“Yes, sir,” Gavin said.
“Adjutant!” the colonel hollered. “Adjutant! Come in here immediately!”
The post adjutant, a harried and nervous captain, presented himself expecting the worst. “What is wrong, sir?” he asked in a resigned tone.
“Wrong? Wrong?” the colonel exclaimed. “Damn me, sir! We must provide an escort of troops for those Russians out there.”
The captain sighed. “Is that all, sir?”
“It’s unusual as hell, by God!” the colonel exclaimed. “I’ve never had a letter from the commanding general of the U.S. Army telling me to do something like this. Next thing, he’ll be sending me notes about washing barracks windows. Damn me, sir, he will! At any rate, we must provide an escort.”
“Yes, sir,” the captain said. “Whom shall we send, Colonel?”
“We’ll send—” He looked at Gavin. “Send him, by God! He’s the closest. Put him on detached duty immediately and provide him with some troops.”
“How many, sir?”
“A section,” Colonel Benton said. “From his own company.” He glared at Gavin. “What is your company, mister?”
“I am in Captain Hanover’s A Company, sir,” Gavin answered, knowing that his commander would be fit to be tied when he learned an entire section and lieutenant would be detached from him.
“See to it,” the colonel said, shifting his eyes back to the adjutant. “Dismissed!”
The pair saluted and left the disturbed colonel. When they returned to the front office, they found Mrs. Mary Hanover and several other officers’ wives hovering about the pair of Russians. When Mary saw Gavin, she hurried over to him.
“Oh, Gavin!” she exclaimed. “I have invited His Grace and Mr. Karshchov to dine with Francis and me at our home. The count’s daughter is attending as well. I hope you’ll come.”
Once more, Gavin thought of Natalia Valenko. “Yes, Mary,” he replied. “I think I might be able to make it.”
Two
Mrs. Mary Hanover, wife of Captain Francis Hanover, had scored a social coup because of the absence of the wife of Fort Leavenworth’s commander.
Under those circumstances, since Mary was married to the post’s senior captain, she had no other equals among the other officers’ wives. The only lady outranking her was Mrs. Colonel Benton. But that august person was back visiting her family in Philadelphia, which meant that Mary was the senior lady of Fort Leavenworth.
It was a position from which she intended to milk every advantage and boon. Even though the situation was only temporary, it gave her the undeniable right to play hostess to Count Vladimir Aleksandrovich Valenko and his daughter Natalia. This she did, inviting them to dine with her and her husband in their quarters. Courtesy and custom, of course, required that she invite a few other people, but she kept the guest list down to the absolute minimum. Mary Hanover was not one to share the limelight.
But she did include Lieutenant Gavin MacRoss in her hastily printed invitations. She’d always had a maternal affection for the young officer who was a lieutenant in her husband’s company, and an unmarried officer living in bachelor quarters. He filled the void in her life created when her own children had married and moved away.
The festivities began in the late afternoon with guard mount. The entire garrison, in dress blue uniforms, was drawn up, and the band played the appropriate music. The usual onlookers from the post itself, a few visitors from town, and some of the people from Count Valenko’s wagon train attended the event. The latter, quiet and subservient in conduct, stood off to one side by themselves as the soldiers went through the ceremony.
Gavin, as the outgoing officer of the day, was at the center of the formation, exchanging information with the incoming officer in accordance with the ritual. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Natalia Valenko watching as he went through the ceremony of being officially relieved from duty. Even knowing that the young woman’s fiancé also watched did not keep Gavin from making particularly colorful and fancy flourishes with each sweep of his saber. He stomped his heels and paraded ramrod-straight, in perfect step with the martial music. Immediately, after marching off, he went to the party group and joined them.
Count Valenko had not bothered to dress up for the occasion, which disappointed Mary Hanover. Natalia, however, wore a very pretty dress that was obviously expensive. All the women standing nearby eyed her attire, marveling at the pattern and material.
The moment Gavin stepped up beside Francis and Mary Hanover, the count rushed over to greet him with an approving smile. “Is wery smart you are lookink,” he said. “I know somethink of army ways. I have been in the serwice of the czar. I was subaltern in Nishnij-Novgorod Infantry Regiment. But not for too long was I there. My dear father died, and I vas made to return home to take over estate. But you, Lieutenant MacRoss, are most—how is it said?” He looked at his daughter, asking, “Kak boenya nazivayitsa?”
Natalia Valenko smiled at Gavin. “My father says you are most military.”
Gavin smiled and allowed himself a long glance at the girl. Then he looked back at the count. “Thank you, Your Grace. That is most flattering.”
“But in Russia, ve march like this,” the count said. He began parading around in an exaggerated goose step, swinging his arms. He burst into his old regiment’s song, his voice booming over the sound of conversation. The crowd around him suddenly stopped talking to watch the old man’s antics.
Valenko laughed. “I have too many years, and I am forgettink much.”
“Not at all, Your Grace,” Gavin said. “You look most soldierly.”
“You are nice young man, Lieutenant,” Valenko said.
Mrs. Hanover felt herself slipping away from the center of attention. She immediately beckoned to her guests and announced, “Come! Come, everybody! Let us retire to our quarters.” She grabbed the count’s arm and led him off. Basil Karshchov and Natalia followed with the other invited partygoers bringing up the rear. Gavin walked with Captain Francis Hanover, the both of them resigned to the fact that the company commander’s wife would be dominating the entire evening.
The Hanovers lived in one of the better houses on officers’ row. Originally designed for commanders and staff of field-grade rank, the lack of majors on the post made it available to the Hanovers because of the captain’s seniority earned with a dozen years in grade. They had a large parlor, a dining area, kitchen, and two bedrooms on the second floor of the frame structure.
A soldier orderly in a white jacket, the regular maid, plus two more hired in the town of Leavenworth made up the party’s serving staff. When the crowd of a dozen people entered the house, the soldier, a veteran dragoon trooper named Paddy O’Hearn, immediately began walking among the guests. He carried a tray from which he offered drinks to the partygoers.
The count looked at the filled glasses that were presented to him. “Is no wodka here?”
“Beg pardon, sir?” O’Hearn asked.
“The drinks, you don’t got the wodka?” the count asked. “I don’t vant Svedish wodka; I vant Russian wodka.”
Natalia helped out. “My father would like to know if you have any Russian vodka available.”
“Sure and I don’t know what that is, miss,” the soldier said with an apologetic smile. “What I got here is bourbon whiskey straight outta Kentucky. Although I do prefer the Irish product meself.”
Natalia gently chided her father in Russian, telling him there was no vodka available, and that he should be gracious by drinking what was offered.
Count Valenko laughed. “Is good. I drink the American vhiskey!” He grabbed a full tumbler.
O’Hearn offered, “I have some water here to—” The count downed the entire glass in two quick swallows. Then he grabbed another and quickly drained it. Then yet another. “That is good.” He took a fourth and winked at the soldier. “You don’t forget about me, eh? Come and see I don’t get dry, eh?”
“Yes, sir, that I’ll do,” Paddy O’Hearn said, moving on to
the other guests.
Gavin had edged off to one side of the room to wait for an opportunity to speak with the count. He timed it so that Natalia would be with him. The moment the young woman, at the side of Basil Karshchov, stood by her father, the officer walked up and presented himself.
“Your Grace, I am pleased to inform you that I will be in charge of the escort taking you out to your new settlement.”
“Really?” the count said. “I think that is wery nice.”
Basil Karshchov hadn’t failed to note the quick glances Gavin had been casting in Natalia’s direction. He spoke coldly, saying, “I hardly think it necessary.”
“I ask for soldiers vith letter from the Imperial Embassy,” Valenko informed his future son-in-law.
“But we Russian men are quite capable of protecting ourselves and our families,” Karshchov argued. He glared at Gavin. “And our women.”
Gavin nodded his agreement. “I’m certain you are, sir.” He took a sip of his bourbon. “You speak excellent English, like Miss Valenko.”
“I am a graduate of the university in Petrograd,” Karshchov said. Then he added almost insolently, “Philosophy and languages.”
“I see,” Gavin said, feeling very unwelcome. “That is very interesting. Well, excuse me, please.”
After that he was in no mood to join into any conversation with anyone else. Once more he withdrew from the crowd, going to a quiet corner to sit down. His company commander joined him, giving him a nudge in the ribs.
“You seem quite taken by that young Russian lady, Lieutenant,” Hanover said.
“She is engaged to that fellow standing with her and the count,” Gavin said.
“Ah! A lost cause, hey?” Captain Hanover said. “Will you be willing to settle for her friendship on a platonic level?”
“I think not, sir,” Gavin said. “That wouldn’t be a good idea, I’m afraid.” In his mind he warned himself about trying to promote any familiarity with Natalia Valenko. Such conduct would only earn him embarrassment and rejection. “At any rate, I doubt if I’ll see her again after this escort mission.”
Following a carefully timed half hour of socializing, dinner was announced. Everyone trooped into the dining room, where they found cardboard nametags sitting on plates. This was another thing Mrs. Hanover had arranged. She knew a commissary sergeant who had beautiful handwriting. The man had done a skillful job of writing out the guests’ names for the lady’s party.
Everyone stood behind their chair. Mrs. Hanover, smiling, said, “I hope our fare is not too rustic for you, Your Grace. I must apologize for it, but you must remember we are far, far from civilization here.”
“It is vonderful!” the count exclaimed. “And smells so delicious, too. Vhat have ve?”
“We shall begin with an onion and sage soup,” Mrs. Hanover said. “The main course is broiled sirloin, garden vegetables, and brandied peaches. There is fresh bread from our post bakery, and for dessert we will enjoy apple pie. It is made from dried apples, I fear.”
“I am certain it vill be a great meal!” the count said. “Please, everyone, sit down,” Mrs. Hanover invited. The gentlemen seated the ladies, then settled in as the small squad of maids began serving the soup. The diners began breaking down into small conversations. That did not please Mary Hanover. She asked in a loud voice, “Tell me, Count Valenko, whatever prompted you to leave the czar's court and seek a place to live in the American wilderness?”
“Oh, my dear Mrs. Hanower, I vas not at court,” Count Valenko said. “I vas at my estate to the north of Moskva.” He took a sip of soup, then set the spoon down. It was obvious he had been asked to speak on a subject on which he loved to expound. “I am here because of my philosophy, Mrs. Hanower. It is my belief that man’s salwation can come only through the simple life. Ve must all be peasants!”
“Oh, interesting!” Mrs. Hanover exclaimed. “Please enlighten us as to your beliefs, Your Grace.”
As Count Valenko spoke, Private O’Hearn constantly kept his glass filled with bourbon. The others around the table marveled at how much the Russian could consume without showing the slightest effects of the strong liquor. O’Hearn, as an Irishman who could do himself proud in a saloon, was bound and determined to hit the man’s limit and even go beyond. He kept pouring, and Valenko kept drinking and talking.
The count told of his days as a young lieutenant in the czar’s army. He had been posted far to the south in the mountains of the Caucasus. Without much to do, he turned to reading books of all kinds. One writer in particular, by the name of Sergei Sakachov, caught his attention. The man, like Valenko, was of the nobility, yet he had discovered what he considered the true meaning of life by observing the serfs on his family’s large estate. Gradually, he built a log cabin and lived among them, eating the same food they ate, sharing in their labors, and making love to every willing peasant girl he could find. Sakachov claimed that he had truly reached the zenith of man’s existence through adopting this simple, rustic life in which all complications, other than sickness and death, were cast aside. Rolling in the hay with fleshy peasant girls not only pleased the physical senses, it turned up the inner spirituality of a man as well.
The count’s loud and candid remarks on the sexual activity caused the ladies to blush and the men to grin at each other.
Valenko went on, telling of how his military career had been cut short by the death of his father. He returned to his own family’s extensive properties to administer the rather large operation. It was a difficult and demanding life, filled with countless irritations and attention to detail. He married, had a daughter, and was widowed as the years dragged on in an existence he learned to hate.
On one particularly difficult occasion in dealing with the selling of the season’s grain harvest, Valenko suddenly remembered the book he had read by Sakachov. He went to his old army things and searched it out. It took an entire evening and all night to once more consume the rambling but strong message the writer had placed in the pages of the tome.
The next day was spent in deep thought and reflection. That evening, Valenko reached a momentous decision. He sent for his younger brother to take over the estate. It took several months to make a permanent turnover. Meanwhile, Valenko made arrangements to have his daughter Natalia stay at the main mansion and continue her education with her English tutor.
Count Vladimir Aleksandrovich Valenko was about to change his life completely around. The first step was to have a log cabin built out where the serfs lived and worked. It was a majestic structure in comparison to the huts the peasants called homes, but it was simple and strictly functional with no extra decoration or luxury. Large and bare with a sleeping loft on one side, it was furnished with simple tables and chairs, a couple of cupboards, and a fireplace that served for both heating and cooking. The count even tended to his own needs, including sewing torn clothing, preparation of food, and keeping his cabin clean.
The peasants, at first, were leery of the landowner who suddenly moved in to live with them. But gradually, as he joined in their labors, they accepted him. He attended festivals, weddings, and other social events the simple people had. Like the writer, he began to bring lusty peasant wenches up into his sleeping loft, settling in between their plump thighs and rooting away inside their muscular bodies, working the girls and himself into sweaty spasms of pleasure on even the coldest nights.
But he found the long winter darkness that lasted twenty out of the day’s twenty-four hours a source of irritation. After all, he could only make love so many times to pass away the endless evenings. Finally, sitting at the table in front of his fireplace, he began to write his own book. He told of reading Sergei Sakachov’s works and bringing the subject matter into his own life. He scribbled away for three years before the manuscript was complete. When finished, Valenko sent it to a friend of his in the publishing business in Moscow.
Several months passed before a reply was sent. His friend informed him that the work held no commercial
value, but it might be read within the world of academia. The man suggested that Valenko have it published at his own expense, and it could be distributed in various university bookshops where it could attract at least a bit of attention.
One of the readers who first got hold of the work was a young university professor by the name of Basil Karshchov. This impoverished intellectual was a temperamental, sensitive man who taught a couple of classes on philosophy. He was very taken in by Count, Valenko’s own outlook and experiences. Karshchov wrote to the nobleman and received a reply. This began a year’s correspondence that ended with the professor leaving his teaching post and moving in to join Count Valenko in his cabin.
They followed their shared doctrine as Karshchov became a devoted disciple. Hours of discussion that included long binges of wenching and vodka guzzling dominated their lives. They reached the conclusion that Russia was a bad place in which to live the pure life. After all, the presence of the czar and other trappings of civilization were constantly about. It was then that they hit upon the idea of going to the wilderness of America to establish their own self-sufficient farming community that would evolve into a utopia. Getting the people to populate the place was no problem. The serfs on the estate belonged to Valenko by law. He would pick out a few families to bring along with them. The estate held plenty of money to pay for the venture, and there would still be enough left for his brother to carry on the family operation.
Preparations began immediately. Count Valenko’s nineteen-year-old daughter was brought into the program. Karshchov had already fallen in love with her. When it came time to leave, he broached the question of her marrying him. Valenko quickly agreed, thinking it wonderful that his right-hand man would be the father of his grandchildren.
The serf families chosen for the venture were called together. When it was announced they would be leaving their homeland forever and would never return, they remained impassive and obedient. After all, these were people who were required to give up at least one son per family for thirty-years’ service in the czar’s army. Being illiterate, they could not correspond with their soldier boy. Unless he came home or another returning to the village had news of a battlefield death or the loss of life through accident or illness, they might never know his fate.
Comanchero Blood (A Dragoons Western Book 2) Page 2
