Standing at the window, her breath visible now in the cold, she moved a hand down to her slightly rounded belly. I didn’t tell him, she thought. I didn’t tell him.
By God, I should have!
It was fully dark when Anna emerged from her bedchamber wearing an old-fashioned, heavy brown dress. She moved quickly downstairs into the dining room where supper was being cleared. She sent orders out for Walek to harness the sleigh.
Michał ran to Anna, wrapping his arms about her skirt. From the reception room, Emma came chasing after him, Tadeusz in her arms. “Oh, Anna, the children have been asking for you! Are you unwell?”
“I’m well, Emma.—I’m going to Warsaw.”
“Warsaw?”
“Don’t look like that. It’s not Moscow. I’ll be back within a day or two. I trust you completely with the little ones.”
Emma nodded. “Katarzyna will help.” Anna knew the woman wanted more information but didn’t dare ask.
Jacob came into the room now. “Walek said he is to hitch up the sleigh?”
“Yes,” Anna said, turning to him. “I want him and his son to take me to Warsaw.”
“Anna,” Jacob said, “I must advise you against doing so. The sky is dark with snow. It’s halfway to the knee already.”
“I can stand a little cold and snow.”
“But the road will not be visible. A trip tonight will be very dangerous, even for a skilled driver like Walek.”
Anna walked to the window and looked out, heart sinking. Michał still clung to her, dogging her every step. She turned back to the concerned faces of Jacob and his wife.
“You would be putting all your lives at risk,” Jacob said in his strong but quiet way.
Tadeusz squirmed in Emma’s grasp, reaching out for his mother. Anna walked over and took him into her arms. Turning back to Jacob, she asked, “And tomorrow?”
Jacob nodded. “Tomorrow, yes,” he said, his relief visible. “First light.”
Anna stood in the entry hall of the Potecki town house watching Zofia descend the stairs. She wore a slate-colored day dress, her black hair—shorter now and curled—complementing the dark, almond-shaped eyes.
“What a shock this is!” Zofia cried. “I thought the maid must have gone daft.” Zofia kissed Anna on either cheek, then drew back, appraising her. “You look tired. What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see Jan and Paweł before they depart.”
“You’re so white. Come into the dining room. When did you last eat?”
“Yesterday morning.” Anna allowed herself to be led to a dining chair. It was true—she felt faint. And a terrible presentiment was setting in . . .
“You’ll eat something at once.” Zofia hurried into the kitchen, and Anna could hear her putting a servant to work.
When Zofia returned, Anna looked up at her. “Jan—where is Jan?”
Zofia dropped into the chair next to Anna. She took Anna’s hand into hers. “He’s gone, Anna.”
“Gone?” Anna could barely voice the word.
“Yes, he and Paweł left first thing this morning. They’re well along the road to Lombardy by now.”
It was as if Anna had heard the words before, as if she had known exactly what Zofia would say. Her own reply seemed scripted, too. “But I thought they were to leave on Thursday.”
Zofia shrugged. “They were too anxious to play soldiers again, I guess.”
“It can’t be,” Anna said, her breaths becoming very shallow. “It can’t be. It can’t be.” A servant came in now and set a plate of food before Anna. She stared at it a few moments and pushed it away.
“You’ll have to eat something, dearest.”
“Not now.”
“Why did you come, Anna?”
Anna remained silent a long time while her cousin waited. At last she said, “We did not part with everything settled between us.”
“You sent him off with anger?”
Anna shook her head, holding back the tears.
“What then?”
“It’s hard to explain. I didn’t fight it. I didn’t cry.”
“You were silent?”
“No, it was much more subtle. You wouldn’t understand. Jan and I are so close that he would see my resentment in the smallest action, the tiniest change in my voice.”
“Ah, so you think I’ve not had such a relationship.”
“No, I didn’t mean to imply that— ”
“That’s all right—Anna, you mustn’t worry. Jan knows how you feel—subtleties or no!” After a little while Zofia coaxed Anna to eat. “And I insist you stay for a while, she said. “I have plans tonight with Charlotte, but I am free all day tomorrow.”
Mention of Charlotte Sic brought back unhappy memories. “You’re still friends with the princess?’
“We’ve only just resumed our friendship.”
“Zofia, may I ask you something?”
“Of course, darling.”
“How did you and Paweł part?”
Zofia gave a little shrug and a wince. “We kissed and he left.”
“That’s it?”
“Oh, I wasn’t about to waste my words on him, like I did a few years ago when he joined Kościuszko. He knew what I thought of it . . . and then I think our relationship has reached a plateau, too. In fact, I was going to start rebuilding in Praga—before this happened.”
“And now?”
“Now there’s no real need to rush. One day.”
“I see.”
“You finish that last little bit, and I’ll go call Jagoda.
“Jagoda?”
“Izabela’s governess.”
Zofia soon returned and presently a middle-aged woman with sharp features appeared in the doorway, Zofia’s daughter holding her hand.
Izabela was a striking child. She had Zofia’s black hair and perfect bone structure, but her eyes were as blue as the sky. Her skin was lighter than Zofia’s, too, and the combination of dark hair and light complexion and eyes was disarmingly pretty.
Zofia introduced Anna to the two. “Go and say hello to Lady Anna, Izabela,” Zofia said.
The child hugged herself to the dark folds of the Jagoda’s skirts. When a second entreaty met with a similar response, Anna rose and went to the child. “Hello, Iza.—What a pretty blue dress!” Anna dropped down and smiled into the little girl’s face. “May I have a kiss?” The girl gave the slightest nod and Anna kissed her. “You’re very beautiful, do you know that?”
There was the slightest hint of a smile, then a glance to her mother and it vanished. “Izabela is no doubt in need of a nap,” Zofia said, nodding to the governess.
As Anna stood, Jagoda curtsied and led the child away.“Goodbye, Iza!” Anna called.
The girl gave a quick glance back and was gone. It was in that moment that Anna realized she should have accepted responsibility for the child nearly two years before. Her home at Sochaczew would have afforded the girl the warmth in which to flourish.
“She’s beautiful, Zofia.”
“I’ve seen beautiful turn to plain in some children as they grow. So we shall see before I start making plans for her.”
Anna turned back to Zofia. She could find no words. Surely she loved her daughter.
Zofia fixed her eyes on Anna. “Now, why did you come to Warsaw?”
“To see Jan.”
“I know that—and I know what you told me.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Come, come. You were afraid, weren’t you? Afraid to have him sleeping in the same house as I?’
“No!” Anna felt the blood rushing to her head.
“Admit it!”
“I will not!”
“Then why? There’s something more—something else!”
“I’m expecting again.”
“Good God, Anna!” Zofia’s long black lashes flew back. “I hope you’re not going to be producing babies like Lutisha produces dumplings!”
“Zofi
a!”
“I’m sorry.” The apology came in tandem with a little tinkling laugh. “So Jan doesn’t know?”
Anna shook her head.
Zofia’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You could have written, given him the happy news that way.”
“I wanted to tell him in person.”
“To make him stay?”
“What?”
“To fill him so with responsibility and guilt that he would put down his saber for a safe life.”
“No!”
“Oh, Anna! It’s just as well you missed him, don’t you think?”
Anna drew herself up. “I think I must decline your invitation to stay. I would like my sleigh made ready.”
Zofia smiled smugly. “As you wish, cousin.”
Later, as the sleigh made its way through the countryside for home, Anna tried to make sense of her feelings and the thoughts than flew through her head like Tatar arrows.
She had left angry with Zofia—and yet her cousin’s questions haunted her. Had she been afraid to have Jan in the same house as her cousin, the woman who had schemed for so long to keep them apart? Had she hoped that news of a new baby would make Jan think twice, that his concern—and, yes, guilt—would keep him home? She searched deep within her soul now, and realized—to her own horror—that there was some truth in Zofia’s observations.
As the sleigh glided smoothly on, the snow-laden pine and fir trees flying past her, she realized that she was glad she had not caught up to Jan.
Godspeed you, Jan!
11
20 September 1797
Anna went into labor earlier than expected, sending the house into an uproar.
Walek and Jacob had carried her up to her room, leaving her then to Emma, Lutisha, Marta, and Katarzyna. Although she had some experience at birthing, Emma deferred to Lutisha and her midwifery experience.
Anna prayed as the pain came and went, came and went, increasing all the while until she lost hold of her rosary. She prayed directly to God then for a healthy baby who would survive even if she did not. A second prayer went out that she would live to see Jan again. She pictured him in a new uniform riding home to her, coming down the poplar-lined drive, coming up the stairs. The door would open…
“Push now, Lady Anna,” Lutisha cried, the other women’s voices echoing. Emma’s voice was at her ear. “Push now, child, push!
Anna pushed and pushed again, perspiration rolling away from her face. The vision of Jan stayed with her. The vision of his homecoming. She held to it. She would do this. She had to!
The pain endured for an eternity—and then—at last—Lutisha announced, “It is here, Lady Anna, the baby is here!”
Katarzyna’s voice came to her now, the marveling voice of a person witnessing birth for the first time. “It’s a girl, Lady Stelnicka, a little girl!”
“Not so little,” said Marta, “but beautiful just the same!”
Anna could hear its cry now, high and piercing. She fell back into her pillows and waited for the baby to be cleaned and placed in her arms. As she took the chubby-faced girl into the crook of her arm, she saw that Lutisha had already wrapped a piece of red yarn around its little wrist, a protection against the evil eye.
The next day she awoke to the sound of a horse in the drive and voices below. She was too weak to rise and go to the window. She knew not to think her vision had come true. Jan would come back to her, but it would be many months—or even a year.
Soon, she heard the closing of the door and the retreat of the rider’s horse.
Later, when Emma looked in on her, Anna asked who the rider was.
“An insistent man, I’ll tell you that. And rude, too!”
“Who?”
“The starosta from town.”
Anna’s heart leapt in her chest. “Doliński?”
“Yes, Lord Doliński. Wanted to see you. Seemed quite surprised you had just given birth.”
“I imagine he was.”
“Why it would concern him,” Emma continued, “I have no idea. What is it, Anna? You’ve turned as white as your sheet! Are you bleeding again?”
“No, no, I’m fine. It’s just a passing weakness.”
Emma insisted on checking to make certain. When she left, satisfied Anna was recovering, Anna pulled to her the child she had named Barbara Anna. “Sweet Jesus, protect us all,” she whispered.
Zofia lay naked, face down on the wide, soft mattress. She shivered slightly, not against the cold because the chamber was lighted and warmed by the flames of the fireplace. Rather, she trembled at the touch of Lord Podolski, who was tracing with his fingers the curve of her shoulder—slowly—through the valley between her shoulder blades, moving down into the small of her back, rising then over supple flesh, and then returning.
“Ryszard?”
“Yes? You wish me to stop?”
“No, do continue.—When you go to Petersburgh next week—”
“Yes?”
“I wish to go.”
His hand stopped moving. “To St. Petersburgh? For what?”
“To see it! The great Russian city! I’ve not been out of Poland.”
“Ah, I thought you were going to tell me it was for love of me—that you couldn’t bear to have me away for any length of time.”
“And if I had?”
The fingers began again. “I wouldn’t have believed you.”
Zofia laughed, her head coming up from the pillow. “Well, I would miss you.”
“About as much as you miss your Paweł?”
“Don’t be mean. I would miss you! But I want to see the palace. And the Hermitage. Perhaps you could arrange for me to meet the tsar, who knows?”
“And—what else?”
“What else?”
“Yes, what other reason?”
“Well . . . there is a Pole there whom I would like to meet—Czartoryski.”
“Adam?—Why?”
“It’s not what you might think! Don’t be jealous. The prince has the tsar’s ear. It’s about my sequestered property.”
“In Halicz?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid you should forget such notions, Zofia. It’s the Austrians who took that province. It will not be coming back to you.”
“It’s not impossible. The tsar could bring pressure to bear on Austria. My friend Anusia Tyszkiewicz told me that years ago her father had so impressed Catherine in some little way she gave him back their estate. And they say the tsar has a fairer mind than his mother.”
“He hated his mother.”
“You see!”
“You have enough, Zofia. You have money, the property in Praga where you can rebuild. What would you do with an estate so far in the south of Poland? You said yourself the Russians burnt the house to the ground.”
“I would rebuild!”
“For what? To live in the country! You despise the country, and you certainly don’t know how to run an estate—even if you had the inclination.”
“Well, I have Anna’s interest in mind, too!”
“Anna?”
“Yes, her husband’s estate there in Uście-Zelone was taken, as well.”
“This Stelnicki fellow you told me about?”
“Yes, his estate should go to their children.”
“And should you regain it for them, they would be in your debt.”
“I suppose— ”
“Look at me, Zofia.”
Zofia obeyed, propping her head on her hand.
“Something distant comes into your eyes when you speak of this Stelnicki. What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you finished with him?”
“Yes.”
“Certain?”
“He’s Anna’s husband, Ryszard.” Zofia rolled onto her back now, her arms reaching out. “Now, my lord, will you take me to St. Petersburgh?”
October 1797
Anna sat waiting outside the starosta’s office, Emma at her side. After Doliński’s
call at the house, she had known she would hear from him again and had worried about it these three weeks following Barbara’s birth, but she had not expected a summons to appear. He did not keep her waiting long. The door opened and Doliński stepped out. “Lady Stelnicka,” he said, bowing slightly.
Anna stood and moved past him, into the room. Closing the door behind him, Doliński motioned for her to sit. Anna obeyed. The tickings and movements of the many clocks in the room were all too familiar, as was the sense of vulnerability she had felt when he had interviewed her nearly three years before.
“Who is your companion out there, Lady Stelnicka? A friend or in your employ?”
“She is both. Her name is Emma Szraber. Jacob’s wife.”
“Your estate manager? The Jew?”
Anna nodded. “She is governess to my children.”
Doliński thought for a moment, then asked in his graveled voice: “If that is the case, Lady Stelnicka, what is she doing here?”
Anna stiffened in her chair. “I asked her to accompany me.”
“Indeed. Not out of fear of me, I hope. Well, well. Three children now. You hardly look any worse for wear.”
Anna felt blood moving up into her face. “If that is a compliment, Lord Doliński, I thank you.”
“Indeed. You may take it as such.” He smiled solicitously. “Your husband has joined Dąbrowski, yes?”
“Yes, in Italy.”
“Who’s to say how long he will be gone, Lady Stelnicka? I hope that we can be friends. You see, you may be in need of the starosta’s protection, come one day.”
“I think not. My estate is self-contained; my people very loyal.”
“Yes, yes. Very true, I’m sure. But things here have changed—what with the Russians yielding the province to Prussia.”
“How does that change things?”
“In one way it doesn’t, Lady Anna—may I call you so? It doesn’t change in that I am still starosta. With the Russians, without the Russians. And now with the Prussians.” Doliński stood, pushing his chair out behind him and standing.
Anna watched as he walked about the room, feigning to examine one clock or another. “As hard as the Russians are, the Prussians can be harder,” he said, his tone artificially casual.”Nothing and no one under them is too secure.”
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