Behind the Raven Mask

by Cherime MacFarlane

  "What was the tour like?" Anya smiled.

  Camille noticed how a smiled changed her face as it did Dmitri's. He looked so much younger, boyish when he smiled; Anya was much like him. "That, mon chou, depended on the young lady and her means. My mother toured France and Spain. My Aunt Leontine's mother saw all of Europe and Greece."

  Anya jumped up and paced across the rug. "Could I make a tour soon? Do you think Father would let me do that?"

  "You are a little young. You will be eleven years old in May." Camille shook her head. "Not yet, Anya."

  The girl threw herself face down on the rug; Anya crumpled up into a dejected heap. "Why am I always too young?" She wailed.

  "Anya! Hush! Behavior like this would not convince your father you are old enough to leave home for any length of time. Now, be silent and I will make a bargain with you."

  Anya lifted her head from between her arms to stare at Camille. She scrubbed one hand across her face, then rose to sit with her legs to one side.

  "Good. Much better! If you wish to be treated like a young lady, you must convince people you are one."

  With a shy smile, Anya rose and straightened her dress. Then, she settled herself on the footstool before Camille's chair. "What are the terms of the bargain?" The girl's tone was calm and dispassionate.

  "If you work hard on your lessons from now until next fall, I will see to it you spend the following winter in San Francisco. Does that sound fair?"

  Anya's eyes glittered with excitement for a moment and then dulled, and her mouth became a sullen slash across her face again. "But, there is no school..."

  Her voice rose. Camille leaned forward and tapped Anya on the shoulder. The girl struggled with herself and began again.

  "What you ask will be difficult for me, now that school is closed."

  Camille nodded. "True. But I have an answer to the problem. You can continue your lessons with me as teacher. What else do we have to do on days like this?"

  "Thank you, Camille!" Anya jumped up and placed a kiss on her stepmother's cheek. "May we begin tomorrow?"

  "Of course."

  Anya called out her thanks again, as she hurried from the bedroom, then rushed away to find Stanislaus to tell him of her good fortune. Camille smiled as the girl bounced out of the room. Anya reminded her of her aunt. What a handful her aunt had been. Thinking about Leontine was so pleasant, Camille sat down to begin a letter to her Aunt.

  She asked Leontine if she would mind having Anya as her guest during the next winter. After describing Anya to Leontine, Camille re-read what she had written. Leontine could handle Anya; there was no question in her mind. Now if they could convince Dmitri to part with the child for one season, Anya would have a goal to work toward.

  On the following day, Camille set out the schedule she intended to keep. During the afternoon, she and Anya would work together, and Stanislaus would join them if he were free. Anya was to study in the hour before dinner. Anya was a joy to teach when she put effort into it. The child soaked up knowledge as a dry garden welcomed moisture. Stanislaus would tutor Anya in mathematics, and she would help him with grammar and reading.

  Deportment was a more delicate affair. In the beginning, Anya resisted any curtailment of her nature. Camille pointed out such knowledge was necessary if she wished to go to San Francisco and take part in the social life of the town. Her stepdaughter gave in with some reluctance.

  A week later, Camille decided Anya should learn to waltz. Humming a tune, Camille took Anya's hand and whirled her around the room. Their feet became entangled and together they collapsed in a giggling flurry on the sofa in the sitting room. Anya landed on top of Camille. The baby struggled against the sudden shift of movement. Anya moved away from Camille, a startled expression on her face.

  "What was that?" She cried. Without thinking, Anya reached out to place her hand on the undulating cloth. The unborn child moved again and the girl snatched her hand away. "Does it hurt?"

  Anya stared at Camille in astonishment. As she recalled her ignorance and the difficulties it had caused her and Dmitri, Camille took Anya by the hand and drew the girl down to sit beside her.

  "No, it does not hurt. Here," Camille took Anya's hand and placed it where she might feel the baby move. "Feel this? I think is his head. There is something marvelous about feeling your child move within."

  The baby ceased moving and Anya removed her hand from her stepmother’s stomach. She nodded, then looked up at Camille. "Will it hurt when the baby is born?"

  "I have no idea. Oh, I have heard one or two horror stories." She grimaced. "It seems old women like to exaggerate. So I do not have a realistic expectation regarding what is to happen. I think I will talk to Doctor Kaminski the next time I see him. I shall ask what to expect. And I hope he will enlighten me if he knows."

  With an expression of disgust, the girl agreed. "I have heard the older women of the village gossiping. I think they delight in trying to shock each other with the horrors they have survived."

  Camille giggled. Anya joined her.

  "Listen, Anya, I promise to tell you all about the experience. You may depend on it. I think women should have a working knowledge of what to expect from marriage."

  "Will you answer any questions I may have?" Embarrassed by her words, Anya turned her head away.

  Camille placed her fingers beneath the girl's chin and turned Anya's face toward her. "I am shy. I am prone to embarrassment, and matters of a physical nature are difficult to speak of. You may have to give me time to think about your questions and how I will phrase my answers. But, I promise I will not let you go blundering about in the dark."

  Anya's eyes studied Camille for a moment. Then she lifted her chin. Camille recognized the warning sign, so steeled herself for a difficult moment.

  "Do you love my poppa?"

  A slight heat warmed Camille's cheeks. She knew she was blushing. For a moment, the gray eyes and the hazel locked together as they took each other's measure. "Yes. I love your father with all my heart."

  Camille heard the words. She wondered at her foolishness. After discovering Dmitri's affair, pride kept her from telling him how much he meant to her. Until she was sure Dmitri no longer met or even thought about the Juneau woman, Camille had planned to keep her feelings to herself. Now, instead of telling Dmitri, she had confided in Anya.

  Anya smiled at Camille. "Good. Then you will take care of him while I am gone. It is not good for him to be alone."

  Touched by Anya's acceptance, Camille reached out to stroke her hair. "I understand, mon chou. I will do the best I can for your Poppa. But it is impossible for me to replace you in his heart. You will always be his little girl. He realizes one day you will have a home and family to care for. So, when the time is right, he will step aside."

  "I am sorry, Camille. My behavior toward you, when you arrived, was horrid. It was unfair; I never gave you a chance. I do apologize,"

  Anya sat still as she voiced her confession. She kept her voice down and her eyes on her stepmother. Anya was her father's daughter. Neither of them found admitting errors easy. But when they did, they meant their apologies.

  But, even while asking pardon, they both acted as if they had already been forgiven. They were arrogant beyond belief. Some young man would go through the tortures of the damned with Anya. Camille thought of Dmitri, and then she smiled. It was worth the trouble.

  "You are forgiven, Anya. Let us start over. The past is forgotten."

  While accepting the confession and apology, she silently applauded the child’s effort. Camille accepted Anya's unspoken offer of friendship. During the weeks which followed, Anya dropped the walls she had erected between Camille and herself. They developed a relaxed relationship. And a few times, Anya displayed affection for Camille.

  ***

  Dmitri noticed the change. When he was sure the truce was holding, he commented on it to Camille. It pleased him to see them becoming a real family. With Anya's acceptance of his wife, much of t
he worry concerning them slipped from him.

  But Camille still startled far too easy and would not leave the house. Dmitri believed she was keeping something from him. What? Had the doctor not given them assurances that she was well, and the pregnancy was progressing as it should, he would have thought that the problem. Unable to determine the cause of her anxiety, as she would not tell him, Dmitri waited, watched and cared for her in any way she would allow it.

  As winter turned into spring and her pregnancy became more advanced, he sometimes caught her staring out of the windows on the outside world with a wistful look. The look he glimpsed on her face, reminded Dmitri of a frightened animal pursued by hunters. He tried to tell himself it was just Camille's natural apprehension of the unknown. But he was aware of the deception they both lived with. It was only when Camille was occupied with thoughts of the child that she appeared to relax.

  Near the end of February, the snow left the lower slopes of the hills. The days were warmer and the sea calm for days at a time. Recalling the doctor's advice, Dmitri and Alexis sailed the Arctic Term to Sitka.

  They took Camille, Anya, and Helena with them. Camille needed to see Kaminski; it would also be good for Anya to get away from the island for a little while. She had been good, so the trip was a bit of a reward.

  ***

  She watched the land slip past the ship while leaning against the rail. It was the first real peace she had known in months. Away from the island, Camille relaxed. No longer did she feel the strain of the constant threat. She sensed the apparition she had seen at the base of the fallen tree could not reach her here. Life would be so pleasant if the threat of death were lifted.

  How she envied those silly females she had heard worrying over their figures. Camille prayed she would live to see her child grow up. She implored both the Virgin Mary and the Christ Child for mercy. Staying with Dmitri and her child were the only concerns in her life.

  The sisters had been correct in telling her vanity was the most foolish of mankind's sins. Face and figure were only fleeting gifts, not to be given much credence. Only love mattered. God alone knew how much time she had to enjoy being Dmitri's wife.

  For the two days they were in the city, Camille shed her caution, as she explored the old Russian city, which was now the territorial capital, with Anya and Dmitri as guides. The smiling woman refused to pay any heed to those who told her she was too pregnant to be out in polite society; Camille went where she chose.

  ***

  Dmitri watched Camille on the voyage. He noted her gaiety, her air of unconcern, as the Arctic Tern sailed the Inside Passage toward Sitka. But on the trip home, Camille again became the quiet, serious woman she had been for the last few months.

  Anxiety continued to erode Dmitri's peace of mind. To silence his fears, he took to work. Mornings, he saved for correspondence. Afternoons, he spent at the mill or with the logging crew in the hills. When he returned home, he was too tired to stay awake, to worry about his wife's silence.

  Now, it was Camille who turned to him with desire bright in her hazel eyes. Dmitri began to wonder if they should curb their passions for the sake of the child. Camille only laughed at his apprehension. She explained to him she was the best judge of the baby's health, he was not to bother himself with the matter.

  In the dark, after making love, was when Camille's desperation sometimes surfaced. When he questioned her, she hid behind a facade of amused tolerance. She accused him of being a nervous expectant father, a thing he admitted to without hesitation. He knew she was lying as she clung to him.

  He sometimes felt the wetness of tears on her cheek. She had nightmares, which tormented her, leaving her trembling in his arms. When morning came, she denied there was any real cause for concern. Camille was driving him insane. Dmitri was terrified of pushing her for the truth. That could prove to be a two-edged sword. So he kept silent.

  March brought its erratic weather to the island. Dmitri threw himself into the logging operation with a fierce determination to bury his agony. It wounded him deeply that Camille would not confide in him. She knew of his love for her. There was no doubt of it.

  And she trusted him to a point. Her steadfast denial of what lurked between them resulted in an uneasy truce. He no longer brought up the subject and she no longer lied to him. Dmitri felt as if he were ramming his head against a rock which Camille would not even admit existed.

  The only bright spot in the morass was the growing bond of affection between Camille and Anya. He understood the enormous amount of patience and time Camille had invested in Anya and would have adored her for that alone. Camille meant more to him than anyone understood or suspected. Dmitri only wished she would allow him to prove that devotion.

  ***

  Spring came to the island. Camille looked out of the window of their bedroom toward the sea with longing. There lay her only hope. Perhaps while they were in Sitka, she might convince Dmitri they should leave the island. They could go to San Francisco. She turned her back to the window with a sigh. What foolishness! He would never leave the island.

  What he would do was ask her to give him a reason for wanting to leave. Then she would tell him someone on the island wanted her dead. He would be furious at first. Then he would ask the other questions. Even in this silly game of pretend, the answers caught in her throat.

  "Idiot!" She spun around to slam her fist down on the windowsill. She tried to think of the future. With her eyes closed, Camille struggled to picture all the events, which filled a mother's life. Like captions beneath a picture, Camille put the phrases before her.

  Baby sitting up. Baby's first step. The pictures refused to present themselves. The picture of Dmitri with his son and Anya was clear. Where she would place herself, there was only a shadow. It was as if she would cease to exist after the child's birth. Would she? Would her life be taken by the creature she had seen?

  "Sweet Jesus!" Camille mumbled as she clutched her head in both hands. 'I want to live!'

  She screamed in her spirit at the shadows stalking her. I want to stay with Dmitri and the children.'

  It must stop. All she would get from it was one of those sick headaches. Camille left the window to take a seat in her rocker. With all the strength she possessed, she tried to drive away her fears. It had been many months since the last accident. Perhaps, whoever it had left the island now. There would be no further occurrence. It was only her imagination, aggravated by the pregnancy, causing this apprehension.

  A short time later, Camille resumed packing. In a week she, Dmitri and Anya was due to leave for Sitka. The house in Sitka was contracted, and the fee paid. Dmitri had engaged servants. There was no time for indulging in hysterics. It was the twenty-fifth of March. If they were to leave on the first of April, she must get busy.

  On the afternoon of March, the twenty-seventh a southbound freighter stopped at the island. Karin took Dmitri's bundle of outgoing mail to the ship. On her return, she brought a letter to Camille. With a curtsy, Karin placed the envelope in Camille's hand. The handwriting was unknown to her. Camille looked for a return address and found none.

  Curious, she tore open the envelope, lifted out the single sheet of paper, then read it through once. For a moment, she sat stunned in the rocker. Then, she read the letter a second time.

  My dear Camille:

  You are perhaps ignorant of the facts

  behind your sudden marriage. Count Bressoff

  entered your room while drunk and took advantage

  of you. You were at the time, conveniently drugged.

  Your uncle caught the Count in the act. The

  wedding which followed that night was conducted at gun

  point.

  If you do not wish to believe me, ask your uncle's

  Chief Steward, Morrison. I am sure he will be happy to

  supply details.

  What other reason would a man like Dmitri Bressoff

  have for marrying a child like yourself? I am certain

>   that is a question you have already asked.

  Now, you have the answer.

  The afternoon turned gray. Rain clouds seemed to burst open and sheets of water fell. Camille sat in the rocker, staring at the letter in her lap. Again and again, she read it until it seemed engraved on her mind. She would die of shame; Camille was positive.

  A picture of the scene formed in her mind. Dmitri was forced to marry her. Her cheeks stung as she considered what her Uncle and Morrison had seen when they entered her cabin. Would she be able to face anyone again? Had everyone on the ship known but her? What a wonderful laugh they all must have had at her expense.

  The wind and rain launched against the house with a fury. Camille’s anger rose along with the storm. Karin entered the gloomy room and fed the fire after lighting a lamp. Camille ignored the woman's existence.

  She heard Dmitri before he entered their bedroom. It was the sound she had been preparing for all afternoon. As he opened the door, she rose from the chair.

  Dmitri stood rooted to the spot, hand on the door. Camille's face was chalk white. Her eyes blazed at him as she stalked toward him without a word. Rage distorted her features when she lifted her hand to slap him across the face. The sound caused him to flinch.

  "Liar!" She screamed.

  Dmitri pushed the door to their bedroom closed. He lifted his hand as if to touch her. Camille drew away from him. She adjusted her shawl and pulled it tight around her.

  "Do not touch me again." With those words, she turned her back on Dmitri and walked toward the dressing room door. Camille stopped with her hand on the knob and looked at him over her shoulder. "I despise you."

  ***

  The door between them closed with a quiet click. Dmitri's fingertips rested on the place where Camille had struck him. What in hell was wrong with her? Damn it! He had done nothing to deserve such treatment. Dmitri thought of all the days, all the hours he had spent worrying about her. He had had many sleepless nights on her account.