Then her upbringing was taken to task. Anya should be made to understand she must be very circumspect as befitted a man in politics. He was to make sure she was an asset to his career, not a detriment. On and on it had gone since the day he had come home to tell them, he intended to marry her.
Camille, her stepmother was a papist, her father worse. In the end the beautiful girl with a smile that captivated him, became something to be reshaped into.
"Lord deliver me! He wanted me to marry someone like Mother!" He whispered.
Charles loved his mother but the thought of marrying someone like her was repulsive. Down trodden, never with an opinion of her own, his mother parroted every word his father uttered. If he were to admit it, it was one of the reasons he enjoyed the company of the fancy women he and his school friends spent so much time with.
It was not just the physical side of it, he could not leave that out, but there was also humor and gaiety during those times. If the humor was forced, at least it relieved the humorless existence of his home life.
Pulling the pillow over his head. Charles burrowed into the bed covers. Dreading the coming day and the cable he must send, Keetering finally fell into an uneasy sleep.
The following morning he sat, pen in hand, in the telegraph office. He did not know any easy means of breaking the horrid news to Anya's family. Charles considered for a moment and finally came to the place where just saying it would be best.
"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Bressoff, am very sorry to say you were correct. stop Anya's identity discovered she was kidnapped. stop. We believe they have killed her. stop Have bloody overnight bag that is all. stop Leaving Russia immediately. Shall I bring bag? stop Cannot express sorrow felt. stop Charles."
He sent the cable. A similar message went to Mr. and Mrs. Devins and to his parents. Keetering went to the ligation, where he tendered his resignation. The next stop was the apartment. He spoke to the house hold staff and enlisted the housemaid and cook to help with the removal of Anya's clothing. Sitting in the bedroom. Charles looked around him.
All of her jewelry and personal papers he would take with him. Those items he would turn over to her family. But he wanted something of Anya's for himself. What? A blue hair ribbon caught his eye. It lay on the dresser with a few long, dark red hairs attached. Charles found an envelope for the ribbon and put his keepsake into his vest pocket. In a week he would leave Russia and never return.
The cable was delivered to the Bressoff home. Camille was the first to read it. Eyes filled with tears, she practically ran to Leontine's where the second message had already been delivered. Samuel volunteered to drive Camille in the small surrey to Dmitri's office.
Upon entering, she closed the office, sending everyone home. Camille knew only one way to deliver the blow, hard and fast. She threw open the door to her husband's office. As Dmitri sat staring at her, she did the worst damage to her husband she had ever inflicted.
"They kidnaped Anya and killed her. Charles says she is dead."
Leaning back in the chair, eye shut, Dmitri gulped twice. He opened his one eye and suddenly everything loose on his desk went flying across the room. It did not matter what it was. Dmitri cleared his desktop as he cursed in every language he knew.
Anything and everything moveable was tossed across the room. When he finally stood in the middle of the destruction, eye closed, trembling as a man with a fever, Camille went to him. She wrapped her arms around him.
"Oh love I am so sorry! Dear heart! What shall we do?"
Camille and Dmitri stood in the middle of the remains of his office where they cried together.
Anya's father could not eat nor could he sleep. He read the cable again and again. It was as if the words were all in a foreign language and incomprehensible. Dmitri wanted to go to Russia, to see for himself what was to be seen. Camille, of course, had absolutely forbidden him to set foot in that country.
They had tried to tell Dmi and Lexie what had happened. Dmi stopped his ears and ran out into the yard where he threw himself on the grass and sobbed. Lexi clung to her father refusing to let go of him.
Leontine was in the kitchen. Big as a house, she was helping Ilyia prepare food for the children. Camille sat at the kitchen table staring into the cup of tea the two women had made for her.
Dmitri and Samuel were in the study. Lexie was asleep in her father's arms. Each time he attempted to lay her down, she would wake and begin to cry. Samuel spoke softly so as to not disturb the child.
"Have you answered him Dmitri?"
"Not yet. I cannot think straight! All they have is a bloody valise?" The child he held stirred.
Dmitri rocked her in his arms. "What do I tell him? Bring it home so we may bury a suit case?" He shut his one good eye. A tear slipped past his eyelid then down his cheek.
"I know. It does not seem real. How have they deduced from it, that Anya is dead?"
Dmitri shook his head unable to answer Samuel's question. Then he thought of Stanislaus.
"Samuel, there is one other person who must be told. I think I will need to do this in person. I need to get to Seattle as soon as possible."
"Easily done. I have a steamer with a cargo waiting to disembark in a day or two for Seattle. I was waiting on a shipment which is late. I will take you myself. The shipment will wait until later."
"Can we leave tomorrow?"
"Yes, Dmitri. Leave it to me. But you will need to respond to Keetering. You probably should tell him to bring the case. I have buried men at sea before. It is always good if something, anything can be brought back to the family."
"Can you reply to him, please? I do not think I can respond to him without cursing him for causing me to lose my little girl."
"Done! I will take care of it in the morning. We will leave as soon as the cable is dispatched."
Eventually the children were coaxed into eating something, then tucked into bed. Samuel and Leontine took their leave. Dmitri and Camille were alone in their bedroom.
Sitting in an overstuffed chair, Camille was in his lap. Dmitri had his arms about her. In the silent room, the couple sat in the dark watching the firelight.
"I really do want to strangle Keetering. I want to watch the svoloch' die, slowly."
"Stop it, Dmitri! I know what you want, you want your baby girl back. Murdering Keetereing will not bring her back to you. All that will do is leave your family, all who need you, at the mercy of those like Keetering."
"Killing the fool will not bring her back. I understand, but please hear me out, as I must say this. Who else do I have to confide in, but you?"
He was silent for a time until a log snapped in the fireplace.
"Camille, I must go see Stanislaus. He cannot hear this from anyone else, but you or me. You must stay here with the children, as they are upset enough. I can stop Stanislaus from doing something rash. But to do that I need to confess how much I really want to harm Keetering, I must purge it."
Dmitri took a deep breath. "Otherwise, Stanislaus and I might both be hunting Keetering."
"Poor Stanislaus! This will nearly kill him. He loves her so much." Camille kissed his neck.
Dmitri hugged her so tightly, for an instant she found it hard to breathe.
"So supruga, I will not kill him, but how I want to hurt him! I want to watch him writhe in pain. I want it and I cannot have it."
"Dearest heart, I love her as well! You must not harm him, for my sake, for Dmi and Alexis."
She laid her cheek on his chest. Dmitri's heart was pounding in her ear. Camille spoke softly.
"Keetering is a fool, truly. He ignored the warning we gave him. Now, we all must pay the price of not having our sweet child."
Eventually Camille and Dmitri went to bed. Each of them tried to be quiet so the other could sleep. There was no sleep to be had for either of them.
Samuel made record time from San Francisco to Seattle. They arrived in the evening and Devins offered to go with Bressoff to Stanislaus' home. Dmitri refused the of
fer, feeling it was best he go alone.
Dmitri rented a horse at the livery stable, rode up the hill to the little white clapboard cottage and knocked on the door. Stanislaus answered the door in trousers and shirt sleeves having just finished his dinner.
He looked at Dmitri's face but did not invite him in. "Tell me. Just say it!"
"Anya is dead. Kidnapped, murdered. Keetering sent a cable."
Stanislaus clung to the doorframe. He did as Dmitri had not been able to. His wail was heard far down the long hill.
Dmitri grabbed the young man by the arm and helped him into the house. "Come my friend. Let us go inside."
It was a dream. It had to be a dream! Anya watched Ooskada walk toward her from a great dark cloud. He was wearing the Raven Mask as he had been the last time she saw him, the awful day he kidnapped Camille with the intention of killing her. Stuffing her fist into her mouth, Anya kept silent.
"So, now you will be glad you learned what I was willing to teach you. You will be glad of Yethl's help, daughter of the raven."
Suddenly, a woman's form moved between Anya and Ooskada. She was wearing a lovely old fashioned ball gown.
"Enough brother." Her voice had a lilt to it Anya had not heard before. "She is mine and Dmitri's. We gave her life."
Ooskada seemed to fade away. The woman turned. Anya was unable to make a sound. This was a face she saw daily in the mirror. But, no, not quite. The hair was darker, the eyes tilted just a bit more at the corners. The miniature on her father's night table!
"Mother?" Her voice was a whisper she did not recognize.
The smile took her by surprise. In the miniature her Mother had looked so grave. The smile lit up everything around her and Anya found herself smiling at her mother in return.
"Indeed my love. Those things Ooskada taught you about living in the forest, those you can and should use. The other, no! He became twisted within coils of things which destroyed him in the end."
Her mother came to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. "My dearest child. I had wished to see you grown. I have been granted this one small desire so I might tell you, you will succeed. Your Poppa will once again hold you in his arms. But this journey will test you to the limits of your spirit and strength."
The figure of her mother began to fade. Anya reached out to hold her, but nothing was there. "There is a worker coming to you. Listen to his words." With that her mother was gone.
Anya found herself floating over a small rough hewn cabin somewhere. Within it were three men and a young boy. The boy appeared to see her, but the men did not. His dark eyes bored into hers.
"Worship the creator, not the creation." His words came to her and then everything faded away as Anya woke.
The portions of the dream with her mother and the boy had a warm, comforting feel to them. But that with Ooskada in it, felt cold, horribly cold, Anya was repelled by it. She shut it away from her, not wanting to think about it.
But her mother, she was so lovely when she smiled. Anya saw what had drawn her father to the delicate woman who had been his first wife.
The boy was another matter. She had never met him. Who was he? Why was he dressed the way he had been? There were the long dark curls on the side of his head and he wore a small skullcap. Who was he? What had he meant?
The feeling of urgency increased, leaving her wide awake. Anya wanted to throw open the door. She had an urge to simply run. That was not possible at this moment. But shortly, as soon as it could be arranged, she must leave.
Therefore, tonight was her last chance to gather those things she needed. She must wait until all was quiet. Hoping to rest, she consumed several glasses of water knowing the water would necessitate a middle of the night trip to the chamber pot.
Late at night, she woke as planned. After relieving herself, she lay in the bed listening to every creak and groan of the old house.
Moonrise was earlier than it had been the night before. An owl called in the darkness, startling her. Alert and anxious, she waited. The door was ready to be opened. She had already changed the knob. A deep silence settled over the house, the time was ripe.
As the moon was full, there was no immediate need for the candle. She took it with her as she would surely need it later. Hugging the walls of the house, she crept over to the stairwell. On the stairs, the slim young woman stayed as close to the main support of the wall as possible. One stair tread shifted with her weight, creaking alarmingly loud in the silence.
Balancing, one foot on and one foot off the tread, Anya stood and waited. No other sound disturbed the silence. Gingerly, she descended the last few stairs. On the ground floor, she made her way down the hall to the study. Tonight she intended to locate his resource. Jurekovitch was going to part with some of the gold. It belonged to her. Anya intended to use some of it in order to escape him.
Moonlight poured through windows where the shabby drapes were drawn aside, illuminating the study. Quietly rummaging through the desk drawers, Anya found what she was searching for. Far in the back of one drawer was a small leather pouch. She untied the drawstring and spilled part of the contents into her palm. Gold nuggets of various sizes and shapes lay in her hand.
"Yes!" She whispered.
Anya took the pouch along with a sheet of his writing paper over to the window and poured the contents of the pouch onto the paper. The larger nuggets went back into the leather bag. There were two very good reasons for not taking the larger nuggets.
She did not want Jurekovitch so thoroughly incensed he would follow her anywhere to get his property back. The second reason was the smaller ones would be easier to trade for things she would need.
Another piece of her muslin petticoat served as a container for her gold. After putting the other nuggets away, she returned the pouch to its accustomed place in the drawer. Wrapping the nuggets she had chosen in the scrap of muslin, Anya tucked the packet into her bodice.
How she would love to take one of the guns on the wall along with her. She inspected them, wondering if it would be possible to do so. There were predators in these woods she might very well need a rifle for.
Tapping one fingernail nervously against a tooth, the young woman considered what would be her best course of action.
As she planned to travel some of the distance by river steamer, a rifle in the hands of a woman, especially an old woman, would be hard to account for. Originally, Anya planned to trade for a good rifle in Yakutsk. Hopefully she could find what she needed there.
Now a trip to the barn was necessary. Slipping out the back door. Anya hoped she would find matches in the usual place as in any barn, a shelf just inside the door. They were where she hoped to find them.
After lighting the candle, she quickly located the next item on her list, a nice long section of rope. Something else caught her eye, a lovely goatskin that was apparently used as a saddle pad. It was draped over the top rail of one stall. Anya marked the locations of the items she intended to take with her. That accomplished, she quickly left the barn.
Returning to her room, she again replaced all as it had been, making herself a prisoner once more. Lying on the bed, as she tried to sleep, excitement built inside her. Tomorrow! Tomorrow she was leaving.
It was a very good thing Jurekovitch thought so little of her that she was able to carry out her plans with little or no interference from him. Living on the island and learning to sneak away from various governesses and family retainers had provided her with an excellent background for an escape artist.
The training she had received from Ooskada and Gregor, her great uncle, was proving invaluable. Anya smiled as she thought about Gregor, her father's manservant, and her mother's uncle.
The Bressoff family guardian was more to the point. Gregor had taken great care of Count Dmitri Bressoff in the guise of valet and manservant. He had watched over Anya as well, perhaps more than she thought necessary at the time. The lessons she learned from Gregor would help her find her way home.
All
of her childhood, Anya had tried to determine what world she belonged in. There was the world of the Russian aristocracy, the new American world and the oldest world, that of the Tlingit tribe she was part of.
She was a blend of them all. Anya Bressoff was the sum of all these cultures. Each had contributed to the person she was, the person she would become. Her last thought before finally finding the sleep she needed was, only death stopped growth and she was still quite alive.
Jurekovitch insisted she have breakfast with him. Anya humored him.
"Today the steamer should come."
They sat down to some type of warm cereal and hot fragrant tea.
"I wonder if you have any sewing materials here. I really do need to mend some items."
He snorted as his dark eyes flashed at her. "Do you know how to use a needle? A daintily raised woman such as yourself?"
"Come now! Even women raised to be decorative must have something to do. Needle work is the main hobby left to those of us with so much free time."
Jurekovitch poured a bit of milk into whatever the thick lumpy stuff was. He put a large spoonful into his mouth and chewed heartily, before he could speak. "I believe there is something resembling a sewing basket here. I might have seen it in the big store room off the kitchen."
Anya attempted to eat some of the mush, it was difficult to swallow. She had to gulp quite a bit of tea in order to wash it down.
"Not to your liking?" He took another large spoonful.
"A bit thick perhaps." She replied.
Anya knew she needed the food, but the stuff was so horrid, she gave up in disgust.
"This is good, hearty peasant food." He tapped the bowl with his spoon. "It will keep you working all day long."
She did not bother to reply to his comment. Anya knew what good cereal should taste like, it did not measure up. Rather than argue with him, Anya let him think she was such a hot house flower, that the mush was not good enough for her refined palate. The more he thought of her as a spoiled rich girl, the better.
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