The Great Alone (21 page)

“Who reports these things?”

“Other Cossacks, like myself, who disapprove of such things. Not every misdeed reaches the ears of the governor general, but most do.” He watched her closely with narrowed eyes. “Why? Has something happened?”

“I was thinking of home and how it is there for my family.” Which was a half-truth, but she couldn’t tell him about the wrongdoings on Umnak and Unalaska without betraying her brother. “But you would turn against another Cossack if he mistreated an Aleut?”

“Yes. If it was one of my own men, I would see that he was punished. Otherwise, I would report him to the proper authorities when I returned to Siberia.”

“There is nothing you can do in the meantime.”

“It is not my place to control the actions of men other than my own. I am not the law.” His voice was becoming curt and impatient.

“What if a Cossack committed a wrong against an Aleut and the Aleut sought revenge for that wrong? If he attacked the Cossack, what would you do?”

“I would have to stop him.”

“Even if you knew the Aleut was right?”

“How could there be peace in the islands if such a thing was allowed to happen? It would only create more trouble.” He pushed out of his chair. “This conversation is pointless. There is nothing to be gained by discussing it further. You don’t understand the situation, Tasha, or you would not ask such foolish questions.” He grabbed up his pipe and tobacco and left the cabin.

She stared at the pieces on the chessboard, separated by color and lined up facing each other. She saw, too, the fallacy of Andrei’s argument. The Cossack could commit wrong without fear of reprisals from other Cossacks, but an Aleut could not. He would stand by while a Cossack did injury to an Aleut, but would not if it was the other way around. He was not as fair as she had believed him to be. With a heavy heart, Tasha realized that Walks Straight was right. If the Aleuts made war on the Cossacks, he would fight them. There was such pain in this knowledge because she loved him so.

As spring progressed into summer and her belly began to swell with the baby growing in her womb, Tasha found some consolation in her brother’s inability to persuade the villagers in the local islands to unite against the Cossacks. The Blue-Eyed One traded fairly with them and they saw no reason to rise up against him because of the problems other villages were having with their Cossacks.

Walks Straight went on another supposed hunting expedition, but instead journeyed to Unalaska to report his failure to villagers. When he returned, she hoped this talk of war would be over, but it wasn’t so.

“They are determined to rid themselves of the Cossacks,” he told her. “They say they will show their Aleut brothers there is no reason to fear the Cossacks. All the villages of Umnak and Unalaska are of one mind. They plan now how to do this.”

“What will you do? Will you join them?”

“I do not know.” But she could see the desire in his eyes. “They want me to stay here. Maybe when these Aleut hunters see the Cossacks can be beaten, they will fight them, too.”

“No.” It was a faint protest, barely audible.

“Will you tell Andrei Nikolaivich of our plans?” he questioned sharply.

Silently she shook her head.

CHAPTER XII

Bald eagles dotted the sky, their dark wings spread as they rode the island thermals, circling higher and higher. Below, wind stirred the tawny grasses gilding the meadows. The lichen- and moss-covered upper elevations sported the reds, yellows, and oranges of autumn’s colorful palette. Yet the warmth of summer lingered.

Outside the Cossacks’ dugout, the upper half walled with drift logs, a dozen promyshleniki gathered for the ceremony. Andrei took the week-old infant from Tasha’s arms, carefully supporting its head, and awkwardly shifted the bundle into the cradle of his arm. Tasha retucked the ends of the blanket square around the squirming body and ignored the angry cries of protest. Andrei pushed the edges of the blanket away from the baby’s neck and rocked him gently. His chest swelled with pride as he gazed at his newborn son, but he experienced a flash of disturbance when he noticed the raveled ends of the wool blanket. His son deserved the best.

“You should have a christening gown,” he murmured to the infant, then smiled when the wind lifted the corner flap of the blanket and revealed the full head of soft black hair. Andrei was certain no baby had ever been as beautiful as his. He glanced at the somber-faced promyshleniki, then turned to Tasha. “They are waiting for us.”

“I have been thinking—maybe I should be baptized, too.”

His head came up slightly as he inwardly recoiled from the idea. He had never considered himself an overly religious man, and he had never considered his relationship with Tasha to be an adulterous one. After all, she was a half-breed, a heathen. But there was something more sinful about bedding a Christian.

“There is no need,” he told her. “Baptism insures that our son will not have to pay tribute when he is grown. Tribute isn’t collected from women.” Cradling the small infant in one arm, he placed a hand between Tasha’s shoulder blades and guided her toward the waiting group.

This was the first opportunity for the promyshleniki to view their commander’s son. When Andrei reached their party, they crowded around him, anxious for a look at the child. Comment, compliments, and congratulations filled the air for several minutes. Eventually Andrei called for quiet and, in front of his gathering of witnesses, baptized his son.

“The servant of God, Zachar Andreivich, is baptized in the name of the Father, amen, the Son, amen, and the Holy Spirit, amen.” He made the sign of the cross, his hand moving right to left in the tradition of his faith.

With the ceremony concluded, the celebration began. Cups of kvass were handed around and loud toasts were made to Zachar Andreivich. But the shouts and laughter and general revelry were considerably more noise than young Zachar Andreivich was accustomed to hearing. When his whimpers of protest weren’t heeded, he unleashed a full-blown bawl.

“I will take him.” Tasha came to Andrei’s rescue, and he gratefully handed her their squalling son.

She laid the baby against her shoulder, holding his head, and bounced him gently to hush his cries. Andrei watched her walk away from the boisterous group of Russian hunters. In some ways, she was more beautiful than before. If it was possible, she pleased and excited him more than she ever had. Yet lately he’d been having misgivings about his plan to take her to Russia with him.

He looked at her black hair sleeked into a bun native-style, her long sealskin parka trimmed with otter and embroidered trade beads, and her bare feet with soles hardened by calluses. Maids, dressmakers, and cobblers could change her outward appearance. But when he tried to imagine her playing whist at the governor’s home or dining at a merchant’s house, or attending the theater, he couldn’t. His culture was completely alien to her. No matter how beautiful she was or how fashionably dressed, she wouldn’t fit into the social life at Irkutsk.

It troubled him greatly, but so did the thought of leaving her behind. And there was his son. He had a duty and obligation to him. Andrei had waited too long for a child. He couldn’t give him up any more than he could give up Tasha. It was a problem he wrestled with many times during the long nights of autumn and early winter.

Snowflakes swirled in the night air. A thin layer of snow covered the ground and provided clear impressions of the two sets of bare footprints leading away from the village barabaras where the muffled beat of drums originated.

Tasha walked swiftly through the light snowfall, keeping pace with her brother’s long strides. Years of exposure had hardened her feet against the cold. Now she was more conscious of aching pressure in her breasts, full with milk. She hurried through the frigid air.

The communal feast held by the village to give thanks for the bounty of the sea had given her a contentment of spirit. The ceremonial foods and ritual dances had satisfied her need to feel close again to the ways of her people. She was glad Walks Straight had persuaded her to leave little Zachar in Andrei’s care and go to the annual feast with him. She only wished she had taken the baby along so she could have stayed longer, but Andrei had stubbornly refused to allow her to expose their son to the snow and cold even for the short trek between the barabara and their dwelling.

“Little Zachar must be very hungry by now. I should have left sooner, but I didn’t want to miss the masked dancers.” Each word was accompanied by a puffy cloud that the wind whisked away.

“It is wise to thank the Creator for the bounty of His sea or He may withhold it in seasons to come. And it will be good for Zachar to have the hunger of an empty belly for a short time,” her brother insisted.

“Yes, but Andrei Nikolaivich does not like for him to cry. The least little sound Zachar makes, he picks him up. I have never seen a father carry on so about a child.” But she said it proudly.

Andrei spent countless hours with their son. And since the birth of their child, his passion for her seemed to have become greater and his lovemaking more ardent. Everything was going so well. Even the murmurings of war had ceased. At least Walks Straight hadn’t spoken of it again.

As they reached the door to the small hut, partially hollowed out of the side of a hill, Tasha turned to her brother. “Will you come in and see little Zachar? He grows so much.”

But he shook his head and faded into the night, his bird-skin parka quickly blending with whirling snow and blackness. She opened the door and stepped inside the hut, immediately feeling the warmth of the interior. She shut the door quickly to keep in the heat of the lamp and turned, hearing the beginnings of a whimper. Andrei paced the room, jiggling his cranky son against his shoulder. As Tasha moved into the room, she noticed little Zachar sucking on his fist.

“He is hungry,” Andrei said.

“I know.” She pulled off her parka and laid it on the wide cot.

Wet circles of milk stained the front of her shirt. She unfastened the buttons as she sat down on the cot. Andrei brought their hungry son to her and placed him in her lap. His mouth sought her nipple almost before she had him positioned in her arms. He suckled noisily when he found it, his long-lashed blue eyes looking up at her.

Sitting in his chair, Andrei watched them. If they were in Russia, his son would have a wet nurse. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. He dipped his head slightly to block the sight of Tasha’s hair glistening with droplets of melted snow.

His son was precious to him, more precious than he had dreamed. Andrei wanted things for him—things he could give him, and would give to him—even though it meant he would have to leave Tasha behind. It simply wouldn’t work to take her with him.

“What troubles you, Andrei Nikolaivich?”

He lifted his head but couldn’t quite meet her inquiring gaze. “I was thinking of home.”

She made an understanding sound. “It is almost time for your celebration.”

“Christmas.” He finally guessed what she meant.

“Tell me about your town, Irkutsk, again so it will be familiar to me.”

Andrei hesitated. The opening was there, yet he was reluctant to take it even though he knew he must. “I have reconsidered. You would not like it, Tasha,” he said finally, then hurried on before she could question him. “Siberia isn’t like the islands. It is gray and drab.” He didn’t mention the copper-domed churches glinting red in the sun. Red was the color of happiness in Russia. “Our homes, our food, our way of life are different than what you know. It would be very strange to you. I see that now. You would have no family there, no friends. It is cold there, Tasha. Very cold.”

“That would not bother me.” Her eyes were wide, her expression revealing her attempt to understand.

“What would you do there, Tasha? There is no grass to weave baskets, no skins to clean, no bird skins to make into parkas, no salmon to catch in the streams, no sea urchins to collect on the reefs—nothing. There would only be rooms—rooms to sit in, sleep in, eat in, cook in. That is all. You would be very unhappy. And I care about you too much to see you unhappy.”

“What about the dances and the building where people tell stories?”

“That takes up only a little time of the day. Soon you would tire of that, too.” Andrei knew he was right. Even if she could learn to accept those things, there was still the problem of his son—and his wife, Natalia. Natalia might have turned a blind eye to Tasha alone, but it would hurt her deeply to have Tasha and Zachar there, the son she had so longed to give him born to another woman. And he could never hide his pride in the child. He knew also that Natalia would gladly raise his son. Tasha alone she could accept; Zachar alone she could accept, but not the two of them together.

“It is different for our son,” he continued quickly. “He can learn the ways of my people. I want him to have an education—to learn to read and write—make marks on the paper—and study wise things. I can do this for him.”

Her arms protectively circled the baby nursing at her breast. “You would take Zachar from me.”

“Only for a short time, Tasha,” he assured her earnestly. “Other Aleut children have gone to Russia to learn our language and our ways and to study our knowledge. They have come back.” He also knew Aleuts had been taken to Russia, claimed as godsons, and later adopted. Zachar would not have to be his bastard child. He could eventually be regarded as his legitimate heir. “Zachar will come back, too. So will I. Tasha, I have to take this cargo of furs to Russia this summer. I am a merchant, a trader. This is what I do—the same as Walks Straight is a hunter. I will return for more furs, and Zachar will be with me.” At least until he reached the age to be in school. “We will be together again as we are now—here on the islands where you are happy. Do you understand?”