Daughter of the Raven

by Cherime MacFarlane

  "Good." He murmured with a smile as he left the shop. Charles was smiling when he entered the house. Now he should see some improvement in his career's upward movement.

  "Hurrumph" The printer's assistant gazed at the order then turned to the owner of the print shop. "I find this very interesting. His wife has a Russian maiden name."

  "The American said he and his wife were newly wed. The youngster is with the American ligation staff." The owner shook his gray head.

  "I have not heard the name before." After tipping his glasses down onto his nose for a better look at a hand written list on the wall, the assistant again looked at the American's order. "Bressoff is not on the list."

  "No, I did not recognize it. However, I think I shall contact Foka. I would not want him angry with me because I let someone he wished to find, slip through my fingers,"

  The assistant nodded in agreement. "By all means let us stay in his good graces."

  Foka tapped his fingers on the desktop as he looked at the name on the paper. "Bressoff! Bressoff, I have heard this name mentioned."

  Muttering to himself, Foka considered looking at the list of those the government was anxious to find once again. He knew that was not where he should look.

  "A private client perhaps?" Pushing up from the desk, the heavy set man, went into the locked room behind him. Turning on the light as the room had no windows, he began looking through his files.

  The search took the Russian through several drawers before finding what he was looking for. "Ah, I have it!" He glanced at the notation which outlined the finder's fee. "This one shall turn a tidy profit."

  At noon the next day, Charles went to collect his invitations from the printer. Quite pleased with the job, he gave them a small tip for having been prompt, as well as having done a particularly fine job. At the ligation, Charles hand delivered the invitations. Everyone was sure they would be able to attend. One or two eyebrows were raised at the Bressoff name.

  The Friday of the dinner, Anya made sure all was in readiness. Food was being prepared and the courses would be served on time. The new butler and maid had been thoroughly prepared for their roles in the dining room. There were fresh flowers placed around the room in tasteful arrangements. As was her Father's habit, Anya had a profusion of candles ready to be lit. Candlelight was preferable to the harsh light of either gas or electricity to her mind.

  The first couple arrived. As Anya had instructed, the maid took their wraps, then carefully deposited them in the bedroom. The food was delicious and the wine good, Anya kept the conversation light and all moved smoothly along.

  As there was no parlor for the men to retire to alone, everyone went into the sitting room. Charles found he was content with Anya's handling of the evening. He was on his way and had no further qualms regarding Anya's competence as a hostess.

  The women gathered in one corner of the sitting room next to the fireplace. The butler had laid a small fire at Anya's instruction. She lit the kindling and the blaze leapt up the flue. Seating herself near the doorway into the hall, Anya was prepared to produce wraps when each couple was ready to take their leave.

  The first question from one of the women left her breathless.

  "On the invitation, I noticed your maiden name is Bressoff. Are you an émigré?"

  In confusion, Anya glanced over at Charles, who was hanging on every word his friend, Allen, said. Not sure how to answer the question, she looked down at her hands as she thought how best to reply. "Actually, my family has not been a part of Russian society for almost three generations. My grandfather was a third son of a minor nobleman. He went to Alaska to hunt for furs."

  A quick glance told her Charles was still deep in conversation with Allen. Elise, his wife had asked the first question, but another soon followed.

  "Alaska! Did you live in a regular house? Shirley Jackson leaned forward, eagerly awaiting her answer.

  "Yes, we have a regular house. It is made of logs, of course. But the inside is paneled with lovely planks cut from the island's own trees."

  "You live on an island?"

  Anya did not like the direction the evening had taken. "Sitka is on an island. Sitka is the capital of the territory. In fact, it has been called the Paris of the North."

  Anya waved more questions off. "Ladies, tell me about yourselves, please!"

  Once the conversation was off in another direction, she rested easier.

  Everyone had left for their own homes. Charles, having drunk a bit of wine then a dram of scotch with the other gentlemen, was in a good mood. Now to top the evening off, he and Anya could retire to bed. He was eager to see where that led. Anya was in the bathroom washing up when he entered.

  "Very well done, wife. You did an excellent job."

  She straightened and wiped her face on a towel. "I am sorry the same cannot be said of you, Charles."

  "What do you mean by that?" His mood began to turn sour.

  "Precisely when did you decide to use my maiden name on the invitations?"

  "Is that what you are upset about?" He moved forward to take Anya's hands so he might reassure her that nothing was going to happen to her when the towel snapped out and caught him in the chest.

  "Do not touch me! You are a foolish, arrogant man! You know what my Father told you. This is not America, this is Russia. What have you done Charles?"

  He took a step back through the doorway. Anya reached out to push him out of her way.

  "Oh come now! Your Father was being too controlling. It was only six little invitations! I handed them out at the embassy. Who or what is going to happen from six invitations?"

  "My Father is controlling?" Her finger poked him solidly in the chest. "You! You give me what amounts to a servant's salary for a household allowance."

  Anya poked him again. Her voice fell to a tightly controlled level which was almost a whisper. "You, tell me what to do, how to do it and when to do it, including in our bed!"

  Keetering backed up with his legs against the mattress.

  "You are a miser. Further, you are no longer welcome to my bed or body!" Anya pushed him with both hands. Charles fell across the bed. Bouncing once, with arms outstretched he stared at his wife. Eyes blazing, Anya rattled off a few words he did not understand.

  "If, you value your life and your body parts." She continued, staring pointedly at his groin. "You will not touch me again. I am finished with you and this farce of a marriage."

  "How do you think you are going to leave here? Think again Anya. You will do as you are told!" He yelled at her as she walked into the sitting room. Pulling a couple of spare blankets from the linen closet in the hallway, Anya took a pillow from one of the chairs and made a bed by the fire. After throwing on a bit more wood the young woman removed her gown.

  Sleeping in her slip on the floor was better than sleeping with Keetering. She did not bother telling him two fifty dollar gold pieces would get her to Sweden, perhaps even to London. If she got to London, her father's office there would see to the rest. She was going home.

  Foka had arranged to meet his client near the new bridge. There, money and information would change hands. A good trade indeed. What would take place from this point on, was no business of Foka's. He wanted the transaction over with as quickly as possible. Since the government did not want the girl, he could take the money with impunity.

  The man looked at the information Foka had written on the sheet of paper. "It is not the dog but one of his whelps. I would have enjoyed the dog more." He made a small grunt. "She will do. Did you get an address?"

  "No, but her husband," Foka tapped the paper with one finger. "is posted to the United States ligation."

  "It will be easier if they do not live in the compound." The other man observed,

  "That my friend, is your problem now." Foka reached out to shake his client's hand. "I have no wish to know what takes place from here. If you would be so kind?"

  His client reached into his pocket to pull out some bills. As he
shook hands with Foka, he passed the bills to him.

  "Understood. Thank you. I have been waiting a long time. I am glad to finally get this information."

  Foka tipped his hat and strode off. He did not want any further contact with his client.

  Anya made sure she was in the garden when Charles left the house. She did not wish to even speak with him. He left a note on the kitchen table telling her he was going to the office to clear up a few matters and she was to be reasonable when he returned home.

  What she would be, was gone. Anya did not put much in the small overnight bag, a change of clothing and a few personal grooming items. She tucked her marriage license in the bottom of the bag.

  Waiting until she was sure her husband was not returning, Mrs. Keetering left the house. As soon as she closed the door, a man in an old fashioned great coat walked up to her. Without a word, he grabbed her arm. Anya tried to pull away when she felt the gun barrel push into her side. She had waited too long.

  "Ah, now Madame. I would have preferred your father but you will do. He would have been a great deal more entertaining."

  He motioned her back inside the house. "We will leave your husband a small message. Shall we?"

  Once inside the house, he took the gun from his pocket. "Writing materials and quickly. Tell him instructions where to leave the ransom and the amount required will be brought to him shortly."

  Anya took the note Charles had left. Turning it over, she looked at the blank back side. Using the pen he had left on the dining room table, Anya did as the man instructed. Not knowing why she did so, Anya took her house key, trailing her fingers along the hall tree, she deposited the key quietly in a corner of the shelf. Perhaps Charles would realize she would not willing go out leaving the house unlocked. He would know the ransom demand was not a ruse.

  "Come! We will go now." The man took her arm then put it through his own.

  There was no need for him to keep his hand on the gun, Anya knew he had it.

  "Perhaps this is for the best Madame. Had it been your Father." He made a slight shrug, "I might have been tempted to just kill him and have done with it. But since I have his daughter instead, I think money might be better for us both. Once your husband and your father pay me what is owed, we shall be over and done with. You go back to your family and I." He absently patted her arm. "I shall have what was stolen from me."

  "And who are you sir? Why do you think my father owes you money?"

  His hand tightened on her arm. Anya knew she would have a bruise, but did not pull away. It would not be good to show fear to this one.

  "I am Igus Jurekovitch. The Count deeded all the land of the Yenisei estate to the peasants. When he did so, after closing down the estate, he fired me. Me."

  His voice shook in anger. "I was the one who worked to keep everything running. I paid the bills, I kept the grounds up. I kept those stupid peasants from revolting. He let me go for malfeasance! I only did what all the others were doing. I did my duty and took my due."

  Anya wondered what Charles would do, especially in light of the previous evening. It appeared things had gone far worse than she could have ever suspected.

  The note from the dining room table clutched in his hand, Charles went immediately to the ligation. There, he was taken to the office of the head of the detachment charged with protecting those who lived and worked in the compound.

  "My wife has been taken!" Keetering blurted out.

  Major Zeke Tanner looked at Charles. "What do you mean by taken?'

  "Here!" Charles held out the note. "Read this."

  Keetering's hand shook when he handed over the note. A fact the Major noted before looking at both sides of the paper. "I see you and your wife quarreled." The major observed.

  Charles sat heavily in a chair and leaned forward. The major's tone seemed to him to have an accusatory note. "And what we quarreled about has nothing to do with her being taken."

  "Explain." The Major had come up through the ranks at the tail end of the civil war. He had little time for those who did not use the brain God gave them.

  Charles scrubbed his chin with one hand. "Here." He handed the major one of the used invitations. "She and my father in law did not want me to let it be known her family is of Russian extraction."

  "And?" This would be his last post before retirement. The Major did not bother to kid glove any youngsters, no matter who their fathers were.

  Charles thumped the arm of his chair. "You are making this extremely difficult!"

  "I want details. I want you to tell me why they feared her coming here would be a problem. You were made aware of the situation, yet you still brought her with you?" The major drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk."

  "Her father is a wealthy man, Count Dmitri Ivan Osvic Bressoff. I was given to understand he had enemies in Russia. But we, her entire family, are Americans!"

  The major sighed. "So, you bring a rich wife, with antecedents from the aristocracy to Russia, then you broadcast her presence? What do you suppose can be done about it now?"

  Obviously Keetering was used to having his own way which did not help his case with Major Tanner.

  "Go out and find her man!" Charles yelled at the major.

  "Sir, restrain yourself! This is not the United States. We are in a foreign country and you want me to conduct an investigation? You, Sir, are out of line!" The Major stood and glared down at the agitated Keetering.

  Charles ran a hand through his hair. "What can be done?"

  "I would suggest you wait, find out how much they want and pay it. If you do get your wife back, get yourself and your wife out of Russia. We are going to see the old man. Come along!"

  By the time Charles left the building, he had been thoroughly taken to task. If he got his wife back after paying the ransom, he was to leave immediately.

  The "if" terrified him. If he did not get her back, it was highly likely Bressoff would flay every inch of skin from his bones. In the event Bressoff did not physically assault him, the man could attempt to destroy him financially. And perhaps even politically.

  Put on leave, pending the return of his wife, Charles knew his next stop would be his banker. He had to know how much money he could get immediately.

  The man, Jurekovitch, led her to a carriage and handled Anya inside. He was quick to check the door opposite the one they had entered, making sure it was locked. The gun was again where Anya could see it. The man's hand was steady, he would shoot her if necessary. Jurekovich was only a few inches taller than she, but appeared to be heavily built. The possibility of pushing him away and running did not appear feasible. They watched each other silently.

  His dark eyes assessed her. Anya only barely kept from pulling her coat tightly around her. If she was not able to entirely clamp down on the fear the man's intense gaze caused to build within her, at least she could keep silent. Begging would have no effect, she was quite certain. Showing weakness would give him another weapon against her, what he already had was sufficient.

  Anya was taken to a boat where she was blindfolded. He tied her to a chair so she could not remove the blindfold. The binding over her eyes did nothing to stop the tears which were forming behind it.

  Biting the inside of her mouth, Anya refused to weep. If the man knew he could frighten her...who knew where it would lead? It was apparent he would have liked to kill her father, causing him a great deal of physical pain in the process. Anya thought of her Uncle, Ooskada. Some men could appear completely rational while being quite insane.

  She shivered slightly, though not from cold. This was much like a nightmare. A dreamlike quality, somewhat akin to a shaman's trance, softened the edges of the feelings trying to surface. Anya resisted being pulled into the unreality flowing about her.

  Ooskada, her mother's half-brother, once forced her to stay with him while he communed with the spirits. Her uncle wanted her to see what a shaman who asked, could have. She had been terrified.

  Now she must fight to k
eep from being swallowed by feelings of fear and helplessness. A clear head was her aim. Anya fought to keep in the present by focusing on the anger which had been building behind her resentment of Charles and his self serving behavior. Anger chased the fear into a far corner of her mind. Assessing the situation critically was vital to her survival.

  The real variable in the present equation was Charles. The man was so arrogant, he believed, as an American citizen, nothing could touch him. She suspected he had never encountered any real obstacles in his life until now. What was he going to do? Would he pay a ransom for her?

  Another question was, how much was this Jurekovitch person asking for her return? Could Charles produce the funds? If he could not find the funds immediately, how long could, or would they keep her? There were entirely too many unknowns. Yet in the end, it was better to think, to evaluate than to give in to the other.

  Jurekovitch was quite likely to ask for an exorbitant amount, one Charles would not be able to immediately produce. When would he swallow his pride, admit his mistake and go to her Poppa? None of it pointed to a good outcome. Where ever they took her, Anya hoped she would be able to find some way to escape.

  Jurekovitch was pleased. At last he had some means at his disposal to obtain justice. Bressoff had been wrong to let a manager of his caliber and diligence go. The worst was that he, Igus, had been accused of taking advantage of both the Count and the peasants. Surely when he saved the estate money, he was to be allowed to profit in some small way from the savings? So he had taken a percentage of the profits he produced. That was only good management.

  Over the months following the dismissal, his resentment of his treatment by the arrogant Count, grew. However, he had been patient. Sooner or later Bressoff had to return. Sooner or later the beautiful home which was languishing would need to be dealt with.

  What Bressoff did not know was, once his orders had been carried out and all the peasants had been given deeds to their land, he had taken possession of the great house. After cleaning out the rooms, Jurekovitch had furnished the looted home in a fashion, from the discarded pieces left in the old barn.