “Lecher,” she whispered.

  “You noticed.”

  And they both laughed with the gaiety of adolescents.

  Scaling the steep streets to his great-grandpapa’s palace citadel, Apollo hoped with a certain degree of nervous apprehension that Iskender-Khan did, indeed, take to his newest paramour. He was unable to marry Kitty, since she was already married, so that was exactly the position she would hold in his life as far as his great-grandfather was concerned. Apollo recalled with an inner wince of dismay the occasion, several years ago, when a lady love of his hadn’t met Pushka’s approval. After a very few days she had … disappeared. He must make it absolutely clear to his great-grandfather—a private talk was imperative—that under no circumstances was Countess Radachek to … “disappear.”

  Hurrying down the imposing bank of granite stairs, Iskender-Khan greeted Apollo in the courtyard of his fortress home. Although over eighty, Iskender was tall, vigorous, and still mighty in sinew and limb, carrying about him the splendid authoritarian air of a king. He embraced Apollo heartily, kissing him on both cheeks, then gripping him by his hands and holding him at arm’s length to survey him.

  “We’ve been worried,” he said in a bass rumble. “Word reached us a week ago that all of Russia has been overrun by these Bolsheviks. I sent scouts out looking for you at Ekaterinodar.”

  “We came from Stavropol and traveled by night.”

  “Sensible, very sensible.” The old man patted Apollo’s shoulder fondly. “Come in, come in. The women have been scurrying around for hours preparing food for you. Word came from the guards at the pass.”

  Kitty was still seated on her horse, watching the warm welcome being given Apollo. “The Falcon is back!” Kitty heard on all sides. “As-saqr As-saghir is home.” It had been known soon after the first sentry’s sighting; word had been passed along and voices had
been busy since then rejoicing at the news. “Have you heard? As-saqr As-saghir is back!” And sometimes when a woman said it, her voice would be different and she’d laugh gaily. Side-slipping looks had been directed at Kitty all through the long meandering ride through the village toward the citadel, and everyone wondered what part she played in their Falcon’s life.

  A beaming, chatting host of warriors and retainers surrounded Apollo and Iskender, greeting the returnee with cheerful back-slapping, taking care of Leda, unstrapping Apollo’s saddlebags, comparing jocular notes on the horsemanship of the Red Army. After a few minutes a young girl pushed out of the crowd, tugged on Apollo’s sleeve, standing on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. Unceremoniously, Iskender-Khan brushed her aside. Giggling, she melted back into the milling mob. Turning from his conversation, Apollo caught a glimpse of the pretty girl before she disappeared into the throng, and raising his hand in greeting, he cast a lazy wink in her direction.

  Noting the exchange even as he addressed the servants about the disposal of Apollo’s things, the old man remarked tartly to his great-grandson, “Someone is going to have to marry Tamara soon to save her from her own folly. A more forward young filly I have yet to see.”

  “Probably be a good idea,” Apollo agreed with a grin.

  “Interested?”

  There was a ripple of general laughter and a flash of amusement from Apollo. “No, thanks. I don’t have time to play nursemaid to a young sultana. In fact, I just received a very indecent proposal from her. She’s going to give a husband a merry chase.”

  “No desire to marry?” Iskender looked directly at his great-grandson. It was a leading question. Although the patriarch of five hundred thousand Dagestanis, waiting upon ceremony for introductions, had not acknowledged Kitty, he certainly had noticed her and was wondering with considerably more than idle curiosity just how large a role she occupied in his favorite great-grandson’s life.