A Place For Miss Snow

by Moore, Jennifer

  Although she’d tried to hide it, he’d seen terror in her face when she’d left the ship the day before. But Petrobey appeared to have kept his word, and she was being treated well. She appeared almost—happy. But he knew she would do all she could to conceal the emotion from him. Alex was no novice at reading people, at discovering their secrets or earning their trust. He knew how to peel away layer after layer, to learn what they hid deep inside. Diana Snow held her mask in place like few he had met before. If he didn’t know better, he might think she was a spy herself. The desire to understand why she concealed so much of herself intrigued Alex for reasons he himself did not understand. A challenge, perhaps. But that did not fully explain his need to learn more about this woman.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Snow.” Alex bowed when he reached them. He greeted Elena in Greek.

  Elena responded cheerfully, but her gray-eyed British companion merely raised her chin and looked the other direction.

  He fought a smile of amusement at her reaction. “Have you been learning to read, Elena?”

  “Missno taught me the letters. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta . . .” She rattled off the entire Greek alphabet, ending with, “. . . Psi, Omega.”

  “You learned this all today?” From the corner of his eye, he saw Miss Snow watching her student. She did not smile, but her eyes were bright.

  Elena grinned proudly.

  “Very impressive.” Alex raised his brows and nodded his head.

  “And I have practiced writing the letters too. But only with a stick on the ground. Soon, we will read books from the church.” Her smile grew.

  “Elena is very fortunate to have such a capable teacher,” he said in English.

  Miss Snow made a hmph sound. “We don’t mean to keep you, sir. I’m certain you must have business to attend to.” She started walking, pulling Elena with her.

  The girl looked back and forth between them. Alex pivoted and kept pace with her quick steps. “You are correct. But, you see, I am attending to that business even now.”

  Miss Snow darted a look toward him. “Harassing innocent women is your business?”

  “I came to find you.”

  Her step faltered, but she continued her quick march.

  “How are you treated?” He lowered his voice even though he knew Elena could not understand what he said.

  Before Miss Snow could make an answer, a gypsy woman called to them from the gate of a house at the edge of the village.

  At the sight of her, Miss Snow drew in a gasp and moved slightly in front of the young girl beside her.

  The old woman’s appearance was indeed startling. She wore dirty, tattered clothing, and beneath the torn scarf on her head, the sun-darkened skin of her face was weathered and heavily lined. One of her eyes was clouded, and sores spotted her lips.

  Elena released her companion’s arm and hurried toward the woman, opening the gate and leading her into the yard.

  “Oh.” Miss Snow was clearly surprised by the girl’s actions.

  “Greeks consider caring for the poor to be a duty,” Alex said in a low voice.

  Elena settled the woman on a bench in the shade of a tree and hurried into the house.

  Miss Snow moved as if to follow her, but he caught her arm just before she stepped through the garden gate. “Do they treat you well, Miss Snow? Are you all right?”

  Instead of jerking away, she turned completely toward him, and he received the full effect of her gray-eyed gaze. “I do not know why you bother to ask, Mr. Metaxas; it is because of your actions that I am here.”

  Alex felt a spark of anger at her accusation. It was thanks to his actions that she was here and not floating in the sea. He had done everything in his power to keep her from danger. “Are you saying that I kidnapped you and dragged you away from the city? Or that I had any knowledge you were at the beach?” He fisted his hands. “Might I ask, what were you doing there in the first place?”

  She turned her eyes downward and rubbed her fingers over the stone of the garden fence. “I meant to return your gloves. I . . . It was foolish, I know.”

  The regret in her voice was not enough to ease his frustration. “In the middle of the night, in a hidden smuggler’s cove? Surely you have better sense than to—”

  Her eyes snapped to his, and no remnants of apology remained in her glare. “Do not turn the blame on me, sir. I am not at fault.” Her voice did not get louder, but each word was clipped and clear. “You told those men you did not know me and conspired to have me carried away as a prisoner in that horrid ship. Do not deny it was your idea.” She folded her arms, breathing heavily through her nose.

  “Yes, it is true, and for that I must apologize. And explain myself.”

  Her brow raised a slight bit, but the fire did not leave her eyes.

  “The Maniots are suspicious of outsiders. It took a great deal of persuasion, but that night, they agreed to meet me, and I assured them I was alone. When they discovered you, they would have killed us both in an instant if I had revealed that we were acquainted. Persuading distrustful men they were not being deceived would have been impossible.”

  Miss Snow pursed her lips and appeared as though she were considering his explanation.

  “As for kidnapping you and bringing you here, I convinced them not to murder you on the beach and as a British woman, you were much more valuable as a hostage than a slave for the Venetians. I give my word, Miss Snow, I acted only to protect you.”

  The tension left her face and shoulders. She lowered her arms and clasped her hands at her waist. “Well, it is certainly ungentlemanly to consort with pirates. And not acknowledging a person when you encounter her on the deck of a ship is simply rude.”

  He realized Diana was no longer angry, but his behavior had hurt her. He also realized she had shared a very brief glance beneath her mask. She had been afraid and upset on the ship, even though she had tried to conceal it. And whether she realized it or not, she had just confessed her desire for a friend. “Quite so on both counts. And I apologize for any lack of decorum. You certainly did not deserve such treatment, though it is preferable to death, I would think.”

  Elena returned from inside the house with a cup and a slice of bread. She sat on the bench as the old woman ate.

  Miss Snow watched the pair silently and then glanced toward him. “Petrobey and his family seem happy with the weapons you brought.”

  Alex was surprised but realized she had changed the subject once she started to feel vulnerable. “Yes. I believe they are.”

  “I am sorry to have taken your time, Mr. Metaxas.” Diana dipped in a curtsey and stepped again toward the gate in a move intended to signal him to step aside.

  Alex shifted his weight in the other direction so that she would have to squeeze past him to get through the opening. “I will leave once I am assured that you are well taken care of.”

  She looked up, and when their eyes met, she took a step back, as if she had not known he was standing so close. “I am well. The family is kind, and I am happy here.” She pushed past him through the gate.

  “Miss Snow?”

  She turned back.

  “It occurs to me that I have never seen your smile.”

  Pink spots grew in her cheeks, but she held an aloof expression. “You’ve hardly given me a reason to smile, sir. Neither inviting yourself to tea nor conspiring in my capture with pirates warrants a positive response.”

  He was starting to recognize Miss Snow’s manner of speaking grew increasingly less polite in an effort to prevent emotion from showing. She was protecting herself, hiding behind a curt, almost rude reply in hopes to ward off anything or anyone from getting too close.

  “It is a sight I should very much like to see.”

  She looked toward Elena and then down to the ground, twisting her fingers together. “You would be disappointed.”

  Her voice was soft and her words so vulnerable that he realized he’d gotten a glimpse of her true feelings. Her reasons for
protecting herself stemmed from insecurity, and possibly fear. Alex’s curiosity was further piqued. “I very much doubt it.”

  He had the pleasure of seeing her face flush red. She darted a look up at him and fled into the house.

  Alex walked slowly toward the center of town. His recruiting mission to the Mani had been something he’d planned and worked toward for years, and now that he was here, another task had inserted itself in his heart. What was Diana Snow protecting herself from? And why had discovering the answer become so important?

  [

  Three days later, Alex stood in church. The smell of incense and the chanted words of the Divine Liturgy were like a balm to his soul. He let the familiarity of the ceremony fill him with comfort.

  His gaze traveled around the church interior. A screen painted with ikons of saints, partitioned off the holy altar, where the priest prepared the Eucharist. The smell of incense rose from burners, and candles flickered from their braziers. He lifted his gaze to the colorful depiction of the Most Holy Theotokos and her son, Jesus Christ, painted with golden halos surrounding their heads.

  He looked over the congregation and recognized the few men he’d met, patriarchs of their clans. In the rows ahead of him stood the Mavromichalis family. Dino stood beside his father, and his cousin, Themis, a row behind.

  Themis’s eyes narrowed as he met Alex’s gaze. In the few interactions they’d had since the Mavromichalis clan had pledged to join Alex, Themis had not-so-subtly indicated that he would follow Petrobey’s orders, but he wasn’t happy about it.

  Alex moved his gaze to the row behind Themis. The priest had provided Elena’s mother with a chair before the service began. She had waved it away at first, then sank gratefully into it when the priest insisted. The poor woman looked swollen and miserable. His gaze traveled over her daughter and the four boys then locked with Diana’s.

  She quickly turned her face forward, but Alex smiled, knowing she’d been watching him. The priest and altar boys made their processional with the Holy Gospel through the narrow aisle of the church, and Alex turned his attention back to the ceremony. Memories washed over him as he remembered the priest in Nafplio cutting his hair symbolically before he began his duties as an altar boy. It had been so far away and such a long time ago, yet the ceremony was the same, even here in this small village.

  He recited the words of the Lord’s Prayer, stealing a glimpse at Diana. She stood quietly, hands folded in front of her, and her brow furrowed in concentration. He wished he could read her mind. Did she find the Liturgy beautiful and sacred as he did? Or was the entire ceremony strange to her?

  His eyes traveled over the gathering, and his heart was full. The Turkish taxes were crushing, and the simple solution was to renounce Christianity. Muslims were not taxed nor forbidden to own weapons or ride horses. Greek peasants bore the brunt of the burden, yet these people held tightly to their beloved faith. The level of sacrifice required for them to worship in this holy place caused tears to sting his eyes.

  As he listened to Father Yianni’s voice rising and falling melodically with the prayer, Alex drew in a sharp breath. Though he’d heard the words hundreds of times, today they struck him with a force that surprised him.

  The priest offered a petition for the people of God. He prayed for a “Christian end to our life, painless, unashamed, and peaceful, and for a good defense before the dread judgment seat of Christ.”

  Alex looked again at the members of the congregation, especially the men and older boys. Before he left Constantinople, he’d hoped for men, warriors. And here, in the Mani, he’d found them. But being among these people, spending time with them, seeing them interact with their children and wives . . . They were no longer merely weapons to use against the Turks but actual people with homes and families. Alex was asking them to risk their lives, to believe in the cause, and to be willing to die for it. His throat tightened as his gaze traveled over the beautiful women and children that would be left behind, but a warmth filled him.

  Father Yianni had blessed his mission and reassured him that the cause was just. A Christian ending to a Christian life, Alex thought. And what more could he ask for?

  His gaze landed again on Diana, and a dull pain grew in his stomach. He attributed his reaction to hunger. He and the rest of the congregation had fasted since the evening before in preparation to partake of the Holy Gifts. He enjoyed Diana’s company, was fascinated by her, worried about her safety, found her extremely beautiful, and thought of her too often. But he was a revolutionary. His goal was to start a war, and dragging a gentlewoman into the equation would do no good for anyone. Best to leave her alone and let her people come for her. Once she’d departed these shores, he’d not worry about her any longer. If only the ache inside agreed with him.

  Chapter 8

  The day after the Sabbath, the boys left early to tend the goats and pick olives. Elena and Diana hurried through the business of morning chores. Sophia had spoken to Father Yianni the day before, and he’d agreed to allow Diana and Elena to come to the church and read in the afternoon.

  Diana made certain Sophia was comfortable and had her sewing nearby, then went outside to find Elena. She found the girl in the yard attaching a cart to the family’s donkey.

  “Today, we must gather wood,” Elena said. “Then after the boys eat their lunch, mitéra says we can go to the church.” She clapped her hands together, grinning.

  Diana felt herself caught up in the girl’s enthusiasm. Elena had practiced her letters at every opportunity, and with only a bit of instruction, she’d begun to string the symbols together in an attempt to make simple words. Diana had no doubt Elena would be reading within a few weeks, and the thought filled her chest with pride in her student. Perhaps Petrobey would see the benefit and send other children to learn.

  The pair led the donkey along the road away from the town. At the crossroads, instead of turning down toward Limeni, they continued upward, higher into the hills. The buzzing of insects grew louder as they climbed. Tall, jagged mountains rose around them, and Diana thought if they did not have the road to follow, she would most certainly be lost. She had only ever lived in London after all. How did one keep track of directions among all these rises and drops with no buildings to use as landmarks?

  Leaving the donkey tied to a low bough near the road, the pair climbed up even higher into the dusty hills, over rocks and around thorny bushes. Elena tugged on a scraggly, dead-looking bush and held up a branch that was thin, twisted, and hardly thicker than her arm. “Brushwood burns fastest. Olive wood burns longest.” She started a pile, and Diana climbed in the opposite direction to do the same, keeping a watch for spiders as she went.

  Half an hour later, Diana carried an armload to the cart, grateful for her thick sleeves. At least her arms were protected, though she couldn’t say the same for her hands. A week ago, the thorns would have torn her palms to pieces, but farm work had made them tough, and gathering wood only added to the crisscross of scrapes over her once soft skin.

  As she climbed over the rocky mountain, wrestling rough brushwood branches from the scraggly undergrowth, her mind turned to the service the day before. She’d been surprised to see the church held no pews, only a few chairs for people who were too ill or too old to stand for the entire service. She’d expected a sermon, and the smell of incense and the chanting voice of the priest had surprised her. At first, she’d been frustrated, trying to distinguish the words, but once she stopped and let herself feel instead of understand, the reverence of the ceremony filled her with peace. She watched the people around her and saw the devotion in their faces as they worshiped.

  Without her permission, her mind conjured an image of Alexandros. She’d not expected to see him at church. She didn’t realize criminals attended Sunday service. But the thing that had surprised her the most was the reverence in his expression. His eyes were soft, at times wet, and his face peaceful. The meeting was holy to him, and for some reason, the knowledge started a
burn of guilt in her middle. Was he not the scoundrel she assumed?

  She squelched the thought as soon as it arose. After all, the pirates were at the Divine Liturgy too, and she’d seen firsthand their unlawful ways. But the burn remained, making her squirm uncomfortably, and she couldn’t justify it away.

  Best to ignore it, she decided.

  A few hours later, the cart was full, and the pair began the walk back to Tsímova. Elena sang as she led the donkey, and Diana found herself humming along to the tune.

  When they reached the fork in the road, Elena waved her arm over her head, calling out to a trio approaching from Limeni. The two young people carried large, covered pots, and they were accompanied by an older woman with a basket hooked over her arm. “My cousins,” Elena said to Diana.

  The relatives joined them, and Diana saw the younger people were near Elena’s age, maybe a year or two younger. The boy was stocky with heavy eyelids, but his sister seemed to be the very opposite, slender, almost to the point of frailty, with wide eyes and long limbs. The woman was thin, like her daughter. She bent forward her head in greeting when she reached them. Diana’s initial impression of the woman was a person who was cordial but not exactly warm.

  Elena kissed her aunt’s cheeks and embraced the young woman. “Missno, this is my father’s cousin Agatha and her children, Stella and Kyros.” She indicated each in turn.

  “Nice to meet you,” Diana said, pronouncing each word as correctly as she could.

  “We are bringing avgolemono soup to your mother,” Stella said. “And of course to poor Costas Sássaris.”

  “Thank you. She will be so happy to see you.” Elena smiled brightly. “She gets lonely. Come, help me make a spot in the cart.” Kyros and Stella shaped the pile of branches into nests to hold their pots.