A Place For Miss Snow

by Moore, Jennifer

  Diana’s heart warmed at the goodness of her friend. Elena was so like her mother, willing to love and forgive. If only the families were not enemies, the Sássaris clan would be lucky to have Elena as a friend.

  Diana was still contemplating on the sweet nature of the Mavromichalis women when she heard a strange noise. It took a moment before she realized it was the sound of horses. She’d not heard any horses since arriving in the Mani.

  Somewhere in the village, a woman screamed, and Diana felt a surge of panic when she remembered Alex’s words. Only the Turks were permitted to ride horses.

  She clasped each girl by the arm. “We must hide.” She pulled them onto a smaller side street, looking along the stone walls for a door or a gate.

  “But the goats—” Elena began, but she stopped short when a man in a turban appeared around a bend, riding toward them on an enormous black horse.

  Diana whirled and jerked the girls’ arms, tugging them back to the main road. Her heart pounded so hard that she tasted blood in her throat. Another horseman approached when they rounded the corner. When he saw them, he pointed and shouted something in a strange tongue.

  Diana did not stop. She tugged the girls forward. They ran through the winding roads toward the church, the sound of hoofbeats following. But when the road opened wide, they saw that the square was full of people.

  The horsemen guarded the roads leading away from the open square. Diana saw a flurry of movement and heard screaming and weeping. In an instant, she realized why. Children were being pulled away from their protesting families.

  Three turbaned men stood in wide-legged pants and curled-toed shoes, pointing rifles toward the pleading parents. Men protested loudly. Women fell to their knees, begging for their children’s release; neighbors held them back when they moved toward the men.

  The Turks were unaffected by the pleas or the weeping as they bound the children’s wrists. They may as well have been deaf for all the reaction they showed. Screams and cries for mother and father were ignored as the children strained and tried to pull away.

  Devşirme. In her mind, Diana heard the loathing and fear in Alex’s voice as he said the word. Another horseman rode into the square, tugging on ropes that bound Spiros and his sister, Theodora.

  Elena gasped.

  Diana pushed the girls back into a darkened doorway and stood in front of them. “Do not move,” she whispered.

  The man on the black horse rode back and forth, calling out to the others, using words Diana could not understand. His mustache was curled at the tips in a style that seemed almost comical combined with his bright clothing. The red turban he wore was larger and more ornate than those of the other men. A fluffy yellow feather rose from a jewel in the center of his forehead and bounced with his movements. He scanned the square, and when his gaze reached Diana, he stopped and rode forward.

  Panic shot over her skin, tingling her nerves until her fingers hurt. No.

  The man waved a hand toward Diana and the girls clustered in the doorway, and two other Turks approached.

  “No. You cannot take them,” Diana said, even as she was jerked away from Elena and Stella and pushed aside.

  “Missno!” Elena screamed when the man grabbed onto her arm, pulling her into the sunlight.

  The man on the horse nodded and motioned toward Stella.

  Diana did not know whether anger or desperation drove her forward. She ran toward the man. “Stop! Please.”

  The horseman ignored her. His feather swayed as he made a motion for the girls to be taken to join the others.

  “No!” Elena cried out. “Mitéra!” She strained against the rope that pulled her forward. The expression on her face showed pure terror. “Help me, Missno!”

  Stella fell to her knees and was yanked forward, skidding on her elbows until she was able to stand again. Tears streaked her face, and she shook with sobs.

  “You must release them!” Diana tugged on the man’s boot, catching a glimpse of the curved saber at his waist. “They are children. You cannot—”

  She did not even see his leg move before his kick threw her back onto the stones. She landed hard on her hip. Sitting up, she winced at the pain, then pressed her fingers to the side of her chin, moving her jaw from side to side. It seemed like nothing was damaged.

  Elena screamed again, and Diana knew she could not allow her to be taken. She rose, shaking and ran toward the horsemen, but she was stopped short when strong arms clasped her around the waist.

  “Let me go! I must—” She wrenched herself around and discovered her captor was Father Yianni.

  “Father, release me!” Diana had never felt so angry in her life. Red clouded her vision. She did not care if the curly mustached Turk kicked her face a hundred times, she would chase him down, and—“Father!”

  The priest did not loosen his hold, no matter how frantically Diana squirmed. She registered a moment of surprise that the gray-bearded man possessed such strength. He dragged her backward into the church and finally released her but closed the door and stood before it.

  “Father, do not do this. I must stop them.” Tremors shook her body.

  “You cannot.” He folded his hands and spoke in a calm voice.

  “I must!” She fought back the tears that filled her eyes, knowing that it was extremely disrespectful to yell in a church. “I must, don’t you see?”

  She sank down onto her knees and images crowded into her mind. Sophia, Agatha, she had promised to take care of their daughters. They had trusted her. And Daphne . . . “Father, Daphne.” Her voice choked, and her shoulders shook as she fought down her tears.

  Father Yianni’s thick brows rose in surprise. “Daphne?” He crouched down beside her. “Yes, I saw Spiros taken when he ran from the house to save his sister.” He breathed out. “You are right. Daphne has suffered much.”

  Diana shook her head, the ache in her chest had grown so strong that she could not speak. She heard Elena’s voice in her head, calling for her, begging; saw Stella’s tears . . .

  She gasped and pressed the heel of her hand against her chest, pushing out her words in a whisper. “I have to go, don’t you see? It must be me.” She breathed in sharply, wondering if her heart would ever stop hurting. “I am the only person with no family.”

  “And you would risk your life for these people you have known only for a few weeks?”

  “I love them.”

  He studied her, his shrewd eyes squinting. His lips pursed, and he tapped a finger against them. Finally, he nodded his head and stood, holding out a hand to her. “You will be of no help to anyone if you act rashly.”

  He was right. She would do no good unless she calmed herself and formed a plan. Diana took his hand and allowed him to help her stand. Her breathing was still uneven. “We need the men. The two strongest clans in the village are hidden away in their towers. If they could put aside this vendetta and—”

  “I will speak to the Mavromichalis and Sássaris leaders.” He placed his other hand atop hers. “What will you do, my child?”

  Diana was taken aback by the tenderness in his voice. She felt tears threaten again, but if she possessed one skill, it was the ability to keep her feelings at bay. She breathed deeply until all of her emotions were controlled. “I will follow them. Leave a trail for the men to know which way they went. I know there is not much that I can do. But I must do something.”

  Father Yianni shuffled his robes, then pressed something hard into her hand.

  She glanced down and saw it was a knife with a curved blade in a metal sheath. The weapon was about as long as her hand.

  “It is not much, but maybe you will find a use for it,” he said.

  “Thank you.” Diana bowed her head, and Father Yianni blessed her.

  “They rode south,” he said. “The horses will be easy enough to follow, they will likely stay to the roads, and they stir up dust.” He opened the wooden doors to reveal a deserted square. The sight was almost as heartbreaking as the
one she’d witnessed before she was taken in to the church. Despair hung heavily in the emptiness.

  “Be careful,” he said.

  Diana nodded as the weight of what she was doing settled on her shoulders. She waved a farewell and started off.

  “Missno?”

  Diana turned.

  “Never believe your life is not of value or that you are not loved.” He made the sign of the cross again and tipped forward his head in a farewell.

  Diana tucked the knife into the sash at her waist and hurried away, brushing at the tears that refused her efforts to quell them.

  Chapter 19

  Alex leaned back against the stone wall and crossed his arms. He slid down to sit on the floor. Spending two days in a tower with a group of angry men and bored boys was not high on his list of interests. He could not help but think of Diana and Elena, and all of the other women trying to maintain their homes and farms without the men’s assistance.

  He rested his head back and stretched out his legs, crossing one over the other. His gaze traveled over the others in the room.

  Chrysanthos, Iakob, and Mikhail sat nearby. The younger boys were making stacks with blocks. Chrysanthos looked on, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin in his hands with an expression of extreme boredom.

  On the other side of the tower room, Dino stared out the window facing the harbor. He was still frustrated that his brother Hektor was missing, and now that the family was embroiled in a vendetta, Dino would not be able to take a ship in search.

  One of Dino’s younger brothers, Argos, leaned against the windowsill and folded his arms. “We could transport the cannon to Tsímova in a few hours. The Sássaris tower would be rubble by nightfall.

  Dino shook his head. “The tower is in the middle of the village. The cannon would cause too much damage to other buildings.”

  “And so we just wait for them to attack?”

  Dino turned away from the window and faced his brother. “If that is what Petrobey says we will do, then it will be so.”

  Argos bumped his fist back against the wood of the windowsill. “And how long will we wait? My wife and daughters are home, trying to manage the harvest season alone. We will lose our entire orchard if this is not ended soon.”

  Themis entered the room. “Still no movement from Tsímova. The cowards.”

  The other men and boys in the room muttered among themselves.

  Themis strolled around the room, glancing out the windows on every side, then sat in a corner beside Kyros and Georgi. “And what are you boys talking about here in the corner? Is there a girl you fancy?”

  Kyros turned to his father. “We are not talking about girls.” The similarities between the father’s and son’s appearances fascinated Alex. Both had the same heavily lidded eyes, making them look perpetually dissatisfied.

  “And why not?” Themis said. “When I was your age, there were quite a few pretty girls in Tsímova and even in Kalamata.”

  Argos kicked Themis’s foot. “I’ll never know how you managed to convince the lovely Agatha to marry you.”

  A few of the other men laughed good-naturedly.

  “How did you convince Mitéra?” Kyros asked. “Did you speak to grandfather?”

  Themis sat back, folding his arms across his chest and getting comfortable. He was a man who enjoyed feeling important, Alex decided. He liked to control the conversation in a room and preferred it even more to revolve around him. “Once I decided Agatha was the woman for me, I waited after church in the town square until the whole town was gathered. I fired my rifle into the air. Then I called out her name. She and her family would have been disgraced if she had not agreed to be my wife.”

  “You are a true romantic, Themis,” Argos said sarcastically.

  “I prefer to get what I want. And leave nothing to chance,” Themis said with a smug grin.

  Mikhail left his blocks and sat against the wall beside Alex. “You should shoot your gun in the air for Missno, then she will have to marry you.”

  Alex let out a bark of laughter, grateful for the dim lighting in the corner of the room that hid the red flush on his neck. He turned his head and looked down at the child. “It is sound advice, Mikhail. But I can’t marry Miss Snow. She will return to London soon, and I must go to Constantinople.” He glanced up and saw Dino and a few of the other men watched the conversation with interest.

  Mikhail’s small brow furrowed. “But she is pretty.”

  The amusement he felt was joined by a heat in his chest. “That is very true.”

  “And kind.”

  Alex nodded. “Miss Snow is kind.”

  Mikhail continued to stare at him as if he were daft for not appreciating what was so obvious, which Alex realized was probably quite accurate. Even though he knew the child did not understand the complications of the situation, his argument was sound. She possessed every attribute that would make her an ideal wife. Truthfully, Alex would like nothing better than to marry Diana Snow. A pang of regret stung his throat, and he covered it with another laugh, mostly for the benefit of the other men. “Perhaps you should marry Miss Snow, Mikhail. It sounds as though you are quite smitten with her.”

  His brothers laughed.

  “When I am a man, I will marry her.” Mikhail puffed out his chest and gave a crisp nod.

  Alex smiled and rested his shoulders back, closing his eyes. If only it were that simple. The regret he’d felt earlier expanded until it filled his throat, and he swallowed hard against it. He would have to tell Diana farewell, and it made him ache.

  He was jolted from his thoughts when the door banged open and Petrobey strode into the room, followed by Father Yianni.

  Alex noticed immediately that Petrobey’s face was drawn. He held his mouth in a tight line, and his shoulders were rigid. His eyes were rimmed in red.

  The vendetta—somebody had been killed, Alex thought.

  Tension filled the room as the men waited for the news.

  “Father.” Petrobey nodded to the priest and stepped back, sweeping his hand in an invitation for the man to speak.

  Alex did not miss the crack in the bey’s voice. His chest tightened.

  Father Yianni’s posture was strong. His eyes were sharp. If it were not for his black robes, flat skouphos on his head, and the silver cross at his chest, Alex would not have taken the man for a priest. He held himself as a warrior—a Maniot, Alex realized.

  “A Yayabaşi officer with his sürücu drovers has taken children from Tsímova.”

  The men stared at the priest in shocked silence for a few seconds, then the room exploded in noise. Who was taken? When? We had no warning.

  “They have never come here,” Themis spluttered. “The Mani is free.”

  “The Turks caught us by surprise, sending riders through the streets to drive everyone into the town square.” The priest spoke in a strong voice, but Alex heard it waver. “Seven children were taken: the Michalákiani twins, Barnabas and Bartholomaios; Dimitrios Grigorakiáni; Spiros and Theodora Sássaris; and your own kin, Stella and Elena.” He glanced around at the stricken faces. “Sophia’s servant, Missno, has gone after them.”

  Alex bolted to his feet. His heart flew into his throat. “What do you mean gone after them?” The memory of seeing his father with a musket ball in his forehead made Alex choke on his own breath.

  The men all began to speak at once. Themis leaned against the wall, his head in his hands. Sophia’s sons began to cry. Mikhail leaned against Alex, and he placed his hand on the boy’s head as the child wept.

  Alex’s pulse pounded, and his mind spun as he debated his next actions. He would go after Diana, and God willing, he would find her before the Turks did. What was she thinking? Why had she acted so rashly?

  He moved toward the door, but Father Yianni intercepted him. The priest laid a hand on Alex’s arm and leaned his head close, speaking only for Alex’s ears. “Wait.”

  “Father, I must go. She will be killed.”

 
; The priest’s hand tightened on Alex’s arm until he lifted his gaze to meet the older man’s eyes. “I spoke these same words to a panicked young woman a little over an hour ago: You will be of no help to anyone if you act rashly.”

  Alex felt his hands shaking.

  “Trust her. And wait for a plan.”

  Alex swallowed, seeing reason in the priest’s words. He would solve nothing by dashing away after Diana. And she would never forgive him if he did not do everything in his power to help rescue the children. He nodded his head. “You are right.”

  “Love makes one impulsive, does it not, my son?”

  Alex gave a wry smile. He glanced once more to the door and then, with great effort, calmed his reckless thoughts and turned back, brushing his hand over Mikhail’s head when the boy stepped close. He did not realize the room had quieted until Petrobey started speaking in a low voice that commanded attention.

  “We must call for a treva.”

  “A truce?” Argos spat the word. “Surrender?”

  Petrobey’s eyes tightened. “We need the Sássaris men if we have any hope of rescuing the children.”

  Argos turned to the priest. “Father, how many Turks were there?”

  “I counted no more than twelve.”

  “We do not need the Sássaris men for twelve.” Argos curled his lip.

  “A Yayabaşi officer commands a large unit. We have no idea if more await them at their camp. We need as many Maniots as we can rally.”

  Argos bowed his head, conceding to the bey’s wishes, but he scowled.

  “Come, Father. We will meet with Sebastianos Sássaris,” Petrobey said. “Dino, Themis.” He motioned with his head for the men to join him, then scanned the room. “The rest of you, assemble in the town square—and be ready for battle. The Turks made a mistake when they took our children. And they will regret it.”

  Chapter 20

  Diana crouched behind a clump of bushes and peered down at the road. A haze of dust told her the horses had come in this direction. In the hours since she had set off from Tsímova, she had seen no one and had decided that a company of Turks on horses dragging crying children was enough to send the local people fleeing into their houses.