The Age of Ice: A Novel by J. M. Sidorova Read Free Book Online

Andrei’s greeting for me. No one had told them, apparently.
    “On leave,” I relished saying. “For the service I rendered to the empire. Haven’t you heard?” Oh how I enjoyed seeing his face turn dour while I gallantly mentioned my inoculation, looking not at him but mostly at his wife. Anna, wasn’t it? Her hair was very dark and so were her eyes, her skin was porcelain-white. But she was no beauty: her nose a trifle toopointy, her mouth too small. Her smile was tentative. She wouldn’t be hard to win over.
    “We’ve heard of your service, ” Andrei said and all but carried Anna inside.
    Andrei made it known that he did not like my staying in Velitzyno. I overheard it. I eavesdropped by the door to Father’s study; they had to be talking about me. The floorboards creaked and voices rose and fell. Andrei’s, agitated: he  . . . irregular behavior  . . . ill-natured  . . . is said to be  . . . Father’s, irate: . . . me to do, kick him out?  . . . so he takes it to town?
    An hour later, Father called me in. I walked into his study with a sardonic smile on my face: See if I care! He surprised me by saying, What was that faux pas you had performed on that Matryona woman? I said, Matryona who? — The peasant woman you are rumored to have attacked, he said. Attacked?! I flared. There was no attack! Where’s the damage?
    He erupted in a gurgling cough. He grumbled, We don’t need disturbances here .
    I shrugged, ready to leave. Is that all?
    It was.
    • • •
    Oh, I knew: never had Andrei been so reluctant to leave this old house as he was now. I saw him talking to Anna. She was seated in an armchair and he was standing over her as if he were a teacher and she a pupil who needed correction. I knew he had indoctrinated her: Stay away from Alexander! He is a troubled man!
    I could just tell. And so I waited for Andrei to abide the call of duty and leave. I waited through all those little silences, and forks dropped at dinner, and the glances Anna cast about as if—but for an instant—she was deeply and profoundly disoriented.
    Oh, I watched her, yes, I looked for ways of entry into her soul. She was twenty-two but her calm demeanor made her appear older. Her dark eyes were sad. I knew just what to ask her come the right time: Why are you unhappy?
    • • •
    Andrei left.
    I hunted her. Day to day, from fireplace to fireplace, parlor to parlor, among ladies playing cards or taking cordials or altering clothes or tasting currant preserves or knitting or finding each other’s soft spots and there inserting their dainty needles (Anna would respond with a polite—orclueless—smile). I chased her among children at play, where she would take part dreamily, while younger nephews blushed at older nieces, and nieces twittered into each other’s ears in their little-girls’ French.
    She avoided being alone with me—she was a good pupil—but no matter. I could converse with her—or about her—in others’ company. How is my sister-in-law doing today? My lady cousins, I knew, would supply the context: Annichka, dear, your brother-in-law seems so taken by you  . . . runs in the family, no doubt  . . . although no two brothers could be as different as these  . . . and this one is a bad, bad boy, they say  . . .
    I piqued her interest. Soon she would at least sit with other ladies and listen to me telling stories about Andrei’s childhood: Do you know he wanted to be Iliya of Murom when he was a kid?  . . . Do you know he wanted to be a Leib Guard so badly that he stretched himself taller?  . . . He wasn’t always as serious as now  . . . Does he ever smile at you? Is he ever tender?
    Splotches of blush would show on her cheeks. “Well, yes. Andrei Mikhailovich is a caring man. Of course he is tender with me.”
    And I’d add another little fly to the ointment. “You can call me Alexander. No need for those stuffy patronymics.”
    I was engaging in talk of this kind