The Lost Season of Love and Snow

by Jennifer Laam

  Despite his agony and instructions to keep me away, Alexander smiled and moved the towel and the ice, carefully tucking his shirt back over his chest so I couldn’t see his injury. He opened his arms to me, as he had in better times, when he wanted no more than a caress and the pleasure of my body. Now, he was in grave pain, past such base desires, and longed only for comfort. When he lifted his arms to me, his movements were weak and his skin felt cold and sticky. His waistcoat, stained with blood, had already been removed and was slung over the back of his desk chair.

  “Who is this doctor anyway?” I drew Alexander close, taking care not to disturb the wound. “Has he the credentials to pronounce life and death so quickly? We could talk to Aunt Katya. She’ll know physicians of greater talents who have thoughts beyond abandoning all hope.”

  “Danzas said more doctors are coming,” Alexander rasped. He wore no cravat, his throat and upper chest free, yet he still struggled for each breath. “I have asked for leeches.”

  I could not imagine draining more precious blood from his body, but I had made so many poor judgments over the past few years that I was not about to risk questioning the established medical wisdom of our time. “May I see the wound?”

  Alexander recoiled. “I cannot bear it.”

  “Please.” Some deep painful instinct inside me needed to know the extent of the damage.

  Reluctantly, he raised his shirt just enough for me to see. Bile rose in my throat. The bullet wound was clear enough, a puncture in his abdomen that had blackened to an alarming degree, surrounded by jagged red lines, dark as the clotted blood speckling his chest and his upper legs. Farther out, the skin had turned yellow and green with bruising. But the wound itself had already taken on the appearance of infection. If the damage inside did not drain life from him, he would risk succumbing to an even more dreadful death as his body poisoned.

  I screwed my eyes shut, hoping against hope that I would open them to discover this had all been but a nightmare. Alexander’s face would appear above mine, healthy and vital once more, his hands shaking my shoulders to waken me. Somehow I would be granted the miracle to do everything over again—never to dance with Georges nor accept his notes, never to insist my sisters should come to St. Petersburg, never to find myself in the presence of the tsar. Never to make a fool of my husband, driving him to such lengths.

  “You’ve seen enough.” When Alexander spoke, his voice rattled in his chest, the sound of air fighting to travel through his lungs, moist and terrible as the roar of the steam engine pumps my grandfather once used in his factories.

  “I needed to know,” I said quietly, opening my eyes, heart despairing. “I needed to see what I have done.”

  “This isn’t your fault.” He covered the wound once more and I wrapped my arms around him. The duel flashed before my eyes as though I had been there myself, Alexander and Georges struggling toward one another, plowing through the deep snow in their boots, breaths misting in the cold. Alexander falling, his blood stark red against the white, and then struggling to get his shot and firing at Georges. What fools men were with their guns, how like terrible and thoughtless little boys.

  “How could you do this to me?” I cried, even as I knew I had done it to myself.

  “I’m sorry, Natasha, my Natalie, but nothing could have stopped it. This duel was my fate. The fortune-teller told me as much all those years ago. Death at the hands of a tall, fair man. I should have known from the moment I first saw the scoundrel.”

  I rocked him. Nothing justified what had happened, not even destiny. Even if Alexander had survived the duel, Georges could have died. Though I hated the man, I had no wish to cause his family such suffering; I would spare even the baron such pain.

  “Forgive me.” I could hold the tears no longer. They spilled freely, the two of us bundled together in a cold wet mess. “I should have publicly ordered Georges out of my presence whenever I saw him. I should have slapped him right across his smug face and shouted at him to leave me be.”

  Despite the terrifying sounds emitting from his chest, Alexander managed a quiet laugh. “And how would you have accomplished this? We would have been the laughingstock of St. Petersburg. He was playing the role of the courtly romantic and you played along, as a thousand women before you have done.”

  Alexander still refused to understand. He refused to allow me to take any blame, instead he shouldered the entire burden and this I could not abide. There was no worse hell than allowing my husband to go to his grave bearing such a weight. “I should have known his feelings were deeper. I was a fool.”

  “He is his own man. He should have mastered his emotions.”

  “I murdered you. I might as well have held the gun myself.”

  Danzas had peeked his head around the corner. I believe he heard every word we said, blanching at my last declaration of guilt. Later, such eavesdroppers would return to haunt me, but in that moment, I only cared about getting my point across and allowing my husband to travel onto the next world without worry.

  Alexander clasped my hands feebly in his and kissed the tips of my fingers. His light touch still sent a thrill of excitement through my body, tempered now with the weight of knowing such moments would never come again. “You have only known the sorrows of a beautiful and clever woman. You did nothing wrong.”

  I started to shake. “I could have done something. I could have taken you away.”

  “Weren’t you trying to do just that? Isn’t that why you spoke of our happy times in Tsarskoye Selo so frequently these past weeks?”

  I hesitated. “You knew.”

  “You are clever, but hardly subtle.”

  “I should have gotten you away from here sooner.”

  Alexander stroked my face, each exquisite brush of his fingers wonderful and terrible at once, for his skin was deathly cold. “Perhaps in some future world women will hold power to make such decisions, but you must live in this world with only the power of your charm.”

  I buried my head in the crook of his shoulder. I wanted to die in his place. I said a silent prayer, begging God to take me instead of Alexander. Let Georges storm in here with a pistol and fire it at my head as long as Alexander might return to life. I listened to the ticking of the clock on the mantel and knew this was impossible. So I changed my prayer. Instead I asked God that I might die with Alexander, even if it meant leaving my children behind, in the care of Azya and my brothers. Later, I would experience a guilty dread when I looked at them, wondering if they had guessed I was capable of such abandonment despite my love. I just couldn’t bear to think this was the end. “You will not pass on without recognizing my complicity.”

  “I don’t see it as such. We have but mere hours together and I have no wish to dwell on what makes us both sad. Would you give me peace? Is that your heart’s desire?” He cupped my chin and lifted my face to meet his gaze. The simple movement gave him difficulty. “Let me see you no longer blame yourself. Let me move on to the next world with that knowledge in my heart. I cannot bear to think you might suffer on my account. I had no choice. This was our fate. Let us accept it with grace. We shouldn’t spend these last moments together fretting over what cannot be changed. Let us simply enjoy one another’s company. I love you.”

  “I love you,” I said, though I was still crying.

  “I only need a little rest…”

  “No!” I shook his shoulder. “You must not close your eyes.”

  “My love, the body must rest so it can continue to fight.”

  The doctor had made his way into the study and I felt the press of his hands on my shoulder. “Let him rest.”

  “No!” I cried, insensible. “No!”

  More of Alexander’s friends had rushed to our flat. I would learn later that word of the duel spread quickly throughout the city and those closest to him knew it would be their last chance to see him. Hearing my hysterics, three men entered the study and pulled me away. Alexander was so still I began to cry anew, but they barred me
from his study so that he might sleep. I collapsed in our hallway, weeping.

  * * *

  My husband’s agony continued. Still, I tried to make him as comfortable as possible. I had not words to explain to the children what had happened, but only referred vaguely to an accident. He asked for them, wanting to fuss over their tiny heads for the last time. They remained solemn, even baby Natalya who lay quietly in her father’s arms. Only Masha broke ranks. She would not accept this as an act of providence, instead remaining sullen and angry at her father, a four-year-old child already acting fourteen. When I suggested she bring Alexander his favorite dessert, gooseberry preserves, she broke down in helpless sobs. It was the middle of the night, but time no longer held meaning. I allowed her to feed Alexander a bit of the confection and then asked the children to leave the room so that I might spend some time with him alone.

  Alexander managed to taste the treat, but the rest of the dessert remained in the crystal bowl, barely touched. “I didn’t make much of a go at that.”

  “Don’t worry about such nonsense now.” I rolled up the sleeves of my dress with shaking hands. It was the same one I had been wearing since his friends brought him home. Trying not to think of the dried blood that still clung to my garments, I dipped a soft cotton towel into the basin of water by the sofa. I wiped his face and his chest, still hoping somehow this small comfort would return the beautiful dark golden tone to his skin. “Concentrate on regaining your strength.”

  “You’re saying prayers for the children?” Alexander grasped my wrist, his grip so light it was as though he had already transcended this life and become a ghost.

  “I always say prayers for the children, and for you as well.”

  “I need every one.” He leaned back on the many pillows we had brought for him, and shivering, pulled the goose down comforter tighter about his shoulders. “Please hold me.”

  The playfulness had drained from his soul, only fear and resignation remained. I cuddled next to him and held him in my arms. “I wish to pass with you into the next world. I could take a knife from the kitchen. The pain would be intense but brief, then we might slip away together…”

  He squeezed my hands, his body trembling and cold. “Do not even think such an abomination. You will remain here and care for the children and live a long and wonderful life. It is all that gives me peace now. Thinking of your future happiness.”

  “I shall not be happy. I should die, not you.”

  “Please do not say such things.” He turned to face me. I could hardly meet his pale eyes. “I ask only that you grieve for me as long as a proper widow should: two years.”

  Despite the darkness in my soul, I allowed a smile. I knew he wanted to see me smile. “Everything according to protocol? A poet should be more subversive.”

  His face briefly lit with joy, the banter and playfulness in my voice reminding him how things used to be. I allowed myself the faintest hope he would recover yet. “You look fetching in black.”

  “I shall be the most fetching pretender to widowhood and wear black for you every day.”

  “If there is a heaven, then I think I shall be allowed a glimpse.”

  “Live to see it yourself.”

  Alexander kissed my hand. “After those first two years, I promise I will look away and you will have no further obligation to my memory. Find a second husband, find joy once more.”

  I touched his cheek with the palm of my hand. “I shall wear black for the rest of my days and never even consider another man. I won’t abide such foolishness, you scoundrel.”

  He arched an eyebrow, but then started to cough with another alarming rattle in his lungs. “I’ve spoiled you for all others, then?”

  “You have spoiled me completely. I am worse than Masha.”

  “Impossible.”

  I laughed again. “I have no desire but to honor our life together. I shall never remarry.”

  “You say that now.” Alexander closed his eyes. “Know that I would never hold you to such absurdity.”

  I squeezed him tighter. “I love you. I have loved no other. You have made me whole and you have changed my life. I shall love you forever.”

  “You have sent me to heaven a happy man,” he whispered.

  He closed his eyes.

  I felt it deep in my chest, a puncture in my heart. He was gone.

  * * *

  My thoughts grew insensible. I fell to the floor. A sharp pain shot up my back, but I was aware of it only in the dimmest sense, as though watching someone else. Once more, harsh hands squeezed my arms and shoulders, lifting me to my feet. As they dragged me upright, I caught a glimpse of Alexander’s body in the dim candlelight. Using the last reserves of my strength, I bolted free and rushed back to my husband, throwing myself on him and weeping, the primal sounds emanating from my body more animal than human. A bitter masculine voice hissed in my ear, telling me to pull my wits together for the sake of my children. They were scared and cowering in the nursery, only half-understanding what had happened. I would have to explain. I needed to be strong.

  But the very substance of my being had shattered. All I wanted was Alexander.

  His friends pulled me from his body and dragged me to the kitchen, where a kind-looking boy with rosy cheeks and a round face attempted to serve me hot water from our samovar with slices of lemon. When he handed me the cup, I flailed and knocked it from his hand. He yelped as the china crashed to our floor. “Leave her alone,” I heard someone murmur. “I’ll stand guard by the door.”

  The world turned gray around me and I sank to the floor again, wishing nothing more than to disappear forever.

  Twenty

  A tender spot radiated pain across the small of my back. Squinting, the speckled ceiling and pots and pans our cook had affixed to hooks high on the kitchen wall came into focus above me. My dress smelled rank. I had not eaten in over two days and my empty stomach rumbled. Low voices murmured in the other room; Alexander’s friends were still here. I did not wish to face them, but I had to see my children.

  The kitchen door creaked when I opened it into the dining room and then the parlor. The voices hushed and all heads turned to me. I braced for meaningless words and ill-advised hugs.

  They said nothing.

  The sickly scent that permeated Alexander’s study had made its way into the rest of the house, the silence a crypt. The men stared at me. None offered words of comfort, not even the boy with the kind face who had tried to offer tea. I worked my way through the room to find the reticule with my spectacles. I wanted to see if Azya had come down, for I thought I could bear her touch. I wondered if Liza were near, but I believe she had been enlisted to help with the children in the nursery.

  I was alone.

  Alexander’s friends kept their eyes fixed on my back, shoulders, feet, face, and the disarray of my hair. I was accustomed to men staring at me, but not in this fashion, not with such hatred. They were all part of St. Petersburg society. They attended balls and masquerades. They knew Georges and might even have witnessed me flirting or dancing with him. Guilt weakened my knees, but I clung to Alexander’s words. He wished to move on to the next world in peace, knowing I did not blame myself for his death. He had framed it as a last wish and it was my duty to honor his memory. A small voice inside my head insisted I should wish to honor myself as well, that I did not deserve the loathsome looks of these men. Alexander would have wanted me to stand up to them. I now wanted the same for myself.

  I heard shouting, and as I moved to a window in the drawing room, I put on my spectacles and drew the curtains to one side. People had gathered on the street below, their coats and mittens bright spots of color in the otherwise gray world, waiting to pay their last respects to Alexander. Some waved. I saw the publications in their hands and fancied I could see the adoration in their eyes. I knew Alexander’s work was popular, but this was beyond what I imagined, the queue to see him stretching down the street and around the corner.

  A spark ig
nited in my heart, pushing the cruel, dull pain aside. As Alexander’s widow, I had a responsibility to everyone who had been touched by his work, a responsibility to preserve his memory. Alexander’s body still lay where he had died. It would make his readers weep to see him, but they needed to do so.

  “Look.” I gestured outside. “We can’t make these people wait. They can come to see Alexander while he lies in state.”

  Danzas made his way to the window. “I’d no idea he had so many admirers.”

  “Of course he did,” another one muttered. “Genius, in general, is good.”

  I recognized the words from Alexander’s tale of Mozart and Salieri. They strengthened my resolve. Alexander’s admirers needed to pay their respects. “We should prepare him.”

  Alexander’s valet addressed me. “Do you have his uniform coat in the closet? We might change his clothes and make him look presentable.”

  I thought of Alexander itching and clutching at the uniform he had so hated. “I would rather you fetch his old frock coat, the one he wore about town, and his walking stick and hat. His favorite cravat. Let them see him as he truly was.”

  The valet nodded and went to gather the items I requested from our hall closet.

  “Bring him out to the vestibule,” I said. “Perhaps one day people will see his study, but for now I want to respect his privacy.”

  The men did as asked and moved Alexander’s body to a high table in the hallway.

  I smoothed my skirt down. “All right. Let them in.”