Anna removed her boots, first from the injured and swelling foot, then from the other.
Much later, sleep provided an escape.
Upon emerging from the woods on foot, the two horses in tow, Zofia paused and stared vacantly across a clearing.
She still seethed with anger. It had all gone so far wrong. Once again she had miscalculated. She had hoped that the outing would provide for Jan an opportunity to assess her and Anna side by side. Anna, with her rustic ways, would pale by contrast.
Her master plan had been thought out so carefully. In the months since Jan returned from school, Zofia had methodically, secretly, charmingly courted him. She was convinced that a relationship with Jan would help her escape the arranged marriage with Antoni Grawlinski.
Now, if she were forced to marry Grawlinski, it would be her witless cousin’s fault. Anna had ruined her plans. Anna had ruined her life. Damn her!
Zofia blamed herself, too. She cursed the day she told Anna she had no interest in Stelnicki. How could she have known the outcome? And today in the raspberry patch, when she had set aside her pride and confronted Jan with her feelings, he dared to look into her eyes and say that he cared only for Anna.
To think that she had lost Jan Stelnicki to little Anna Maria from Sochaczew! What did he see in her? Was it possible her innocence was a pretense—that she was a little minx on the sly? Anna could not have arrived at Halicz at a worse time. For Zofia—or for herself. Zofia would never forgive her cousin for her interference.
She considered her options now. She knew that she could not reignite Jan’s interest in her, at least not now. Oh, she was confident the day would come when she would pick up that challenge again. For now, though, she would have to find another way of escaping a marriage that was for her an execution.
Somehow, some way, she would engineer a reversal of fortune. Her first priority was clear: she must ruin Anna and Jan’s romance. Anna must never have Jan. She would rather see them both dead.
Zofia did not mount her horse, as she had planned. What hurry was there? She would walk the remaining distance, walk and think. She would use her head. She would find a way out of her troubles. After all, she would not set sight on Grawlinski until Christmas.
And not even then if she played her hand correctly.
Leading her horse, Zofia started walking now, slowly but with direction. The wheel of fortune will turn again, and with the next turn, or the turn after that, I will have my way.
8
ANNA AWOKE STRETCHED OUT ON an endless blanket of leaves, and though she had no appetite she was conscious of rumbling sounds in her empty stomach. Her ankle throbbed dully.
Night had fallen and with it a deathlike silence. A crescent moon and a scattering of stars cast a bluish filter of light. Each ripple in the pond caught the eerily diffused glow, providing the illusion that a thousand translucent eyes were watching her. The spider-like roots of the dead oak appeared to move, slowly, grotesquely.
Anna’s heart contracted. Too many hours had passed. What was keeping Zofia from returning with help?
Huddling so close to the pungent earth, Anna imagined herself the only human in the kingdom. She shivered with foreboding. To breathe the cold night vapors was to breathe fear itself. She would not allow herself to panic. Her mind struck then on the god Pan and how he enjoyed startling travelers through his woods by suddenly jumping out from behind a tree.
At that moment the silence was broken by the sound of crackling leaves. Anna’s eyes became fixed, her body tense. Holding her breath, she slowly turned her head, fearful of what she might see. There, a few feet away at the water’s edge, stood a doe and its fawn.
Anna’s breath silently escaped as she relaxed. In moonlit pantomime the animals leisurely drank, and in the profound quiet their lapping was audible. The deer’s presence somehow made her feel secure.
Anna lay flat and stared at the stars, experiencing now something very strange. She had the very real sensation of leaving her body and floating high above the earth and trees. She could peer down at the pond, at the deer, and at herself. It was as though her spirit had become too light for her body to hold.
After a time the sensation passed and she became sleepy again. She fought to stay awake, for certainly they would be arriving soon to take her to safety. But the fatigue was all-powerful.
A sharp noise jarred her awake. What was it? She tried to clear her head. Praying that help had come at last, Anna sat up, rubbed her eyes and strained to look about her. She could see nothing. A dense cloud covering lay like a pall over the patch of forest, hiding the moon and stars. She listened, thinking that the noise might have been the wind, but there was not the slightest breeze to stir the trees. And she was certain the deer had long since vanished. The thought of wolves chilled her through to the bone. The long-toothed predators were known to prowl the neighboring forests in packs.
Time passed.
The noise had been a product of her imagination, Anna decided. She lay down again, where the earth and leaves provided a warm nest against the raw night.
There! Another sound.
Anna immediately sat erect and shook her head, trying to dispel her drowsiness.
A twig snapped. She had no doubt.
A footstep.
Another.
And another.
“Here!” she cried. “Near the water!”
The noises she heard then did not sound like any horse or man. From the brush beyond the nearby bushes came heavy, shuffling footfalls and strange, grunting sounds. Her vapor-filled mind pictured one of the beasts Jan had told her about.
Her heart and mind raced. What was she to do?
A figure staggered out of the shrubbery. Its size made her seize on the notion that it was a bear, huge and menacing. Fear shot like lightning through her body. With the greatest effort she sprang up and began limping away. Her panic carried her through the thicket that surrounded the pond. She could hear its stumbling steps behind her. Terror numbed her injured ankle now as she ran, faster and faster, her arms flailing blindly against the dark of night.
A root caught her foot and sent her sprawling. Her face struck the rocky earth. White pain exploded within her head and traveled through her entire body.
A powerful grasp pulled at her blouse from behind, ripping it and exposing her back. Pulling at her, the creature moaned incoherently. Anna recognized the stale smell of liquor and knew that her attacker was no animal.
She turned to look up. The shirt he wore was white. His arms were reaching for her. Who is it?
Warm, stinging liquid ran into one eye and she reached up to wipe it away. It was blood, her own.
He grasped her now and she choked out a cry.
The response was a guttural laugh.
I must escape, she thought. I must run! Struggling to her knees first, then to her feet, she managed to twist away from his drunken grip.
Blindly, she fled into the darkness, mindless to the briars pulling at her skirt, the willow branches lashing her face. She ran, stumbled and fell, picked herself up, ran again.
She halted a moment, her heart about to burst, breath coming fast. She could smell the pond nearby, the sharp sweetness of the water lilies unmistakable on the night air. She was situated, it seemed, on a little precipice above the water. She caught her breath: another step and she would have tumbled into it.
Anna turned around. Just twenty paces away the white shirt was moving forward like some nocturnal ghost.
Her heart dropped, for she was certain she was lost.
Then he paused. She knew he was listening for her.
Anna stood motionless, breathless.
Afraid that he might see the pale color of the torn blouse, she sidled toward a nearby tree for cover. Clinging to its trunk, she slowly inched her way around it, never for a moment taking her eyes from the white shirt.
As she moved, she dislodged some pebbles or bits of earth. These she heard slipping from the edge and falling into the
pond with soft, distinct plops.
Damn, damn, damn. Anna’s teeth bit hard into her lower lip. She felt and tasted the flow of blood.
Then, the white shirt moved in her direction.
Anna knew that she was trapped. Her head reeled. She had but one hope. Resolving to throw him into the pond, she stepped away from the tree and directly into his path.
He was nearly upon her with arms outstretched, reaching. When he was but a step from her, she deftly sidestepped him, closed her eyes in the effort, and pushed against his rock-hard form with every bit of strength she could summon.
He let out a little grunt of surprise and began to topple off the ledge. Anna felt a rush of relief and surprise at the strength that coursed through her. But he locked onto Anna’s hand and held fast to it.
Anna crashed into the pond and cold water filled her ears, nose, mouth. The impact broke her captor’s hold.
Lifting her head above the turbulence of the waters, she immediately stood and began to move away from him, making for the other side of the pond. Her clothing and the muddy bottom slowed her pace.
She gave no thought to her attacker. He could drown for all she cared. She hoped he would drown! Her single instinct became survival.
After some minutes, she could smell the thick, sickeningly sweet water lilies which she knew to be near the huge old oak—and a gently rising shore that would afford safety.
On impulse she fell forward on her stomach and forced her arms into the kind of stroking motions she had seen Zofia use. Miraculously, her body moved. Despite the awkwardness of it, she found herself moving along the surface of the water, and a sense of power and hope surged within her now, fueling her.
At last, Anna drew herself out of the mire-filled basin and collapsed. The dry bank was warm life under her wet and freezing body. She lay face down, unable to move, her forehead on the stony earth. She could not focus her mind to any thought. Her back, legs, arms—every part of her that touched the night—seemed to draw into herself cold, cold air.
Suddenly, she felt the weight of the creature on her back.
Her bones snapped as he cruelly jerked her body toward himself.
His breath, so close upon her, reeked of liquor. She thought that he said: “I’ve come for you, Anna.”
“You drunken swine!” Anna cried. But the words made only slight, soundless movements on her broken lips.
Her upper torso was wrenched backward as he pulled and ripped at her blouse. His mouth moved roughly over her lips, neck, breasts.
Anna’s half-stifled screams turned from those of hatred and fear to those of excruciating pain as his full weight crushed against her.
9
COUNTESS STELLA GRONSKA WAS UPSET and angry with both her husband and son. At the afternoon meal Leo had confronted Walter, demanding that he resign his commission and return home to help manage the estate. Walter again indicated that he had no intention of obeying his parents’ wishes.
The countess was relieved that Zofia and Anna were not there to hear the inflamed rhetoric; she assumed that they missed the meal because their daily riding lesson had started later than usual.
Father and son raged at one another, ignoring the countess’ protests. Then the secret that she and Leo had withheld from Walter for so many years slipped out—along with Leo’s resolution to disinherit Walter.
Walter was stunned, of course, and hurt. The countess saw through his false front in the moments before he stormed out of the house.
So the day was already a disaster when neither daughter nor niece appeared for supper. The mood darkened further when her husband found out from Stanisław that a riding party had taken place that day. The countess was livid that Zofia and Anna Maria, who had only just learned how to ride, would venture far—and in the company of Jan Stelnicki. The simple stable master provided a convoluted story of being ordered back to the house with the uneaten picnic lunch.
The countess didn’t like it. Her spine ran cold with suspicion and fear: she knew something was wrong, very wrong.
At last, about twilight, Zofia appeared with the story of Anna’s injured ankle. The countess insisted that she herself accompany her husband, Zofia, and the farm manager in the wagon.
The ride was long and tedious. When the unmarked trail became too narrow for the vehicle, the countess waited alone in the wagon while Zofia led Walek and Leo the rest of the way on foot.
When they returned with Anna in a kind of litter made of a quilt they had brought along, the countess’ worst fears were realized. Beneath the cover, her niece’s body was naked, bruised, and bloody.
The countess gasped. “Is she alive?”
Anna was shaken into consciousness when the wagon that was carrying her to safety came to an abrupt dip in the trail. She lay on her back, wrapped in a heavy, quilted cloth. Overhead passed vague outlines of the treetops. “May the Black Madonna keep her from death’s door,” her aunt was praying in a hushed tone. Anna could hear Zofia whimpering nearby, but she did not have the strength even to open her eyes.
Was she going to die? She thought about death, shivering at the thought of the worms in the earth. Why had the ancient Poles worshipped the creatures? Perhaps it was because no matter how hard one tried to kill the limbless beings, their indomitable hearts would pound on and on.
Her hands moved now over her body, slowly, achingly, and she felt her nakedness. She sensed that those taking her to safety had not undressed her. Her hands moved down, down to where the soreness was unbearable and blood still ran from the rupture. She attempted to grapple with the reality of what had happened.
Anna’s mind’s eye saw herself running with the other girls of Sochaczew, racing away from the river, up the weeded hillside, moving for the road. They were laughing and calling out to one another in mock terror. Run, Anna, run! You must not stumble! You must not fall! Be nimble or Marzanna will get you! Anna held her skirts high, her legs pumping, her heart ready to give out. She was nine that year and her father had allowed her to partake in the Lenten custom of drowning Marzanna in effigy. The local maidens had only just thrown the straw figure of the ancient goddess of death into the river, so that they ran with joy and abandon—but with wonder and fear, too.
The ceremony was to keep Marzanna away for the next year; any girl who fell on the way back to town would not live to see Christmas.
The girls slowed to a walk as they came into Sochaczew, tired but happy and ready for congratulations. They started to sing, over and over:
Death is hanging around
Looking for trouble.
Anna found herself running again, running from some unnamable force that moved toward her from behind. The field in which she ran erupted in fire now, flames flying all about her. Even the mythical Daedalus could not have conceived such a labyrinth, the walls of which threatened to scorch her, turn her to ash. She ran swiftly through the roaring heat. Dancing flames leaped onto her dress, climbing its folds and singeing her skin.
She forced open her eyes.
The fire was reduced at once to a single dancing flame. It belonged to a thick candle on her bedside table. The heat, however, did not dissipate. Her gaze moved down along the bed. There, standing motionless and staring, was Lutisha.
“I’m burning up,” Anna whispered. She closed her eyes, trying to summon the strength to tell the woman to open the windows. Her cracked lips parted, but she could issue no sound.
“You are burning with fever, Mademoiselle Anna,” the old woman said. “Lutisha will mend your health.”
The bed was an insufferable furnace, the blankets coverings that entrapped and inflamed the pain within her.
“Please,” Anna said, “take these covers from me.”
“No!” Lutisha’s voice was sharp. “The night vapors will kill you. You must stay warm, Countess.”
Let go of me! Let me up! Anna struggled to push the covers from her, but she was no match for the powerful arms of the servant.
It started to rain during
the night and the steady tapping against the windows gave Anna the blessed illusion of coolness. Before dawn her mind came into sharper focus and she could hear someone at her side praying. Then she felt her hand being taken and held.
The low whisper she heard was that of Countess Gronska: “If this is the work of Jan Stelnicki, as you said, my dear, he will pay handsomely for it.”
By the time the meaning and gravity of the words pressed a chord within Anna, forcing open her eyes, her aunt was being relieved by Lutisha.
“Your fever is broken,” the servant said. “God be praised! Marta will be bringing breakfast. Is the Countess thirsty?”
She could not believe it. Had she accused Jan?
“I want nothing.”
After changing the dampened sheets, Lutisha lifted Anna into an upright position while she fluffed fresh pillows behind her. The activity provoked a painful paroxysm, but Anna had no energy to resist.
Lutisha was placing a cool wet towel to Anna’s face and neck when the door opened. Anna lifted her heavy eyelids to see Marta enter and deposit a tray on the bedside table. Lutisha’s daughter turned now, gawked blankly at the patient for several moments, curtsied, and left.
The woman’s glance was enough to chill Anna’s blood. What must I look like? Anna wondered. She became determined to make her way to the long mirror at the first opportunity, until she realized that its place on the wall stood vacant. Someone had removed it.
Her nostrils drew in the smell of food and her stomach recoiled. “I can’t eat anything,” she cried.
Lutisha removed the cover from the steaming plate. “Mashed duck livers,” she announced.
“Oh, Lutisha, please take it away.”
“If you do not eat, Countess Anna, you will die.”
If I eat that, Anna thought, I will die. “I can’t. Perhaps later.”
Push Not the River Page 10
