What foolishness, to be longing for his mother at his age. Dmitri wondered if he were losing his mind, becoming senile. This was pure fantasy. Dmitri shook his head in disbelief.
But it was time for one last check of the rigging before turning in, He rose and made his way forward to check the anchor hawser. Dmitri checked the lines one more time. He would feel better in the morning. Careful not to wake Alexis, Dmitri went into the cabin, closing the hatch behind him. He threw more coal into the stove, undressed and climbed into his bunk. After blowing out the gimbaled lamp on the bulkhead above him, Dmitri snuggled down into the blankets.
The pungent smell of fresh coffee woke him. The cup Alexis handed him cleared the cobwebs from his mind. He was grateful for Alexis; it helped to have a friend. While Dmitri dressed, the other man dished out the food.
"Come and eat." Alexis poured them each another cup of coffee. Dmitri sat down at the table and found he was ravenous.
"Are we homeward bound now, Dmitri? Straight home?"
He glanced over at Alexis before replying. "I had planned to go to the island, yes."
"Then you should reconsider, I think." Alexis reached for the salt which he sprinkled on his potatoes. "You told Gregor we are sailing to Sitka, and we should go there."
"True. I had planned to order books for the school. I promised Camille I would. We will stop at Sitka before going home."
They got the Arctic Tern underway within an hour's time. The wind was up, and the two men pushed the little schooner as hard as they dared. With the big jib hauled in tight, they pointed as close to the wind as possible. Alexis and Dmitri brought the Arctic Tern into a berth at Sitka in three days. Dmitri dashed through his business in the formerly Russian town, and they sailed again before noon on the tide.
A bright full moon rose and they took full advantage of the light that night. Not bothering to anchor they sailed on. In the early morning hours, the small schooner slid gently into her home berth. After dropping the sails and securing the ship in her usual place at the wharf, the two men went to their beds.
Dmitri let himself into the house and climbed the stairs to his room. There he found the remains of a fire burning on the grate. After pulling off his clothing, Dmitri left it where it fell. He was too tired to pick up after himself. Pale morning light coming in through the windows gave him enough light to see by, so Dmitri left the candles unlit. He walked over to the bed, then stood staring down.
Camille lay there, her long hair spread across the pillows in a dark wave. What was she doing here in his bed? Dmitri rubbed a hand across his face. Perhaps there had been another bad dream.
Poor little love. He thought. While sliding in beside her, he eased Camille’s head onto his shoulder.
"Dmitri?" Her voice was a whisper, soft with sleep. The scent of jasmine lingered around her.
"Hush love. Go back to sleep." Dmitri stroked the arm she laid on his chest. Camille snuggled against him and went back to sleep. Her body warmed his. The chill which had permeated his soul, went away. Dmitri soon fell asleep with his wife by his side.
Each morning Camille awoke early. The first thing she did was check Dmitri's room, hoping to find him there and was disappointed four days in a row. On the morning of the fifth day, she was almost afraid to check knowing his continuing absence would ruin the entire day. The empty bed confirmed her fears. Camille felt the gray wings of sadness threaten to close around her once more.
With a shrug of her fair shoulders, Camille threw the threatening melancholy off. She had things to do and wallowing in self-pity did not appeal, nor would it help.
Sooner or later, Dmitri would return home, and she would welcome him in a cheerful frame of mind. He had endured enough of her misery. She did not blame him for escaping from her. Camille went downstairs to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
Helena’s face wore a surprised expression at seeing Camille up so early when she entered the kitchen. "Madame, how are you today?"
"Fine Helena. Come, sit down and have your coffee."
"Nita and I have tea, Madame. We have not yet developed a taste for coffee." Helena drew a chair out from the large kitchen table. Nita placed a cup before Helena and then glanced at Camille.
"Sit down, Nita. Please." Camille coaxed. "It is much too early for formality."
While Nita and Helena sat and chatted away in a mixture of Russian and English, Camille sipped her coffee. The big comfortable kitchen was a place to relax in.
Built with function in mind, the room had a large fireplace with a built-in oven and heavy iron hooks imbedded in the sides for roasting.
A large wood fired cook stove sat against a corner of the back wall, where the stovepipe vented it outside. There were cupboards along every wall, and the kitchen table sat in the middle of the floor, where it could be reached from any side. A floor-to-ceiling cooler stood against the outside wall across from the hall door.
There was a large water barrel to the left of the door, next to the stove. Camille decided it would be an easy kitchen to work in. She was pleased to see Nita kept it spotless.
Her thoughts turned to Dmitri. She hoped he would remember to order readers while in Sitka. Camille was looking forward to the day when the school would open, and she could work with the children.
Since her maid passed it every day when she walked to the house, Camille thought to ask about the cabin. "How is the school building progressing, Helena?"
"The boys are chinking it now. It should be finished by the time the Count and Alexis return."
Camille nodded. "I think we should finish the red wool dress today." She rose from the table and started toward the kitchen door. "I shall meet you in the guest room. Do not bother bringing up breakfast, I am not hungry."
Helena bobbed her head in acknowledgment. Camille smiled at Nita, thanked her for the coffee and left the two older women to their conversation. She went upstairs where she tapped on Anya's door.
"Good morning, Camille. It is a lovely day." The child opened the door and darted over to her window to glance out at the forest. "It is much too nice to stay sewing indoors. I will go riding today." She glanced in Camille's direction as if waiting for comment. Recalling the argument between Anya and Dmitri, Camille remembered the conditions Dmitri set out for expeditions by his daughter.
"Remember what your father said. You must take someone with you."
Anya looked thoughtful. "If Anton accompanied me, do you think Poppa would be satisfied?"
"I should think so. When my mother went riding, she always took a groom with her."
"Could Anton be called a groom?"
"In some ways, cher.'" Camille stepped back to inspect Anya's muslin dress. "If you intend to go about it the correct way, you should change. What you are wearing is not what could be called suitable riding attire."
Anya ran over to her wardrobe and pulled open the doors. "Do I have anything suitable?"
"Let me see." Camille selected a forest green dress with tight sleeves and tiny buttons up the bodice. "This will do."
While the child changed, Camille glanced through her chest of drawers and took out a brown knit scarf. Once Anya got dressed, Camille put the scarf over Anya's head. One end hung down in the front. Camille brought the other end around her neck once and tossed it over the girl’s left shoulder.
Anya's eyes glistened with delight. "Is this the way they dress for riding in San Francisco?"
"Some ladies dress in this fashion. Others prefer a more Spanish style. Now, run along and find Anton. If you have not eaten, just ask Nita for a cup of chocolate and a roll. That will be sufficient as long as you are home when it is time for lunch. Be sure to be here then."
Anya was already out of her door and in the hall. "Yes, ma'am, I will. Thank you." Anya clattered down the stairs in her haste to be on her way.
Camille was smiling when she closed the door to Anya's room behind her and went to her room to dress. Now, she had the key to Anya. The child longed to do things as the fash
ionable ladies of the gentry did them. It occurred to her that the isolation must bother the girl.
It was a shame the child did not realize how much freedom she had. Ah, well. She would learn soon enough. In the meantime, it would be her task as stepmother to educate Anya in etiquette. Perhaps she and Helena could make a regular riding habit for Anya.
Camille got dressed and went to the guestroom. She and Helena put the sewing in that room, to keep from having to move everything. All the dresses they had cut out were through the fitting stage, and now they must sew the garments together. Afterward, they would pull the basting stitches out. Helena was already at work on the red wool when Camille entered the room. She sat beside the older woman and took up the skirt of the gown while her maid finished the right sleeve.
"Do I recall seeing a short length of emerald green velvet in the storeroom?" she asked. Then Camille took up her needle to work on the last seam as she adjusted the material in her lap.
Helena thought for a moment. "I am sure there was some."
Camille's neat stitches drew the cloth together. "When you have finished the bodice, please get it. I believe I saw a remnant of black moiré silk in there. It might have been on the shelf below the wool."
"Anything else, Madame? What are you planning to do with it?" Helena inquired.
"I am thinking about a surprise for Anya. You will see." Camille replied. As soon as Helena finished setting in the sleeve and the bodice was ready to be attached to the skirt, the maid went down to the storeroom. When she returned, she laid the two pieces of cloth on the bed.
"There it is, Madame. What do you wish done with this?"
Camille bit her thread in two. "I think we might make Anya a riding habit."
"That would please her.” Helena grinned at Camille. "Shall I get one of her dresses to make a pattern from?"
"Yes, please. She is off riding, so we should have enough time to cut one out." Camille threaded her needle. "Say nothing to her about it, please. It will be our secret for the time being. I think Anya would enjoy such a surprise."
Together they laid out the pattern. When they finished, Helena returned Anya's dress to her wardrobe. While they stitched up the hem of the red dress, Camille considered how she might get Anya a hat made to match her dress. There was a milliner in San Francisco. Perhaps if she sent a length of velvet to Leontine, along with the measurements, a hat could be made there and sent up with her uncle on his next voyage.
Camille decided to write a letter to Leontine in the evening. Anya would be pleased. The child might be a little young for such finery, but what harm could come of it? There was no one here of any consequence to comment.
The day passed quietly enough for Camille. She was enjoying the serenity. Life in San Francisco moved along with breath taking speed. There was so much to do there. Here, on Dmitri's island, life swung along with the slow grace of a waltz. New Orleans before reconstruction seemed tuned to much the same dance step. She found it interesting that the island’s pace suited her more than that of San Francisco. Too much dashing about left her feeling exhausted.
Anya was on time for lunch. The child bubbled over with questions for Camille. Stories of life in the big cities of New Orleans or San Francisco were what she most wanted to hear. She absorbed everything Camille told her and pleaded for more.
With a laugh, Camille shook her head. "I have work to do cher.' We can talk about these things later." Camille smiled at the child. With her guard down Anya was far easier to deal with. As the girl skipped out of the dining room, Camille went back upstairs to sew.
The last stitch went into her dress after lunch. Together she and Helena laid out the pattern on the velvet and cut out the riding habit. As Helena rolled the material up inside the muslin to conceal it from Anya, Camille cut bands of the black silk for trim.
The silk would accent the dark green of the velvet. She set aside a large scrap of the material for Anya's hat and added a piece of silk to the bundle. That should give the milliner more than enough to fashion a proper hat.
A slight headache from the strain of sewing had Camille rubbing her temples. It was a demanding chore, keeping her stitches the exact length necessary for holding the seams together. She called a halt and leaned back in the chair to ease the pain in her shoulders from bending over the cloth. She and Helena planned to work on the blue cambric morning dress the next day.
Camille sent Helena down to the kitchen for wrapping paper and string. Then Camille went to her room, taking the material along. When Helena returned with the items she requested, Camille wrapped them up and placed them on her bed. It was time to write the letter to Leontine. Camille excused Helena before sitting down to compose the letter.
An hour later, Camille was holding a long rambling letter, which said little. As she leaned back in the chair, she put down the pen and sat staring down at the paper for a while.
Why can’t I communicate openly with Leontine? She turned the stationary face down on the polished surface of the secretary. Why was she acting so silly? Nothing had changed between herself and her aunt. Leontine never allowed her marriage to Devins to come between them. Why was she unable to write to her aunt, as if they were sitting in the garden in the house in San Francisco, chatting?
Camille rose from the desk and wandered over to a window. The difficulty lay in her conscience. Camille could not lie to Leontine. How could she tell her of the strained circumstances of her nonexistent courtship and hasty marriage? It was not possible to pass over the most important event in her life with a simple sentence.
Leontine knew her and would ask questions Camille could not answer. Further, how could she ask Leontine the questions on paper she could not ask in person? If she could conquer her shyness and ask such questions, would Leontine, while reading, realize something was not right here?
Camille fingered the sapphire blue velvet drapes as she gave thought to the problem. Silence would produce much the same result. Nor could it be a letter filled with the tripe she had produced. She must write something meaningful to Leontine.
Camille returned to the secretary and tore up the letter. It was time to write another. And she would do better.
She could tell her aunt about Dmitri, how handsome and kind he was, most of the time. If she worded it right, Leontine might get the idea she married for more material reasons. It would not hurt to give her aunt the impression that marriage much like Leontine's own had taken place between her and Dmitri. Camille made it her goal for this letter.
He was a widower with a child to raise, a daughter needing a woman's hand. A marriage of convenience was something Leontine could understand and appreciate.
She wanted nothing to change in the relationship she and her father's baby sister shared. They were more akin to sisters and Camille wanted no walls erected between them.
First, she described the house. Then she told Leontine about the servants, who were more family than retainers. She wrote to Leontine of the island, the areas she had seen. When she felt the letter was good enough to still any reservations her aunt might have about her sudden marriage, Camille took it over to the chaise to reread it.
Finished, she nodded to herself, Camille felt satisfied with her effort. This version was much better. Leontine could see something of her new life now. Pleased with herself, Camille placed the letter in one drawer of the secretary, then went downstairs. She asked Tatiana if she had any idea when the next south bound ship might stop by.
Tatiana was dusting the furniture in Dmitri's study. The older woman shook her head. "We have no way of knowing, Madame. Several vessels stop here, both on the northern leg of their journey and the return trip. Sometimes the Count sells either furs or lumber to the captains. And at other times, he gives them orders for goods he needs. We always provide them with a safe harbor during storms."
The gray haired woman turned to the window. She motioned to the point of land at the far side of the bay. “Sometimes a pennant is flown on the point, requesting a ship sto
p here. The Count does not fly a flag unless it is imperative. The green flag requests a southbound vessel, the blue one, northbound."
The old housekeeper shrugged. "We will have to wait."
Camille resigned herself to being subject to the whims of the weather and the captains of the ships Tatiana mentioned. As she had no control over the matter, there was nothing more to do. She would not worry about it. Camille looked through the bookshelves for something new to read.
She discovered a book she had not noticed before. A novel, the author, based the story on the French revolution. Camille curled up in a chair and opened the book. Fascinated, she became caught up in the story and did not realize how much time passed, until Tatiana called her to dinner.
Impatient to return to the story, Camille ate and went to her room with the book. She read for a while until Helena came up to help her prepare for bed. Camille had found it possible to evade Helena’s morning ministrations by rising early.
She hoped her ladies maid might let the situation continue. But there was no hope of avoiding what Helena considered a ritual of utmost importance, readying her for her husband, even when he was not present.
As Helena brushed out her hair, she appeared to be less talkative than usual.
"Are you tired?" Camille inquired.
Startled, Helena met Camille's eyes in the glass. "No Madame. But I miss my son. In the evening, he walks me home. With him gone, the house is too lonely."
"Where has your son gone, Helena?"
"Why Madame, surely you know, Alexis is my son."
"No one mentioned it," She asked herself if she would ever know what went on in this closed community. However, there was no reason for the older woman to go home alone.
"Helena, just stay here in the guest room, until Alexis returns. I do not want to worry about you walking home by yourself."
"Thank you, Madame." Helena braided Camille's hair. Then she tied the ends together behind Camille with a ribbon.
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