My husband stands over me. “Come, Anya. Let’s go for a walk.”
I put my boots back on before I take his hand and we wander down the beach, leaving the others lying on the sand.
“I’ve missed you,” he says when we’re far enough away. His words are carried away in the wind.
“I’ve missed you, too.” He drops my hand and slides his arm around me. He pulls me close, and I lean into his warmth. The surf breaks and sighs as the water runs back to the sea. Warmth from the sun cuts through the cool ocean breeze, and though it’s much too early, it feels like summer has come to the wedding, too.
When we reach the end of the beach, there’s a tall stump of a rock we can’t see around. With a quick glance back at the others, he pulls me close and kisses me. His kiss grows deeper when the waves break on the shore, and tapers off as the water runs back out. “Let’s go see what’s on the other side,” he says. I know what he’s thinking.
The tide is out. If we pass the rock on the ocean side, and time our steps around the breaking waves, we’ll get wet feet and nothing more. If we choose to pass on the side facing the shore, we’ll need to climb some rock before we get to the other side. But our feet will stay dry. Nikolai Isaakovich releases me from his embrace, but holds tight to my hand. He turns and pulls me toward the water.
I shake loose his hand and laugh. “I’ll race you,” I say, and jump onto the rocks.
The rock is dry and there are many footholds. I scramble up as speedily as I can, knowing he’s got to wait until the time is right. Every second is to my advantage. There’s a pool of sea stars and other creatures, but I don’t stop to look. I climb over this saddle of rock, picking my way across the protuberances and the hollows as quickly as I can, and start my descent to the sand on the other side. I’m going to get to the beach before him.
Then, ahead, movement catches my eye.
A wolf on the beach stares. Its ears lean forward, its neck extends, its head tilts. I hold my breath. I don’t dare move. If I call for help, the wolf may attack. Would anyone even hear me? And what could they do anyway? The wolf is huge, its legs disproportionately long, and no one’s armed.
The wolf also holds its position. Its manner is so reminiscent of Zhuchka’s. Except for the eyes—two cold, polished opals set beneath a heavy brow. I never saw such a predatory expression on my sweet dog’s face.
Old stories recount the risk of being the first to look away from a wild animal. It must not be me. Eventually my husband will come around the rock and see the wolf, too. Let him also have the wherewithal to stand tall before the wolf.
The wolf breaks eye contact. It turns its lanky body to the sea. It trots to the edge of the water, dips its head and laps, its pink tongue lolling out. Then it enters the sea, delicately lifting its heavy paws until it’s slowed in the surf.
Where’s Nikolai Isaakovich? Can’t he see the wolf?
The wolf keeps going. It begins to swim. Its muzzle points into the waves like the prow of a ship, and its tail is a rudder trailing behind.
Where’s it going? There’s nothing but open ocean ahead.
It advances through the first line of surf. It swims and swims. Why isn’t it turning back?
Where’s my husband?
Then the wolf goes under. It bobs up for an instant, then submerges again. Only a ripple on the surface indicates it was ever there before it, too, disappears.
“Kolya?” I call. “Kolya!” Has he seen it? He must have.
Then the sea is slashed open. A dark, glistening object, hard and curved like a scythe, sails along the water’s surface. It’s the fin of a whale. It sails straight for a short time and a long time, before it’s swallowed by the sea.
My heart pounds in my head. I can’t move.
“Anya! Where are you?” My husband appears from around the stump. He looks up at me and beams. “I won!” he cries.
“Did you see that?”
“What?”
“That—wolf,” I say. “There was a wolf here a minute ago.”
He looks around. “Where?”
“It went into the ocean.”
“Oh, Anya,” he cries, “don’t be such a poor loser. I beat you fairly. Now, come on down.”
I climb down, keeping an eye on the sea. What just happened? Did the wolf drown? Did the whale eat the wolf? There was no struggle. As an enlightened woman, I know what’s possible. There is no vodyanoy. No spirits exist in the sea or anywhere else. I also know what I saw. How could a wolf become a whale?
My husband helps me down the last two steps onto the sand. “Now that I’ve won, where’s my reward?”
He pulls me close and kisses me, but I’m distracted. He slides his hands under the hem of my cedar dress and pulls it up around my waist. I watch the sea, I watch the forest. He bends and lowers me to the beach.
I’m afraid the wolf will reappear—and equally afraid it won’t because it’s no longer a wolf.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“What’s wrong?” my husband asks.
I woke feeling ill and uncomfortable. My insides churned, my mouth was dry, and my tongue rose against the back of my throat. It was the second morning. Yesterday, nothing came up. This morning, I retched into the moss behind the bushes, hoping no one would see, knowing that many would hear.
After the nausea had almost passed, I went to the shore and breathed in the salty air. I rinsed my mouth with salt water and then returned to the house refreshed. But by the time I arrived at the edge of our mat, the salty taste had thickened and brought on a new wave of queasiness.
“I don’t feel well again,” I say.
“Are you feverish?” He sits up and pushes away our bedclothes.
“I don’t think so. I don’t know what it is.”
“You should rest.”
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine. Look—everyone’s getting up. Come on. It’s a beautiful morning outside.”
At the wedding feast, Makee brought my husband and me together again. He negotiated with the other toyons, and as soon as they finished distributing the baskets and boxes, the hats and shoes and dresses, the tools and utensils, the whale grease, the fish and food wrapped in fern fronds and cedar boughs, and as soon as the final dances were completed, he called over Nikolai Isaakovich and me to announce the good news. I’m disappointed we’re not part of Makee’s house—I already miss Inessa and the other girl—but at least I’m with my husband.
We’re staying with the Quileutes, in the house of the moustached toyon. This is where I belong. How could it be otherwise? I love Nikolai Isaakovich.
Makee reassured me. “When the ship arrives, you’ll all go. I promise no one will be left behind.”
“Why is it taking so long?”
“Anna, this is not Boston. You must remain patient.”
The negotiations were complicated and, up until the last minute, uncertain. The Tsar wanted nothing to do with us, Makee said, because we’d brought nothing but heartache to the Chalats—we’d stolen their fish, battled them and shot one of them, and then kidnapped three people. The only babathid he’d consider welcoming was Maria. At least she knew the medicine and could care for the sick.
She seemed unconcerned about going by herself.
“Wouldn’t you rather have somebody else from the crew with you?” I asked. “Who are you going to talk to?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps Yakov is still there. Whatever happens, I accept God’s will.”
“We’ll come back for you,” I promised again. “That’s God’s will.”