Against a Crimson Sky

by James Conroyd Martin

  Jan walked over to Anna and bent to kiss her lightly. “It will be as God wills, but I know if it is a boy, we have too many Jans in the house already!”

  Everyone laughed. “Another toast!” Jacob called.

  “Not for me,” Anna said, rising. “I should go wake the young man of honor before his guests are laid out on the floor.”

  More laughter followed, and another toast was made as Anna climbed the stairs to Jan Michał’s room. Her mind was trying to decipher her husband’s reactions. Did he have his heart set on a boy? She had never asked his preference outright because she was afraid of the answer. And what if it is a boy? she asked herself, as if it were a challenge. Surely her worry that Jan would love him more than Jan Michał was only a worry—and nothing more.

  “Is it time?” Jan Michał asked as she opened the door.

  “Yes,” Anna answered with a laugh, “it’s time. Did you sleep at all?’

  “I . . . I think so.”

  “Good. Now let’s get you washed and dressed. Can you comb your own hair today?”

  “Yes.—Did Lutisha bake the babka?”

  “Yes, Lutisha baked the babka!” Anna replied in a sing-song voice. “It is downstairs waiting for you.” As Anna helped him into his little breeches and waistcoat, she thought back to her own childhood and the cakes baked for her in the same kitchen. The fluffy babka with its hidden raisins had been her favorite, too.

  “And what else?”

  “What else, Michał?—Here, comb your hair.”

  “What else for me?” he said, drawing the comb through his sand-colored hair.

  Anna pulled a face. “For me? For me? Is that all you can think of? Isn’t babka enough?”

  “Papa said there would be a surprise!”

  “Oh, he did, yes? Well, then both of us will be surprised.” Anna watched him, smiling at his efforts. “All right, you’re ready. Let’s go down.”

  At the top of the stairs, Jan Michał pulled his hand from Anna’s grasp. “I can do it now.”

  “Very well, Michał. Be careful. Hold to the bars in the railing.”

  Anna watched her son descend the steps before her. He moved with a child’s precision and pride. She thought how in no time another child would join the household, a child of Jan’s. Her own hand moved now to her thickening stomach, and a radiant happiness—like sunshine—coursed through her.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Anna had to step lively to keep up with her son’s little legs. They moved through the reception room, Jan Michał’s wide-eyed attention on the decorations, and into the dining room. All the servants had been invited in to celebrate—Walek and Marta, their daughters Katarzyna and Marcelina standing close by, sat at table with Jan and the Szrabers. “Michał! Michał!” they cried in chorus. “How old is Michał? How old is Michał?”

  Jan Michał held up two fingers.

  “Oh, no!” Marcelina wailed and fell into a fit of giggles. She had evidently been tutoring him for this moment. One look at Marcelina, and he held up another finger from his other hand. Everyone cheered then and clapped. “Michał is three!” they cried. “Michał is three!”

  Jan Michał clapped, too, his eyes sparkling at the attention. He ran to Jan now and stared up in wonder at the huge babka on the table. “Babka! Eat?”

  “But where is Tomasz, Michał?” Jan asked. “We should not cut the cake without your good friend Tomasz.”

  “Tomasz?” Michał asked, bewildered, the brown eyes searching.

  Anna had not thought of Wasyl and Marta’s twelve-year-old son, either. But she knew immediately that some little surprise had been arranged.

  “Tomasz! Tomasz!” Jan called from his chair in his best stage voice.

  The door to the kitchen swung open now and Tomasz entered, a secret smile on his round face. In his hand he held what seemed a leather strap of some kind. Those with a better view than Anna’s gasped and held hands to astonished faces. Anna had to step farther into the room and around the table to see what was at the end of the strap.

  For the moment all she could make out was a bundle of white, but as she stared, she deciphered dark little triangles that were its ears and a tiny black disc that was its nose. All else about the animal was white as the whitest, fluffiest cloud.

  Anna looked to her son, whose breath had been taken away. His eyes, unnaturally round now, glittered like golden ducats.

  “What do you think, Michał?” Jan asked, his arm around the boy. “Will you make friends with Borys?”

  Jan Michał could not take his eyes off the creature that was sidling up to Tomasz’ legs in fear.

  Everyone seemed to be watching the little drama unfold with wide eyes and smiling mouths. All but Anna. She walked over to where Jan was sitting. “Jan, whatever possessed you— ”

  “Oh, isn’t he beautiful, Anna?” Jan bent to stroke the animal beneath its chin, causing it to look up, its button eyes trained on Anna. At that moment a long, red tongue unfurled itself and Jan Michał let go a shriek of glee.

  “It’s most beautiful, Jan, but it’s an owczarek nizinny!”

  “That it is,’ Jan said, his eyes still trained on the interaction between his son and the dog. “And he’s a beauty!”

  “But—a sheep dog, Jan. It’s not meant to be in the house. It’s meant to do herding!”

  “It’ll learn, Anna. It’ll adapt.”

  “But will we? They get huge. It’ll be bigger than Michał in no time. It’ll be underfoot. Things about the house are bound to be broken.”

  By now Anna could sense that even if their eyes were elsewhere, everyone in the room seemed to be paying attention to the discussion she was attempting with Jan.

  “They’re very smart, Anna, and very precise in their movements. Of course, who’s to say Borys won’t herd the lot of us into a cupboard one day!”

  Anna chose not to compete with the laughter this comment stirred from the little audience. She would talk to Jan later about the foolishness of having such a dog in the house. The issue would be reassessed.

  Jan leaned over and picked up the puppy, stood, wheeled about and—without warning—placed it in Anna’s arms. “Here,” he said, “he won’t always be of a size for you to hold, and your arms will be holding something else come Christmas.”

  Anna blinked back her surprise while the velvet of the puppy’s red tongue explored her face. She looked down into the dark little eyes. What good was there in discussing the issue, here or in private? She had been bested and she knew it. She might as well enjoy it, affording the group now a grudging smile.

  Jan Michał put his arms out to Anna now, imploring her to relinquish his gift. No sooner had she placed the ball of fur on the floor than it stood on one of Jan’s polished boots, letting go a little yellow stream. Jan Michał screamed with laughter. Everyone else joined in. Except for Jan. “Ah, you see,” Anna said, wagging a finger, “there are consequences to hasty decisions.”

  Jan was compelled to laugh, too. Then he clapped his hands as if he were a sultan. “All right, Lutisha! Time to cut into Michał’s cake!”

  Anna waited in the reception room for Jan, who had taken Jan Michał up to bed. She was making her way through the well-worn copy of The Odyssey. She had lost count of how many times she had read it.

  In a little while, Jan joined her near the hearth. It seemed that his demeanor had become more serious. “Did he go peaceably?” Anna asked.

  “He did.”

  “And Borys?” Anna asked.

  “I invented a little makeshift pen for him.”

  “Oh? In the kitchen?”

  “No—in Michał’s bedchamber.”

  “Oh, Jan!”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Anna said. “I’m not going to give you any more argument. Except maybe for his name. Borys—what a ridiculous name for a dog!” She laughed. “You’ve had your way. We’ll all find out in time whether it can adapt.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t consult you, A
nna, but I wanted it to be a surprise for you, too.”

  “Well, it was that!—I suppose you’re disappointed by my hesitancy to embrace the little beast!”

  “No, I knew the little beast, as you say, would win you over.”

  “Am I so transparent?”

  “In such things, yes. That’s why I love you.”

  Anna shook her head in mock irritation. “You do know how to clinch the deal, too, Jan.”

  Jan did not reply. They didn’t speak for a few minutes. Jan sat staring into the low fire, and Anna felt an uneasiness. She made no attempt to take up her book again.

  “What is it, then?” she asked at last. “You’ve turned so very serious.”

  Jan cleared his throat, never taking his eyes away from the grate. “I’ve had a letter—from Paweł.”

  “Yes? Bad news? . . . The king?”

  Jan seemed to be collecting his thoughts.

  “Tell me, Jan!”

  Jan turned in his chair now, his cobalt eyes flickered black in the room’s light. Drawing in a long breath, he said, “Zofia’s been found, Anna.”

  “Zofia?” Anna repeated dumbly.

  Jan nodded.

  “Her body?”

  Jan shook his head. “She’s alive, Anna.”

  Anna felt the room begin to spin. It was as if the top of her head had been taken off and all of her thoughts given such a stir she could settle on no single one.

  Jan went on talking, but his words were meaningless. They might as well have been in a language she didn’t understand. Alive . . . alive! Zofia? Was it possible? After all these months? Alive! How had she survived the river? “Dog’s blood,” she heard herself whisper, using one of Zofia’s oaths, “is it possible?”

  “It’s true.”

  “But . . . how . . . ?”

  “It seems some peasants picked her up.”

  The logical questions came to her; only later would the emotions come unsummoned. “But Paweł searched for her! He said he talked to everyone in the vicinity of the river.”

  “Be that as it may, this family managed to keep Zofia’s presence from the other villagers—at Zofia’s own request, it seems.”

  “And she’s only just arrived in Warsaw?”

  “No, she’s been at Paweł’s two months.”

  “Two months! And not written to me? Not to have sent word before this?—Was there a note from her included in Paweł’s letter?”

  “No, it seems she didn’t want us to know yet. But Paweł felt duty bound to tell us.”

  “Why should she want to keep it a secret?—Why?”

  Jan shrugged. “You know Zofia.”

  “No, Jan, that’s the problem. I don’t know Zofia. I never have. She’s an enigma Oedipus himself could not decipher.”

  “Exactly,” Jan said, standing. “I’m going to bed.”

  Anna realized he was waiting for her. “You go on. I’ll come up presently.”

  Jan kissed her on the cheek and went upstairs.

  Anna sat and stared. The fire died away to nothing. Her world had suddenly been transformed into something for the moment unfathomable. Zofia alive! The woman who had saved Jan Michał’s life, protecting him from his father’s influence, and the woman who had saved Anna’s life, sending her off across the bridge to the safety of Warsaw and away from the cutlasses of the Russians as they swooped down on Praga. She was Anna’s cousin, of Anna’s blood. But she was also the woman who concealed things, destroyed letters, lied, and sent Anna into a hellish marriage with Antoni Grawlinski. Had not it been for Zofia’s scheming, Anna would have married Jan years before.

  How was she to react to this news? Of course, she was happy. Surprised and relieved that her cousin had thwarted death and could live out her life. But with her good feelings came—what?—a threat? Why should Anna feel threatened? She had nothing to fear from Zofia now. Jan and she were married and expecting their first child. No interference from her cousin now could change that.

  Anna’s thoughts came back to Jan. She replayed in her mind his telling of the news, considering his reactions. He had said little. In fact, it came to her only now how flat his demeanor had been, how emotionless. What could it mean?

  Zofia stood in front of the mirror in one of her new gowns, her dark eyes assessing herself. Oh, it wasn’t a Parisian import, but it was French in fashion—violet and cut to show off her bosom. The new French styles since the Terror were simpler and—with fewer layers, less corseting and no scaffolding or bustles—scantier. Something good had come of the rising of the scum, she thought. And Paweł had been generous in seeing to it that her wardrobe was replenished, for almost everything she owned had gone up in flames when the Russians came down on Praga. Very generous, she thought. Thanks to foreign investments, Zofia had her own funds, considerable ones at that, but she had no wish to see them depleted.

  Two months had passed since she had left the tiny cottage on the River Vistula clad in the simplest tunic. Jerzy had taken her to the Praga side of the river, where she insisted he leave her. It was not until he was gone that she looked up to the bluff where her family town house had stood. She was not one for tears, but she wept then. It wasn’t so much the loss of the house and its opulent furnishings as it was the loss of her mother who had died on the eve of the Russian onslaught. Zofia had come to regret her many failings as a daughter. And as she cried, visions of the parting from Danuta and her father—and Jerzy—somehow found their way into her mind. What would she have done without their peasant hospitality?

  And Jerzy’s innocent devotion to her? He had begged her to stay—and she had laughed at him. Still, at their parting, in gratitude Zofia had tried to press into his hand the diamond ring, knowing its worth could improve the life of the peasant family beyond all measure. Jerzy’s face clouded, however, and he adamantly refused it, walking away.The thought of him taking his leave, shoulders sagging slightly, often came back to her.

  Jerzy—Jan’s peasant double! Was that part of her attraction to the boy? Well, both Jan and Anna were safe—and married! Now there was something to think about. Something not wholly pleasant.

  Zofia shook herself free of these thoughts. I am in Warsaw once again! She pinched her cheeks to bring up the color and presently went down to supper. Paweł was already seated, a seriousness about him that put her on guard.

  It was after the meal—while they were still at table—that he came up behind her chair, bent to kiss her, and whispered a proposal of marriage.

  Zofia turned to him and smiled. She could not feign surprise. Before joining up with Kościuszko, he had asked her numberless times. “Paweł, you know how I feel about that. I care for you. I really do . . . but I have no desire to marry.”

  “Zofia, things are different now. You can’t behave . . . as you once did.”

  “What does that mean?” Her defiant tone was meant to discourage his bringing up past indiscretions.

  He took pause, too, seeming to recognize that her reputation was not a topic to take up. “The times have changed,” he said, clearing his throat and standing erect. “I mean that you need a home. Oh, I know you have the resources to build again, but you need a man to stand beside you, to protect you.”

  “Do I?” Zofia stared up at him. “Paweł, I am in no hurry to build. And I am in no hurry for a husband. Life can go on as it has for us here.”

  “Until when, Zofia?” Paweł demanded. “When? . . . And what are we to say to people? How are we to be received?”

  “Ah, is that it? You’re worried about the perception of things? Why, this is a new day, Paweł. We would not be the only unmarried couple in Warsaw living together. What’s left of Polish society is too busy simply surviving to worry about shunning us.”

  Paweł sank into a chair at an angle to Zofia. “I’m not worried about what others think! I’m worried about you! Zofia, I love you.”

  Zofia let out a shallow sigh. “You should know by now that I have a knack for survival. You are not to worry. I am like th
e phoenix—always have been.” Before he could reply, Zofia said, “Paweł, I have something to tell you.” The seriousness of her tone—sans her usual cavalier humor—immediately silenced Paweł.

  The moment hung fire.

  Zofia took a sip from her wine, her eyes above the glass holding his gaze. Setting it down, she said, “Paweł, I am to have a child.”

  It seemed to be the last thing he expected. His face reflected, in turn, complete surprise, wonder—and delight. Zofia instantly realized her mistake in telling him in such a way. He had misread her.

  Paweł was smiling broadly, as a child might when, against the odds, he wins a game. He stood and then knelt at her side. “All the more reason, Zofia! All the more reason to marry—to have a family!”

  Zofia sat silently, and something in her glance pierced his mask of euphoria, and she saw his smile fall away. “What?” Paweł asked. “What is it?”

  “Paweł,” Zofia whispered, “oh, Paweł.” His crushed expression indicated that he took her meaning immediately. Zofia’s heart went out to him, but she could say no more.

  As for Paweł, Zofia was thankful that he could not bring himself to press her for the identity of the father.

  7

  Late October, 1795

  The autumn gathering at the country lodge was charged with voices and emotion. Paweł had missed a few meetings over the course of the summer and early fall, but he would not miss this one. Just a few days before, almost a year after the massacre at Praga and the fall of the Commonwealth, the partition had been signed by the three allies. Prussia had at last given up the territory of Kraków to Austria in exchange for Russian-held Warsaw. It seemed official and final. Warsaw was in ferment, and yet there was more bad news.

  “Catherine is pressuring the king to abdicate!” the Grand Master announced.

  A tremor went through the Brethren gathered in the vaulted meeting room. The Grand Master paused, long enough for the agitated conversation to build for a full minute and then diminish as they turned to him for further details.