“Anna, our names have already been listed with those of the Confederacy.”
“You were wrong to do that, Zofia. I know there are many who do not agree with the Confederacy, many who will not sign. I have many such friends myself, the Lubickis among them.”
“And Stelnicki, too, I suppose, with his fine uniform! They are all fools inviting their own doom.” Zofia moved around the table to Anna, speaking in a tone at once pleading and superior. “If you don’t think that I am right, tell me, Countess Anna Maria Berezowska-Grawlinska, what should be done!”
“All that I can answer is that we should have no part in this. I ask that you see that your mother’s name, my name, and that of Jan Michał’ are removed from any document supporting the Confederacy of Targowica.”
“Must you see things so simply, Anna? Must you be a fool, too?”
“Your mother and I must follow our consciences. We do not seek the protection of Catherine.”
“But the Poles will not be able to stand up to her!” Zofia stooped near to Anna and took her hand. “Perhaps you and Mother are right. Perhaps the Poles are too much closer to God than other men to fight and make war. Or, perhaps the Polish nobles have been sitting on silks for so long that they no longer know how to make war.”
“Does not being able to fight mean decadence?”
Zofia shrugged. “What all this is, I cannot say. I told you and Baron Michał Kolbi once that I didn’t believe women to be political animals. I still hold to that. What men do in matters such as these, you and I cannot control or influence. . . . But much of Poland will fall, Anna, how much I cannot guess, but it will fall and I will not let us fall with it.” She knelt in front of her cousin’s chair, her black eyes imploring. “You and Mother must comply with me, should you be confronted by the forces of the Confederacy. If you do not, you may die, and my mother may die, and because of your ignorance or stubbornness, we all may die. You have Jan Michał to consider, too, darling.”
Zofia quickly squeezed Anna’s hand and stood. “It’s good that you’re going to the country for the summer. I only hope that you will be secure there once this matter becomes unsafe, as it surely must.”
“I shouldn’t keep the others waiting,” Anna said. She felt torn. There was no use to argue further. They would come to no compromise. While she didn’t agree with Zofia, she felt the genuine concern Zofia had for her mother, her cousin, and little Jan Michał.
“Ah, well, be off and away then!” Zofia gave Anna a quick hug. “But if I should come scurrying to Halicz with angry Russians, Poles, or both biting at my buttocks, please don’t lock your cousin Zofia out of her own home!”
Anna had to laugh with her at the vision.
“Seriously, Anna, if the Russians confront you, tell them you are under the protection of the Confederacy of Targowica. If it is your own Polish patriots, tell them your first love is Poland. But favor the Russians, darling, because in the end the whore will triumph.” Zofia kissed Anna on either cheek. “Godspeed, Ania.”
Anna made ready to leave. “Goodbye.”
“Just one more thing, cousin.”
Anna turned back. “Yes?”
“You will forget him, won’t you?”
“I have few expectations regarding Jan Stelnicki. But, Zofia, what is your interest?”
“My interest?”
“Why are you so concerned? Tell me, do you love him, Zofia?” How long she had waited to ask that question!
Zofia stared at her cousin for several long moments, then shrugged. “Perhaps I do.”
It was Anna’s worst nightmare suddenly realized. The answer she had just heard was the very reason why she had waited so long to ask the question. She felt dizzy. “And when I came to Halicz. . . ?”
“Why did I encourage you to court him?”
Anna nodded.
“It was stupid of me, I admit. Jan and I had argued and I didn’t think your interest in him would harm anyone. It was your first taste of romance and—”
“And you thought your naive little cousin from Sochaczew would pale in comparison to you, is that it?”
“Don’t be so unfair to yourself, Anna.”
“But you have so many men.”
“Jan is uniquely attractive.”
“Then . . . you still have thoughts of having him?”
Zofia’s lips lengthened into a thoroughly wicked smile. “Don’t you?”
Anna stared vacantly. The horses could be heard restlessly stamping outside; the carriage that would take her away from Zofia was ready. She was tempted to run outside without another word.
But she took in a deep breath and faced her cousin. “I don’t underestimate you, Zofia, your beauty or your charm. If it is within your power to win him, so be it. But it seems you underestimated me, once. I suggest to you that you do not make that same error again.”
Anna turned then and walked out of the room, out of the house, leaving a silenced Zofia.
It was on the first of June that she and her son and the countess set off for the south of Poland, a little retinue of two carriages.
Part Five
If there is no wind,
you must learn to row.
—POLISH PROVERB
54
THE SKY REMAINED CLOUDLESS AND the roads blessedly dry so that the two carriages made good time as they trundled to the far south of the Commonwealth.
Anna could only wonder what her stoically silent aunt was thinking. She had to know, as Anna did, that Zofia would never remove their names from the document. Zofia’s presumption, after everything else that had transpired, could only widen the chasm between mother and daughter.
Anna’s own break with Zofia was now political and personal. What right had she to affix Anna’s and Jan Michał’s names to the Confederacy? And did she truly have a notion she could still have Jan? Was it a silly fancy or was it based on anything in fact? Jan had never said a word about any past alliance with Zofia. Why not? Had he been a conquest of hers? If he had cared for her once, might he still?
Now Zofia’s behavior at the pond made sense. Anna had told her cousin of Jan’s proposal, and Zofia reacted by pretending to believe that Anna wished no such serious courting; in fact, she must have been horrified to think he had taken Anna seriously. When the two were left alone picking raspberries, they must have argued—perhaps Zofia had made the advances—and she lashed out at Jan’s indifference by tearing her own blouse and claiming he attacked her. And that charade had initiated a chain of events resulting in the attack on Anna, the child that she carried, and the doomed marriage to Grawlinski. There was, too, the missing letter from Jan that must have been intercepted. Zofia must have taken it without so much as a twinge of conscience! Anna’s eyes were opened now to what lengths Zofia would go in order to have her own way.
Days later, the sight of the white limestone manor house at Halicz with its columned portico was a happy one for both Anna and her aunt.
On the first morning after their arrival, Marta came up to say that a guest awaited her in the reception room. Anna guessed the identity of the visitor but did not question the servant.
She glanced longingly at one of her favorite summer dresses, blue with lace at the neckline and sleeves, then donned her black mourning dress. How glad she would be to be done with mourning.
She collected herself at the top of the staircase, where a large stone eagle rested on the upper newel post. It was a representation of the white eagle, symbol of Poland. As many times as she had passed it on her previous summer’s stay with her relatives, she had never given it any thought. Now she paused to think about the safety of her homeland, touching the rough surface and wordlessly asking the bird to be vigilant.
She imagined now that one of the glass eyes was winking at her, as if to confirm who the visitor was. She smiled to herself at the capricious thought, then quickly moved down the stairs.
Anna came to an abrupt halt at the foot of the staircase when she came face to face with Jan St
elnicki. The deep blue of his eyes seemed to laugh at her.
He bent immediately to kiss her hand. Lifting his blond head, he said, “You were not moving so fast at our last meeting, Anna.”
She laughed. “I was swollen with child then!”
“Swollen, perhaps, but beautiful, nonetheless.”
Anna felt herself blushing. She took in a breath, savoring the dulcet sound of his voice more than the compliment. “Oh, Jan, it’s so good to see you again.”
They were wordless for the long moments he held her hand. Then he led her into the reception room where Countess Gronska was waiting.
Anna could not help but be disappointed. How she longed to talk with him alone! She wanted to absorb his presence. And there was so much to ask him.
“I’ve come to say goodbye, Anna,” Jan said.
Anna had no time to respond to the sting of those words because Marta entered the room, carrying a tray with three glasses of wine.
No one spoke while the servant was present. For Anna, the delay was interminable. Her heart pounded fiercely. What did he mean? Had she waited so long and come such a distance for another goodbye? Was this all life had to offer them? A series of goodbyes while the greater parts of their lives were spent apart.
After the three held their glasses and the servant was gone, Anna said, “Wine in the morning—I shall get light-headed!”
The countess’ smile lasted only seconds. “Jan is to go against the Russians, Anna.”
Jan looked at Anna as if to confirm it. He raised his glass. “To Poland!”
The countess echoed his toast.
Anna scarcely whispered hers. As she raised her glass and sipped, she watched Jan for a long moment. He was going off to fight the Russians. She knew she should be concerned for the country, but all that she could think of was that he might be wounded or killed. Only Jan Michał would ever rival him for an equal portion of her love; however, that was a mother’s love and different from her love—her passion—for Jan. Knowing that he would be in danger brought the fullness of her feelings into focus. Little else mattered. She knew that she would never have such feelings for any other man. She would gladly die for his safety.
Jan was watching her. “Empress Catherine has dispatched troops to Poland to uphold the Confederacy of Targowica and destroy the Constitution. I am to rejoin Kościuszko’s forces sooner than I expected.”
“When do you leave?”
“At noon tomorrow.”
Noon! So little time.
“A Mass is to be said at ten,” he continued, “before we depart.”
“A Mass?” The countess asked, unable to hide her surprise.
“No, Countess,” Jan laughed, “I haven’t suddenly converted. I may one day, but it hasn’t happened yet. Most of the men from my farm are to join up with Kościuszko, so in deference to their leaving, I’ve asked a priest to come to the estate.”
“I see,” the countess said.
“But I will attend and I was hoping that both of you would come to the house for it.”
Neither Anna nor her aunt had to be persuaded further. The matter was quickly decided.
“I know you two have only just arrived, but I must counsel you to return to Warsaw as soon as possible. Things may become unsafe here in short order.”
“Sweet Jesus,” the countess said. The fear and disappointment in her face mirrored Anna’s.
“How is Jan Michał?” Jan asked, as if to shift to a happier subject.
“Fine,” Anna said. “Would you like to see him?”
Jan brightened. “Of course.”
“I’ll call Marta.”
“No, Anna,” the countess said. “Let me go fetch the little one.”
Anna silently blessed her aunt, suspecting that she was deliberately giving her some time alone with Jan.
The two sat on the sofa. Her heart started pounding again. She suddenly became afraid to trust her own emotions.
Jan, however, took the lead in conversation, speaking mostly of the nature of the Russian invasion.
Their little time together was being spent on very important, but public, matters. How was she to divert the conversation to the private concerns of her heart?
Eventually, he realized she wasn’t wholly following him. “What is it, Anna?” he asked, taking her hand in his.
“Do you know of Zofia’s intention?” Anna herself was surprised at how quickly the question came, rolling involuntarily off her tongue.
“Zofia?”
Anna nodded.
“What has she told you?”
“That she loves you.”
Jan gave out with a strange laugh. “Is that what she said? She doesn’t love me. Her great pride’s been hurt, that’s all.”
“Then there was a time when—”
Jan put his finger on Anna’s lips. “Do you love me, Anna?”
“I am only recently a widow. A full year must pass before I can marry again.”
“There are some conventions that would do well to be ignored.”
Was he of the same mind as Zofia? That Anna could flaunt tradition and marry when she chose? “What do you mean?”
“You could come to Kraków. It is safely in the hands of the patriots.”
“Kraków?” Anna’s head spun. What did he mean? That they marry? . . . Or that she merely live with him?
“I ask you again, Anna: Do you love me?”
At that moment, Countess Gronska came into the room, Jan Michał in her arms. Anna could give Jan no answer.
They stood and Jan fussed over the child, the countess joining in. He took and held the baby, making funny faces at him, much as Anna sometimes did. If only this child were his, she thought.
“I must take my leave now,” Jan said after a time, giving the baby over to Anna. “You will both come tomorrow, at ten?”
Anna nodded. Her opportunity to tell Jan that she loved him had come and gone. But there was tomorrow.
“Oh my, I’ve given orders for a good meal,” the countess said.
“My apologies, Countess Gronska, but there is so much to do. With my men joining the cause, I’m closing down the estate.”
“I see,” she said, accepting a kiss on the cheek in reparation. “We’ll see you in the morning, Count Stelnicki.”
“Good. And with luck, it will never be Pan Stelnicki.” Jan turned to Anna. He kissed the baby first, then Anna on both cheeks. “Till mid-morning, then.”
“Till mid-morning,” Anna heard herself say. She would tell him then.
After he was gone, Anna turned to her aunt. “What did Jan mean when he said he wished his name might never be Pan Stelnicki?”
“He didn’t sign with the Confederacy, Anna. If the Kościuszko forces should lose, both his estate and his title will be lost. He will merely be Citizen Stelnicki.”
Anger flared within Anna. “Only God can take his title!”
“Perhaps, dearest. But the long-gathering storm has been unleashed and I fear our way of life will never be the same.”
55
ANNA SLEPT VERY LITTLE. THE meeting with Jan played and replayed in her mind. He had not answered her question about his feelings for Zofia. But then she had not been able to complete it before he put his finger on her lips and asked whether she loved him.
And she had not answered him. Of course, she loved him more than life itself. But what if he and Zofia had been in love? What if she had broken it up? What good could come of that? Or what if Zofia had never declared her love? Might his knowledge of it now make a difference?
By dawn, she could focus on only one thing: she must tell him of her love. And if Zofia loved him, too, well, then it was his choice to make.
The Countess Gronska and Anna ate an early breakfast. Before clearing the dishes from the table, Marta addressed the countess. She was in an agitated state. “Oh, Madame, Walek is insistent on joining the patriot forces though I need him here, and God knows, you do, too! He is no soldier and he is not young anymore.”
“I know, Marta. He and several of the other men spoke to me earlier. I would like to keep them here, but there is too much to lose at the hands of the Russian she-wolf.”
“Yes, Madame.” Tears began streaming down her full cheeks. “I know.”
“Take heart, Marta,” the countess said. “They say ‘Peace does not last without conflict.’ Marta, would you like to accompany us to the Stelnicki home for the Mass?”
“Oh, yes! Thank you, Countess Gronska.”
“Very well. See to it that Stanisław makes ready carts to accommodate any of the other women who also wish to go.”
Marta nodded, wiping at her tears.
“Be glad, Marta,” the countess continued, “that your son Tomasz is too young to go soldiering.”
Marta nodded. “Oh, Countess, that hasn’t kept him from pleading to join his father.”
Anna stood in the downstairs hallway, anxiously awaiting her aunt, who seemed so slow in her preparations. She resisted the urge to call for her, wondering anew about her health. Walek and the other men had already left for the Stelnicki estate. A cluster of women could be heard gathering at the side of the house.
Finally, the countess emerged from her room in her black gown of shining satin. They left the house, Jan Michał in Anna’s arms, a light blanket covering his face against the heat of the morning sunshine. The covered two-horse carriage stood waiting, old Stanisław holding the door. Behind the carriage were two carts, each drawn by a single horse. Seated in them were a number of peasant women, Gronski servants whose serious whisperings died away while they watched the countess, Anna, and Jan Michał enter the lead vehicle. Anna could hear one of the women sobbing for the loss of her man.
They traveled only to the neighboring estate, but the single road allowing for the little caravan was not a direct one. Stanisław took the carriage slowly because the women who drove the two carts had little experience with horses. Anna grew impatient, immediately wishing that she had taken her horse directly through the patch of woods separating the two estates. How she longed to feel the freedom of the ride again, the wind running past her face and through her hair, the furrows flying fast beneath! But only that morning she had given Pegasus to Walek so that he might have a good horse to take him to Kościuszko. It occurred to her now that she had not ridden since that day at the pond.
Push Not the River Page 40
