Brown. . . . Anna felt a sharp sensation at her heart. The word was a knife and it had done its damage before she could take the five or six steps to her child. Brown eyes. She became dizzy. The child had his father’s eyes! She had known it. She had seen the change begin. And yet she had denied it, praying it was not true. But for someone else to confirm it now, denial was impossible.
In her panic to get to her child, Anna stepped away from the table so quickly that the large bowl that held the dough crashed to the floor with a great clatter.
Anna watched Babette as she entered her room on some errand. It seemed that each day the maid wore some new article of clothing or jewelry, so Anna came to suspect that she was quickly spending the money she had given her. If she felt any grief for her children, her deportment gave no evidence of it. Anna had planned to give her another sum, one large enough to make her old age comfortable, but she thought better of it now. She was a free woman, Anna reasoned, and servant on occasion to other noblewomen besides Zofia, so that with her makeup and hairdressing talents, she could accumulate her own reserves for her later years. Perhaps she was doing so, but such did not appear to be the case.
Anna noticed that Babette held a package neatly wrapped in white paper and held with red ribbon.
“It is a gift,” Babette was saying, “from Count Stelnicki.”
Anna’s heart raced. “Jan?” She had thoughtlessly blurted out his first name. “Is Count Stelnicki here? Downstairs?”
“No, Madame. It came by messenger.”
“Oh.” Anna smiled, hoping to mask her disappointment.
She waited until Babette was gone before she opened the package. In it she found the most beautiful silk baptismal gown and cap for Jan Michał. Anna had been putting off Aunt Stella, declining to set the date of the baptism until Jan answered her letter asking him to attend and act as godfather to her son.
Anna found her answer in the form of a written note. She opened it, taking in Jan’s neat and broad strokes. For just a moment she thought about the letter that Zofia must have intercepted so long before, the letter that would have made her wait for Jan, the letter that would have kept her from marrying Antoni. She continued to be haunted by it.
The message was short. It was the Stelnicki family christening gown, and he hoped she would use it for Jan Michał. Anna was touched. She held it up and admired the skill it had taken—how many years ago?—to make something so beautiful. There was a yellowness to the white silk, of course, but that only enhanced its worth. She held it to her cheek for a moment.
When she glanced back down at the note, her heart dropped. Jan was needed in Kraków. Something to do with the cause. He would be honored to act as godfather, he wrote, but he was not a Catholic. She must have forgotten.
Anna sat quietly for some minutes. No, she hadn’t forgotten. She just hadn’t made the connection. The only thing that mattered—then and now—was that should something happen to her, her son would be in Jan’s hands. She sighed. Of course, he was right: the Church would not allow him to stand for Jan Michał. The baptism would go forward and Jan was not even able to attend! Disappointment coursed through her. She could hear the sounds of a carriage in the street, her son in the next room giggling at something, the cheerful maids in the kitchen preparing supper. The moment held significance only for her. Everywhere else about her, life went on.
She pressed the soft silk cloth to her lips.
Anna had chosen the baby’s second name in honor of Baron Michał Kolbi, and it was he who stood as godfather for Jan Michał. A friend of Anna’s, Helena Lubicka stood as godmother. She was daughter to Duke Lubicki, who managed Anna’s family assets.
Before the group had left for the Cathedral, Zofia begged off. “I just know,” she laughed, “the place would fall in on us should I attend. And who would pay for the breakage of all that splendid stained glass?”
But Anna suspected that she was miffed at not being asked to stand as godmother. Even though Zofia had come to show a genuine attachment to the child, Anna had not considered her. Neither did she regret her decision.
Jan Michał Grawlinski was baptized and proclaimed free of the devil. He did not even whimper as the water ran over his head and face.
The Cathedral was chilly though it was late May, but there was some unnamable warmth there in the iridescent light that shone in through the windows, falling on statues of saints and the great gold cross above the altar. It was a warmth that made Anna mindless of any cold. It was, she thought then, the presence of God.
During her son’s christening, she herself felt . . . what? An awakening? She remembered how her father had taken her aside one day to tell her that the founder of their house—the man ennobled by King Jan Sobieski—had come from a Jewish background. It was something of which her mother, a living act of devotion to Catholicism, never spoke. And it was something that had unsettled and confused Anna, carving into her heart doubts about faith. How could she carry within herself the history and tenets of two religions? She sometimes cursed the day her father had told her.
But the sublime peace that had descended on Anna with motherhood seemed also to aid her in her thoughts about religion. Her belief that there is a God flowed from that same Elysian center within her with such a surety that she thought she could face Satan’s army alone and without fear. Jan was right. She had felt it at the Szraber’s wedding and she felt it now. God is in all the churches, she thought. The members of other faiths believe, as do Catholics and Jews. And, Whoever God is, He is there because we believe Him to be there.
Anna thought back to that gloriously alive field in Halicz where Jan had told her that his God was there, in the meadow, in the fields, in the sky. Now she understood.
51
ANNA HAD TO CONSIDER HER future. Zofia’s behavior had not changed. She often stayed out the whole evening and occasionally held wild entertainments at the townhome. Aunt Stella, reduced to a dowager countess, was powerless over her daughter, her objections giving way to a brooding silence. The countess moved upstairs, into Antoni’s old room, in order to keep distance from her daughter and her goings-on.
While Anna tried not to be judgmental about Zofia, she knew she must leave soon. Her father had once told her that if an animal is born in the forest, and not tamed, it may kill a man. Who, then, could hold this animal fully responsible?
So it was with Zofia. If she were somehow tamed, she wouldn’t be as she is, nor would her friends. Neither would the robber steal, nor the killer kill. But for some inexplicable reason, her parents had been unable to tame her.
Once the spring rains and flooding, which had come late this year, subsided and the roads were dried by the summer sunshine, Anna would take Jan Michał to her home at Sochaczew, where he would grow up unaffected by the kind of life found in the city.
Anna wondered if perhaps Aunt Stella would accompany her.
In the interim an invitation arrived from Duke Józef Lubicki, the family friend who managed the Berezowski finances. A Mass and reception was being held to celebrate his mother’s eightieth name day.
On the day of the celebration, Anna squeezed herself into an ill-fitting mourning gown of black taffeta and lace, thinking it was itself a coffin for anyone living. Clarice had arranged her hair in a pleasing upswept style, held by amber barrettes, but once the black veil was in place the maid’s handiwork was hidden.
Lutisha knocked and entered. “Madame, Lady Helena Lubicka has arrived.”
“Show her up, Lutisha. Does Marta have Jan Michał ready?”
“She does.”
Helena had been only too willing to pick up her childhood friend. Anna had not wanted to ask Zofia for the use of her carriage; doing so would have meant having to extend the invitation to her, something she wanted to avoid at all costs. It was a safe wager that her cousin would refuse going to Mass, but she was unpredictable.
Helena swept into the room.
At Jan Michał’s christening, Anna had been taken by surprise wit
h the appearance of the duke’s daughter. It had been two Christmases since she had seen her, and the transformation was profound. Even if Helena were a bit too large of bone to be considered classically beautiful, Anna thought her stunning, with her shimmering black curls that framed a face with sculpted features. Her complexion was as white as porcelain, her cheeks pink roses. A tiny maid dogged her footsteps, tending the train of a gown of ivory lace.
“You look lovely, Anna, even in black.”
Anna stiffened slightly. “Thank you, but look at you, Helena, you’re so beautiful!”
Downstairs, another maid of the Lubicki family already held Jan Michał, who was dressed in blue. The stout maid waddled off to a carriage that would take her and Jan Michał directly to the Lubicki mansion, rather than to the Cathedral.
Anna and Helena sat alone in the two-seat carriage headed to the Cathedral.
“Your child is beautiful, Anna,” Helena said. “Such an alert baby.”
“Thank you.”
“These days must be hard for you. For so much to happen in such a short time.” Helena pursued the subject of Anna’s unexpected marriage and the untimely death of her husband.
Anna’s responses were evasively minimal, and she steered the subject toward Helena and the two suitors she was keeping at bay.
Presently, the carriage came to an abrupt halt amidst the din of a crowd.
“Help!” a muffled voice called out. “Help me!”
Helena lifted her window shade and the two friends peered out at the street scene. A little bridge just ahead was crowded with animated people.
“What is it?” Helena called to her driver.
“Someone has fallen into the gutter, milady, and they’re trying to fish him out.”
The refuse-strewn trench was filled to overflowing because of the spring flooding, and the luckless man had fallen in at a deep point. His blackened face was scarcely visible above the fast-moving mucky stream, but his terrified voice made his presence known.
The victim was holding onto a rope held by several men on the bridge. Slowly, they pulled the man up the several feet to the bridge, laying hold of him then, and lifting him to safety.
When he stood shakily on the little bridge, his head a sheep’s wool muff of black ringlets, he tried to free the grime from his eyes with his fists.
The tension of the crowd lifted. One woman called out in a shrill voice: “The fool was dancing across the bridge,” she screamed, punctuating her words with robust howls, “and danced himself—right into the gutter!”
The crowd roared with laughter.
“To cleanse himself,” someone shouted, “maybe he should dance himself into the Vistula!”
In contrast to his blackened face, his white teeth were revealed now in a silly smile bearing witness to his own comedy.
The happy throng slowly started to disperse, as if hesitant to go about the drudgery of their daily lives. While the bridge was being cleared, Anna thought how splendid it was to witness the good nature of the Polish people. Could these same simple souls take part in anything as bloody as what was occurring in France? No. This little episode made her realize that people in Warsaw were like those in Sochaczew, or Halicz. The disposition of the peasants, even in hard times, was uniquely peaceful.
Helena was just about to draw the shade when an open carriage pulled next to theirs in a rude attempt to get to the bridge first. Seated amidst a variety of gaily-wrapped packages and in an orange dress that mushroomed up around her was Zofia. Next to the hatless countess sat a handsome young gentleman who must have been her current companion and gift-giver. Zofia held her head high and her gaze forward, her apple-red mouth moving in lively conversation.
A number of the peasants paused to gawk at the sight.
“I wonder who that vulgar woman can be,” Helena whispered.
Anna drew back from the window. “What does it matter?” she asked. “I do hope this delay hasn’t made us late for the service.” She sat very straight, her shoulder blades touching the cushioned support, which started to vibrate now with the first forward motion.
Anna and Helena were the last to arrive for the noon Mass. The Angelus bells were already tolling their final notes as the two friends hurried up the stairs of St. Jan’s Cathedral. Helena ushered Anna up to the front where the family sat.
The Cathedral was warm and stuffy, the service interminable. That Anna had to leave Warsaw was clearer than ever. She had been ashamed to witness her cousin Zofia’s boldness in dress and manner. And now she was ashamed that she had not acknowledged Zofia’s identity to Helena. What should she have said? Yes, Helena, that vulgar woman is my cousin.
She would leave Zofia to her own devices. One day, Anna was certain, Zofia’s beauty would fade, and her men and fortunes would fall away from her like leaves from a tree in winter. She would need Anna’s help then. Would Anna be so selfless as to give it? She hoped so.
The priest’s monotone was passing over Anna like steady waves on a distant seashore, until she heard mention of both her maiden and married names come from the altar. The Lubickis, it seemed, had instructed him to say prayers for the soul of her husband.
She knelt straight as a rail, sensing many eyes upon her, and wishing she were anyplace but there.
Outside, Anna drew in the cooler air. It was sunny and the brisk winds of late spring swirled around them as Helena guided Anna to her parents on the Cathedral steps. The elderly dowager countess wasn’t present, as she rarely left the family home.
Helena’s mother, Duchess Ada Lubicka, was still beautiful at fifty and a high brown wig added to a youthful effect. When she smiled, the years fell away. Always very emotional, she was now on the verge of tears. “Oh, Anna Maria,” she whispered, clasping her, “my dear, dear child.”
Duke Lubicki seemed much older, with his milk-white hair and deeply-lined face. Anna’s father had always chided him for worrying too much about business matters. Anna thought it was just such concerns that had aged him. He offered Anna his condolences on the loss of her husband.
Anna thanked him, attempting to smile. She hated the charade of mourning Antoni. It was, like the ignorance she had to assume earlier when she did not acknowledge Zofia to Helena, another mask she had to wear, more uncomfortable than the constraints of the tight, black dress.
“Who could have predicted,” the duchess was saying, “on that last Christmas together, your family and ours, that it would come to this?”
Such sympathy chafed. While Anna dearly loved the Lubickis, her mourning made her feel so duplicitous that she asked to be excused from the reception, saying she would collect Jan Michał and go directly home. The Lubickis, however, would not hear of it.
And so began the descent down the Cathedral steps with the Lubickis, Anna watching the cascades of men and women moving down and away in waves of reds, yellows, blues, and greens flowing down toward their carriages, their coachmen at attention. She had not seen such a group since the king’s supper.
Anna thought the newly built Lubicki city mansion more a palace. At the entrance her eyes were fastened to the geometric designs in the neat brick walk. Several of Warsaw’s red squirrels caught her eye as they romped on the thick grass, chasing one another from tree to tree. On every side of the house were shaded gardens—crazy quilts of lush, spring flowers—alive with chattering guests.
Helena hurried Anna upstairs, where the hostess pulled from her wardrobe a lovely dress, a gauzy creation in royal blue.
“It’s beautiful!” Anna said.
“I’m glad you like it. Put it on.”
“What?”
“Put it on. I’m uncomfortable just looking at you in that black crepe.”
Anna smiled. How had she known? Discarding the black might mean answering fewer questions about her loss. And the blue gown was so beautiful. She acquiesced.
When Anna stood facing the full-length mirror, Helena stood behind her, beaming. “You look wonderful, Anna!”
“Merci,�
�� Anna said, turning and dropping in a mock curtsey.
Helena laughed but quickly sobered. “Anna your parents have been gone for some time now. Over a year, yes? And you may contradict me or even hate me for saying this, but I have the feeling that the loss of your husband is not so terrible. I’m speaking out of turn, I think— ”
“You are, Helena,” Anna said, “but you’ve made your point and I promise you I shall enjoy myself today!”
The friends descended the curved staircase, their gowns sweeping across the ebony floor of the massive reception room, as silk over glass. They moved toward the clear glass doors to the gardens, Anna’s eyes lifted in distraction by the relief of painted cherubs flying against the azure of the ceiling.
Anna visited her son in the servants’ quarters and nursed him before the meal was announced.
The luncheon might have rivaled any at the Royal Palace. Anna had a place of honor at the Lubicki table, which fronted many long rows of elegantly-set tables accommodating at least two hundred guests. The tall, elegant French windows ushered in glorious light and spring scents from the garden.
The old Duchess Lubicka, with her toothlessly winning grin, seemed a delighted child as the endless parade of platters and trays began.
Later, the dowager duchess motioned Anna toward her, as if in confidence. “They think my eightieth may be my last,” she clucked, “but I shall fool the lot of them. I’ll see eighty-five yet!”
Anna laughed. “I have no doubt you’ll see ninety. Tell me, Lady Lubicki, what is the secret to your long life?”
The woman grinned. “Whimsy!”
“Whimsy?”
“Yes, Anna. Follow your heart. Indulge your whims. They are usually correct. And when they are not, do not allow the world to judge you overly much.”
“It is a good philosophy,” Anna said, watching the woman swallow a small glassful of Polish vodka. And one, she thought, Zofia had already carried to the extreme.
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