Push Not the River

by James Conroyd Martin

  “You’re a bit of a cretin on the quiet, aren’t you? Well, I can see I’m outnumbered in my own house.”

  “And were your father here,” the countess said, “we would lend our support to the Constitution duly enacted by the Polish Sejm and signed by King Stanisław.”

  “Ah, but he’s not here, Mother. And I shall lend our support where I see fit.”

  Countess Gronska looked as though she had been struck.

  Zofia’s face folded into a mask of contriteness. “Forgive me, Mother, but I’m not a political animal like you with your pamphlets, and you, Anna, with your little group of patriots. I am a realist, and a realist casts her fate to the strongest wind. . . . Now, I should rest before I begin my toilette. Thank you, cousin, for your information, however incomplete. I never would have opened Paweł’s letter detailing the confederacy, and at my supper I would have been the last to know of it. What a pretty pudding on my face!”

  Zofia kissed her mother, then Anna, and started for the door, adding flippantly, “I thought Paweł’s note merely another one of his proposals.”

  Anna and the countess sat for a while in silence.

  Anna excused herself then, kissing her aunt on both cheeks. Upstairs, in her room, she unfolded the blue velvet and stared in wonder at a gold-mounted emerald stickpin.

  Jan Michał giggled as Anna twirled his golden hair into curls. She had only just dressed him in his knitted leggings and shirt, each trimmed with blue ribbons.

  A knock came at the door. Zofia peeked in. “Anna, may I come in?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Oh, let me see the little man!” Zofia walked over to where Anna lay with him on her bed. “Oh, isn’t he darling in his little clothes? Like a little prince. And the curls are delightful!”

  Anna sat up at the side of the bed. “Zofia, why have you given me such a stickpin?”

  “Oh, it’s a trifle.”

  “Then it’s not genuine?”

  “Oh, it’s genuine. It’s just that I would like you to keep it for me. . . . I’m afraid that I would lose it.”

  “Lose it?”

  “Or gamble it away, who knows? Must you ask so many questions? Is it too much to ask, that you take care of it?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  Zofia tempted Jan Michał with her forefinger. When he would reach for the polished nail, she withdrew it and laughed. Her infectious laughter brought him out in giggles.

  “Anna, why don’t you hire a wet nurse for your baby and send them off to the country? Your life as an unattached woman here in the city would be so much freer. I have plans for you.”

  The suggestion that she send her baby away carried with it the force of a slap. “Zofia, my baby does not clutter my life.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that, well, sooner or later, you will have think about another match.”

  “The tradition of my parish is that I must wait a full year.”

  “Tradition! What is tradition but some old people telling you what to do. Tradition is meant to be broken.”

  “I have no intention of going husband-hunting.”

  “Anna?”

  “Yes?”

  Zofia looked her in the eye now. “Why did you name him Jan?”

  It was all Anna could do to return her gaze. “I believe it is an old family name.”

  “That won’t wash. There is no one, on your mother’s or father’s side, by that name.”

  “Oh, but there is. Your mother says that King Jan Sobieski is an ancestor of the Gronski clan.”

  “Ah, yes, Jan Sobieski. A great patriot.”

  Anna looked away. Zofia went back to teasing Jan Michał.

  Anna felt her temples pulsing. She knew her cousin wasn’t about to drop the subject.

  “Anna, when will you give up your infatuation with Jan Stelnicki?”

  “I am not infatuated.”

  “Oh, very well. You think you are in love with him, don’t you?” Zofia kept her eyes on the child. “And do you think he is in love with you? A man like that? Do you really think he’ll wait even a year?”

  Anna said nothing.

  “It puzzles me, cousin, why you have named this child so. I think about it sometimes. Why, you don’t think Stelnicki is the father, do you? You claimed another attacked you at the pond.”

  “Claimed?”

  “Yes, and we accepted that story.”

  “It was not a story, Zofia.”

  “Well, why would you name him thus, unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  Zofia’s gaze turned now to hold Anna’s. “Unless you conceived his child before that night at the pond! What with all those meetings in the meadow, there was ample opportunity. And little Jan here was born prematurely. Or so we supposed.”

  Anna could not believe what she was hearing.

  “And,” Zofia continued, “why would you use the Stelnicki christening gown?”

  Anna felt her teeth clench in anger. “Jan is not the father.”

  “Ah, no, I suppose not. It was silly of me, I admit. You were too innocent then, weren’t you? Listen to me, Anna. You were hurt, too. I know that. But every young girl has at least one ill-fated romance. Jan was yours. . . . You must forget him. I shall see that your next is a great success.”

  “Like my marriage to Antoni?”

  “Touché! No, we’ll do better this time.”

  “Zofia, I intend to go to Sochaczew.”

  “Oh? When?”

  “At the end of the week.”

  “I see.” She stood. “Well, that’s that, then, isn’t it?” She moved to the door and paused. “You’ll come winter with us again this year, won’t you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You must.” Zofia turned to face her cousin. “You know I do love you, Ania?”

  Anna attempted a smile.

  “Perhaps Sochaczew would be a nice respite for my mother, too. What do you think?”

  When Anna did not respond, Zofia went back to her room to prepare for the midnight supper.

  The Countess Gronska and Anna sat together for breakfast.

  “Anna Maria, Zofia tells me you are off to Sochaczew.”

  “I had planned to go, and I was going to invite you, but . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I thought if you were going to Halicz for the summer, I might join you.”

  “You certainly may. I shall be glad to have you.” The countess smiled. “Tell me, dearest, did the letter you received so early this morning have anything to do with your decision?”

  Anna felt chilled. “How did you know?”

  “Intuition. It was from him, yes? Jan?”

  Anna nodded.

  “He’s going to summer in Halicz at his family estate?”

  “No, aunt. Politics are moving much too swiftly. He’s tied to the cause now. He’ll be there only for a short time before he rejoins Kościuszko. If we leave at the end of the week, our time at Halicz and his will overlap by just a day or two.”

  “Such a long distance to travel for a day or two. I once gave you some very bad advice, my dear. I should never have imposed marriage to Grawlinski on you.” The countess was near tears. “Anna Maria, can you ever forgive me?”

  “The decision to marry Antoni was my own.”

  “Zofia and I led you into it.”

  “No one is to blame. Antoni was not the man he pretended to be.”

  “I should have known. I should have seen! The clues were there. But you saw them, didn’t you?”

  Anna stretched out her hand across the table. “We all hoped for the best.”

  “I only pray that I live long enough to see you happy, Ania.” The countess clasped her niece’s hand, and she blinked back her tears.

  “I have Jan Michał. I’ll not be too quick to ask for more.”

  “Together we’ll go to Hawthorn House,” the countess said, brightening, “and we’ll forget what goes on here in Praga and have a wonde
rful summer.” The countess paused, standing abruptly. “Oh, Anna, why wait until the end of the week? We can prepare today and leave in the morning!”

  In the afternoon, Anna slipped into Zofia’s room after her cousin had gone out. The diary was still in the hidden compartment of the wardrobe. She could not help but wonder what plans Zofia had for her.

  While she found no new mention of her own name, she did discover how Zofia had come across the emerald stickpin and why she thought it safer with Anna.

  My experience with the rich beast from The Hague happened thusly: Baron Vahnik was brought to my party by the thin Garbozki, and when he was introduced to me his tiny dark eyes stared boldly. His nose and lips are overly large, but somehow voluptuous just the same. I invited his hungry glare, not because he is so respected for his musical genius as a violinist, but out of admiration for his great wealth and his pinchable round buttocks at the base of a rather hunched back.

  His eyes would follow me as I moved among my guests. When I would glance at him, he would be staring at me like a hungry calf eyes its mother. When I went into the dimly lighted music room to get a particular red wine, he followed me. Like a fat moth to a dancing flame. He overtook me from behind, embracing me roughly.

  From where we stood, we were in danger of being seen by the other guests in the adjoining reception room, so I pushed the stout man away and walked toward the double doors, saying in a loud voice, “Tell me, Baron Vahnik, what is it that makes The Hague such an important city?”

  Click! The doors were closed and he was upon me. Grasping the wine decanter, I pulled away playfully, moving around the piano, past the bookshelves. He caught up to me, of course, and held me tightly. It was only with the greatest effort that I didn’t cry out in pain. Although I was delighted by the whole affair.

  “I must bring this wine to my guests,” I said.

  “I am a guest,” he replied, pressing me against a cove in the bookshelves.

  “Then take a taste” I said.

  “I’ll have a taste of your lips instead.”

  “It’ll cost you.”

  “You like to play too much!” He clutched me then, so tightly that I lost hold of the decanter and it went crashing to the floor.

  “Look what you’ve done!” I cried. “That decanter was crystal and over a hundred years old, and the wine was the last of my father’s favorite.”

  “You must meet me later,” he said.

  “Perhaps . . . if you bring something to make up for my losses.”

  “I will.”

  “I believe you will, but to be certain, I’ll hold on to this.” It was then that I withdrew the emerald stickpin from the ruff at his neck.

  “But . . . it was my father’s.”

  I slipped it carefully into my bodice. “And a fair bargain for my father’s antique decanter of priceless wine, not to mention the pleasures I have in store for you.”

  And so I received a glorious emerald in return for a vintage wine that was mediocre at best and a decanter of mere cut glass. At the conclusion of our rendezvous the next day, he asked about the pin, but I claimed to have lost it. I must make certain that it stays well out of sight.

  The Praga townhouse came alive with preparations for the trip to Halicz.

  In the afternoon, Anna could not find the countess, so she went down to the kitchen. Despite the frantic buzzing that went on there, Jan Michał, exhausted by the ordeal of his bath ritual, slept soundly in a crib hanging from a rafter near the open door.

  “Where is Countess Stella, Lutisha?”

  Lutisha was just removing two large loaves of spicy sweet rye. “She’s gone off to the apothecary, Madame.”

  “Oh.” Anna could see that Lutisha had been crying. Her heart went out to the servant, who was to remain in Praga to train another support staff for Zofia. Her daughter Marta and grandchildren Marcelina, Katarzyna, and Tomasz were to go to Halicz. Marta’s husband Walek had gone months before to see to the planting.

  “Would Madame wish the heel?”

  “You know I won’t refuse your bread. . . . We’ll miss you, Lutisha.”

  “The seasons are a circle,” the servant said, smiling bravely. “The fall will come soon enough.”

  “So it will.” Anna chewed at the bread. She would not tell her she had no intention of ever returning to Zofia’s townhome. “What business did the countess have at the apothecary?”

  “She needed a supply of her medicine to last the summer.”

  “What medicine is that?”

  “I don’t know, Madame.”

  “How long has she been taking it?”

  “Only recently. Here, take another heel. My granddaughters always ask for the soft middle slices. They don’t know what’s best.”

  As Anna took the bread, she saw the heavy tears in Lutisha’s gray eyes. Before leaving the kitchen, she surprised Lutisha by kissing her on one cheek, then the other.

  53

  IN HER ROOM, ANNA WAS just packing her treasures. Into the inlaid box that contained the crystal dove, she placed both the Alexandrite ring—it seemed ruby red today—and the emerald stickpin, carefully cushioning each item in soft cloth.

  Marcelina appeared in the open doorway. “Mademoiselle Zofia asks that you come down to the dining room.”

  “Zofia? You mean she’s up so early?”

  “Oui, Madame. Did you wish me to bring that box down to your carriage?” The girl was excited about the trip.

  “No, Marcelina. I’ll carry this myself. Tell my cousin I’ll be down momentarily.”

  Anna went downstairs and out to the driveway to secure the box in the coach. Dawn was only just now breaking. Katarzyna waved from the carriage that had been hired for the servants. All seemed in readiness.

  Anna went back into the house. In the dining room, she found her aunt, attired in a dark traveling dress and sitting stiffly at the huge table that had been cleared of the early morning breakfast items. Anna seated herself to her left.

  Across the width of the table, Zofia stood behind her chair. She wore a morning wrap. Her hair was untidy and dark half-moons were evident under her eyes. Anna wondered if she had been to bed. “I’m sorry I took so long,” Anna said.

  “What is this all about, Zofia?” the countess asked. “We did want to get on the road before the heat of the day.”

  “And so you will, Mother.” Zofia’s smile, set against her dark beauty, was a mirrored image of Anna’s mother’s non-smile. “I pray that you both, as well as the baby, have a God-safe journey and a wonderful summer. I’ll take care of any needs you might have, should you send me word. I intend to take care of all of your needs until such a time when we have a good man to care for us.”

  Anna watched her cousin with interest. Zofia’s hands played nervously on the posts of her chair, the knuckles whitening against the dark wood. She was nervous. Her little speech was leading to something, but what? Anna had never seen her behave so formally.

  “I believe,” Zofia continued in measured tones, “that I will do my best for the interests of both of you, whom I love so dearly.”

  She paused now. Anna and the countess waited.

  “It is because I love you that I have taken care to sign our names with those of the other nobles who stand in support of the Confederacy of Targowica.”

  The countess gasped. “You have done what? How do you dare to presume—”

  “I pray,” Zofia pressed, “that you let me continue with what I have to say, Mother. If we do not sign, as all the wisest nobles of Warsaw and Poland are doing, the Empress will not guarantee our welfare.”

  “In the name of Sweet Jesus, I will not have it!” The countess sat forward, her face defiant and flushing, her body rigid.

  “For your life, and for the lives of your family and the continuation of its name and title, you must consent to that which I’ve already seen to. If our names are not recorded, the Empress will regard us as subversives. We could be exiled or killed. Unless, of course, we choose n
ow to flee to some foreign kingdom. That certainly is not your wish, is it, Mother?”

  “I will not bow to the whims of a Russian empress. I am a God-fearing subject of the King of Poland!”

  “And Stanisław is, in turn, a Catherine-fearing subject of Russia!” Zofia exploded with angry disdain. “He is but a ripe berry beneath the jeweled slipper of the Empress.”

  The countess flew into a rage now, ranting both at Zofia and Anna. “The Russians are half-wolf animals!” she screamed. “Even the Lithuanians held up trees and snakes as gods until we showed them the ways of God and civilization. The Russians may no longer live in holes or caves like wolves—Oh, they may live in fine palaces and dress in silks, but their disposition is unchanged. Now they war, Zofia. They have learned that cutlasses and pistols are superior to spears. And they have learned how to march men, so now they war.”

  “Yes,” Zofia quickly answered, “now they war. And most likely they will have the armies of the royal houses of Prussia and Austria marching with them! If they war, and we do not, then we must consent to being protected by them. When the Constitution is repudiated and the peasants and others are put in their place, the war will be over. We are the nobility and we will survive. It is only the rebellious cattle who will die, Mother. Only those who resist will be punished. The nobility must suppress the peasants and those who would usurp our lands and wealth. When the Constitution is destroyed, we will be left to our true heritage.”

  “Such a wish is not my wish,” the countess hissed. “I will not stand against the Constitution. Leo would not have done so, either. I will not let those who stood bravely for it now die in my name!” The countess stood. “I’ll wait for you in the carriage, Anna Maria,” she said, hurrying from the room.

  “Then you will die!” Zofia called after her. In a softer tone unheard by her mother, she added, “Had I not the wisdom to see that you do not die.”

  “I have been silent, Zofia,” Anna said, “but I speak to you now as your mother spoke to you. We are all God’s children, noble or not. Our citizens should not die for the rights established by the Third of May Constitution. No one should die in our name.”