Not very long ago, she would have run after him—and she would have triumphed in one way or another, either winning him over or venting her spleen. Not now, she thought. Not now. Different times called for different measures.
Zofia felt Charlotte nudge her. “Darling, if you’re not going to eat your fruit plate, may I have it?”
Zofia tossed a scathing glance at her friend and pushed the plate toward her.
Other men danced with her that afternoon and into the evening, but her first attempt at finding a new niche in Warsaw life had been sabotaged by her own past.
“You shouldn’t feel so bad, Zofia” Charlotte said as the carriage made its way back to the capital.
Zofia turned her head to look out the window. The night was dark.
Charlotte seemed to feel compelled to continue: “You know, they say one should never paint a brick building.”
Zofia turned back to Charlotte, her face folding into a question. She thought the wine must have gone to her head. “A brick building?”
Charlotte smiled. “Once a brick building has been painted, ma chère, there’s no going back. You’ll never get all the paint off.”
Zofia stared at Charlotte. Her first instinct was to reach over and strangle her fat friend.
9
Anna sat quietly in the reception room. Jan was out on the estate, and the boys were in the care of Emma. She regretted not broaching the topic of Jan’s treatment of Michał. Just this morning she had heard him speak sharply to Michał, who had asked to go out into the fields with him rather than stay and study with Emma. When the boy begged a second time, Jan seemed dangerously close to using a cuss word. Was it his temper? Only the week before, she had overheard Marta telling Lutisha that he had given her husband Walek a tongue lashing for leaving something undone in the barn. And Anna remembered, too, that day in Halicz when Zofia’s lies incensed him so that he left her and Zofia alone in the forest. The attack on her would never have happened but for that. His temper had cost them both so much.
Was it that event that caused him to feel differently toward Michał than Tadeusz? No, she told herself. But then it occurred to her he might harbor feelings he was not truly aware of. Michał might very well be an unhappy reminder of ugly events. Had Jan cooled toward him now that he had a son of his own blood?
Anna rose and walked into the library. It was warm here. Both the fireplace and more modern tiled stove radiated heat. This had been her sanctuary as a young girl. Her father had so treasured his books, many of which she had read. Emma had been her governess, too, and had been a good teacher, but much of her education had been inculcated here, directly from these books. Even though most peasants could not read, the servants—knowing that the books made for the essence of Polish culture—had kept this the best maintained room in the house. She could feel her father in the room, amidst the writing desk, endless rows of books on varnished shelves that smelled of fresh bees wax, and ancestral weapons that hung over the fireplace.
After the deaths of her parents had left her depressed and alone, Anna had at last received her dearest wish—a home and a little family. She tried to rejoice in that thought. Against all odds, her marriage to Jan had come to be! It was a better story than any of those on the shelves. A voice inside her told her that she was afraid to broach the subject of Michał with Jan. Afraid that there were thorns that could tear at the tissue of the life she had wished into being and settled into. She shut out that voice.
Marta came into the room and curtsied. “There’s a rider coming up the drive, madame.”
“Is there?—Thank you, Marta.”
As cold as it was outside, Anna could not resist going out onto the little portico with its two columns, the very symbol of Polish hospitality. This was not the magnificent manor home the Grońskis had had in Halicz, but it meant everything to her. Anna put her hand up to shade her eyes from the brightness of the snow in sunlight. It wasn’t until the rider pulled up on his reins and shook off his snow-laden hat that Anna recognized him.
“Paweł!”
Tomasz rushed from the barn to take the brown stallion just as Paweł dismounted. “Hello, Anna!” He dashed up the three steps to the portico and kissed her on either cheek.
“It’s been so long, Paweł.”
“Too long! My God, it’s good to see you!—But you shouldn’t be out here. You’ll catch a chill.”
“Come into the house, then.” Anna took his arm and led him into the reception room. A guest brought up her spirits immediately. She could remember her father saying that a guest in the house was God in the house. “You’ve ridden all the way from Warsaw in this storm? You must be cold through and through. Will you have some hot coffee? Wine? Vodka? A cordial?”
“I am thirsty. Coffee’s so hard to come by these days—you have some?”
“We do.”
“I’ll have a glass of vodka.”
Anna laughed. She called Marta and asked for coffee and vodka. Turning back to Paweł, she said, “Sit, sit! There, near the fire.”
“You look splendid, Anna!”
“And you, just as handsome.” Anna sat opposite Paweł. “What a wonderful moustache! You look like a general.”
“Getting older all the time. A few hours in the saddle like today and I’m done in. And the cold does invade the bones, too. Not like in the old days. But I will have to retrain myself, I guess.”
“I don’t know why you should. There comes a time when men like you should enjoy riding in carriages and sleighs rather than on the back of a horse.”
“Don’t go painting my coffin portrait, Anna! Not yet, please God.” Paweł made the sign of the cross. “Where is Jan?”
“Out in the fields, I suppose. Hunting, maybe. He always manages to find something to do. Oh, he’ll be so delighted you’ve come. He’ll enjoy the two of you going over the war years—well, the battles won, anyway.”
“I haven’t seen him since we were discharged. I’ve missed him.”
“And Zofia—how’s Zofia? I write, but she doesn’t answer.”
Marta entered now with the refreshments, and Paweł held back his response until she made her exit, leaving a cup of coffee, two glasses, and a bottle of vodka. Anna poured only one glass of vodka and brought it to Paweł.
“Just coffee for you?” Paweł asked, standing and taking the vodka.
“Just coffee.”
“A toast then!” Paweł raised his glass.
“Excellent!” Anna said. “A toast!”
“To Poland!”
Anna raised her cup. “To Poland!”
Paweł stood and took the few paces to Anna so that their cup and glass could ring. And while Anna sipped at her coffee, Paweł, still standing, drank down—in military fashion—the considerable amount of vodka.
He sat now—quite satisfied and warmed, it seemed.
“You were about to tell me about Zofia just before you drank us out of good vodka.”
“You make me laugh, Anna! Oh, if only Zofia could make me laugh!—She’s the same as ever, and you know she’s not one for writing.”
Anna recalled the journal that her cousin used to keep—one that detailed every aspect of her romantic interludes—evidence to the contrary, but kept her tongue. “And her child? Izabela?”
“Iza? A beautiful child with a wonderful spirit! I love her as my own.”
The comment struck Anna. “Do you?” she asked, attempting spontaneity.
“I do! I would do anything for her—she’s that precious.”
Anna stood and walked over to refill Paweł’s glass.
“Thank you. I’ll sip this one, I promise.”
“Oh drink it down!” Anna cried, laughing. “You know it’s the Polish way!”
“At your insistence, Lady Stelnicka,” Paweł replied, a glint in his eye.
“You’ll stay over, of course,” Anna said as he drank. “I’ll have a guest bedchamber prepared.”
“No, I can’t, thank you. Too much to do in the
city.”
“I see,” Anna said. Her hope that he would elaborate went for naught.
After a while, he stood. “My horse has had his rest, and my blood is flowing again. I think I’ll ride out and look for Jan.”
Anna suggested he stay and rest, but he was insistent. Throwing on a cloak, she led him to the barn, and Walek gave him directions as to where he was likely to find Jan. Anna waved him off and walked back to the house, not knowing what to think of his behavior. He seemed on a mission.
His comment about loving Iza as his own stayed with her. She could not help but wonder: Did Jan love Michał as his own?
Jan was chopping wood in a far field on the edge of the forest. It was his secret activity although he suspected both Walek and Jacob knew about it. Chopping his own wood on the grounds of the house would not have been proper. That was done by other people. For that matter, all the occupations on the estate were done by others. Oh, Jan performed well as an unofficial overseer, lightening Jacob’s load a trifle, and he regularly worked with a string of Polish mounts he was raising, but at frequent intervals he felt he had to put his body to work. He had to do something—other than playing wooden soldiers with the boys.
The size of the woodpile had started to grow very large—until one day the summer before when he caught a peasant boy pilfering a few pieces. Jan scolded him harshly, so harshly the boy’s face went white as Death herself and his knees began to buckle. Afraid the boy would piss himself and die of shame, Jan reversed himself then, telling him he could take five pieces a day if he swore himself to secrecy. Jan would not take his masculinity from him. The turn of events startled the boy, and he nodded uncertainly. Occasionally now, they found themselves on the site at the same time, and Jan spoke civilly.
Chopping wood allowed for a great release of energy and emotion—and often thought. There was much to crowd and cloud his mind these days, much to consider, and at times he thought he would go mad because his head was so full of thoughts. He felt as if he were a plant uprooted from the south of Poland and transplanted here in Sochaczew where the soil was different, where everything was different, where it was not meant for him to take root and grow. There were Anna and the boys, of course, whom he loved with everything in him, but he had left behind the confiscated family estate in Uście-Zeilone and town house in Kraków, friends, travel, his years in the light cavalry, the blood rush and lust of war, battling for Poland. He feared nothing in those days, not even death at the hands of the Prussians or Russians, for it was death on the field of glory, his death for others, his death for Poland.
He had cast aside his sheepskin coat today, despite the bitter cold. But he worked at his chopping even longer and harder than usual, lifting and striking, lifting and striking. Somehow the task felt even better in the cold, the release more rewarding, more exhilarating.
The rider was almost upon him before he took notice. “Jan! Jan!”
He looked up, his mouth falling slack. “Paweł?”
“Yes, Paweł, man! Who’d you think it was?” Paweł swung down from his horse. “If it was a bloody Russian, you’d be knocking at Heaven’s Gate right now.”
Jan held up the axe in a menacing but mocking way. “Not likely, my friend. I’d mince you like a mushroom first!—How are you?”
“Excellent!” Paweł came and hugged him. “My God, you’re soaked in sweat! What are you doing chopping wood out here in the middle of nowhere?”
Jan felt himself going red. “It’s something I do.”
“Something you do?”
“Yes.” He tried to collect himself now. “I don’t want to get to be some old, cranky lord of the manor with a paunch and gout, you know.”
Paweł laughed. “At this rate and in this cold, you’ll die long before suffering such indignities!”
“This is a shock to see you! What in Hades are you doing here?”
“I had to see my partner-at-arms, Jan. That’s all. Oh, and I’ve brought some vodka. Good Polish stuff! It’s in my saddle bag.”
“Get it out with you and let’s sit over here.”
Jan cleared the snow off the woodpile and structured it so that they might sit.
Paweł returned with the bottle. “Sorry, no glasses.”
“Like the old days! Drink, man!”
“You first.”
Jan took down a good swig.
“Oh,” Paweł said, “I’ve brought news, too.”
“News?—ah! I expected as much!”
“Yes! There’s still breath left in Poland.—“You know that the tsar has freed Kościuszko and sixty thousand other sons of Poland?”
Jan nodded.
“I thought as much. But what you can’t know—what I’ve only just learned—is that France’s Directory has enlisted our General Dąbrowski to form his own legion in Italy to protect Lombardy.
“From whom?”
“Fom Austria mostly. Last month he published a proclamation calling for Polish recruits. Think of it, Jan—a Polish legion!”
“I see.”
“You see? Where’s your excitement, man?”
“I would have preferred a Polish army.—Why should we do work for the Directory?”
“Because, damn it, France was the only nation that spoke up as Prussia, Austria, and Russia took their places at our tables year after year and drank Polish blood! Believe me, French action against the three is in the cards. And in the doing, France can help us get our country back!—Jan! Why are you laughing at me?”
Jan stilled his laughter, but a strange smile remained.
“What?” Paweł demanded. “What? You knew this? You did! I’ve been jawboning you for naught!”
Jan nodded, laughing. “I had a letter from Kościuszko yesterday.”
Paweł’s eyes waxed large. “How is he? Where is he?”
“His wounds still bother him. He’s in Sweden.”
“Sweden?”
“He can’t return here to his homeland—ever. He promised the tsar.”
“No, I don’t believe that!”
“He did! Oh, it wasn’t for his own safety. He had to swear an oath in order to secure the release of those sixty thousand. And you know he’s a man of his word.”
“Too much so! Good God!” Paweł cried in disgust. “And Dąbrowski’s legion? Kościuszko knows about it?”
Jan nodded. “And supports it. I suppose he thinks a small chance is better than none.”
“It is, Jan! Don’t you see?”
Jan shrugged.
“You must!”
“And you’ve come here in the dead of winter—?”
“For you, man. For you!” The dark eyes were intense. “Ride with me again, Jan. We’ve been given a second chance!”
“By the Directory?—I can’t, Paweł.”
“It’s not so much the Directory that’s empowered Dąbrowski, Jan. It’s their General Bonaparte.”
Jan nodded. “Napoléon Bonaparte—the little Corsican prodigy, I know.”
“Exactly!—Listen, it’ll be like old times for us.—There’ll be time enough for you later to sit on your portico watching the freezing and thawing of the Vistula.”
Paweł touched on something with that image, something that went to Jan’s core. He groped for words, finally turning away and feeling hot tears come into his eyes. “You don’t know how I want to come! But how can I?”
“Why can’t you?”
Jan shrugged, staring out at the snowy fields.
“Anna?”
Jan nodded. “And the boys.”
“They will do fine, Jan. The estate is well-manned. And look at you—chopping wood—to what purpose?”
“There’s something else.” Jan felt blood coming to his face. “How do you think we’ve managed to hold on to Anna’s family estate once the Prussians were given control of the Mazovian province?”
“I’ve wondered.”
“Bribes, Paweł, bribes!” Jan shouted. He stood now, facing Paweł. Anger had crept up on him “They co
uld take it away from us in the blink of an eye. I pay it for Anna. Losing her parents’ estate would crush her.” He left unsaid the fact that he had suffered that very fate.
“Who takes the bribes?”
“A Pole, damn him! A wretched bureaucrat in Sochaczew named Doliński. He worked for the Russians at first, but when the town fell behind the Prussian cordon, he switched his allegiance. Had it been only me and not Anna, I would have killed him on the spot and proudly gone to my own hanging!—Of course, I’ve kept this from Anna.”
Paweł stood, one arm gesturing. “All the more reason you should go with me! Dąbrowski promises we’ll get the opportunity to regain our country. That would mean the end of the bribes, the end of your insecurity. And you could claim back your own town house in Kraków and estate in Galicia.”
Jan turned toward the flat, white fields. Paweł wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t thought of already—and yet he could not come to a decision. It wasn’t just his fear of Anna’s reaction—the fear of breaking her heart—it was his fear that he wouldn’t be here when his family needed his protection.
“Jan,” Paweł said now in a strangely quiet tone, as if he were laying down a winning hand at cards, “there’s to be a lancers’ regiment. And nobles who join will be allowed to choose their regiment. With or without experience.”
Jan turned about, his eyes widening. “Is this true?”
10
“A guest in the house is God in the house,” Lutisha said.
Anna smiled, attempting to put aside her uneasiness by helping Lutisha, Marta, and Katarzyna prepare the dining room for a fine supper of venison stew. On occasions like this she especially missed Marcelina, who had married and now lived with her husband in a cottage nearby. Katarzyna presently had no prospects, but she seemed happy enough—especially when she was allowed to help with the boys.
At last supper was ready. The enticing aroma of the stew blended with the sweet smell of freshly baked rye bread. Emma and Jacob were seated, as was Tadeusz, and the food was being placed on the table when she heard Jan entering through the rear of the house.
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