He told her some things about the natives of the Yenisei River. Jurekovitch did not have much good to say about the Osytak people. Knowing how the Russians and the Tlingit tribe had gotten along, Anya did not pay much attention to those comments. How much of what he knew about the natives was fact? How much was speculation on his part? Anya was doubtful she would get an opportunity to discover anything about them on her own. But who knew? She certainly was curious.
The river remained navigable for many miles. It was the chief means of transportation for those who lived in the taiga. Jurekovitch told her of the exile of certain political factions unlucky enough to have displeased the government. To those who had lived all their lives in the city, she could imagine this place of exile would be frightening.
Here, she felt comfortable, as the country reminded Anya very much of the forests of Alaska. She noted the birch and willow among the spruce trees. Once, she caught sight of a ptarmigan on the bank.
And there were ravens. There were always ravens. In places where a predator had made a kill, they squawked and complained at each other. Noisily, the birds argued over which one was getting more than its fair share of the bounty. They glided and swooped around the steamboat, hoping some unlucky creature would be injured by the paddlewheel and become lunch.
In a way it was comforting to know that although there were differences, many things were the same. The northern forest of Russia was filled with recognizable animals and plants. Were it not for the circumstances of this trip, she would have enjoyed it.
On waking the next day, Anya knew the weather was changing. There was a hazy look to the sky outside the porthole. The trees were beginning to sway in the gathering wind. She dressed in her now clean clothing and went out on deck.
They had been making good time upstream. With the change of the weather, the wind was now against them, as well as the current. Still, ravens flew with the steamer. Now, they cavorted in the gusts. Anya walked toward the bow of the vessel, unmindful of the strands of hair which had come loose from the knot she had tried to contain it in.
It was a day to lift the spirits. Something was changing, she could feel it. It was not just the weather, something else was different. Anya no longer felt the oppression that had been like a blanket subduing her spirit. Jurekovitch held her captive for now.
It would not last. She could not fly as the ravens did, up and over the obstacles. That did not matter, she would overcome. There was a line of clouds in the distance. The wind was now coming from the Southeast. It was coming from her home.
This land, as magnificent as it was, was not her home. The blood of adventurers, Russian and Tlingit, stirred in her, buoying her up. A tide of determination swelled within the young woman. This would pass, something good would take its place.
Jurekovitch watched as the woman made her way to the bow. She stood there in the path of the wind, which blew her clothing and long tendrils of the dark red hair in swirls about her.
Perhaps they would not come for her. Then, he would keep her. She was tall and slender. He could see the outline of her body as the wind molded the cloth to her. She was a prize, one he had already taken. But he could not call the messenger back. The plan was in motion.
Today they would reach the place where they would be docking. The steamer had lost a bit of headway, so it would be somewhat later than he had planned. From the dock they would ride down the rutted road to the estate.
All the roads in this part of Siberia were nothing but trails gouged out of the forest. There was little that could be done to keep them packed hard. The spring thaw took its toll, then once the roads dried out, ruts remained. He wondered what she would think of her family's old estate.
The small settlement that formed the river approach to the estate was reached by evening. Jurekovitch banged on the door of a little log house. He ordered the son of the older couple to bring around a small cart. They bounced down the rutted road for some time, driving past cultivated fields.
A large cleared meadow with a big two story house in the middle of it came into sight. It was made of logs, which had been carefully joined to form the walls of the structure. It was constructed in the same fashion as the log home on Bressoff Island. But, it was far older and needed repair.
At one time it must have been painted a bright white. There were places where the silver gray color of the logs shown through splotches of dingy white. It had the look of a birch tree in a way, with light and dark areas here and there.
Anya wondered how long it had stood on this spot. Certain the man who rode beside her could tell her, she started to question him. Thinking better of it, she kept silent. There were out buildings scattered around the back of the house. One particularly large one, appeared to be a stable, or barn.
The cart pulled up to the door where Jurekovitch extricated himself. He waved his hand toward Anya. "Come boy! Help the Countess Bressoff from this thing, then you may be on your way."
It was as if he were announcing to the world at large that he had done something spectacular by bringing her here.
The young man did not speak. After helping her from the cart, he turned it around and urged the horse back the way they had come. Anya and Jurekovitch were left to make their way inside the house in the receding light. He threw open the door as he motioned her to enter.
"Welcome to your ancestral home! And now, Countess, what shall I do with you?
Jovan was careful to keep the bag in a safe location. Jurekovitch's instructions had been concise. As soon as possible, he was to deliver the bag to the address he was given. Jovan's relief would be arriving on the ocean going steamer and the steward would be home in St. Petersburg for a few weeks.
Jurekovitch had paid him well for this short mission. Jovan was quite happy to see the vessel waiting for them in the Yenisei delta. Unfortunately, his replacement was ill therefore, he would be working a second trip up and down the river.
A regular seaman he was somewhat acquainted with, was preparing to take shore leave. The man was going home to St. Petersburg. Jovan cornered the sailor in the crew's quarters.
"Lel, I have a small favor to ask of you. I am willing to pay of course." Lel looked carefully up and down the corridor. "This is not...?"
"Nothing of that nature, no. One of our regular passengers has asked me to deliver this valise to the home of an acquaintance in the city. I have the address. There is nothing of an illegal nature here. You know the man of which I speak, Mr. Jurekovitch. I believe the valise belongs to the young lady he was escorting up river."
Lel thought for a moment. "I do not think it would be a problem. How much are you prepared to pay for the delivery?"
Jovan took half of the sum Jurekovitch had given him and passed the money to Lel. "Here! I would wait and do this myself, but the gentleman did ask for it to be delivered as quickly as possible. Since I must stay on." Jovan spread his hands wide.
"I see." Lel counted the money. Not bad for a walk. He thought.
"Here is the place it must be delivered to. The acquaintance works odd hours, so we are to put it in the back garden on the door step."
Lel glanced up at Jovan questioningly. "You are sure this is nothing which will cause me to become involved with the authorities?"
"Lel how many years has Mr. Jurekovitch been making trips with us?" Jovan asked impatiently.
"Many years I think. Perhaps, many more years than I have been assigned to this vessel." The seaman replied.
"Correct! Now, will you undertake this for me, or shall I just wait and do it myself later?"
Lel took the map and reached out for the small piece of luggage. "I will do it."
Happy to be back in the city, Lel strode away from the dock. The money was in his pocket and the small valise fastened to his duffel bag. He was feeling very dry. A vodka, or two would be nice before heading home to his wife and son.
Raina would surely confiscate the balance of the money as soon as she knew about it. And she was sure to know abou
t it, as the valise could not be hidden. So he would get his portion before heading home.
Lel met an old shipmate in the tavern he chose to stop in. The hours passed too quickly along with too many toasts to shipmates, dead and gone.
Neither Lel, nor his mate was instrumental in starting the fight. Innocently drinking at a table, they were unfortunately, in the way of the big stevedore who slammed into them.
Lel found himself in the middle of a brawl. Punching his way out of the tangle of men swearing and pounding on each other, was the only way he could get out of the melee. Before he accomplished his goal, he was bleeding from a gash on his forehead along with a fairly deep cut on his hand.
On reaching the outside, he stumbled along as quickly as he could, Lel knew he needed to get clear of the place. Raina would break the other side of his head, if he were to find himself in jail. Reaching into his pocket, he discovered there was little left of the money Jovan had given him for the delivery.
He did not think he had spent it all. Perhaps some one in the crowd had been relieving men, intent on fighting, of the money in their pockets. It was a good thing he had not put all the change in one pocket. It was also good that his pay packet was carefully concealed in his duffel. At least she would not have that to lecture him about.
Lel wondered off handedly if there might be a bit of money in the bag. It did not rattle so he thought if there was anything in it, perhaps it would be bills. If anything of real value was in the bag, a little removed for delivery, might not be missed.
Moving carefully down the dark street, the slightly befuddled sailor stopped when he found a tavern with a bit of light coming out of a small window. Lel turned to the side so his delving into the bag would not be noticed. Blood had dripped down his face, making it difficult to focus. With one large hand, he scraped the blood off before reaching inside the valise.
Shuffling the papers around which he glimpsed inside the bag, he was forced to turn it to one side so the faint light illuminated the contents. Pushing the papers around, Lel finally was able to inspect the bottom of the bag.
"Nothing" Lel closed the bag dejectedly. It was time to go home. Stumbling now and again, the burly man made his way down the street.
Raina was not pleased. "Fool!" She pulled him inside the small apartment, almost banging his already aching head, against the doorframe.
"I have been waiting for hours. I thought perhaps...and then here you come! Bloody and quite likely penniless as well!"
She ordered him to sit at the small kitchen table while she got a wet rag. Still raging at him, his wife proceeded to clean his torn forehead and hands."
"Raina. I took great care to put my salary in the duffel bag. I agreed to do a favor for the steward, Jovan. He gave me a bit of money. I stopped for a small drink where I met an old friend."
"An old friend who beat you and took all the money!"
"Not so!" He took her hands in his. "Be still for a moment."
"Let me fix this before you bleed all over my clean kitchen."
"Do what you must." Lel sighed as he released her. "We were both just leaving when a fight broke out at another table. I had to fight my way out of there before the authorities came."
She nodded. "Well at least that was intelligent on your part."
He reached into his shirt pocket. Lel pulled the map, along with the balance of the money out and held it out to his wife. "Here! Take the money. Tomorrow we will have Niko deliver the bag and be done with it."
Raina took the money with a smile. "Good! Good, there is something left for your trouble. Niko is to take this bag and leave it?"
"Yes, but at the back door in the garden where it will not be a temptation. After all there is nothing in it but papers."
"You looked?" With the rag in one hand, she stopped to stare at him.
"Certainly I looked. I want no trouble with the authorities!" Lel winced when his wife patted a cloth saturated with vodka on his wounds.
The next day Niko faithfully delivered the bag to the backdoor of the residence in a very nice part of the city. After dropping it off on the stoop, the boy scampered off. The delivery was made as required
Jurekovitch probably thought she would not give him any trouble, being too far from civilization to do so. He confined her to one suite of rooms by removing the doorknob from the inside of the door. Only the stub of the connecting rod protruded inside.
There was no running water at the house, much the same as on Bressoff Island. A wash basin, pitcher and chamber pot made up the facilities. Anya smiled to herself, doubting he would be willing to manage the upkeep of those items. Either he would be forced to let her take care of it, or he would need to get a housekeeper, if he did not already have one.
From the state and condition of the rooms when she arrived, Anya doubted the man kept any full time staff. The fields and the surrounding homes all belonged to the peasants who now owned the land outright. That meant the former manager would need to pay someone to come in to attend to things which had been part of their obligatory service previously.
Jurekovitch surely needed money. The house was sorely in need of not just regular maintenance, but upgrading as well.
Her father's decision to give the peasants their land and close the estate made perfect sense. Why had Jurekovitch become so enraged at what was a realistic business decision? There was more here than she was being told and it was doubtful the man who had been relieved of duty would tell her much.
There was also the question of why the man had not moved on to another position. It was not like her father to leave someone who had served him well without any means of support.
Served him well. Anya thought that phrase might hold the key. Had the manager really done his job in an honest and forthright manner?
Anya wondered if any of the peasants would know something of this. If this estate was anything like Bressoff Island, then everyone knew everything. Getting to someone who could answer the questions she needed answers to might be difficult.
Choosing her moment was essential, she must be careful. If only she could convince Jurekovitch to let her go outside. He knew nothing of her history, so he could not know letting her roam about freely could be a very huge mistake.
It was after the evening meal that Anya discovered he did employ a part time cook and housekeeper. The woman cooked filling, if not great meals. While the two of them were eating, the facilities in her suite were cleaned, so Anya did not meet the woman.
During the meal, she chatted with Jurekovitch about this and that. He was not disposed to allow her to roam the estate at will. But, she was able to get him to agree to take her on a walking tour the following day.
Jurekovitch opened the door for her fairly early in the morning. He advised her to put on her coat, as it was somewhat chilly. They walked out behind the house.
"This is all that is left to the estate." He waved one hand around to include the outbuildings and near the very back of the meadow, what appeared to be a watercourse.
"Is that a stream?" She pointed to a very lush area, which seemed to head in the direction of the river.
"It is. Here you see, we have a bit of a kitchen garden." With one hand he indicated an area enclosed with a log fence. "If we do not keep the fence up we will have no vegetables. The rabbits and other vermin will eat everything."
"Keeping it up must be a demanding task. Do you have any help?" She asked as they walked past the enclosure further out into the meadow.
"Oh I have some resources, meager as they may be." The man fell silent.
The fireweed and meadow grasses which they were walking through reached as high as her knee.
Anya noticed a cow and a few chickens. "Are those yours?" She pointed to the fowl busily scratching around in the yard.
"They are. But if they are not kept in at night, the foxes and weasels will have my chickens and I will have no eggs."
"It is that way on the island as well."
"You live on an is
land?" The man turned to stare at her.
"I thought you knew that! Yes we do and the home we have there, is not so different from this one. We never bothered to paint the logs, but it is very similar."
"That apartment in St. Petersburg was nothing like this." Jurekovich swished his walking stick through the grass. Several small butterflies rose up and flew away.
"Yes, nothing like it at all. That was my husband's doing. I had no say in the matter."
"Which is as it should be. Women are to obey....." He began.
Anya cut Jurekovitch's words off. "Obey their masters! I have heard it all before! It sounds no better coming from you than from my husband."
All talk ceased as they walked toward the stream. It was wider than Anya had expected and very rocky. Jurekovitch was smiling as they walked forward to stand on the bank.
"Since you will not be able to alert the Count as to its existence let me show you what I have discovered." He bent down then used his cane to move aside one large rock leaning against an even larger boulder.
"There!" Jurekovitch stood up and pointed to a collection of pebbles in a dense mass at the base of the larger rock. "During the spring runoff there are often small bits of gold, nuggets as well, that collect in depressions such as these. That is how I have been able to maintain the estate up until now. I believe there is more of it further upstream. I do not want to start a gold rush, so I take only what is necessary for food and necessities."
Anya squatted down to peer into the cold clear water. "You certainly would not need to worry about my Father trying to take this away from you. He is much more interested in other things."
The stocky man looked down at her and began to laugh. "I am not so foolish to believe that he would not be interested in gold. I am not an idiot!"
"You obviously do not know Count Dmitri Bressoff very well either!" Anya rose, dusting her hands off as she did. "Perhaps if you gave this some thought you might come to understand that my family is no longer Russian. We are Americans now. My Poppa was not born here; he has no connection to either the title or the land."
Daughter of the Raven Page 9
