Daughter of the Raven

by Cherime MacFarlane

  Anya dropped the portion of the hide she had been working on. It fell around the stake. Feeling the section of the fur she had completed, she dropped it. The fur was soft and pliable.

  "He is the reason I am in this mess! I am not happy about dashing down a river I have no knowledge of, trying to beat the cold."

  She took up the unfinished portion of the hide and began working it again on the stake.

  "How Anya." Petyr's voice dropped an octave. He cleared his throat. "Do you not see that this will consume you, as the fire consumes this stick? You need to forgive him."

  She took her frustration out on the hide. Anya pulled it across the stake as she spoke. "How can you ask that of me? You do not have any idea how miserably, how shabbily he treated me."

  The boy was staring at her. Anya glanced up once, then turned her attention back to her task.

  "I ask Him to help me forgive those who murdered my family. I have confidence He will help me do so each time I ask it. I continue to ask it each and every time I begin to feel I should hate them. He forgave David and David committed murder and rape."

  Tears began to form in her eyes. Anya shook her head to clear them away. She did not want to cry. That was admitting defeat.

  Petyr knew what he had to do. Sliding across the ground, when he reached her side, the boy picked up the blanket which had fallen to the ground. Drawing the blanket around her, Petyr reached out to take her in his arms. "You can cry. It will not hurt to shed tears for what has been lost."

  Laying her head on Petyr's shoulder, the young woman began to cry. Petyr rocked her in his arms. This was good. She needed to get it all out, or like a splinter, it would fester and put poison in her system. Petyr recalled a lullaby his mother had sung. As she cried, he sang to her.

  Anya woke before Petyr. She thought she might have a headache, but there was none. After tossing several sticks on the fire, she put water on to boil. Perhaps he was right. It was better to forgive Charles and let him go.

  They could each go their separate ways. He could further his career and she could go home and....and...That was interesting. What would she do once she got home? She made a strong pot of tea in the small kettle. Well, what would she do? What was she equipped to do? That was a puzzle she would need to give thought to.

  Camille had the village school, it had been her purpose. Anya knew something about her father's business. Could she help out there? She considered how she had helped Naum by sewing up his leg. Then there was Gavrilla and the two children, she had tended to them. Now, she had Petyr. Caring for him, doing these things made her feel good.

  Helping people brought her satisfaction. She would think on this more. Something to do was essential. After all the things she had accomplished on this journey, there was no way she could sit and do nothing. No needlework, no light gardening, no, no. That would no longer satisfy her. It was necessary to her sanity, to be useful.

  Ah! In the dream her mother told her she could do the good things her uncle had taught her. Healing, she was meant to be a healer. She was not meant to be an ornament in some man's house. A woman could raise children, tend a home and still be useful to others. She had Camille's example to follow.

  And Camille had a man who supported her efforts to improve the lives of the people around her. Another requirement, was a man, a supportive man who loved her for who she was.

  Suddenly, her thoughts were filled with the one man who had always allowed her to be what she was. Stanislaus! How foolish she had been! She had given up Stanislaus for a shiny glittering bauble without substance! It had been there all along, the man who knew her as no other did and loved her anyway.

  Please God, please let him wait for me. I have been as foolish as Charles. Please, Lord, may I please have another chance? In the darkness as the sky was beginning to lighten, Anya prayed.

  Sitting in a chair in his garden early on a Sunday morning, the big man surveyed what was left to do in the plot. Today he would clean up the last of the harvest. There were a few winter squash along with herbs to gather and bundle for drying.

  Anya could tell him what each and every herb in his garden could be used for. She knew each plant in the forest as well. Which were good and which to avoid. Stanislaus drank some of the strong coffee he had made. He felt sluggish. It was difficult to gather up the energy to do what was needed. Where was she? What was she doing right this moment? Was she hurt?

  "Please, God, not hurt." He whispered.

  Sipping at the coffee, he thought of the first time he had seen Anya. Dmitri had brought her to the mill. Anya could not have been more than four. She was chasing butterflies. In pursuit of the insects she went too close to the stream.

  Dmitri ordered her to come back into the office. He smiled as he recalled the stubborn set of that perfect little face. The way she had partially pushed out her bottom lip and stamped her little foot.

  Anya's "No", took Stanislaus by surprise. He personally had been terrified of the tall, lean man. Frightened for the little girl, Stanislaus watched her father stride purposefully toward the angry child.

  Dmitri squatted down to look at her. "Do not tell me no, doch'."

  With that Dmitri gathered her up in his arms and carried her into the office. After tying a rope around her middle, her father secured the other end to the leg of his desk.

  Stanislaus broke into a chuckle as he recalled how Anya had spent the rest of the time in the office trying to untie the rope. Was that the moment he became totally taken over by a tiny little harridan of a girl? Was it that moment?

  Or was it the moment when she defied her uncle. When she tried to push Ooskada away from Camille and Dmi? The little girl had grabbed her baby brother and held on.

  No, it was before that. He had loved her almost from the first moment he saw her. He had practically begged Anton, the gardener and stable hand to let him work at the house.

  And why? Because he wanted to be near her. He would have done any work to be close to her. Being made her guardian when she rode out to the village had been his proudest moment.

  When Camille began to tutor the two of them, Stanislaus was elated. Being allowed to learn and to do so with Anya, made him feel so very fortunate. Recalling the day when he was mucking out the stable and Anya sat on the top rail of one of the stalls, reading to him, he smiled. After she read some of the history of the French Revolution aloud, they discussed it.

  It had not mattered to her that he smelled of manure. He had marveled that it did not. What had changed? When had his Anya become the young woman who could not see past her nose? Was it because she suddenly saw a wider world out side of their tiny little island?

  "Well, this is not getting the chores done." The big man mumbled.

  Decisively, he rose from the chair. Stanislaus stretched, then gulped the last of the coffee.

  He had been over this again and again. There were no answers. There was only one thing Stanislaus Rakov knew for sure. Anya was somewhere in Russia and she was alive. He prayed God would keep her safe so she could return to those who loved her. He did not include Keetering in the group.

  The canoe was loaded. Shivering in the early morning, Anya knew they must be off. "Petyr, you take the first watch. Remember, paddle twice, look behind you then paddle again. We must beware of snags."

  Petyr nodded. He knew last night would not be mentioned again. Never the less, it was between them now. For all her shyness at having broken down, for having cried on his shoulder, there was a difference in her he could sense. Anya was concerned about what they were now undertaking, yet he did not feel the tension as he had before. It was good.

  "So, what do we do?" He glanced down at the canoe. "I have never been in one of these before yesterday."

  Anya took a deep breath. "We will guide the canoe over to that bit of bank. We will each wrap our ropes around the base of a shrub. You get into the front of the canoe. I will get into the back. When paddling do not dig the paddle too deeply into the water. We are only steering
it down river."

  She was frightened. Anya had seen first hand what snags on a river could do. The water was high. Than meant trees were being washed away into the main stream behind them. But there was nothing to be done, they could not wait here. After taking one last look at the swiftly flowing river, Anya carefully got into the back of the canoe.

  "Get in. We must be off!" She shouted.

  The boy climbed into the craft, which bobbed on the water. Anya noted although it was a bit bigger than she had wished, it rode well. They cast off the lines.

  "Now! Push us off into the main stream. Quickly!"

  The boy instantly complied. With two hard paddle strokes, Anya directed the canoe into the main current. The Lena swept them into the main channel and the canoe rushed forward toward Yakutsk.

  Anya found she could keep the canoe properly positioned by making minor adjustments with the paddle. Using it as a rudder of sorts, she was able to control the craft without too much trouble. What she was dreading was landing so they could camp for the night. With both of them being inexperienced in handling the bobbing little craft, she anticipated difficulty.

  Anya watched the river slide past the land and noted the way in which the main stream often was quite close to the bank. Perhaps they could get back out of the river if they were able cut across out of the current to the shallower side of one of the bends. The motion of the canoe was vastly different from the dugouts she was familiar with.

  As the day wore on the cold seeped into her bones. Huddled into blankets and furs, Anya knew she would need to begin making them coats from the blankets.

  The wolf skins were to sleep in. They could not be cut up for clothing. Perhaps she should have thought of that before. Shaking off the thought, Anya rationalized she was doing the best she could. Previously food had taken priority and now it was clothing.

  They passed a village. Anya wondered how many versts it was from their camp last night. She cautioned Petyr to keep a watch for snags while she kept alert to the changes in the current. If they got too far into the shallows they could strike a rock and damage the craft.

  Toward afternoon, feeling a bit more comfortable with the canoe, Anya had Petyr begin learning to paddle while she kept watch for snags. He appeared to be doing well. Petyr was stronger than he looked. She let him rest and resume look out as she steered. They were content to watch the river and keep their craft going in the proper direction.

  "Hey, Petyr! This is easier than walking." With a grin she called out to him.

  Petyr glanced back at her before looking back up river to check for snags. "Much easier, but I somehow feel less comfortable."

  "This is new for me as well. I have been on the ocean in my father's boat, the Arctic Tern, many times. I can sail it. I have also been in several Tlingit dugouts, this is different."

  Petyr made another quick scan of the river behind them. "I thought you had been in a canoe before?”

  "Yes, but I was only a passenger." Anya used her paddle to again point the bow of the canoe into the main current of the Lena.

  Petyr grinned back at Anya. "Had I known it, I might still be back there!"

  She laughed at his comment knowing it certainly was not the case. Neither of them could go anyway, but forward.

  By the time they passed four small settlements, Anya began looking for a place to camp for the evening. Her strategy for getting back to land worked with little more than both of them having to get their feet wet as they pulled the canoe up onto a sand bar. Anya made sure the canoe was tied snugly so it would be ready to go in the morning.

  That evening and the next were spent in sewing coverings for their bodies. Petyr was given a quick course in sewing, as she did not have time enough to sew garments for them both.

  Anya did not call them coats, as they were simply the older blankets with a hole just large enough to admit a head, cut in the middle. They sewed up the sides to form sleeves. With all their clothing on and the old blankets over the top they would be much warmer. Petyr had quickly picked up the use of needle and thread.

  "It may be easier than walking." He nodded toward the canoe. "But it is colder."

  "Agreed. Sitting still does not get the blood moving."

  Anya used the old scissors to cut the linen thread after sewing a seam. "It is also getting colder. I fear winter will have set in by the time we reach Yakutsk."

  Petyr finished his seam and cut the thread. Standing, he put on the blanket and sat back down. In his case the sleeves reached to the middle of his hand. Petyr cuffed the excess as he sat cross legged before the fire.

  "This is much better!" He sighed.

  Anya put on her garment. It did not quite reach her wrists, but with her old leather gloves on, it was certainly better than nothing. They cuddled up into the wolf skins to sleep.

  That routine continued as they bobbed along on the river in the birch bark canoe. There were small settlements here and there on the bank of the Lena. Several times people waved to them from the bank. It was usually small children and occasionally adults who were not busy. From what she could see, nearly everyone was busy.

  Feeling the cold increase, Anya knew they were racing to get as much done as they could before it snowed. She was amazed to see how populated the valley of the Lena was. It had not occurred to her, there would be so many small settlements in Siberia.

  Anya had always thought of the place as cold and uninhabited. How many of these settlements were Russian and how many were native peoples? It was a question she hoped to find the answer to in Yakutsk. Had she been here as a simple traveler it would have been interesting to visit with those on shore.

  On the fifth day of travel they encountered a snag. Its root system was caught on a sandbar. What was left of the branches and trunk jutted out into the middle of the stream. They barely cleared the log and branches which threatened to tear their canoe to shreds.

  The near accident occurred toward the end of the day. With shaking legs and arms, Anya and Petyr brought their little craft to shore. Silently, they set up camp, both of them still recovering from the incident. It was after they were settled that Petyr brought up the matter.

  "I did not believe we would clear it. I did not expect to see a tree caught like that." He took a sip of the tea Anya handed him.

  "Nor did I. We have learned a valuable lesson today. You did well." Anya chewed on a piece of dried fish.

  Petyr grunted. "Thank Him that you saw it in time to maneuver past the miserable thing. Those branches would have destroyed the canoe past repair. I see why they use those heavy log rafts for freight."

  Anya wiggled a bit closer to the fire as a stray breeze blew cold air up under her blanket coat. Tucking the hem under her, Anya sat on it to keep the cold air out.

  "Yes, but it takes them far too long to get down river. We could not travel that way in any event."

  "Thank you again Anya. I do appreciate your care of me. Truly."

  She laid her head on arms and drew her knees up to lean on. "I needed company. I was far too alone before I found you."

  His voice had lowered considerably in the past few days. Anya doubted he realized it. Petyr was growing into a man. She noticed he was developing muscle where likely none had been before. His endurance had also increased.

  None of the physical things had as yet, caught up to his intellect. Anya knew he was an extremely bright individual. The boy was wiser about spiritual matters than she.

  "I have been thinking about your comment on my being your "purpose". Do you still feel that way?"

  Tossing another stick onto the coals of the slowly diminishing blaze, the boy turned to her. "I do." Looking her over carefully, he nodded. "Does your heart feel better now? Can you find forgiveness for him?"

  With her arms and head pillowed on her knees, Anya responded. "Do you know, I have not thought about him in some time. I think I have let him go. Another thing now occupies my thoughts, I have discovered I was not fair to someone else who cares about me. Now,
I need to be forgiven by him."

  Petyr chuckled. "That is so often the way of it. When we forgive another, then we discover there is someone we have wronged and we find we need forgiveness from that person. Anger and hatred so often hide our own sins away from us. It is quite easy to point to someone else and declare their injustices, while turning our backs on what we have done."

  With a sigh, she shook her head. "Where did you come by this wisdom? No one else I know is this wise."

  "Anya, Anya. You have become as a sister to me. Surely you see my faults? I am not "wise" I am educated. The Book, it is all in the Book. You have only to read with your heart open, then you will see what I am speaking of."

  "Well then, I will do so when we reach a place where I can find one to read. What will you do when we reach Alaska?" She asked.

  Petyr cuddled a bit closer to the dying fire. "I will find a community of Jews. Then I will find a way to support myself. Eventually, I hope to have a wife and children. After all that is the cycle of life is it not? And what will you do?"

  "I will find my husband, but I will not stay with him. I cannot do so now. I no longer hate him, but I can no longer live with him. Any love I had for him is quite dead. As dead as this fire soon will be. It is time for sleep. We have many more miles to go before reaching Yakutsk."

  "Yes, I suppose. But look at His handiwork, it is beautiful." Petyr looked up at the forest surrounding them and the sky above.

  Anya smelled the musky odor of the forest, the scent of the fire. As difficult as it was, she would remember this journey until the day she died with amazement. With a smile, Anya slipped into her bedding nest, coat and all.

  "It is. But sleep is also beautiful." Anya pulled the covers over her head leaving only a small breathing hole for fresh air. Her heart was light as she drifted off to sleep.

  Abigail and her husband finally gave up the entire matter late that night. Charles demanded to know Charles Junior's whereabouts. Refusing to believe she did not have the information, her husband insisted she divulge it. Abigail explained she did not know their son's present location.