The Lost Season of Love and Snow

by Jennifer Laam

  “You have such a delicious distraction at your side now,” the tsar added amicably. “I’m quite sure I would be helpless as an infant were such a grace in my home.”

  Alexander clenched my hand tighter, nails pinching my skin, but smiled and modulated his voice so he sounded genial as the tsar. “I take that as compliment and know my wife takes it as a great credit as well.”

  “I do.” I gritted my teeth. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I wondered how many other lies I would tell to negotiate my position in society. It seemed lying was a survival skill like any other, easier with practice.

  “And yet it wouldn’t do to have the voice of our great Russian poet silenced completely.” The tsar raised his hand in the air and casually snapped two fingers together to draw the attention of a boy in ill-fitting livery passing by with a tray of champagne flutes. The tray wobbled in the poor boy’s hands as he approached our group. “Surely you have some love ditty or another I might read to my wife when I wish to sweeten her mood in our private boudoir.”

  I drew in a deep breath, offended both on behalf of the absent empress and Alexander—whose poems were far more than “ditties” to be shared and forgotten on a whim.

  Alexander’s smile was placid as he straightened his shoulders and kept his voice even.

  “As you have no doubt heard, I’m starting a new journal…”

  “I have heard.” The tsar took a flute of champagne, but his gaze never left Alexander’s. “I understand political discourse is to be a planned part of this endeavor.”

  “Simply the conversation of a few literary sorts.”

  “Nothing of our history even? Our modern history?”

  My stomach went cold, but Alexander kept his tone cordial. “Trifles to address the more meaningful events.”

  “As your friends the Decembrists were a trifle?”

  Now I did not dare look up. I imagined Alexander’s hand like ice in mine as we made our way to a poorly insulated cabin in the farthest reaches of Siberia.

  “You no doubt realize some recent events must be excised from our history, for the good of all.” The tsar’s upper lip twitched underneath his mustache. “Certain aspects of our history are harmful to the welfare of our land. I can’t have poets gathering under cloak of night to reinforce their feelings on the injustices of life lived under a tsar and then publish it for the world to see.”

  I had thought this matter behind us, but clearly the tsar had misled me when he said he held no ill will toward Alexander. Dark purple splotches mottled my husband’s face and I knew his composure was breaking. I needed to help him.

  “Injustices?” I said, as quickly as the words came to me. “I can’t even imagine my husband listening to such words without issuing a challenge. Why I have heard nothing but praise for your generosity. Were I a jealous woman I should call the tsar my rival!”

  At that, the tsar let out a booming laugh and slapped Alexander on the back while my husband maintained his stiff posture. “I would not dare consider myself a rival to such a beauty! But I trust I will see you both at my home, the Anichkov Palace, for the winter holidays as well. I suppose that will be the next time I have the pleasure of seeing Madame Pushkina.” He nodded at me. “My dear Lady Pushkina.”

  “I will be out of town attending to business in Moscow.” Alexander was meeting with my brother Dmitry, hoping to put our financial affairs in order before the turn of the year. “I’m sure my wife will be pleased to attend.”

  “Very good,” the tsar said, taking a sip of champagne. “I shall count the days.”

  He bent to kiss my hand. There was nothing particularly inappropriate about his behavior. From Aunt Katya’s tales, I knew people in court and society engaged in romantic games all the time, amounting to nothing. Some husbands encouraged their wives to flirt with the tsar, thinking the attention flattered them as much as their spouses.

  I turned to my husband. His powerful arms were tight at his side, his hands squeezing in and out of fists. Alexander was no such man. He wanted me all to himself.

  * * *

  Later that night, after I had sunk into bed, exhausted, Alexander did not join me. He had never left me to sleep alone before and my eyes remained open, despite my fatigue. I listened to the minutes tick by on our clock on the mantelpiece. I knew Alexander was angry, but couldn’t articulate his emotions. I wondered if this abandonment was meant as punishment. Once the hands of the clock had reached four a.m., I could no longer tolerate the uncertainty. I covered my thin nightdress with a silk robe and crept to Alexander’s study. I hesitated at the door, which had been left ajar. Normally, I would never enter his study without permission, but I was determined to catch him unaware and thus measure his true state of mind.

  When I entered the study, I found him crouched over the dark red covering on his round writing table, paper and quills strewn about, still in his striped dressing gown. I hoped a sudden burst of inspiration had prompted him to jot down a few words before retiring for the evening. “Are you working?”

  My voice startled him and he turned quickly. I saw his pistol on the writing table, its pearly handle gleaming in the moonlight.

  “What are you doing with that?”

  He picked it up and assumed the same pose he had at our flat in Moscow, aiming at the opposite wall. “I thought I might leave a memento of myself behind in this place. My initials on the wall for all to admire. I still regret that I had not the presence of mind to do so at our dacha in Tsarskoye Selo.”

  “I ask that you do not.” I liked our flat here in St. Petersburg and didn’t want to see it ruined. Besides, we could not afford any damage accrued added to our list of debts.

  “You do not think the think the tsar would approve?”

  “I only wish to keep our home in a good state.”

  “Why?” he pressed. “You will attend the ball at Anichkov Palace, I suppose. As the tsar’s personal guest. Do you plan to show him the flat afterward? Sit provocatively for him on our mahogany sofa so that he might admire your beauty undisturbed?”

  “Why would I do such a thing? You’re allowing unwarranted jealousy to cloud your judgment.” If Alexander intended to be petty and snipe at me, I had no intention of playing the submissive wife. “You were the one who accepted that invitation on my behalf. It’s not my fault you will be in Moscow at the time.”

  “In a way, it is your fault. How much did the gown you wore this evening cost?”

  “I have purchased nothing more than that which we need to pursue the social season. Are you suggesting my gowns cost more than your gambling debts?”

  I shut my mouth abruptly. Though I had never actually witnessed Alexander in action at the faro or whist tables, his taste for high stakes were well known and his debts to fellow members of his gentlemen’s club easy enough to spot in our household ledger. I would not accept the entire blame for our financial situation.

  Alexander dropped the pistol onto his desk and sank to his chair, head in his hands, black curls splaying out around his fingers. “I’m sorry. I should not have spoken in such a manner to you. I shall attend to the debts as soon as I am able. I need to write more. I have failed you.”

  The harm I had so clearly caused with this accusation was etched on his face. I could hardly bear it. I approached him and placed my hands on his shoulders. “We will see our way through it. I only worry about you. Before our marriage, you were so productive and now that you and I are one … I fear the words are slower and I am to blame.”

  “You are an angel. I am to blame.” He rubbed his hands furiously. “Every time I put pen to paper, I remember our debts and my heart pounds so furiously that I can think of nothing else.”

  I massaged his shoulders the way he liked, wanting to distract him, make him remember why our marriage was worth the expense. But I also felt I needed to introduce two subjects weighing on my mind. “I know it was not easy for you to marry a woman with no dowry. I know my mother is a trial and my father…”
I could bring myself to say no more. I still could not shake the feeling the Goncharovs were a disaster and that Alexander lowered himself by marrying into our mess of a family.

  Alexander’s expression softened as he gazed up at me, blinking rapidly, like a child seeking approval. “I would have married no other.”

  “I shall try not to forget that, my love.” I held his shoulders softly in my hands, immobilizing him. Now that my family had been called to my mind, I could not let go of the thoughts plaguing me regarding my sisters’ predicament. “Perhaps our happiness means we should show generosity to others. Ekaterina and Azya are still in need of husbands. They should marry well. We could help them in this respect and then…” When I brought up my sisters, Alexander’s gaze hardened once more. “There will be more money available for the entire family.”

  “You would have me live off the charity of a brother-in-law?”

  “Of course not.” I hadn’t the heart to tell him I had already written to Dmitry and asked for help. Or that my brother was already sending me money and grumbling over Alexander’s lack of responsibility with our finances. “An advantageous marriage for one or both of them would relieve so many financial pressures that might ultimately fall to us.”

  “Such as?”

  I pressed my lips together. “Care for my father … Mother can’t do much anymore, and we can’t always rely on Babette and my grandfather to see to him.” Alexander snorted. “If we can host my sisters for a season, and they make successful matches, afterward they will be off our hands for good.”

  That came out more brutally than I intended, but Alexander had stopped listening after the first sentence anyway. “Host them?”

  I withdrew my hands from his shoulders and shifted uncomfortably. “We have room. It would make it so much easier for them. Their prospects in Moscow—”

  “—are not good because they do not have you there to make introductions.” He groaned. “But all of us? Under one roof? You and Ekaterina never seemed to take to one another. Will I forever listen to the two of you sniping?”

  “Not forever,” I said, raising a finger. “Only until she marries.”

  “What is the guarantee of that? It’s possible no one will want her and then we’re stuck.”

  I had considered the same possibility, likely with even more apprehension than Alexander, but had already thought of an answer. “Ekaterina is far too prideful to stay here indefinitely. She may return for a second season, but after that I am confident she would return to Mother.” If not, I would order her to leave.

  “A house belongs to a husband and wife.” Alexander’s shoulders sagged, and despite his words, I sensed he was starting to relent. “Having others running about is bound to cause trouble.” He reached up and tickled my side until I squealed. “I want to enjoy you whenever I want. How will having your sisters here affect that?”

  I climbed onto his lap and threw my arms around his neck. “I shall make sure you are constantly pleased.”

  “I will do the same for you.” He leaned in and kissed me. I let out a soft moan, desperately wanting to lead him back to our bedroom, but there was still one last matter.

  “Besides…” I tried to sound casual as his lips moved down the sides of my neck. “I don’t believe we will live alone much longer. It might be nice to have my sisters here to help.”

  He pulled back slowly, flush with excitement. “You mean…”

  “Yes,” I told him. “I believe you are soon to be a father.”

  Eleven

  I was fortunate to gain most of the weight in my stomach, which assuredly meant a son. Or a daughter. Or a child that would have great fortune in life. Every person I spoke to offered a different theory as to what the baby’s future might hold, even when the creature was a mere speck inside me. In May of 1832, I gave birth to a beautiful, raven-haired little girl we christened Maria and called Masha.

  During the first few days, Alexander carried Masha around the nursery in a circle, arms and shoulders stiff as boards. Now, nearly a month since she’d made her entrance into the world, he understood how to best cradle the back of her little head in his hands. I was grateful my husband felt comfortable doting on our daughter, and even managed to hide his disappointment our firstborn was not a son. While he toted Masha about, I had a chance to brush out my hair properly and catch a moment to read.

  I was enjoying just such a respite, lounging on our bed and making notes on a bit of verse I had experimented with prior to Masha’s birth, attempting to capture both my excitement and anxiety at impending motherhood, when Alexander walked into my boudoir cuddling our sleeping daughter in his arms.

  “She will be a great beauty,” he declared, with all the bluster you might expect of a new father. “None to match her in Moscow or St. Petersburg. She shall be the toast of all Europe and crown princes will fight for her hand in marriage.”

  I welcomed the distraction, for my words never had connected as brilliantly as Alexander’s. It remained my fate in life to read rather than write. Besides, my husband’s joy was infectious, though anyone with half a brain could see he would spoil Masha. Even as a baby, she had a sly look to her that made me worry. As a girl, her role in the world would be limited. I hoped she didn’t find it too disappointing.

  “Why stop at Europe?” I shut my leather-bound notebook softly, taking care not to startle Masha. With her head turned, and only her black curls in my view, she looked for all the world like a miniature doll Alexander had crafted in his own likeness. I set the notebook alongside my quill and inkwell on the nightstand, and picked up a vial of lavender-scented conditioning oil to run through my hair with a brush. “Our daughter could dazzle the gentlemen of the New World or claim her right to monarchy on the African continent.”

  “Ah! So you have been eavesdropping, madame!” He leaned into Masha to softly touch his nose to hers, but addressed me. “You’ve heard me speak of her illustrious ancestor, Abram Gannibal, and all the riches that will be hers once she is of age.”

  “I doubt she will wait until she is of age. I think she will run from us to explore the world as soon as her feet will carry her.” Once I felt the first pains of labor, I had been prepared to suffer through the night, but Masha popped her head out like she couldn’t wait to be a part of this world. Mother and Ekaterina both declared it a sign she would grow impudent and I’d need to keep a sharp eye on her. At the time, I was too exhausted to fight them, and only made a silent pledge to ensure my daughter avoided the influence of her grandmother and aunt.

  “Either way, we want Masha to have all the advantages in this life,” Alexander said. “Wouldn’t you agree, my angel?”

  His tone had flattened, as though he were hiding something from me and only now dabbled with the idea of finally sharing. I stopped brushing my hair and proceeded with caution. “I think you wish me to agree to something more specific.”

  “I shall come straight to the point then. We need a larger flat for this little princess-to-be and all of the princelings to come.”

  “A larger place … as we had in Tsarskoye Selo?” Alix’s pretty little face flashed in my mind and I tried to banish the image to the furthest recesses of my memory.

  “Not as such.”

  “We had agreed to remain in the city…” We had been through this already, but I endeavored to be a good wife and hide my frustration. Although I had not yet invited my sisters to live with us, they still needed husbands. If we moved away from the capital, and all of its dazzling bachelors, I would have failed my family. Ivan and little Sergey struggled to adjust to lives in the military, while Dmitry plodded through his dull government job in the Foreign Office and the unenviable tasks of heading our family’s meager finances. I could not bear to think he might be burdened with my sisters as well.

  “You know how much I’ve grown to loathe the shallowness of social life.”

  I bit my lip to stay silent. Alexander “loathed” society only because he had been able to partake in balls and d
ancing and concerts and theater and the attentions of the court when he was a bachelor. He married after thirty, whereas I married at the age of eighteen. And while I did not for one moment regret that decision, I thought it unfair my husband should tire of the lively city at the very time when I had only started to appreciate its excitement.

  “I well understand the importance of our social station. We have not only your sisters to consider, but now this miniature angel.” Alexander gave Masha a tender kiss on her forehead. “Not out of the city, but farther from the center.”

  It seemed to me such a momentous decision should be made between man and wife, but then he handed Masha over. I drew in the fresh scent of powder on her skin as she stirred and wiggled in my arms, reaching one of her chubby hands out to grab my hair. I thought she was hungry and had taken to nursing her myself, and so I was distracted as I held her in one arm and fiddled with the top buttons of my gown with the other hand, only managing to say: “I should like to hear more before we undertake a move, especially with a little one.”

  “I think you will like it. Besides…” Alexander moved to the window and drew the thin curtains aside. I could see the wrought-iron railing enclosing our private veranda and the little flowers in pots I had placed outside. He remained in the room and yet his voice sounded as though it came from very far away. “I need peace so I might write.”

  “I thought you had peace.” I rocked Masha in my arms, but she still gazed at her father’s back with adoring eyes. “Are you not content with our home? With your study? I leave you to your work during the day and try not to disturb you.”

  “Wifekin, please listen. It is not your fault. We have a family now. Perhaps we might have lived like wandering nomads once, but Masha needs stability. I know I should have consulted you before I chose the place, but the spirit moved me. This little one is a beauty to inspire any writer of prose or verse.” Alexander turned to gaze at Masha once more, a besotted smile softening his features.

  “You are writing again, then?” I said, glancing quickly at my own notebook.