“The engine appeared interesting but not complex. It would present little more challenge to Bernice than the locked door. An abandoned auto on her property automatically became hers. It was that simple. She barked ‘Back off a minute’ to Mark, and he was so surprised he stopped eating. Bernice put the venison on the roof with the promise that she would return it in a moment. She pulled the string from the meat, looped the center, and worked it into a corner of the window. She sawed it back and forth down inside the glass. The loop settled around the lock, Bernice tugged, and the lock clicked up. She opened the rear passenger door, tossed in the venison, and the dog followed. Less than ninety seconds later she had the car running and took her rightful place behind the wheel.
“Exhilaration went to her head. The dog finished the venison and assumed the air of an animal unhappy with circumstances and ready to raise a ruckus. Bernice opened a window. The dog pushed his nose into the gap and looked expectantly at her with one eye.
“Hang on, Mark,” she yelled, and gunned the engine. They pulled out of the service drive and onto the road leading to town. It was empty except for a lone snowmobile. Bernice gave a jaunty wave and shook her head in perplexity as she careened past in swell of snow and ice. Why would anyone want to snowmobile when they could joyride in snug comfort? Mark must have agreed because his eyes half closed as fresh air caressed his lolling tongue and flapping ears.
“Bernice drove the Barley loop and then cozied along Lake Superior. Mark whimpered. Bernice recognized this as a bathroom break whimper and was pleased. He must already be housebroken. Or car-broken, she corrected herself, and guffawed at her witticism. She wanted to get him used to her yard so she pointed the borrowed wheels toward home.
“As she prepared to swing around to the service drive, she heard another vehicle approach. Bernice lost her head. She had a rightful claim to the car, but what if someone saw her with Mark? She didn’t want me getting my greedy—her word—hands on him. For the first time in her life, Bernice became flustered behind the wheel. She hit the accelerator instead of the brake and broadsided the car. It careened into the ditch.
“She must not have fully latched the back door. It swung open and the exasperated dog leapt for freedom. Bernice was fit to be tied. She stormed to the listing car and glared into the driver’s side window. The man behind the wheel moved with a good deal of healthy vigor. Bernice saw red. She smashed her fist all the way through the window and into the man’s ear. He screamed. Bernice would have none of it. He’d lost Mark, and he would pay. She reached down and hauled him up and out. She ignored his squawks, dangled him at arm’s length, and cuffed him occasionally while elucidating what she thought of his driving, his dog sabotage, and the veracity of his parental antecedents.
“About that time we showed up. Bernice was full of righteous indignation and maintained she was the innocent victim.”
~*~
“Ezra Prosper! I don’t believe for a minute she told you all those details!”
“Well, not every detail. I used a little creative embellishment. Haven’t you figured out that all of Barley loves a good story?”
Claudia’s laugh shook, but it was a laugh. “Bless her a million times over. Still, I’m glad that dog got away. I like Lem’s idea of making Bernice responsible for Felix.”
“Me too. She could keep him on that short leash and he would have just enough rope to make sure she doesn’t get her hands on any more stray dogs.”
“But what if she gets attached to Felix and kills him?”
“We talked about that, although the notion of anyone getting attached to Felix boggles the imagination. This is how Lem is going to tempt her. If she keeps Felix alive and out of trouble for two years, I’ll let her pick a dog from the dog pound.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Sure I would. I didn’t say I’d let her keep it. I’ll give her supervised visitation rights. Two years from now Felix will be off parole. Maybe he can start over. Second chances don’t come along very often.”
Claudia snuggled her head into his shoulder. A moment later, she bolted upright.
“Ezra! The watch and fob! Peter took them.”
Amos called from the dining room, “They’re safe on my table, Miss Alexander. I hear what I thought was a bunch of worthless rocks is actually a treasure beyond imagining. I’m trying to think how I could work that truth into the message I’ll give at your wedding.”
Claudia didn’t know how to respond but Ezra called back, “Since you couldn’t resist bringing it up, you eavesdropping rascal, remember, most brides get married in their hometown with their own pastors. Maybe Claudia will want a Chicago wedding.”
Amos appeared around the corner. “Her Chicago people can come up here. We have plenty of rooms if you get married in the off-season. You don’t need one of these modern long engagements. Next month would work fine.”
Claudia couldn’t look at Ezra. Her heart rate must have doubled in the last few minutes, and she was quite sure even her ears turned red.
Amos puttered off as Philip skidded in to announce he’d just come from the jail, where Lem had spoken with the FBI, who would fetch Peter. He added, “In case they take the watch and fob for material evidence, I’m going to get some pictures now. My dad says the stones are worth a fortune. Ezra, you sure you don’t want to pry one off for an engagement ring quick?” He exited whistling, just in front of the couch cushion Ezra threw after him.
“What a bossy, nosy, gossipy bunch. I’m waiting for Bernice to come back and ask to be our flower girl.” Ezra freed his arm from behind her and stomped to the parlor doors. He pulled them closed with an emphatic thud. Claudia waited, still silent. Ezra walked back and held his left hand before her face. The gold wedding band was gone. How had she missed that?
He perched on the edge of the couch and she rubbed the indentation on the base of his fourth finger. He winced. “Hurt like the dickens to get it off, but I couldn’t ask you to marry me while wearing someone else’s ring.”
“Don’t get too used to that unfettered finger,” Claudia cautioned him. “I don’t like these modern long engagements either.”
“I suppose,” Ezra mourned, “that since we are both a mass of bruises and bumps and scrapes, we’ll have to seal our engagement with a handshake.”
“I don’t think so,” Claudia responded, and demonstrated the healing properties of a very good kiss.
EPILOGUE
Summer 1881
Telz, Lithuania
The weather had been fine, and it looked as though the crops would be also. But for the Jewish population of Telz, the crop forecast was of secondary importance. What good is a hearty wheat field for the dead?
This uneasy thought occupied the mind of Izak the watchmaker as he walked the footpath from his daughter’s home outside of town to his shop. Tsar Alexander II had looked to be, if not a friend, at least not antipathetic to the Jews in Russia. But he was dead, his son was an untested commodity, and rumblings over problems facing the nation included sideways glances and whisperings about the burgeoning Jewish population. Russians were looking over their shoulders, muttering that the Jews were either going to take over the country or tear it down town by town. The persecutions and pogroms bent on preventing the spread of the Jewish population went past Isak’s memory and into dim history. They loomed once again.
Like many watchmakers, he was nearsighted, so he almost ignored the movement at the corner of his vision because he shouldn’t be able to see it. But he turned his head when the movement repeated. In a ditch, a pile of rags had been tossed. Not an unusual sight, but with no wind, why was there movement? Isak moved closer. The rags were wrapped around a body. Compassion gripped Isak. To die alone, on the side of the path. No one to mourn. When Isak died, he would be mourned by two generations of descendants and countless friends. He moved carefully down the bank to look more closely. A young man with gnarled hair and beard, no shoes and bloody feet, lay with one filthy arm thrown across his chest
. No stranger to death, Isak knew the young man had either died only moments before, or was still alive.
The man lived. The eyes, mere slits, saw Isak. The young man looked, not afraid, but wary. He struggled to sit up and hugged a leather pouch to his chest as the old man came closer.
He spoke. “Good day, father. The blessing of the Lord be upon you.”
“I seem to be more blessed than you at the moment, son. You are a stranger here?”
They both knew Isak knew the answer.
“I am. I have no family or friends or money, and I’ve traveled a long way. Could I trouble you, good father, for a bite or two? Then I can be on my way and leave you in peace.”
Isak debated whether to take him to town, where curiosity was as much a part of life as breathing, or to his daughter’s house. Some instinct told him the young man wouldn’t want a host of villagers checking his antecedents. Ida’s house it would be. He helped the boy to his feet but had to drag him from the ditch to the path, where, without ceremony, he fainted. Isak waited patiently and occasionally pinched the young man’s cheek until he regained consciousness. The watchmaker hauled him to his feet and they progressed almost 50 steps before the boy collapsed again. Again Isak gave him a few moments before pinching and patting him back into some semblance of awareness. Another few dozen steps, another swoon. It took over half an hour for them to reach Isak’s daughter.
Ida opened the door to her father’s knock with a gasp. But a wise young woman knew the value of muted curiosity, and she asked no questions. She hastily arranged some bedding in a corner opposite her infant daughter’s cradle and between them they all but carried the stranger, and he fell like the dead and didn’t move for twelve hours.
Late that night, he woke briefly. Ida, nursing her babe, heard him moan. Her husband, a young rabbi at the new yeshiva, motioned that he would attend the boy. He offered water and broth and their patient indicated he needed to go outside and take care of his needs.
The rabbi helped the man to the door and turned his back discreetly as the young man found a spot away from the house. Back in his corner, he again collapsed, but this time into a more natural sleep.
Isak waited until the sun was high the next morning before returning to his daughter’s home. He had not left yesterday until his son-in-law returned from his work at the Hebrew school to safeguard his small family. Isak’s mind at rest, he had gone to his shop to work late into the night. Upon his return, Ida showed him the pouch she had moved from the bed so the young man wouldn’t roll onto it.
“Look what is inside, Papa. I couldn’t resist taking a peep.”
Isak pulled out a watch of such beauty that his heart skipped. Polished to a brightness he didn’t think possible, and set with stones like no other on earth, the orb beamed up at him. Even in impoverished Telz, he would occasionally be called to repair fine watches set with lovely gems. But these! His daughter’s home, like most, had few windows and he held the watch up to a small oil lamp. They glowed purplish-red. With a grunt of dissatisfaction, he carried it outside to see it in the sun.
“Ida!” he called urgently. “Ida! Come look!”
Ida shifted her daughter to her hip and hurried out. The stones that had radiated deep and lovely red in the hut now showed a luminous green.
“Papa,” she whispered. “It is like magic. What are they?”
Isak shook his head. He dug into the bag again and found an almost identical timepiece, unadorned, and a handful of uncut stones. Isak knew they must be the same gems as the ones gracing the first watch. Curiously he opened both backs and experienced his first disappointment. He was familiar with excellent timepieces, but these appeared almost perfunctory in their workings. He wound them, and glanced in the corner. The young man watched him.
“Forgive the inquisitiveness of an old man, but why would a boy in rags with bleeding feet carry a king’s ransom?”
The young man sighed. “Could I eat something first?”
“Surely.”
Ida brought gruel and a thick slice of bread. He managed to sip the gruel and take two bites of bread before he fainted again.
Isak sighed. “This could be a long story, Ida. Please bring me a basin of water and some salve. After I wash him, I’ll bind those feet. I can’t have a man smelling like this so close to my beautiful little granddaughter.”
~*~
Late in the afternoon, the young man woke to find Isak sitting near him. He reached for the leather pouch next to his hand and felt along the hard contours of both watches.
“Don’t you want to check the uncut gems too?” Isak asked gently.
“It doesn’t matter. They don’t belong to me. If someone steals them, it will be no more than I deserve.”
“No one in this house will steal them from you. No one will demand to know where you got them or who they belong to or who you are. You can stay here until you are well enough to leave and never tell us a word, and we won’t bother you. The choice is yours.” And Isak rose to take his whimpering granddaughter from her cradle and crooned to her.
“Please, hear my story.” The boy was eager. “Someone should know. I’d like to tell you.”
Isak sat, held the baby on his shoulder, and nodded. “I watch the little one here while my daughter works the fields. Her husband makes…not so much money teaching in the yeshiva. That is the school here. And I am a watchmaker of such incredible speed that it takes me scarcely a moment to keep up with my work. I always have time for a story. Maybe you can heal faster if you aren’t carrying a burden. Go ahead. First, I am Isak. Will you share your name?”
“My name is Rudi.” The boy’s eyes shifted. “Rudi Popov.”
Isak buried his face in his granddaughter’s small shoulder to hide a smile. If the boy wanted to be known as Rudi Popov, so be it. “Where have you come from, Rudi Popov?”
“St. Petersburg.”
This time Isak didn’t conceal his response. “On foot?” At Rudi’s nod, he added, “That is a long journey, especially to walk. Most people coming from St. Petersburg don’t end up in Telz.”
“I wasn’t running to Telz. Just away from St. Petersburg. I have to confess, father—”
Isak held up a hand in alarm. “No, no, you understand I am not of your faith! I am a Jew, and Christians make no confessions to Jews.”
Rudi laughed bitterly. “I am no Christian. I’m a killer. A killer of Tsar Alexander II.”
The story came pouring out, and Isak had no more chance to stop it than Pharaoh could have requested the Red Sea hold up for just a few more minutes and let his chariots pass.
Rudi’s father, the boy explained, was a watchmaker under the remarkable jeweler Carl Faberge, whose fame had spread even as far as Telz. When rhodium, a lovely, valuable metal, had been discovered, silversmiths tried to fashion it into jewelry worthy of its rareness. But it had such a high melting point and such poor malleability that everyone gave up in despair and used it merely as plating. Except Rudi’s father.
He had persisted and experimented and eventually made two exquisite watches of pure rhodium, unmatched by the work of any silversmith in the world. Faberge told him to keep them a secret until presented to the tsar and tsarina as gifts. And then even more beauty fell into the jeweler’s lap. Dozens of stones known as alexandrite, discovered in the Ural Mountains, and named for the tsar were purchased from a gem seller. Rudi’s father was ecstatic. When the first dozen gems were cut he knew exactly how to use them. They would grace the covers of the pocket watches. The gems, sometimes red, sometimes green, matched the colors of the Imperial Family. He went to work setting them into the tsar’s watch.
In the meantime, headstrong, rebellious Rudi met a lovely revolutionary named Sophia. She introduced him to some others from an organization called The People’s Will. Like Sophia, they hated the tsar. Although he was dragging Russia from the days of serfdom toward the twentieth century, he wasn’t doing it fast enough. The freedoms weren’t sufficient. The People’s Will understoo
d that nothing less than the assassination of Alexander could create the chaos which would spawn change. Only they were a dreary, messy, unlucky group. They tossed bombs but missed their targets. They blew up the dining room where the tsar feasted and learned he had delayed eating and was untouched.
Finally they conceived the foolproof plot. Every Sunday the tsar in his carriage rode along the same route to see the military roll call. All along that route members of The People’s Will would station themselves, concealing bombs to kill Alexander. If one revolutionary missed, another must succeed. They had enough people to toss bombs. But once the tsar was dead, they needed money to finance their plans. Could Rudi help?
He could.
Nothing was easier than to steal the watches, and the dozen uncut alexandrite stones. Rudi was going to be part of something big. Sophia told him where to be and when. He would help make history.
But the first bomb, instead of exploding under the tsar, horribly killed the Cossacks marching behind him. Rudi saw the coachman urge the horses on and almost immediately pull them to a stop. He watched as Tsar Alexander II, unhurt, leaped from the carriage, ignoring the coachman’s cries.
Rudi was astounded to see Tsar Alexander II, epitome of everything evil, run to the injured men instead of running away for his life. Falling to his knees, the tsar cradled one man’s head in his arms.
And then, with shattering clarity, he watched Ignaty run up, screaming, and toss his bomb at the tsar’s feet. It exploded.
Ignaty’s body flew high and came down near Rudi. He was dead or dying. The tsar must be dead, too. Rudi had never seen so much blood, or anything as grotesque. He heard screams and shouts. The police had snatched Nikolai and Timofei and the tsar’s broken body was placed in a sleigh. And, miraculously, no one paid Rudi the slightest heed. Sophia, caught in the grip of a Cossack, looked straight at him.
“Run!” she screamed. He remained frozen, unable to respond or comprehend what was happening. It saved his life. The Cossack studied the milling crowd, but seeing no one obey, kicked her viciously, and told her to shut her mouth.
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