“Come in—come in, Jan! We’re going to have a glorious supper!”
Jan walked into the well-lighted and warmed dining room.
“Where’s Paweł?” Anna asked.
“He’s gone back to Warsaw.”
“What?” Disappointment set in at once. “Why?”
“He said he had to get back and told me to extend his apologies.” Jan walked over and kissed Anna on the cheek. “There!—That’s from him.”
“But he hasn’t eaten!”
“He’s had a nip of vodka to stave off hunger until he gets home.”
“And you smell as if you’ve had more than a nip!”
Jan shrugged and smiled. “Ah, perhaps, but I’m hungry as a bear just the same.” He kissed her again. “That one’s from me.—I’ll call Michał.”
In her nightgown, Anna sat at her vanity, brushing her hair. Her disappointment at Paweł’s disappearance had not lasted through the whole meal—but it did not transform into any positive feelings, either. Despite the wonderful food and the company of Emma and Jacob at the table, Anna could not shake some indefinable sense of doom.
Jan, still dressed, came up and stood behind her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. When she looked up into the mirror at his reflected face, she knew the moment had come.
“You have something to tell me, Jan.”
“Yes, Anna.”
“What?”
Jan drew in a long breath. “You know that I love you.”
“Are you asking or telling me.”
“I’m reminding you, I guess.”
Anna didn’t reply. Her gaze—by way of the mirror—held his.
“I’m to go away, Anna. To Italy.”
Heart pounding, Anna stood and faced him. “Italy!” she rasped. “For what?”
“I’m called back to duty. A Polish legion has been formed there to help buttress French interests.”
“You’re going to Italy for the French! I don’t believe what you’re telling me, Jan. You can’t do this!” A heat was rising into her face.
“It’s for Poland, Anna. In the long run, we believe that France will support us in our cause against the usurpers.”
“In the long run! Who believes? Paweł? And now, you?”
“General Dąbrowski—who’s organizing the legion. And even Kościuszko supports the cause.”
“But you aren’t called to duty, as you say!”
“I am.”
“You’re lying to me—it’s voluntary!”
“My call to duty comes from here, Anna.” Jan took Anna’s hand and held it to his breast.
Anna pulled away. “And what about my heart, Jan Stelnicki? You’ve done your duty! How many times do you think you can escape death? There are others now, younger ones whose turn it is! You have a family, Jan!”
“It is for my family and this home that I must go.”
“Your family needs you here. And there is no threat to the estate. The Prussians have let us be.”
“The Prussians— ” Jan seemed to think better of his reply and stopped in mid-sentence.
“What—what is it? They’ve been fair, yes?”
“They’ll be a lot fairer when they’re back within their old boundaries.”
She stared into his eyes, blue as a darkened sky. “You’re set on doing this?” She knew it was a needless question.
Jan nodded.
“And you waited until the house was asleep to tell me, so I can’t even raise my voice against you and what you’re doing to us, Jan Stelnicki!” Her hands were suddenly fists then, striking at Jan’s chest. “You can’t do this, Jan! You can’t!”
Jan’s powerful arms encircled Anna now, immobilizing her. One hand reached up and forced her head upon his shoulder. “I must,” he whispered. “I must.”
Her mind went numb. She felt as if she were falling through space, as if her spirit had pulled itself free of her body. Unknowing, she had had her last day of happiness for a very long time—perhaps forever—and it had come in the form of an unannounced friend.
Only later would she remember on her neck a faint wetness that could only have been Jan’s tears.
Zofia’s carriage trundled along the riverfront street just as the pink of the new sun was breaking on the horizon, shimmering on the rippling and plashing waters of the River Vistula. She was exhausted.
The vehicle turned onto Piwna Street, the click-clacking of its wooden wheels on the cobblestones breaking the silence. Churchgoers were making their way to St. Martin’s for weekday Mass as Zofia alighted the carriage. A few turned to stare at her.
Wishing not to awaken the servants, she used her key and entered quietly through the front door. She crossed the front hallway and was about to ascend the steps to her room when she thought she heard Paweł’s voice. She halted in her tracks, thinking she was mistaken.
“Zofia?”
It was Paweł’s voice. She turned and walked slowly to the adjoining reception room. In those split seconds, she recalled having been caught by her father in a similar situation and so now resigned herself to a similar confrontation. She immediately dispelled the fear that rose up within her. She was an adult now.
“Is that you, Paweł?” she called, her voice spun sugar.
Paweł was pulling himself up from a winged back chair. He had only just awakened. He stood, still orienting himself, seeming to notice the light at the windows. “Are you just arriving home, Zofia?”
Zofia steeled herself. “Yes.”
“You’ve been out all night?”
“I stayed at my friend’s. Charlotte Sic. I’ve talked about her a hundred times.”
“Yes, the French princess, I remember. But I didn’t know you had revived your friendship.”
“I did—only last week when she took me to that party at the Radziwiłł palace. You were at one of your meetings. Didn’t I tell you it was she who invited me?”
“Perhaps—I don’t recall.” He walked over to Zofia and kissed her on either cheek. Taking a closer look, he said, “Your hair’s come undone.”
Zofia smiled, praying she wouldn’t be undone. “Well, it is morning, Paweł, and I haven’t been to bed yet. Charlotte and I sat up all night talking and talking.”
“I see,” Paweł said, looking into her eyes. “So much to say?”
Zofia ignored the question. “I thought you would be staying overnight in Sochaczew.”
“I changed my mind.”
“But to ride there and back on the same day and in such weather—why?”
“I don’t know—it was awkward.”
“I would expect so! I don’t imagine Anna took too kindly to your recruiting her husband. As if one Don Quixote isn’t enough?” Zofia’s blood began to stir. It always felt better to lead in a conversation that threatened volatility.
“Jan had already had the news—from Kościuszko himself.”
“Really—and his response? Is Jan to go, too? As if enough Poles haven’t died?”
“I don’t know.—He was uncertain.”
“Ah ha! You planted the seed but didn’t want to wait around for Anna to see what grew from it!”
“It’s a chance for Poland, Zofia.”
“Poland! Poland! Dog’s blood! I’m sick to death of hearing of it. How many times have we seen the boundaries on all sides shift and shift again? It’s the way it’s always been, for God’s sake. And always men going off to be mowed down liked shafts of wheat—all for the glory of it!”
Paweł sighed. “Not merely glory, Zofia. Honor.”
“Honor?” Zofia snapped. “How does the saying go? ‘Honor buys no beef at the market’!”
“We won’t ever agree on this matter, Zofia.”
“No, we won’t.—Good night, Paweł. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
Paweł caught her arm as she turned to leave. “You stayed at Charlotte’s—is that the truth?”
“Paweł, you’re hurting me!” Paweł released her. “It’s absolutely true! Where do you think I was?�
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“I—I don’t know.”
“Well, with you in Italy, I guess you will have to start placing some trust in me—unless you plan to evict me before you leave?”
“No, of course not.”
“Maybe you’d like it if I became a camp follower, a concubine following you and the regiment from place to place.”
“Zofia!”
Zofia laughed. “I do have my own money.”
“This is your home—yours and Iza’s!”
“Goodnight, Paweł. Please don’t allow anyone near my room until the afternoon meal.”
“Not even Iza?”
“Especially not Izabel.”
In her bedchamber Zofia pulled the remaining stays and diamond combs out of her hair and peeled off her clothes, dropping them to the floor. She shook with cold—the fire in the grate had been out for hours and no servant was about to place coals in the bed warmer. She fell into the goose down mattress, pulling covers atop her.
She shut out thoughts of the conversation below, the lie she had told. Warming her now were thoughts of Prince Ryszard Podolski, how his long, lean body held her to him, how he kissed her.
His letter and invitation to supper had come the day after the Nieborów party. In it he apologized for leaving so abruptly. Zofia had waited two days before sending a response. She would not appear too eager. For the assignation, she suggested the day that she knew Paweł would be going to Sochaczew. She knew that by that time the prince would be more than eager. In person, Podolski admitted that he had been unnerved by Lady Dorota Driedruski’s accusations at Nieborów, but he assured her that no sooner had he climbed into his carriage than he regretted his leaving. It seemed that in the days following he had been unable to exorcise the thought of Zofia. A little investigation on his part led to the knowledge that after the fall of Praga, Zofia had been taken in by a family friend, Lord Paweł Potecki. He wrote to her at once.
The room was indeed cold. Zofia let out a little voiced sound, more a sigh than a shiver. The prince had real possibilities. He was a personal friend of the new tsar, and so strong was his link to the Russian court that he spent most of his time in St. Petersburgh.
Zofia smugly settled into sleep, imagining herself possessing the kind of wealth and prominence he had, imagined herself being welcomed to St. Petersburgh by Tsar Paul, imagined herself being announced before a hall of Russian nobility as the Princess Zofia Polodska.
She hadn’t meant for the evening to go so far. However, the opulence of his apartment, the rich food and wine, the little orchestra he had hired, and the hang-dog eyes under a shock of black hair had proved irresistible. Still, she had pretended to fight him off, crying out, watching his excitement increase, knowing that he thought himself the master.
The seduction scene replayed itself in her dreams that night and in a way that it was more sensual, more exciting than it truly had been. How odd it was, Zofia thought, stretching out her arms upon awakening, that a dream could be more pleasurable than life itself.
Tethering his horse, Paweł started toward the lodge. His thoughts remained on Zofia. He could remember once interceding on her behalf to Anna. He had told her that Zofia was like a wild tropical bird. Anna had quipped back: “An untamable bird.”
Paweł had thought for many months that he had tamed Zofia. How had he dared? Anna was right—Zofia was untamable.
Paweł entered the lodge.
“And the child?”
He was taken off guard by the abruptness of the Grand Master’s question. The Stelnicki child had not been mentioned in months. It was suddenly clear that they knew he had just been to Sochaczew. A chill played along played along the length of his back.
“He’s fine. I didn’t actually see him. I stayed only long enough to speak with Jan.”
“About your going to Italy?”
“Yes.”
“Is Jan Stelnicki likely to go with you?” The question came from a brother close by. The hood Paweł wore precluded good peripheral vision, so he could only wonder if the man had been purposely eavesdropping. Paweł turned to him. It was the one with the gravel voice. Brother Fabian, he was called. He had attempted to engage Paweł in conversation a few months before, but he seemed to be seeking more information than he was providing. The man made Paweł uncomfortable.
“I don’t know whether Jan will go,” Paweł answered. It was the truth.
“You made the suggestion?”
“Yes.”
Why was this man interested? Paweł wished he could see behind the hood. He turned back to the Grand Master. “Are there plans regarding Tadeusz?”
“It’s unlikely that they’ll come to anything, Brother Piotr. You’re not to worry. There are other plans that will likely take precedence. And if Dąbrowski eventually marches into Poland—well, the story will begin anew.”
“I see.”
“Remember, though, your vow of secrecy. To violate it—even to your brother-in-arms—carries with it the ultimate penalty.”
Those were words hard to get out of his mind as he rode home. He was forbidden by penalty of death to tell Jan. In that he felt traitorous, but he arrived at the conclusion that perhaps that was the best policy. The whole business might come to nothing—probably would come to nothing. It was nonsense to think otherwise. And then again, if the Brotherhood did somehow manage a coup, bringing to a revived throne Tadeusz Stelnicki—what could be the drawbacks in that? Jan’s son would be king!
Jan brought out from his trunk his old army raiment, the day uniform and the one for dress. He had no idea whether the Polish uniform would be used or a new one would be expected. He would take as attendant Lucjan, a young man from those attached to the estate. It was the minimum expected of the landed szlachta. He supposed, however, with so many landless these days, many nobles went without even one. His little retinue would include five of the horses he had been raising: one for himself, one for Lucjan, and three to spare. These were smaller and more maneuverable horses Poles had taken to war for years. They were well suited to the demands of a lancer.
Jan stared at the blue and crimson uniform—the kurtka, pantaloons, and four-cornered czapka—thinking how the mention of a lancer regiment had sealed the bargain. He had always admired the skill and daring of the lancers. He knew them from stories, legend, and history. But he had seen them in action, too, when he had fought as part of the light cavalry for Kościuszko. In 1794, when Warsaw had attempted to hold out against the Russians at Praga’s ramparts, Jan’s horse was killed by a Russian cutlass to its neck, propelling Jan to the ground. He stood in time to see the Russian turn—the reddened weapon glinting in the sun—and bear down on him. Jan raised his saber, ready to give good fight against the significantly longer lance—but ready to die. It was then that a Polish lancer—on a small Polish mount—flew at the Russian, puncturing him in the middle of his chest and sending him flying to his death. Jan had decided then that if one had to fight, if one had to kill, the lancer was the ideal Polish soldier to become.
The preparation and packing did not take three days, but he gave it that just the same, wishing to remain with his little family as long as possible, hoping that Anna’s heart would change, lighten just a bit. Would she see him off with a smile?
The day came. Everything was in readiness. Lucjan and the horses awaited Jan in the barn while he forced down a little breakfast. He had sent word to Paweł to expect him by afternoon. Anna busied herself feeding Tadeusz and admonishing Michał for something or other. Her eyes continued to avoid Jan’s. Did she understand? Could she understand the ways of men? The ways of soldiers?
Jan tried to speak of events they had in common, some trivial, some not, but in each case the gravity of the imminent parting seemed only greater. Eventually he fell silent. And then came the time to leave. Jan stood, went around the table to kiss Tadeusz and then Michał. “Take care of your mother, Jan Michał,” he said.
Anna stood. “You’ve begun your moustache once again, Jan. Does a mou
stache make the soldier?”
He knew looking into her sweet heart-shaped face would weaken his resolve. His heart beat fast. “I hadn’t thought about it. I suppose that it’s the other way around.”
Anna’s amber-flecked green eyes remained dry. A smile was painted on her lips, a smile to take with him. He thanked God. He kissed her now, a kiss she yielded to.
“You come back to us, Jan Stelnicki,” she whispered, the tears in her heart and on her tongue instead of in her eyes.
“I will, Anna. I promise.”
Anna reached up and guided his face to hers, kissing him hard and long.
Jan drew back, incised those emerald eyes into his memory, affected a smile, and made for the kitchen and rear of the house.
Anna retreated to her room. The day passed slowly, as if the clocks had wound down. How had it come to this? It had taken years for the love she had for Jan to be realized, and now, after two short years of marriage, they were separated again. For how long? How many months or years of not seeing him, not knowing how he was? If he still lived? For the past three days, Anna had packed ice about her heart, anticipating Jan’s departure. Oh, she had smiled and talked and welcomed his embraces, but that was another person doing those things. It was almost like the time she had been left exposed to the wintry elements after her carriage had broken down. She had been close to dying of exposure when her spirit separated from her body, rising high into the air, hovering over the scene, watching her physical actions from a safe distance.
Jan knew she had distanced herself, too. He was too smart and sensitive not to have known. She wished that she could weep away the regret she felt, but the tears would not come. She paced her room, refusing trays of food that Lutisha brought to the door, failing to notice that the grate in her fireplace had gone cold. She would stop at the window, wipe away the frost, and peer out into the darkening snowscape. She would imagine a figure on horseback coming up the drive of bare and dark poplars to the house, the frozen ponds on either side. A blink of her eyes and the seasons would turn like a wheel. Spring—summer—fall. When would he return to her? When?
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