The Great Alone

by Janet Dailey

  “So will I,” asserted Stanislav’s son, Dimitri.

  Tears welled in his eyes, and Wolf sniffed self-consciously, unable to speak for fear of his voice breaking. He simply nodded instead. When a knock at the front door distracted his family’s attention, Wolf took advantage of the diversion to wipe the moisture from his eyes.

  The front door opened and a blustering wind whooshed into the room. Gabe Blackwood darted quickly through the opening and stepped to one side, stamping the snow off his boots. His nose and cheeks were reddened from the cold.

  “Hello, everyone.” He pulled the fur cap off his sandy hair, smiling broadly at all of them.

  Recovering from her surprise, Nadia rose to her feet and went to meet him. “Mr. Blackwood, welcome.” But her greeting wasn’t as warm as it might have been. She was too aware of the other family members in the room and the reason they had all gathered.

  “Forgive me if I’m intruding. I can come another time,” Gabe suggested uncertainly.

  Before answering, Nadia glanced at her grandfather, hoping he would invite him to stay. He nodded, granting his permission for her young man to remain. “Please come in, Mr. Blackwood.”

  As Gabe started to unbutton his fleece-lined coat, Wolf Tarakanov said, “Mr. Blackwood must be chilled after his walk. Take him into the kitchen and fix him some tea.”

  “I’d like that, Mr. Tarakanov. Thank you.”

  Although Nadia noticed how quickly Gabe took advantage of the opportunity to be alone with her, she was too troubled by the recent discussion to feel pleased. She had caught the note of regret in Lev’s voice when he had agreed to remain in Sitka. She suspected that he had decided to stay not because it was his wish but because he felt it was his duty to look after his father.

  In the kitchen, she busied herself with filling the samovar with water and lighting its fire. As she took the teapot down from its cabinet shelf, her hand lingered on the cedar door. Her uncle Stanislav had built these cabinets for her grandfather.

  “You are troubled about something, aren’t you?”

  Nadia half turned, smiling quickly to conceal her concern from him. “No. It’s just that Grandfather has no sugar for your tea. He has only honey to sweeten it.” She reached for the small crock on the cabinet shelf.

  “Something is wrong. I sensed it when I arrived. Your family looked so solemn. Has there been bad news?”

  First she said, “Yes.” Then she said, “No.” Finally she told him while staring at the honey pot she’d set on the counter. “My uncle has decided to leave Sitka. He is taking his family to Russia. They say there is too much disorder here for them.”

  “But things will get better. This situation is only temporary. The soldiers from the fort have been unruly, I admit, with their off-duty drinking and carousing, but it won’t continue. Surely they aren’t judging all Americans by the misbehavior of a few?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He turned her around to face him, his hands still cool from the chill of the outdoors. His earnest expression commanded her attention.

  “I can’t deny there is an unsavory element here in Sitka, but all that will change as soon as the Congress grants Alaska territorial status. There won’t be any more military rule. We’ll have a territorial government and the soldiers will be gone. Once that happens we’ll have a court system that can punish wrongdoers. Presently, the criminal element, or at least the less reputable element, knows that we can’t legally enforce our ordinances, so they disregard them, but they won’t get away with it for long. This is going to be a decent, law-abiding town where a man can raise a family and feel secure about the future.”

  Nadia barely listened to his oratory. She studied his face, the intelligence of his high forehead, and the strength of his angular cheekbones, their lines emphasized by the long sideburns he wore. The weakness of his chin was a minor flaw in her eyes. Yet as she gazed at him, Nadia could think only of her fear that she might never see him again if her father should decide to leave, too.

  “Papa says he is staying, but I know he does so only because of Grandpa. He is unhappy here. Grandpa is old. I worry that if he should die, then Papa would feel there is no more reason to stay. If that should happen, Gabe, I don’t know what I would do. I don’t want to leave.” Although she had summoned enough boldness to address him familiarly, she hadn’t enough to declare that he was the one she didn’t want to leave.

  “You can’t go.” He appeared stunned by her suggestion. His fingers curled into her shoulders as if to prevent her from moving.

  “If my parents leave, I will have no choice. I cannot remain here alone.” The possibility that she might be separated from him was so painful for her that it seemed imminent rather than mere conjecture. “I shall miss you.”

  “No, I won’t let it happen.” Infected by the contagion of her fear, he pulled her into his arms and held her close, pressing his lips to her hair. “I won’t let you go, Nadia,” he murmured. “You are my princess.”

  The ardent pitch of his voice thrilled her. Yet there was a poignancy in the moment, too, as she wondered if this first embrace might also be their last. She closed her eyes to memorize the sensation of his arms around her, the smell of his wool tweed jacket, and the rough texture of it against her cheek, so she might recall them all at some future time.

  “I wish there was something you could do—something you could say to Papa so this awful thing would not happen,” she declared.

  “There is.” He sounded so positive that Nadia lifted her head to look at him.

  “What?”

  “I can ask his permission to marry you. That is … if you want to become my wife.” His fingers touched her cheek in a loving caress while he gazed at her with adoration.

  Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She was so incredulous she couldn’t give voice to her joy.

  “It is what I’ve wanted from the first day we met outside your grandfather’s shop.”

  “I have also, more than anything in the world.”

  “I wonder if you know how happy you have just made me,” he murmured thickly, cupping the side of her face in his hand. “I love you, Nadia—my princess.”

  “And I love you.”

  When he kissed her, Nadia felt certain she must be dying and approaching the heaven that the priests described. Surely there could be nothing to equal this glorious bliss she was experiencing. Her lips clung to his an instant longer as he drew away.

  “Our marriage will be a symbol for everyone in Alaska,” Gabe declared. “A union between the old and the new. You and I will show the Russians and the Americans how we can live together and work to build a better place.”

  “Yes.” She didn’t understand half of what he said, but it sounded important. Everything he said always sounded so important and meaningful. She was convinced that was why he would be governor someday. And she would be his wife. The thought was still enough to take her breath away. But it couldn’t happen soon enough to suit her. “I am so happy that I am almost afraid something will happen to ruin this. Gabe, when will you ask my father for his permission?”

  “I would go to him this minute, but from what you have said, I don’t think this is the time to talk to him about us.” Letting go of her, he took a step backward, putting a discreet distance between them. Nadia was proud that he was such a gentleman, always so respectful of her reputation. It pleased her that he didn’t take advantage of her and behave in a manner that might compromise her. “I will come to your house later tonight when I can speak to your father alone.”

  “He will give his consent. I know he will,” she declared.

  As she readied the teapot, Nadia realized that soon she would be doing many such things for him, in their own home, as his wife.

  An April rain pelted the windows as Nadia, garbed in the traditional headdress and embroidered bridal gown, knelt at her father’s feet and begged his forgiveness for all her sins. Wolf stood to one side watching the ritual that always took place
at the bride’s home before the wedding ceremony at the church. His heart felt heavy that so few family members were present to witness it.

  As Lev gave his daughter a piece of bread and a grain of salt, Eva tugged at Wolf’s hand. He bent down to hear her curious whisper. “Why did Papa do that?”

  “So that Nadia knows he will never allow her to go hungry even though she no longer lives in his house.”

  Her husband-to-be, Gabe Blackwood, knelt beside Nadia. She ceremoniously presented him with a little whip of braided hair. “She made that from her own hair,” Eva informed Wolf. “She snipped off a lock of hair last night. I watched her plait it. Why is she giving it to him? Is he going to beat her with it?”

  Wolf patiently shook his head and murmured, “It is a sign of her submission to his authority. Sssh, now,” he admonished and bowed his head as Lev began reading the prescribed prayers.

  The prayers concluded the traditional ceremony at the home of the bride’s parents. It was time to make the long walk to the Cathedral of St. Mikhail. The bridegroom helped Nadia into her long burnous so her gown would be protected from the steadily falling rain. Each carried an umbrella as they left the house.

  The rest of the family followed. Lev Tarakanov didn’t close the door when they left, symbolically leaving it open as a sign to his daughter that his house was always open to her if her husband was ever unkind to her.

  Halfway up the walk, Eva noticed the front door was still open. She let go of her grandfather’s hand and ran back to the house. As soon as she had pulled the door shut, she dashed back to her grandfather’s side and once more slipped her hand in his.

  “Papa forgot to close the door and it was raining in. Won’t he be glad that I saw it?” She smiled up at Wolf, proud of her deed.

  He started to explain the reason it had been left open, then hesitated. The patter of rain on his umbrella seemed to reaffirm the wisdom of her action; and the open door, after all, was only a symbol.

  “Come.” He smiled at his well-meaning granddaughter. “We must catch up with your parents and Dimitri or we shall be late for the wedding.”

  From the window of his saloon, Ryan watched the wedding procession making its way toward the church. He hadn’t been invited to the ceremony, which hadn’t surprised him. He and the idealistic Gabe Blackwood had come to a parting of the ways some months ago.

  Ryan had grown weary of the continuous lectures from the righteous, upstanding attorney regarding the corrupting influence of his saloon on the boomtown of Sitka. Blackwood blamed him for the drunkenness in the streets. More than once Gabe had charged him with breaking the law by illegally bringing liquor in, and insisted that, for the good of the community, Ryan must stop, thereby setting an example for other saloonkeepers to follow.

  Ryan had laughed at such idealistic notions. “If anything, the others would cheer if I shut down—and privately have a good laugh over my stupidity,” he had told him. “If I don’t sell it, somebody else will. You can make all the laws you want, but a man’s going to have his liquor. Instead of talking to me, go see General Davis. He’s the only authority around here. And while you’re there, ask him if that last case of Tennessee whiskey I sent him was satisfactory.”

  “You and your kind are destroying this town. You’re driving away the decent folk.”

  “Like the Russians, I suppose. You’re a fool, Gabe,” Ryan had declared in disgust. “The general and his soldiers know damned well what’s in the crates being shipped to the saloons in this town, and they turn a blind eye. This is a military town, and a soldier is going to have his rum. Blame Davis or blame Congress for what’s happening in the streets, but don’t condemn me for making a dollar by supplying what’s in demand.”

  “But it’s against the law,” Gabe had protested.

  “Then get somebody to enforce the damned law. You are a fool if you think I am going to throw away a fortune by voluntarily obeying it!”

  At that point, Gabe had lost his temper and attacked him, wading into him like a raging bull. Ryan rubbed his jaw, remembering that last punch Gabe had landed before Lyle, the bartender, pulled him off. The attorney unquestionably had a violent side.

  That incident had put an end to their friendly relationship, but Ryan had seen it coming. Starting with the first influx of new settlers, Gabe had begun cultivating associations, the more respectable merchants and homesteaders among them. At times, he’d even appeared self-conscious about being seen in Ryan’s company, obviously believing Ryan wasn’t the right sort for a man with political ambitions.

  Ryan smiled to himself. It was money that bought votes. All of Gabe Blackwood’s good will and high-sounding ideals would count for nothing without it.

  “Any sign of that rain lettin’ up?” The bartender, Lyle Saunders, wandered over to the window where Ryan stood, and folded his arms in front of him, resting them on his protruding stomach. His dark hair was slicked down with grease and parted in the middle. Bushy muttonchop whiskers emphasized the jowling of his fat face.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” Ryan commented.

  “There goes Blackwood and his bride,” the bartender observed, then inquired, “Ever been to one of those Orthodox weddings?”

  “Nope.”

  “Long-drawn-out affairs they are. Them altar boys or whatever they call ’em, are gonna have a lot of candle grease on their robes before the March of the Three Crowns is over.” He watched them a minute, then pointed a pudgy finger at the trailing party of family members. “See that young fella. If you still are lookin’ for someone who knows these waters, he might be the man for you. Born an’ raised here, he was. An’ trained as a navigator, too, I understand. He speaks that Indian gibberish, too.”

  Ryan made a closer study of the younger Tarakanov walking ahead of the old man and the little girl. He seemed to recall his name was Dimitri. “Thanks, Lyle,” he said. “I’ll keep him in mind.”

  Running feet thudded on the boardwalk outside the saloon. Two soldiers charged past the window, their shoulders hunched against the rain. The bartender took a last look at the wedding party, then turned from the window with a shake of his head.

  “Never thought Blackwood would marry a breed,” he muttered to himself.

  Ryan doubted that Gabe knew that Nadia was part Indian. Blackwood tended to take things at face value and rarely looked to see what might lie underneath. Sooner or later, he’d learn the facts. While Ryan wouldn’t go so far as to claim that the mixed ancestry of the Tarakanov family was common knowledge in Sitka, there were enough people who knew or guessed it. Maybe someone should have told Gabe, but as far as Ryan was concerned, it was a case of “let the buyer beware.”

  The two off-duty soldiers entered the saloon, making enough noise for a whole troop as they stamped the mud from their boots. Ryan turned toward them, recognizing two of his more regular customers, privates Kelly and Wheeler. They swept off their caps and shook them to get rid of the rainwater, then wiped the moisture from their faces.

  Wheeler, the shorter and burlier one of the two, with an unruly thatch of straw-colored hair, gestured over his shoulder toward the street. “Hey, barkeep, where’re them folks goin’ all gussied up? Is there a party er some’in goin’ on that nobody saw fit to tell us about?”

  “There’s a wedding.”

  “The hell you say.” Wheeler and his buddy Kelly sauntered up to the bar. “Pour us some a’ that rotgut.” Wheeler slapped the money down, then leaned on the counter. “Who’s gettin’ hitched?”

  “That attorney Blackwood.” Lyle set two shot glasses on the counter, then pulled the cork from a whiskey bottle to fill them.

  “Ain’t he the one what’s been sparkin’ that Russkie gal?” Without waiting for a confirmation, he turned to his soldier buddy and lifted his glass in a saluting toast. “I sure as hell envy him poppin’ her t’night. You seen her, Kelly? She’s the one with the hair like burnt gold, all dark an’ shiny an’ purty like.”

  “The only gold what interests me is
hidin’ up there in them mountains,” Kelly declared in a disgruntled voice, then bolted down a swallow of the cheap liquor. “I’ll be glad when spring gets here an’ this damned weather clears up so I can get out an’ start huntin’ some of that shiny yellow stuff.”

  “Hell, the weather ain’t never gonna get no better in this miserable place,” Wheeler complained bitterly. “How is it that we got stuck in this Godforsaken hole at the top of the world? There ain’t a goddamned thing for a man to do in this town ’cept to go drinkin’ an’ whorin’.”

  “Shame on you, Nate Wheeler.” Big Molly came sauntering out of the back room, her hands resting on her tightly corseted waist to emphasize the exaggerated sway of her hips. “You always swore to me those were your two favorite pastimes. Now I find out you been lyin’.”

  With each stride of her leg, the skirt flared to provide a glimpse of her low-topped boots and black tights. Her artificially darkened hair was a mass of ringlets piled on top of her head and secured with a gaudy Spanish comb. The darkness of her heavily kohled eyes contrasted with the white mask of her face, thickly covered with layers of the toxic powder that had already scarred her cheeks. The spots of rouge on her cheeks gave her an almost garish look.

  But Wheeler’s attention wasn’t focused on her face or legs. “I didn’t say they wasn’t my favorites, Big Molly. I jest said there weren’t no other choice.” He stared at the mountain of flesh that threatened to spill out of her low-cut gown.

  “I grant you, Nate, bein’ sober in this town ain’t much of a choice.” She rested a forearm on the counter, then leaned her weight on it, angling her body to give him a better view down her front. “You just gonna stand there gawkin’, Nate, or are you gonna buy a thirsty lady a drink?”

  “Give us a bottle an’ ’nother glass.” Wheeler dug in his pocket and pushed more money onto the counter, then nudged his buddy. “Come on, Kelly. Let’s go sit ourselves at a table.”

  Almost reluctantly Dan Kelly pushed away from the bar and followed after Wheeler as he grabbed up the bottle and glass and headed for one of the tables. Instead of dragging a chair around to sit close to the saloon girl and flank her other side, Kelly chose a chair on the opposite side of the table and slumped his body in it.