Daughter of the Raven

by Cherime MacFarlane

  Glaring at her captor, she continued. "My grandfather did not expect to become the Count. He was the third son. To his mind there was a slim chance of inheriting, if at all. It was only fate that eliminated his two older brothers leaving him with the family estate to manage. My family has enough to do without being saddled with this!"

  Anya gestured to the house. "Perhaps we should go back now. I am not interested in your gold at all!"

  Turning, she began walking back to the house. Jurekovitch followed in shocked silence.

  That evening, after they had eaten, he again locked Anya in her room. The quarrel of the afternoon had left its mark on him. Since the visit to the creek, he was no longer open to conversation. Fragments of sentences, along with a grumbled word or two were all she heard from him.

  Perhaps I have pushed him too far. Anya thought as she walked over to the window and stood staring out into the twilight. Jurekovitch had been living in his own small world for a very long time. Demons of resentment and pride had taken over his mind.

  Gold, and the lust for it, was a mindless addiction she had seen at first hand. Again and again the whisper, the hint of a place where the metal was found in significant amounts, resulted in mayhem.

  Men lured into poverty, disease and death in search of gold, left women and children to fend for themselves. Looking around the meadow filled with plants, so peaceful in the twilight, she decided she would not reveal Jurekovitch's secret. Making use of it was another thing altogether.

  Should she wait quietly for rescue? Anya was again growing restless. Inside her was a feeling of urgency, fed in part by the man’s obvious instability. This plan of Jurekovitch's had too many variables. What if, the steward decided to simply keep the money and not deliver the ransom note, or the ship went down, or someone stole the bag. Or, she could go on itemizing the holes in the plan.

  Another matter for concern was if there was no response from anyone, what would he do with her? Not one of the possibilities she envisioned was in any way reassuring. Anya was frightened, she would be a fool if she chose to ignore it. Her fear must be acknowledged.

  Was the balance of her motivation a reaction to being caged? Possibly. Anya knew she could not stay here too long. Escape was absolutely necessary to her survival. She had a deep rooted feeling that she must find a way out of this decaying prison. There was a way, she just had to conceive a plan. Fear only clouded her mind, making it difficult to think. .

  Where could she go? The answer to the question would determine the plan. Was there any way in which she could return to St. Petersburg or Moscow without being found by Jurekovitch? Going west toward European Russia was made extremely risky by her lack of documentation.

  In a very real sense, Jurekovitch was her protector on the way to this place. He provided the papers and as he was well known, there had been no questions. If she attempted to use the two gold pieces she still had in her shoes, someone would certainly try to steal them. Booking passage on the steamer was not feasible, as she had already been designated a simpleton. More information was what she needed.

  "I need a map!" Anya whispered.

  Leaning her forehead against the coolness of the window glass, Anya wondered if there were any maps in the house. A candle was the only source of light she had been allowed. In order to investigate the building she would need to find a way out of the suite. And it must be accomplished without Jurekovitch finding out.

  Anya lit her candle and began to investigate. There was a connecting door to what she assumed would be the suite where Jurekovitch was sleeping. Between the two suites was a common dressing room. He had removed the knob from the door to his room as well. The dressing room door on her side had a knob arrangement much like the one he had removed from her entry door.

  The knob was held on a square shaft by a screw which went through the flange of the knob then tightened down on the square shaft. If she could loosen the screw she could use this knob on the shaft which protruded through to her side of the door. The door she was trapped behind.

  Removing the screw was the problem. The best knob to remove would be the one on the reverse side of the connecting door. She could leave the door open and conceal the missing knob by putting the loose end of the bare shaft against the wall. Providing of course, the screw could be loosened.

  "Tweezers!" She exclaimed.

  Anya had tied all her goods into a petticoat when Jurekovitch took away her valise. The bundle sat next to the wash basin. Untying the petticoat, she searched through the toilet articles. There they were! Perhaps the tip where they were joined together might serve to loosen the screw.

  The tip was the strongest part of the small tweezers. She would try using it first. As she might have a need for the tweezers later, it would be wise to be careful with them. The tip of the tweezers did fit into the slot in the screw. Pushing down on the edge of the tweezers, Anya tried loosening the screw. It did not want to turn.

  Thinking about what she might use as a lubricant, she took the bar of soap from the dish next to the wash basin. Anya dripped water on it. With one finger, she massaged the bar until she had a bit of liquid soap in its center. Carefully, she used one of the flat ends of the tweezers to push the liquid soap around and under the screw, as far as she could.

  Forcing the screw out a quarter of a turn, she pushed more of the soap mixture around its threads. Again she tightened it back up. It was a quarter turn at a time. Out, lubricate, in again, out again. Eventually she had the screw backed out sufficiently to allow the knob to slip off the shaft.

  Carrying the knob over to the door, which imprisoned her, she looked at the shaft. Studying the matter carefully, Anya knew she had to have a way to keep the shaft from being pushed out of the door. There would be no way to retrieve it, if it fell out. Then she would be in an even worse position, as he would certainly hear it hit the floor in the hall.

  Tearing a thin strip from the bottom of one of her petticoats, Anya wrapped it carefully around the square shaft and twisted the cloth as tightly as she could on it. That let her slip the knob onto the shaft while still allowing her to hold it in place. Making use of the tweezers again, she tightened the screw just enough to enable her to open the door.

  Anya placed the lit candle in the dressing room and closed door gently. Lowering herself onto the floor in front of the entry door, she checked to see if there was any light showing anywhere.

  Excellent! She thought as she got back on her feet. There was only the semi darkness of summer twilight. Anya retrieved her candle, it was time to explore. The door opened with only a very minor squeak. She would try to remember to lubricate the hinges with the soap.

  Having become adept at sneaking out of the log house on Bressoff Island, Anya was careful to keep as close to the wall as possible. There, the floorboards were more fully supported, reducing the chance of noise.

  The kitchen was her first stop. There, she searched for a reasonably sized butcher knife. Selecting one with a handle which fit her hand comfortably, Anya thought about the best place to conceal it. There would be other items she would need to hide as well. Somewhere outside would be best.

  Any attempt to conceal something in the rooms she occupied at present, could prove disastrous, if found. Locating a store of towels, Anya wrapped the knife in one. There was a reasonably sized metal tankard, which she added to the bundle.

  The back door was not locked, but she hesitated to take the candle outside as any breeze could well extinguish it. Not having any idea how light a sleeper Jurekovitch was, stumbling around the house was not a good plan.

  Placing the candle on the kitchen table, she tested the door. It started to make noise until she lifted it by the knob, taking some of the weight off the old hinges, she was able to ease it open.

  A pale finger of moonlight broke through the patches of clouds. Not too far from the end of the garden fence were three old wooden casks. All were of a smaller size and one had several holes in the staves. Anya placed the knife inside the
tankard and moved the small barrel to one side. Putting the items on the ground where the container had sat, she replaced it in the same spot. The items were now hidden inside the old keg.

  With one finger, Anya gently slipped any blades of grass trapped beneath the rim out from under it. Fluffing the grass up around the sides of the cask, made it difficult to see that it had been moved.

  The moon was beginning to appear over the tops of the trees. Anya glanced upward at the newly risen moon. Tomorrow it would provide more light as it was nearing its full phase. She closed the door again. By taking the weight off the hinges, she was able to keep it from squeaking.

  Lifting the candle from the kitchen table, Anya continued her exploration. The study was at the far end of the hall. There was another candle on the desk which she lit from the one she carried. As she began to search the desk, Anya noticed several cylindrical rolls sticking up out of a small wooden container. Unrolling each one enough to view the document, Anya finally found the one she was searching for. Using two heavy books to hold down the edges of the map, she studied it.

  If one continued up the Yenisei River, they would come to the town of Yeniseysk. The map was marked showing the steamers regular route, up the Yenisei to the Angara. The river wound around until it reached the Ilim River. There was a short portage marked on the map, from the Ilim to the Lena River. The Lena also flowed northward to the Laptev Sea.

  Before reaching the Laptev, about halfway through Siberia, was the town of Yakutsk. At that point one could turn northeast and make their way to the very tip of Russia. It was a short hop from Russia to Alaska Territory.

  She committed the names of the towns to memory before rolling the map back up. After returning it to the box, she extinguished the candle in the study and made her way quietly back to the suite. Everything was returned to its proper place, making it look as if she had never left.

  Slipping into bed, Anya lay with the covers pulled up to her chin and hugged herself. What she was considering was almost as crazy as Jurekovitch's kidnapping scheme. It was insanity to even consider it. Then again, what choice did she have? Going back into the civilized part of Western Russia without any real funds and without a male companion was equally risky.

  The eastern route would be brutally cold in the winter months. Certainly, but it would be something she had experienced before. Then again, to what extent? Perhaps east was not feasible.

  Yet if she tried to travel in Western Russia without papers, the authorities would have a better chance of finding her. If she were stopped and questioned, they would eventually find she was related to someone they would like to exile to Siberia. What then?

  There would be predators, bears, wolves and probably some of the native tribes who were not happy at being pacified by the Russians. Again and again she ran all the negative aspects of her plan through her mind.

  It was very late when she finally came to a decision. The animals, the cold, the extreme expanse of territory she would have to cover, all were preferable to attempting to deal with people. The authorities could send her right back to where she was trying to escape from.

  Anya Bressoff was going home, or she would die in the attempt. It did not matter at this point. The likelihood of being rescued was about the same, as the likelihood that she would actually be able to cover the distance.

  Realistically, it would take months, even years. What did it matter now? She would make the choice. This time she knew what she was dealing with. Anya was not betting on a man, she was betting on herself. Borrowing Camille's final word on everything she whispered into the silent darkness. "Fini!" It was decided.

  Charles found the bag on his back step as he had been told it would be. His hand shook as he took it into the kitchen to open it.

  "Oh God!" He placed his hand over his mouth as he fled back outside where he began to retch.

  The inside of the bag had spatters of blood everywhere. Their marriage certificate was dotted with it. A piece of paper, which lay on top of the certificate looked as though a very bloody hand had been placed on it.

  As soon as he could catch his breath, Charles got a glass of water from the kitchen. Not wanting to look into the small suitcase again, he went back to walk in the garden, where he paced back and forth.

  Anger took over. He was cursing the people who had seized his wife, cruelly promised to return her, only to murder her in the end. Keetering wanted to throttle the individual responsible for taking the beauty and sweetness that was Anya and removing her from the earth.

  He would not be able to hold her again and how he desperately wished he could. They would never have a child together. What beautiful babies they might have made.

  By not listening to her father, he gave those responsible the opportunity to kidnap her. Pride had gone before the fall. His pride, his arrogance, was the reason Anya no longer graced the earth. Whatever her father chose to do to him, it would not be sufficient punishment.

  A deep sadness replaced the anger, causing Charles to drop the empty glass. Now, he understood why the bereaved wailed. He wanted to scream, but could not. Instead, a deep groan shook Charles Keetering to his core.

  Walking back into the kitchen to sit at the table, the young man carefully closed the valise. Placing his head on the table beside it, with one hand on the bag, the other beneath his forehead, Charles, began to cry.

  It was late in the evening when Charles went to find Major Tanner. His hair was uncombed and his face was blotched from the tears he had shed. He insisted the guard take him to Tanner even though the Major had retired for the evening. Charles' condition decided the guard. He would at least check to see if the Major was still awake.

  Clutching the bag to his chest, the disheveled young man was ushered into the Major's quarters. Major Tanner looked at the young man and knew the news was not good. He had seen enough of grief in the war to recognize it immediately.

  The Major quietly held his hand out for the valise. "Let me see it, please."

  Keetering released it to the other man who placed the bag on the table next to him. A decanter of scotch along with a few glasses stood next to the suitcase.

  "Sit down boy, I think you need this." Tanner poured a shot of the whiskey, which he handed to Keetering. The young man was sitting as directed.

  "They murdered her." Charles looked at the glass before he took a gulp. "She was so beautiful. How could someone destroy something so beautiful?"

  "Drink up." The major told Keetering as rose and moved the bag to the chair behind Charles. Opening the valise, he glanced inside. There was blood, quite a bit of it in the bag. The writing on the piece of paper, which lay on top of the marriage certificate, was smeared. He was not able to read the words. It did appear something quite horrible had happened to the young woman.

  Major Tanner wondered why the ransom demand, if they were planning to kill the girl all along. Perhaps something else had taken place. Would they ever know? He topped off his drink before taking a seat in a chair across from Keetering.

  "It does look as if they may have killed her. But I wonder why. Why would they send a ransom note, then kill her? None of this makes any sense. Perhaps they wished to inflict as much emotional damage as possible."

  "I have no idea." Charles finished the whiskey, then placed the empty glass on the table. "Do they really hate Count Bressoff that much?"

  The Major refrained from reiterating that her family had warned Keetering. With a shrug he took another sip of the whiskey. "This is Russia boy, they can be quite violent."

  "Why did I insist on bringing her here? Why did I insist on putting her name on those stupid invitations?" Charles pushed himself up from the chair.

  As he began to pace the room, Keetering looked at the bag behind him. He stopped to run the fingers of one hand over the handle.

  "Look, Charles." Major Tanner looked at the young man who was now going to grow up quickly. "We all make mistakes. Usually they are not the kind that cost someone their life. But, that happ
ens as well. What you must do, is take a really good look at who you are, mercilessly. Determine what needs to be eliminated from your makeup and do so without excuses. Not all lessons are as expensive as this one. Learn from it, do not let her death be wasted."

  "No!" The boy's eyes were shiny with unshed tears. "I will not let that happen."

  The Major looked at the young man who stood there. Handsome, he came from money. Before this evening the boy had probably never had a concern for anything. Odd, how a few hours could change your life.

  "There are those who are going to try to give you an easy way out. It is true, you did not actually harm her, but against the advice of those who understood the situation better than you, you put her in harm's way. All through life Keetering, you are going to need to make choices. You need to look at every angle when you do so. If you are deciding for others, never forget those lives which hang in the balance."

  "Major what shall I do with this case? This may be all we ever see of her...body." Keetering stumbled over the last word.

  "You should contact her family. This is a decision everyone who loved her is going to need to be involved in. Send a cable in the morning."

  Tanner tossed back the last of the liquor in his glass. Placing it on the table, he looked at the young man.

  "I have a spare room here. I think perhaps you should stay the night. Tomorrow morning, you can send a wire. Afterward, decide what the best course of action is. I am sorry Keetering, really sorry, we did not have a better outcome."

  Charles nodded in agreement. The last place he wanted to be was in the apartment, in the bed they had shared. He lay awake in Tanner's guest bedroom remembering every moment of his time with Anya. He recalled the first time he had seen her. Then the wedding, what a beautiful bride she was.

  Other things began to occur to him. They infiltrated his thoughts like strange bugs, things that bit. He had excluded her from the decisions regarding their life together. Taking his father's advice, he drastically reduced her allowance, because as his father put it "she was young and likely to be far too casual with money". The elder Keetering's advice, that now was the time to make cuts and save because once the children arrived, expenses would mount, had been followed to the letter.