Push Not the River

by James Conroyd Martin

  Or she could tell Anna the truth: that she had her own designs on Jan Stelnicki. Doing so, however, meant problems. She wondered if she should chance Anna’s violating the confidence. If Zofia’s parents found out, they would be furious with her. And her intentions would be put to a certain end.

  The almond-shaped black eyes stared into the mirror, searching. She could not escape the question. Did she love Jan? She cocked her head, considering. He was certainly breathtakingly handsome and every sinew held charm. Their mutual attraction was undeniable. In the few months that he had been back from Paris, they had met secretly several times. But two weeks ago—at their last meeting before Zofia accompanied her parents to collect Anna at Sochaczew—she had made a serious miscalculation that put their romance in jeopardy. However, if she had nothing else, she had faith in herself and was certain that her beauty and finesse could—would!—win him back.

  Her eyes peered into the mirror, as if into her soul. Do I love him? She asked herself this question now because, whether or not she did love him, she might very well have to tell Anna that she did. And if it were to be a lie . . . well, she would have to be prepared. She continued to stare, and, ultimately, she was honest with herself: no, she did not think she loved him. The truth was, he fit into her plans. He was going to be of invaluable service to her. His looks and charms were merely dividends.

  She was not about to sign him over to Anna. It was too bad, but she would have to lie and scuttle from the start her cousin’s hopes for romance with Jan. Zofia put her mind to work. She knew from experience that for lies to work effectively, every option, every possibility, must be considered in advance. She would be careful. There must be no blunder.

  Still, she felt the pressure of the clock. At Christmas, she was expected to marry a man she had never met, someone to whom her parents had promised her when she was only an infant.

  Zofia’s blood rose at the thought.

  The world was changing—but too late for her parents. They, especially her father, would not relent unless circumstances somehow forced them to do so. But she could be stubborn, too. And clever. She was not about to sacrifice her youth and vitality to a life of formality with some crushing bore.

  I will not.

  Jan was her ticket out of a life of narrow convention. Her plan was to tell her parents of their relationship once the affair was consummated. If they chose not to cancel the long-standing engagement, she would tell her betrothed herself. But what if he were some spineless creature who didn’t care that she hadn’t saved herself for the bridal chamber? It would be just her luck. What then? If necessary, she would go so far as to claim to be in a family way. As for marriage with Jan, perhaps she would agree to it in a few years. She doubted she could find a better match. Yes, she might love him one day. For now, she longed for freedom, not marriage. She took seriously the jest that one should live wildly for three years before marrying. She didn’t want to play the age-old roles of wife, mother, grandmother—not before she had lived and enjoyed her life. These years were golden ducats to be spent on pleasure.

  Her own parents were conspiring to rob her of her youth. She felt a fierce shiver course through her at the thought of having to live out the obligation. I might as well be dead.

  Zofia’s thoughts came back to her cousin. She sincerely regretted Anna’s peculiar part in this. She liked Anna. It was just that her cousin had unwittingly stepped between two powers greater than herself. No doubt Jan was being his polite and ingratiating self, but he could harbor no real interest in the girl. It was ridiculous. In her innocence, Anna had misinterpreted his attention, pure and simple.

  Oh, the braided, wide-eyed Anna was pretty in her own childlike way, but Zofia had long been aware of her own dark beauty and was unused to any serious competition. At gatherings in the country as well as in the city, she was always the sole focus of attention, attracting men like insects to a flame. Others much more beautiful than Anna had been unable to steal the light from Zofia. No, she decided, the girl posed no real threat.

  Zofia was certain that for Anna’s part, it was just a silly infatuation, no doubt her first. She would let her country cousin down as easily as possible. She will get over it, she mused, for there would be no choice in the matter.

  A timid tapping came at the door. Zofia opened it to find the maid’s daughter standing there, her face pale, her words garbled.

  “What is it?” Zofia demanded. “Did he write? Did he give you a message? Speak up!”

  The frightened thirteen-year-old Marcelina was but a mouse trapped by an owl.

  Zofia grasped her by the wrist and pulled her into her room, shutting the door behind her. “Now tell me what happened!”

  The girl’s eyes were gray discs of fear. “He—he returned your letter, my lady.” Her hand reached into her apron pocket.

  “He didn’t read it?”

  She shook her head.

  Zofia struck the girl hard across her mouth. “Answer me!”

  “No, he would not read it, my lady,” Marcelina wailed as she handed the sealed envelope to Zofia. The tears were coming now and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. “He asked . . . he asked that you please . . . you please—”

  “Yes?” Zofia demanded. She wanted to strike the girl again but held back. “What did he ask?”

  The girl steeled herself. “That you not write to him again.”

  Zofia snatched the letter and stared dumbly at it while the shock passed over her in galvanizing waves.

  Marcelina, expecting to be struck again, began to shake and sob.

  It took Zofia a moment to recoup her presence of mind. “All right, all right, stop it, Marcelina. Stop it, I say! Take this kerchief and wipe your mouth and eyes. You can go now.”

  The girl turned to leave.

  Zofia again locked onto the girl’s wrist. “You know not to say anything about this, don’t you? I swear, Marcelina, if you do I’ll see that my father puts your whole family out. Without a day’s notice. Do you understand?”

  The girl stared in mute despair.

  Zofia took her by the shoulders and shook her. “Do you understand?” she demanded. Her long nails cut into the girl’s flesh.

  Marcelina managed a nod and a whisper. “Oui, Mademoiselle.”

  “Good.” Zofia composed herself now, even managing a smile. “Your accent is improving. Wait now, let me get you one of my ribbons for your hair. I know how you like them.”

  Zofia fumbled through her vanity drawer, but by the time she turned around with the red ribbon, the girl had fled.

  Zofia sank into her chair. Was it possible that he had sent back her letter without even reading it? Jan Stelnicki had rejected her.

  Rejection. The sensation was a new one for Zofia and one she didn’t like. How can this be? she wondered. Her plans were collapsing before they could be implemented.

  What was she to do? Her mind reeled as she searched for an answer.

  Some minutes passed. At last, her hand closed into a fist and crumpled the letter, the long, polished nails coming together. Zofia was not one to send up the white flag on the first volley. She would do something. But what? She just needed a little more time to think out her next move. Things had been going well enough. She and Jan had been getting more and more intimate through their meetings in the forest. Although he played the gentleman, holding his passion in check, she was certain that he loved her.

  She thought back to that last meeting. It had proven a disaster. She had lost patience with his reserve in making love. She was, she realized now, too anxious in securing this physical commitment. Her preoccupation with the timetable for marriage that her parents had set made her so. . . . And his code of behavior was scarcely more modern than that of courtly love in the old French legends. He worried over her honor, he said.

  If only he knew.

  It was on this occasion that Zofia took the initiative in their too-innocent lovemaking, her mouth returning his kiss with undiluted intensity, her hands
working at his sash. Jan was shocked by her aggressiveness, shocked and inexplicably angry. They argued. It was a major blunder on her part, of course. Her forwardness had served only to smother the desire she knew burned within him. Their parting—just before the Gronskis traveled to Sochaczew—was unresolved and unhappy. But she was certain that his reaction was an eruption of male pride, a pride of the moment that would settle in the ensuing weeks.

  Evidently, it had not lessened. Zofia had sorely misjudged him. Her mind came back to the present, her eyes focusing on the sealed envelope. Why had he not even read her letter? Angrily, she tore it into little pieces.

  She sat quietly seething for several minutes. Might there be something more to his behavior? she wondered. Was it her planned marriage that put him off? He had known of her long-standing engagement although she had told him of her intention to refuse it at the proper time. Was he afraid of her father? Her fiancé?—Or was it possible that he did not care enough for her?

  She dismissed the last thought immediately. He did love her: she well knew when she made a conquest.

  So what was this ploy of his? How would she manage to see him? She had learned that she could not be too assertive. But how could she do something while at the same time appear not to be taking the initiative?

  Further, this now complicated what she would tell Anna.

  Anna! Zofia suddenly sat forward in her chair. Of course! Her eyes widened at their own reflection. Why hadn’t she seen it immediately? It was exactly what she would do were she in his place. It was so transparent!

  Jan is using Anna to make me jealous!

  What interest could he possibly have in a rustic girl? Anna with her green eyes, braided hair, enthusiasm, and naiveté! It was a silly ruse, nothing more.

  She smiled at her reflection. Well, let him proceed with his plan—she had underrated him, after all. It will serve him right when it backfires, she thought.

  Zofia determined her course of action: she would send no more letters, admit no interest. Her lack of initiative would now bring him back to her. Her confidence, a longtime companion, was restored to her. Jan would come begging.

  And she would let him beg. She would relish every moment of it.

  No, she would not tell Anna of her own involvement with Stelnicki. On the contrary, she would encourage her, just for fun. The girl’s simplicity would be her undoing; why, once her mourning was over, she would probably revert to wearing her village costume. Jan’s boredom with Anna would speed his steps back to Zofia. She laughed aloud, studying her reflection as it seemed to join her in her mirth.

  She still had until December before her time would run out. At Christmas her parents were to execute their plan to marry her off. If the wedding were to take place, it would truly be, she darkly mused, my execution. No, I will beat them at their game and Stelnicki at his, and if Anna steps in the way, well, God help her!

  Zofia knocked and entered Anna’s room without waiting for permission. “Hello, dearest.”

  “Hello.” Anna sat at a small French writing desk.

  “Writing poetry?”

  “No,” Anna laughed. “I keep a journal sometimes.”

  “A diary? What a wonderful idea! I should keep one.” Zofia smiled wickedly. “My guess is that you’re writing of Jan Stelnicki?”

  Anna blushed.

  “I thought so!” Zofia put her hands on her hips.

  “What?”

  “Oh, don’t be coy! Or is it shyness that I detect? Well, that will get you nowhere. Were you taken by him, or not? Just try to deny it, I dare you.”

  “You can be cruel, Zofia,” Anna said, clearly feigning disinterest. “What difference can it make anyway? I’m not likely to see him again.”

  “You mean Mother’s interdict?” Zofia walked mincingly into the room. “I wouldn’t let that worry you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that a resourceful girl like yourself can certainly manage a little flirtation on the quiet.”

  “I should not like to go against your mother.”

  “She needn’t know. Anna, dearest, a year from now you will be of age and managing your own estate. What will it matter then? You are only young once.”

  “How old is Jan?”

  “Too old for you!”

  “Really? Do you think so?”

  “Really?” Zofia mimicked, turning to her cousin with an exaggerated expression. “Do you think so?”

  “Zofia, please!”

  “He’s twenty-five.” Her mouth curled upward as she studied Anna, then broke into a broad, knowing smile. “Why, you are smitten! Aren’t you? He must’ve been in a very charming mood, indeed. He can be most irresistible when he chooses. But be careful, my darling. His moods are as changeable as the weather. But today I can see that he was a Don Juan!”

  Color and excitement pulsed in Anna’s cheeks. “I suppose that every girl must be entranced by him. Aren’t you, Zofia?”

  “Me? No!”

  “Is it his age?”

  “Hardly. I was joking about the age difference, you goose. Why, I’ve already had admirers older than Jan. He and I are but friends. Oh, I admit him to be the handsomest of men, but my taste runs, shall we say, wider.” Zofia’s laugh was sharp and naughty. She was enjoying shocking her cousin. “Why settle for a rose when all the flowers in the garden are yours for the picking?”

  “You’re so beautiful, Zofia. I imagine that you must have many suitors.”

  “Too few here in the country, let me tell you. Ah! but in Warsaw! Well, you would be surprised, I expect. As would my parents. Oh, they are a problem!”

  Zofia began to pace. “Secrecy is impossible in the country, but in the city . . . well, there are ways. Sooner or later, though, I must confront them. Oh, Anna, they expect me to marry some baron’s son whom I’ve never met. It is a union promised by the families years ago, when I was a child. Can you imagine? And he doesn’t even receive his title and property until the old baron is cold in his grave.” Zofia turned back to Anna and let out a great sigh. “The old ways are dead but do my parents know it?”

  “Perhaps you’ll find that you can love him. He may be handsome and noble.”

  “Like your Don Juan?” she scoffed. “You’re a hopeless optimist, Anna. I don’t know how we shall ever get along.” Zofia’s eyes focused now on the glass bird and she moved immediately to it. “Why, Anna, what is this figurine? It’s a dove! Is it crystal?”

  “Yes. I received it for my fifth name day.” Anna stood now, clearly afraid for the safety of the glass treasure. “Papa took me to Warsaw to pick out a doll with glass eyes and real hair, but I fell in love with the crystal bird. Mama had a fit when she saw it.”

  In a flash Zofia scooped it off the dresser and held it to the candlelight, turning it this way and that. “Why it’s lovely, the way the light plays through it.” She sensed Anna hovering behind her. “Don’t worry, dearest, I sha’nt drop it.”

  “I found out only recently that in return for my keeping the dove Mama made Papa promise never to teach me how to ride.”

  Zofia turned to face her cousin. “Why would she do that?”

  “Because I was the only child, she was forever worried about my health. If any of the other expectancies had gone to term, I don’t think she would have been quite so protective.”

  “I dare say you’ll come out of your shell soon enough. And you can start with Jan Stelnicki!”

  “Zofia!” Anna gasped.

  “Oh, don’t play the tepid heroine of one of your books.”

  “You don’t mean to say I should go against your parents?”

  “Of course! As long as you do it secretly.” She carefully returned the dove to the dresser top. “I’m off to bed, darling.”

  “Zofia?”

  She turned again to Anna. “Yes?”

  Anna advanced a few steps. “Will you teach me to ride?”

  Zofia’s eyes narrowed in laughing appraisal. “Why, Ania, you are as transparent
as your glass bird! You want to go riding with Jan, of course. Oh, don’t fret, I shall teach you.” She hugged her cousin. “I love it! This may be your first romance.”

  “I . . . I don’t know how I shall manage it.”

  Zofia suddenly held Anna at arms’ length. “Do you mean to tell me that you never once tried to outwit your parents? You never rode a horse?”

  “Oh, I thought about it. When words wouldn’t work on them . . . well, on Mother mostly . . . I planned a hundred schemes. I even bribed a villager to teach me.”

  “And?”

  Anna dropped her eyes. “I couldn’t go through with it.”

  “Oh, Anna! Out of fear—or integrity?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps it was a mix of the two.”

  Zofia released her cousin. “You may have grown up sheltered, Anna Maria Berezowska, but it is I who would wish to be in your shoes today. You have your title already, and in less than a year you will be in sole control of your life. And I? I’m likely to be an old married woman with the best part of my life behind me.”

  “Oh, Zofia, you exaggerate. Somehow I can’t help but feel that however it turns out, you’ll have your way in the matter.”

  Zofia was caught for a moment by the sincerity in Anna’s green eyes. Then she threw her head back and laughed. “Why, my dear cousin, I shouldn’t be a bit surprised.”

  4

  JAN REMAINED IN ANNA’S THOUGHTS. His laughing smile and piercing blue eyes haunted her like an angelic specter. Zofia’s words of encouragement dallied in her ears, too, prompting in Anna a boldness that made her dare to think she should see him again. Didn’t the goddess Jurata defy custom and law to meet with her fisherman?

  Anna realized, however, that Aunt Stella was no minor problem. She had been adamant. And she was for the time being, after all, her guardian.