Makee and I stand in uncomfortable silence. The shadows are lengthening, and the birds have started their evening song. He turns on me. “Why didn’t you go? You said you would.”
“I said I’m sorry. They’ll release her. Don’t worry.” I cast aside doubt. I’m an eighteen-year-old woman and I know them all. I know exactly how they’ll respond.
Just then we hear voices from the opposite side of the river. Timofei Osipovich bursts onto the river bank, followed by the crew and the koliuzhi. Nikolai Isaakovich is still not with them. Neither are the prisoners.
“Anna Petrovna Bulygina,” Timofei Osipovich begins, “I beg you to take pity upon your husband! He was so distraught, he wept! He wept so severely, he decided—God help him—to take your life. I had to stop him. I pried his musket from his grasp. I held him down until the others came to my aid. We tied him up so he wouldn’t come here and murder you.”
“Your threats are hollow! Nikolai Isaakovich has no intention of murdering me.”
“Your husband has lost everything. And when a man loses everything, he can no longer be held responsible for his actions.”
“I scorn all threats.”
“Anna—please—” Makee says hoarsely. “Please go.”
“By orders of this toyon, release your prisoners now!” I add.
“You will force his hand Madame Bulygina if I convey your words,” calls Timofei Osipovich.
“And you will force this toyon’s if you don’t release the prisoners now!”
“As you wish then,” Timofei Osipovich says coldly, and heads back into the forest with the rest of the crew. Makee’s men follow him and I wonder if they’ll return with the prisoners in tow. I think they will.
Evening is upon us and I’m chilled through when the koliuzhi return—alone. Timofei Osipovich isn’t with them, nor is Nikolai Isaakovich and his musket. Nor are the prisoners. Makee asks them several questions. Then they board the canoes and return to our shore.
As we begin the long trek back to the village where we spent last night, Makee again turns on me, his voice raised. “I trusted you, Anna. You said you would go. They’ll never release my sister now.”
“Maybe they’ll release her tomorrow,” I say timidly. I’m cowed by the anger I’ve never seen in him before, and confused by the crew’s failure to release their prisoners.
“I don’t believe that.”
The damp night air settles on us. The sky is black, and the few stars strewn overhead that we glimpse through the trees twinkle distantly. I don’t have the heart to look for my Polaris. The moon was full only a few days ago, so there remains enough light that we can follow the trail easily enough.
When we reach the village, Maria and I are directed to separate houses. I’ll go to bed alone, but will I sleep at all? I’ve let Makee and his sister down. The Murzik and Koliuzhi Klara, too. The image of her black eye is burned into my heart.
They’ll release everyone tomorrow. They must. And if they’re smart, they’ll join Makee at the same time.
The next morning, Makee and the koliuzhi men from yesterday disappear down the trail. I’m not asked to accompany them. No one tells me what they intend to do once they see the crew.
I’m confined to the house all day. I don’t see Maria. With nothing to do, I scrape dried mud from my boots and my dress and watch the familiar routines of this house. A woman leaves with a basket—she’s going to collect kindling. Another pours water into the cooking boxes—she’s preparing a meal. There’s a baby strapped into a cradle suspended in a quiet corner of the house. Some women in a circle play a game with curved dice that look like they’re made of teeth. Children play their own game with paddles and a twig with feathers they knock back and forth until the twig lands in a cooking box and they’re sent outdoors.
Nothing breaks the day’s dullness except the thoughts that hound me.
Late in the afternoon, there’s a disturbance outside. A cluster of people bursts through the door. It’s Makee and his men. People rise to their feet. Some rush to the door, calling out. Makee beams. I don’t see his sister, Koliuzhi Klara, or the Murzik. Makee pushes through the crowd and inserts himself before the moustached toyon. They embrace. The crowd and the news flow around the house and one by one, I see faces light up with joy.
Then, entering the house: Timofei Osipovich. Grinning.
Brooding Ovchinnikov and two Aleuts.
And, right behind them, there’s Nikolai Isaakovich. Glowering.
As they approach, my feelings fall like Tarot cards one on top of the other, each fortune cancelling out the one beneath it. When Kolya draws near, despite all that’s passed these last few weeks, there’s an involuntary tug at my heart.
“Good evening, Madame Bulygina,” blusters Timofei Osipovich. “How soon we get the pleasure of your company once again.” His hands open in a gesture of welcome incongruous with his mocking tone.
“I’m not going with you,” I say. “I told you yesterday.”
Timofei Osipovich laughs. “Yes, you made that perfectly clear. But don’t worry. You’re not going anywhere. No one is.”
Nikolai Isaakovich cuts him off. “Anna Petrovna, you’ve made a mess of everything. Do you know what you’ve done?”
“Nikolai Isaakovich, I don’t understand. Why are you here?”
“Madame Bulygina, we’ve taken your advice,” says Timofei Osipovich. “We’ve released our prisoners. They’re back where they belong. As for us—we’ve come to join your toyon.”
“You have?”
“You said we should. We decided to listen to you. Why are you so surprised?”
“Where is the rest of the crew?”
“They’ve decided not to join us. They want to try to get to the Kad’iak. Their fate will be wrought by their own hands.”
Nikolai Isaakovich looks as though he really would murder me now. But whatever misgivings he may have, their change of heart is for the best. Eventually my husband will understand. We’re on the right path now. In the end, we’ll all get back home.
SPRING AND SUMMER 1809
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
To night, we’re split up. Nikolai Isaakovich and the crew remain in this toyon’s house while Maria and I are sent to a different house to sleep. We’re like spinster sisters once again sharing a mat and some bedclothes. When I lie down, thoughts whirl around my head like untethered shadows. The decision I made on the riverbank seemed so clear, but in the dark, where not even the stars can reach, it’s transformed into a restless spirit that won’t let me alone.
When Maria settles herself, her silence is too much.
“Joining Makee is our only choice,” I say. “You see that, don’t you?”
She doesn’t budge, and I think she’s already asleep. But then she mutters, “I see everything—and nothing.”
“That’s impossible. You can’t.”
“No? Well, I’m too old to do otherwise.”
“Well, I believe Makee,” I insist.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am. He’s going to get us home.” My decision is sound and well-considered. The prisoners were released—Makee’s sister is free—and we’re going home as soon as a ship arrives. Eventually Nikolai Isaakovich will agree. “I just don’t know how to make my husband understand. He’s so stubborn.”
She’s quiet for so long I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. Then she murmurs, “You seem so certain. Perhaps he doesn’t share that. Perhaps he thinks you’re not seeing the whole picture.”
“What picture? Without Makee, our situation is hopeless.”