The final day of the voyage to Ilimsk was gray. Here and there, bands of rain could be seen falling. Naum came to say goodbye and to thank her again. She waved his thanks away until he placed a parcel in her hands.
"I have a letter here for you. It will introduce you to my kinsman, Losif. He will be able to help you."
He was careful to keep his voice low. "Take care. You should stay as far away from the Cossacks as you can. They like to make one work harder than is necessary. And they do not hesitate to use a whip to get what they desire. God keep you missus."
They disembarked the ship. Gavrilla's husband was there to meet the riverboat. Timofey and Andrey launched themselves at their father. Gavrilla hurriedly introduced him to Anya. She told her husband how Anya had helped his little family. As Gavrilla had, he offered any help she might need. She had only to ask.
Finally off the riverboat, Anya was relieved. First, from the anxiety of possibly being recognized, second from the stiffness of inaction. The confinement had begun to bother her as she had become used to walking many miles. The enforced inaction left her stiff and ready to resume her journey overland.
There was also the need for quiet. Leaving the town, Anya searched the nearby forest for shelter. Walking into the taiga, she reached a point where the noise of the bustling little village could no longer be heard. Anya found a campsite with water and many willow bushes.
A small campfire was quickly kindled and she dug into her cheese store. Unfortunately, the bread was quite dry and hard.
A raven squawked above her. Anya craned her neck to look up into the trees behind her and saw the bird. Turning its head to one side, the raven eyed her. Once again, it cried out from the branch.
Rising, Anya broke off a piece of the dry bread and tossed it toward the tree. Twisting its head to the other side, the raven peered at her with one eye. The shiny black bird glanced at the bread where it lay on a tuft of moss. Feathers gleaming blue-black in the last rays of the sun, the raven swooped down to snatch the crumb.
"I hope you like that. It is terribly hard." Anya whispered.
The bird flew off leaving Anya standing there, watching it vanish into the taiga.
The telegram from Dmitri reached Pabiyan at his office. Pabiyan thought it an odd coincidence as he had been planning to send a very long letter to Bressoff regarding the present state of things in Russia. He noted with interest, Dmitri was in San Francisco at the moment and not on his beloved island.
How the man could eschew city life for some island in the middle of nowhere, amazed him. Pabiyan Avelivitch was a city dweller. He loved the energy, the bustle of city life. Lately, he had begun moving his holdings to London. There were ominous rumblings in St. Petersburg which were causing a definite sense of unease in him. London was safe. There was much to see and do there, also.
Pabiyan loved St. Petersburg. He loved the layout of the city, the canals and the youthful energy. But he sensed something stirring. What ever it was he sensed, he did not feel alone. It seemed the anxiety which was causing him to relocate his business interests, was infiltrating into every area of life in Russia.
Pabiyan was also considering a trip to New York. He had been looking into various investments there. He was not entirely sure about America just yet. It was one of the things he wished to discuss with Dmitri.
Sighing, the thin man rose from the chair. Pabiyan supposed he might visit America to speak with his friend. Dmitri could not come back to Russia as the Count had made several powerful enemies.
Pabiyan picked up his letter opener. The diamond represented the cold ice world where his father and Dmitri's, two penniless younger sons, had made their fortunes. The ruby reminded him of the bloody cost of the venture. Through the years, the families had remained in touch, helping each other when they could. Pabiyan read the telegram again. He felt sorry for his friend.
The man's life had not been easy in the early years. How he had even survived the bear mauling made Pabiyan shake his head in wonder. Then losing his wife and having to be father and mother to his daughter, was difficult. The daughter was the light of his life. Now, sadly, the young woman was missing.
He knew Dmitri had remarried and had two other children, but one could not replace one child with another. This, he knew from experience, having lost two children to disease. The two still alive did not replace the lost little ones. His son was safely in college in Britain. His daughter and wife were comfortably settled in a rented home in London.
How would he feel if it were his daughter, alone and friendless in St. Petersburg? Pabiyan shook his head as he returned the letter opener to its place on his desk.
He would send a wire to Dmitri assuring Bressoff, he would do what he could to determine what had really happened to Anya. Then, he would finish the letter to his friend. His plans to quietly move his money and business investments out of Russia would continue, hopefully, with Dmitri's help.
Two days passed before his secretary brought him a message. As he suspected, the man he needed to discuss the girl's disappearance with was Foka. The fat, black spider of a man, sat in the middle of his web, dispensing information to those willing to pay. Foka was supposed to be working solely for the government. In reality, he worked for the highest bidder.
How Foka had kept from being sent to Siberia was anyone's guess. Pabiyan leaned back in his desk chair with his hands behind his head. He needed to be very careful here. Having Foka looking at his life too closely right at this moment, could prove ruinous. In a few days it would not matter. He would wait until a certain ship with a particular employee on board was on its way to London, before making contact with Foka.
Dmitri would understand. Things in the motherland had deteriorated past belief. The entire famine could have been avoided had the government acted promptly. Why had they not stopped the export of the grain and fed the starving?
Pabiyan scowled at the view outside his window. If someone thought starvation would force resettlement of peasants into Siberia, where things were not as bad, they were fools. The move would likely rebound on the policy makers. The country was growing more unstable by the hour. It was one thing to make an honest profit, quite another to be responsible for people dying of hunger.
Hunger was a thing Pabiyan knew. In the early days, he and his sister had been hungry. They had parceled out every crust, every bit of meat while they waited for his father and Dmitri's to return with the furs which would give them enough to live on.
Dmitri's father had built a new life in Alaska. Pabiyan's had chosen to stay in Russia. It was beginning to appear as if staying in Alaska had been the wisest move. But after those years of deprivation, Pabiyan had no interest in great trees and enormous distances without people.
Big Ben, he loved the sound of the old clock in London. He wondered what San Francisco was like. There were rumors that there was more money in that wild place than one could imagine. He might have to experience it for himself.
Pabiyan did not make an appointment with Foka. He did not want to give the old bastard time to review his life and business dealings. One could only descend on someone like Foka. The element of surprise was the best method of dealing with that one.
Foka was indeed surprised when his man announced Avelivitch.
"Mr. Avelivitch, what a surprise." Foka stood and made a short half bow. "Welcome to my humble office. It is a pleasure to see you Sir."
Pabiyan took a chair and closed both hands over the handle of his walking stick. "I am afraid this is not a pleasure errand for myself, or a fellow business man I have been asked to represent."
"I am sorry to hear that Mr. Avelivitch. What might I assist you with?"
Pabiyan settled back into the chair. He wished to appear relaxed. It would not be good to seem anxious in any way. "An old business acquaintance, Dmitri Bressoff, is looking for information regarding his daughter."
"Ah, the name is familiar to me." Foka clasped his hands on the desk in front of him."
Pabiyan
smiled. "I should think so. First, he is Count Bressoff. Second, certain high ranking individuals would like to see him. Not officially, I take it, but more in the line of personal disputes. I understand some were not happy when he deeded his estate lands to the peasants before they thought of doing so. Third, he stayed in Alaska after the sale to the Americans. All of his money and investments stayed with him. That brings us to number four, some distant relatives who were not in the direct line for inheritance were able to whisper into a few ears."
Pabiyan shrugged. "But, as he is not planning on ever returning to Russia, those things do not particularly matter to him."
Foka acknowledged he did indeed know these things with a nod. "So what is the problem, if he is not in Russia?"
Pabiyan wobbled his cane back and forth for moment. "The problem is his daughter. The young woman accompanied her husband to St. Petersburg. He was with the American Ligation, working in the relief effort. Charles Keetering is his name. Anya Bressoff Keetering has gone missing. Nothing has been heard for some time."
Pabiyan tapped the floor with his cane. "In the absence of a ransom demand, it appears a kidnapping for profit can be ruled out. You know every one and everything, I would wager, going on in this city. So tell me, Foka, what happened to Anya Bressoff?"
Foka looked off in the distance. Pabiyan knew he was thinking what exactly he could get out of this. "I am quite sure her father would be willing to pay for information. And I am willing to represent him."
"A moment please." Foka took a key from his vest pocket. Rising, he turned to open a door behind the desk. After walking into the windowless room, the man lit a lamp. Foka pushed the door partially closed. Pabiyan could hear the click when a drawer was shut.
Foka returned, locked the door behind him and sat down. "How much?" The man asked.
Pabiyan took out his pocket watch to check the time. "That will depend on what you have to tell me regarding the matter. You will need to tell me first. I cannot establish worth until I see the goods."
"There was an individual, not the government you understand, who wished information regarding the Count. He acquired information that the daughter was in Russia."
"Who might this individual be?" Pabiyan asked.
Foka tapped on the desk with a finger. Pabiyan did not like that, Foka was stalling. Pabiyan moved forward in his chair pretending he was ready to leave.
"Truthfully, I do not know. The man only asked to be contacted by a notice, placed three days in a row, in the paper stating such information was available. He did not give a name, only instruction as to how to contact him."
Pabiyan did rise from the chair. He took a roll of bills from his pocket. "Most devastating news Foka. If your memory improves, or you are able to learn something of value." He put several bills on the desk. "Feel free to contact my office. I am sure you know where to find it."
Pabiyan readjusted his hat before leaving the room. Avelivitch's suspicions were confirmed. Foka had given Dmitri's daughter away to someone. That individual unfortunately, had been very careful. He believed Foka was telling the truth regarding his notification of the interested party. It had not been the government. Dmitri might be able to use these small pieces of information to flesh out the puzzle. He would cable him immediately.
Pabiyan walked down the street enjoying the view. Flowers were still blooming everywhere. But there was a slight chill in the evening air. Soon, the weather would be changing. He thought about Dmitri's daughter. If she were still alive, he hoped she would be comfortable over the coming winter. This was not a good place for a young woman, an unprotected young woman, in winter.
Dmitri and Camille took the cable along when they went to see Samuel and Leontine. As it was a rainy day, they sat in the parlor. Dmitri handed the message to Samuel who read it aloud. Samuel looked toward Dmitri.
"Does it mean anything in particular, this "the government is not involved"?"
"Perhaps not." Dmitri replied. "The other possibility is that the seizure was not officially government sanctioned. One of my unhappy cousins has already attempted to get the government to do something about my unfair and improper distribution of the estate. I supposed one of them could have decided to take matters into their own hands."
Confusion was in Camille's tone when she questioned him. "I thought they had already taken everything of value?"
Lighting a cigar before he replied, Dmitri took a puff then looked at the other three people. "There were threats made. Both of my uncles died in their late thirties, but each of them left children. I have a total of five cousins. The widows in both cases felt they should have inherited the estate. However, all the children were girls. My father was next in line. Unfortunately, one of the ladies managed to obtain a patron of some substance, at court."
Samuel nodded. "So they have a major grudge against you."
Dmitri glanced at the ash on his cigar. "Absolutely! But I fail to see what good kidnapping Anya would do for them unless they demanded a ransom." Dmitri gazed out the window at the rain silently.
Leontine drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. "None of this makes any sense. It is as if we are missing something."
Dmitri rose looking for an ashtray. He returned to his seat and rolled his shoulders, seeking relief from the tension in his muscles. "Frankly, Leontine I am totally baffled. Why kidnap her at all? If they wanted money surely whoever seized her would have made a demand of some kind. A demand of either myself or Charles or both of us."
Samuel looked at Leontine. "Agreed. I have never heard of a kidnapping without a ransom demand. I am still of the opinion Charles has missed something here, something important. What was in the valise must have had something to do with instructions regarding a ransom demand. I am convinced of it!"
Dmitri shrugged his shoulders. "Further, it would seem to me that if the first demand were ignored, a second one, probably containing greater demands and greater threats, would have been sent."
Samuel considered the matter for a moment. A thought had come to him. He was not sure he should mention it to either Camille or Dmitri.
What if Charles left before a second message could have been delivered? Samuel kept the thought to himself.
Camille rose from her chair and went to stand behind Dmitri to massage his shoulders. "It would not surprise me to find that Charles has missed a clue. He is quite distraught."
Leontine studied her fingernails, worrying a cuticle. "I think I might be the least threatening in Charles' eyes. Perhaps I could speak with him. We do need to give him some idea of what we have determined to do with the wretched valise."
Dmitri felt some of the tension release as Camille's fingers eased the knots in his muscles. "If you would attempt it Leontine, I would be grateful." Dmitri responded.
"I will try it. What should I tell him? Leontine looked at the others. "Suggestions, anyone?"
Samuel spoke first. "The truth is probably best. We are doing nothing for the time being. Let him make of it what he will."
Dmitri looked at her carefully. "Are you truly up to doing this Leontine? I would not wish to cause you any physical harm."
She threw back her head with a laugh. "Being in family way does not make me fragile. In fact other than tiring a little easier these days, I have never felt better in all my life."
Camille smiled at Dmitri. "It is true, you know. Also, I can be with her. Perhaps speaking with the women of the family will be easier for him."
Leontine looked over at her husband. "Sam, would you ring for the maid please. I think this is best done in a written message."
Charles was clerking in his father's law practice. He thought someday he might take over the firm. There would be changes made, however. He would increase the pro bono cases the office accepted. The elder Keetering would balk at that, but the number of people needing help was staggering.
The pastor had introduced him to several ladies who were attempting to do something about the young Chinese girls being brought into the c
ountry illegally, for immoral purposes. It was something which struck a chord in him.
Down at the docks, Charles had seen firsthand the poor little girls being unloaded from a ship. Young children were being sold to brothels. Charles became angrier than he thought possible. Some of the little ones could not be more than ten or twelve years old. It was appalling.
Charles volunteered his services. He was young and strong, a good combination for some of the nighttime raids which were carried out to remove the girls from their prisons.
The Occidental Mission House was a safe place for the girls who were rescued from prostitution and unpaid slavery in other households. He was happy to help rescue the children and see them safely into the mission house.
His father was likewise appalled on discovering Charles was dirtying his hands by being involved in any way with the whole sordid business. They quarreled almost every time Charles was preparing to take part in a rescue effort.
At the office, both men maintained a cool and courteous demeanor with each other. Charles felt it was more for his father's benefit than his own. With his mother's help, he took to sneaking out of the house.
Late one night, after a particularly difficult mission, Charles returned home much later than usual. He was tired, sore and hungry. The raid had netted them only blisters from trying to hack through a door, which had been reinforced from the inside.
They had not been able to reach their objective, several girls belonging to one of the local tongs. Knowing his mother made sure the cookie jar was always full, he entered the kitchen to grab one or two. The young man found his mother waiting there.
"You are later than usual. I was beginning to worry about you, son."
Abigail Keetering uncovered a plate of cold sliced roast beef. She had several cookies on the plate as well. With one hand, she slid it toward him.
Charles stuffed a slice of the roast into his mouth. Chewing hurriedly, he washed it down with a glass of water. "Hummm! Thank you, Mother. I was not sure I could sleep without something in my stomach."
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