It was vague, Cyril thought, but the man’s unflinching expression gave him no reason to doubt its veracity.
“And the young princess?”
“No harm from the attack, though shaken. She is well along with child,” Grigorov had answered. “Were you aware of that fact?”
Cyril had nodded gravely, even though he wasn’t sure whether he had heard it or not.
“She had been at her father’s only for the evening when the attack occurred,” the Cossack said, “and has now been removed back to her own house, where she will remain in isolation for the remainder of her time. The child is due any day, and the princess is well attended to. We should take precautions to have gendarmes positioned to watch both the Fedorcenko and the Remizov estates.”
“Yes, yes,” Vlasenko agreed. “I shall put the full might of my position behind their protection.”
Cyril chuckled again as he remembered the brief conversation, then tossed the report on top of a stack of other papers on one corner of his desk. He would inform a few of his men of the situation . . . but not until next week.
That should give Anickin time to see to his business.
67
Anna stretched cozily in the bed, a shaft of light from the narrow window slanting across the blankets. If it did not exactly warm her, it at least gave the impression of comfort.
Her first moments of wakefulness were dreamy ones of semiconsciousness during which the last five years of her life suddenly no longer existed. She was a young girl again, enjoying the early country morning of a summer day. Her father would be out in the barn by now, tending to faithful old Lukiv, and her mother would be fixing breakfast, or tending the little ones. Paul was probably—
Gradually her dream began to fade.
The brightness of the light meant that it was much later than she usually arose. And she had left Katyk long ago. She now lived in St. Petersburg with her mistress. But . . . this was not St. Petersburg!
She was in Katyk!
Now she remembered as reality began to flood in upon her.
They had been traveling for three days—a seedy roadside inn . . . the long train ride during which the princess had fainted once from abdominal pains . . . Anna’s fear that the birth would come before they reached home . . . Misha’s calm . . . Katrina’s noble fortitude in spite of her misery . . . the night in Pskov . . . the rain between there and Katyk . . . the frequent stops for the princess to rest.
Now all of yesterday came back vividly. They had not reached the shabby cluster of izbas until the scant moon had risen through the clouds in the evening sky. The carriage had sprung a number of leaks. Misha, on top, had been drenched to the skin most of the day, and even she and Katrina inside were wet and shivering with cold when they welcomed the first sight of Katyk.
Greetings and embraces and explanations and laughter and questions were exchanged, although Anna could scarce recall a single word that was said. The fire was stoked with fresh wood. Wet garments were exchanged for dry. A soft bed was made for Katrina in a corner of the house, while Misha was led to Paul’s old bed in the barn.
The minute her friends were settled and she was certain the princess was comfortable for the night, Anna tumbled into the family bed, hardly stopping to think how long it had been since she had felt the warm closeness of her mother and father and brother and sisters.
Now she was home! Oh, how good it felt!
But immediately upon the heels of her wakefulness and the realization of her surroundings came also the remembrance of the fearful events that had brought them there.
At last she was fully awake. Her eyelids snapped open with a start. Where was Princess Katrina? Her gaze shot toward the bed Katrina had occupied. It was empty! Then she heard friendly voices from across the room.
Katrina sat at the table, a glass of steaming tea in her hand, chatting easily with Anna’s mother, who was alternately kneading bread, stirring at a kettle of kasha, and keeping up her end of the conversation all the while.
Anna relaxed where she lay, and could not help smiling. Katrina appeared more relaxed and content than she had for days. And had it not been for her protruding belly, no one could have guessed that she was already several days overdue. The tense lines of anxiety and fear around her mouth were gone, and even some of her high color seemed ready to return.
They had been there but a few hours, and already Katyk was sending forth its balm-like healing into her soul. What was it about this rough little izba that seemed to catch up troubled spirits—as it had Sergei’s—as if they were soft clouds on the clear horizon?
Her eyes swept over the scene in the kitchen once more, pausing as they reached her mother. Her open, uncomplicated face, the thick, work-strengthened arms and busy hands, the broad, plain smile and coarse country speech that knew no fancy words but spoke unceasing wisdom in simplicity—where were such women to be found in a city like St. Petersburg? No wonder Katrina sat listening as one enthralled. She was a grown woman and about to be a mother, yet here was a quality of simple humanity she had never met in all the parlors and drawing rooms and social gatherings of her youth.
Mama and Papa themselves must be the calming and healing and settling and gentle influence, Anna thought. It wasn’t the village or the izba, or even the country. From them exuded the peace that brought contentment to lives caught up in turmoil. Those tossed and buffeted by the harsh realities and dangers and pressures of life might not be able to escape from that world altogether. But this place could offer at least a temporary haven.
For that Anna was truly thankful. Katrina needed that now more than ever. And so do I, thought Anna to herself.
How she wished Sergei could be here now to share in this moment of brief respite. But it was too difficult for her to think of him just now. She had been so intent on getting home that she had not considered until now all the painful memories of her happiness here with Sergei. She wondered if the joy of this place and being again at home with her papa and mama would forever be marred with sadness.
She sighed, then rose, quietly dressed in a secluded corner of the room, and went to join her mama and Katrina in the kitchen.
“So, here is my sleepy daughter, come to join us at last!” said Sophia, her eyes twinkling playfully.
“A well-earned rest, Sophia Ilyanovna!” Katrina’s gratitude was clear as she spoke. “She has hardly slept for three nights, for saving my life and tending my needs.”
Sophia beamed her pride at her daughter, then gave the dough a final slap before laying it on a board to rise. “Then she will sit today, and I will wait on her this morning!”
“Perhaps I shall also!” rejoined Katrina.
“Not in my house, Princess!” Sophia threw up her hands as if the very thought was beyond comprehension.
“I have heard my brother was permitted to work here.”
“He was a man, and we were in no position to argue with him at the time. My husband was deathly ill. Should he come again, he will be given all the honor his position deserves.”
Knowing nothing of Sergei’s fate, Sophia spoke innocently. The sudden shadows over both girls’ faces puzzled Anna’s mother, but she did not understand and gave their darkness of expression other cause.
“And he was not in your delicate condition, Princess!” Sophia went on. “No, no! You will do nothing but let us wait on you in this house! Now, Anna, you sit down with your princess, and I will bring you some tea. The others have already eaten, except for your Cossack, who seems as great a sleeper as you—but I am sure with good cause also, eh?”
“True enough,” replied Anna. “But, Mama, I am able to get my own tea—”
“No, no,” interrupted Sophia. “You too are our guest, Anna—and an honored one as much as if you were a princess! And since when do you argue with your matushka?”
Anna complied, feeling a certain awkwardness at sitting down at the table with her mistress and finding herself being served along with the princess.
Sh
e did not have long to reflect upon it, however, for nearly the next moment the door burst open, and in walked her father preceded by his own rumbling laughter.
“Ha, ha! Misha, that is a funny story!” It was clear in a moment that his health was stronger than the last time Anna was here. The years had aged him, but something of his old vitality of spirit and vigor of expression had returned.
Misha walked in close on Yevno’s heels, and the old Russian turned and gave the Cossack a friendly thump on the shoulder. Misha responded with a hearty chuckle.
“Do you mind if I tell it to my friends?”
“Of course not, Yevno Pavlovich,” replied Misha. “The thing truly happened just as I have told it.”
“Better still,” Yevno added, “you will tell it yourself in the village later today, eh? You come as my guest.”
Yevno slammed the door, crossed himself at the icon, then turned his attention to his wife and the scene in the kitchen area, where the two younger women were seated at the table as Sophia was in the midst of setting wooden bowls down before them.
“Ah . . . see, you are not too late, my Cossack friend!” Then to Sophia he added, “Have you enough to feed another hungry traveler, wife?”
“I have never fed a brawny Cossack before,” replied Sophia, scanning Misha somewhat skeptically. “And this one will no doubt take considerable filling! But no guest has ever yet left my table with his hunger unsatisfied.”
“Truly spoken!” laughed Yevno. “And you know what the legend tells of the mysterious Cossack rider of long ago. We of this family have a duty to take good care of our Cossack guests, especially those who risk their lives to protect our safety!”
“What is this legend?” asked Misha with great interest.
“You are not the first Cossack to visit our fair land here,” rejoined Yevno. “The rider many years ago was, like you, on a mission of saving lives. We owe your wild breed a great deal.”
“Misha is hardly of a wild breed, Papa,” interjected Anna. “Never will you find a gentler, kinder man. Wouldn’t you agree, Princess?”
“From what I understand, he saved the tsar’s life once,” said Katrina, “and now I consider my own safety the result of his care as well. Yes, Anna is quite right.”
Misha could not help laughing at all the praise.
“I meant nothing other than that the name Cossack is a wild-sounding name with great traditions of fierceness and violence.”
“I admit to being guilty of the name, and of the blood,” said Misha, still chuckling. “But I hope my character will stand me in good stead notwithstanding the reputation of my people.”
“I have no doubt of it!” said Yevno. “Now, come and fill your hardy Cossack frame with my wife’s hearty kasha!”
“Agreed, but I want to hear about the old Cossack you spoke of.”
“He spent time here when he was injured attempting to warn the Jews of Poland of an attack by his own ruthless people. He gave the old peasants who nursed him back to health his own Bible, which has passed down in our family ever since. It is in Anna’s possession now.”
Misha glanced at Anna as Yevno spoke, then sat down on a bench alongside Yevno, while Sophia handed them each a bowl.
The next thirty minutes were spent in warm conversation, and enjoying Sophia’s simple but delicious fare. Temporarily, at least, all the troubles they had fled remained far behind in St. Petersburg, vanquished momentarily by Yevno’s boisterous laughter and Sophia’s cheerful hospitality and pleasant countenance.
68
The happy, peaceful country respite was all too short in duration. The wonderful day was full with relaxation, pleasant conversation, tea, dozing off, laughter—all that a reunion with loved ones should be—and of course abundant simple food from Sophia’s hand. Yevno took to Misha immediately, and, his energy back to former levels, showed him everything about his small farm, and took him to meet the men of the village. Misha, for his part, made his host proud of his daughter’s friend. “This is the man that saved the tsar’s life!” he told everyone he met, not mentioning the fact that the revolutionary forces had proved victorious over Alexander in the end. Neither did anyone throughout the day mention Paul. There was no need to mar the day with such reminders.
But reality intruded upon the life of the simple Burenin cottage soon enough, and it came with a sudden scream of pain in the middle of their second night in Katyk.
Anna shot up out of bed, forgetting for an instant all her family slumbering around it. The cry from the princess’s corner of the room had awakened her to full alertness before it had fully left her lips. Anna’s bare feet were on the hard dirt floor within two seconds, and she hurried through the darkness to her mistress.
“Oh, Anna,” cried Katrina, “there was never such pain! I’m so sorry to have wakened you.”
“Princess, Princess . . . don’t even think of it! Is it time?”
“I don’t know . . . the pains started waking me up an hour ago. I thought they might go away, as they did back at my father’s. But they became more painful until I couldn’t help myself, and I cried out.”
Anna smoothed back her hair, smiled, then kissed her on the forehead. Katrina reached out and took her maid’s hand. The grip was not vigorous, as was Katrina’s natural way, and Anna knew immediately that some of her strength had already left her.
Sophia approached and stood at Anna’s side. She took Katrina’s other hand just at the moment the princess lurched up slightly and winced from another pain. Both peasant women’s hands were nearly crushed as Katrina’s squeezed them involuntarily before letting go again and sagging back into the bed. It was all the confirmation an experienced mother of five required.
“It is time,” declared Sophia softly. “We will do our best for you, Princess Katrina,” she added, giving Katrina a motherly smile. Then she turned and left the bedside. This was no time to delay. There was much to be done!
In minutes the whole house was astir. Sophia lit the lamp and stirred the banked fire back to blazing warmth, while Yevno dressed and lumbered sleepily outside to fetch water for the great iron kettle that hung above the coals. Boiling water and calm leadership were the two chief ingredients for a successful delivery. Yevno went after the former, while Sophia, steadily now issuing instructions, provided the latter. Anna for the present sat at her mistress’s side, one hand cradling Katrina’s head, the other holding a cool wet cloth over her cheeks and forehead.
Vera, now a thirteen-year-old, was told to take herself and Tanya and Ilya to Aunt Polya’s.
“The birth of a baby is no sight for children,” said Sophia.
“Aunt Polya will want to come over, Mama,” said Vera.
“Tell her we will send for her, and perhaps you too, when we need her. But tell her not to come yet.”
When the door had closed behind the three younger ones, Sophia added, with a smile to Anna, “What your princess needs now is quiet and calm, not dear Aunt Polya!”
Sophia had delivered many more babies than had come from her own body. Nevertheless, she was noticeably shaken when, after all preliminary preparations had been completed, she approached the bed for her first detailed examination of the princess. A frown creased her brow. Then she slowly folded the blanket back over Katrina and motioned Anna to follow her to the other side of the room.
“The child seems far too large,” she whispered, “and your princess’s womb is small. How long has it been, Anna?”
“I don’t know, Mama,” answered Anna. “I think the princess has expected the birth for a week or two.”
“If I did not know better, I would say it has already been ten months, although that is impossible. I am worried for the safety of the baby.”
“What should we do, Mama?” asked Anna, sensing the fears her mother was reluctant to voice.
Sophia thought for a moment, then answered. “We must send Yevno to Akulin.”
“It is a great distance, Mama. And it is night.”
“Yes,
but the labor could be a lengthy one. And the longer it lasts, the more need we will have of the doctor.”
By the time Yevno had Lukiv hitched to the cart, Misha also was dressed and anxiously wondering what he could do.
“The fire will need more wood soon,” Anna told him, then explained where it was to be found.
The pains, although still far enough apart to cause no anxiety, had become regular, and Katrina’s cries gave evidence of their severity. The doctor in Akulin was the only physician for many versts, and the chances of Yevno locating him were slim at best. As he left he declared himself prepared to travel all the way to Pskov if he had to.
Sophia sighed at hearing his words. She knew that by the time her husband returned from such a distance, the outcome, whatever it was, would already have long been decided. If he did not find the doctor in Akulin, and quickly, she and Anna would have to do whatever they could for the princess . . . alone.
Half an hour later, Sophia and Anna sat by the bedside, doing their best to make Katrina comfortable, while outside—wanting to remain available yet not in the way—Misha paced back and forth in front of the izba, as if it were his duty to stand in for the missing father.
“Anna, where is he . . . where is Dmitri?” Katrina cried.
“I’m certain he has received your message by now, Princess.”
“I need him . . . I want him here!” sobbed Katrina.
“I’m sure he is on his way already, Princess. He will be here soon.”
Unfortunately, Anna’s encouraging words had no basis on fact. Had she known the truth, her heart would no doubt have failed her for her mistress’s sake.
69
Four fruitless and nearly sleepless nights had passed for Dmitri Gregorovich Remizov—count, regimental guard in the tsar’s army, and now self-reproaching, vengeful husband.
He had consumed far more vodka and kvass than even his system was used to, but had succeeded in drowning neither his guilt nor his enmity. By day he had hounded the police, and by night had stalked every low-life rat hole he knew of, beginning on Vassily Island, but eventually spreading out to the entire Russian capital.
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