The Four Winds of Heaven Read online

  “No, you must call me ‘Dalia.’ For you see, Anna has grown to be as my own sister—my own family, except for my son. In fact—Anna’s help has been indispensable to me with him, too.”

  Mathilde sat down and indicated some comfortable chairs for Dalia and Anna. She wondered where her daughter would sit; Anna chose a seat near her beautiful dark-haired friend. “And your baby?” Mathilde asked. “Is he well?”

  “Riri is fine. Our little maid is taking care of him during our absence. But naturally, we are uncomfortable about having left him.”

  “Of course. It must be so difficult for you, my dear. After the tragedy… alone with a child.”

  “But I am not alone,” Dalia smiled. “I have Anna.”

  “Yes, Mama. I am always there for Dalia and Riri.” Mathilde looked at her daughter, and saw a glow of defiance in the fine brown eyes. What have I said to offend her now? she thought. “You look very well, Mama,” Anna remarked in her stilted tone.

  “And you.” Mathilde gazed at the simple garnet earrings and the gold watch pinned upon Anna’s breast. There were no feathers or ribbons on her hat, no exotic belt—as a matter of fact Anna wore no bizarre accoutrements at all. She looked sedate. Subdued. The warm brown color of her suit was pleasing to the eye without crying out for attention. Had her daughter changed so much in so short a time?

  Then Sonia entered, with Gino. Anna’s features lost their stiffness, and became tender as she took them both into her arms. But even in her pleasure she was not the boisterous, exuberant girl of before. Sonia went to sit on an ottoman at her feet, but Gino went to Dalia. “You must tell me all about Persia, if you please,” he said, and sat next to her, his young face full of questions.

  “Very well,” Dalia replied. She laughed, and her voice became conspiratorial. “What would you like to know? About the veils that the women wear?”

  Anna and her friend remained in the Black Forest for two weeks. Dalia made an excellent impression upon the family. Baron Yuri found her a receptive listener to his colorful tales. Baroness Ida liked her poised manner, her clean coiled black hair, her smooth creamy complexion which demonstrated a solid background of gentility. Dalia talked with Ida about her life in Persia, about her husband’s business, about her upbringing. And while Dalia was thus entertaining their grandparents, Anna, Sonia, and Gino attempted to regain lost ground to make up for the time together they had lost. But Sonia could not quite grasp this new Anna. She wrote to Ossip: “Anna is afraid to be close to me, as she once was. And there is something else, something difficult to explain. It is almost as if she were trying to negate those very qualities that made her unique.” Sonia attempted to hide her sadness from Anna, but their reunion was a great disappointment to her.

  After a fortnight, it was Anna who announced one morning that she would have to end her visit. “We have been away from Riri for too long,” she explained. “We have never gone anywhere without him, and it is time we returned.”

  “You should have brought him, Dalia,” Baroness Ida remonstrated.

  But Anna answered first: “Trains are not good for babies, Grandmother.”

  “You all traveled during infancy,” Mathilde contested. “Nobody became ill.”

  “Nevertheless, we did not want to take any risks with him,” Anna said. Her face had become strangely animated.

  “It was I who insisted,” Dalia cut in pleasantly. “You know how nervous a first-time mother can be…” She smiled wistfully: “And... I shall probably never have another little one…”

  After their departure, Mathilde said to Ida, “At least she came, even if she did refuse to have us visit her in Lausanne. Maybe the time will come when we will be comfortable together again. I must hope so.”

  “She is your own child,” her mother answered. “And I must say she has become a lady. One day she will be grateful that you stepped in to stop her eccentric behavior.”

  “I don’t know, Mama,” Mathilde sighed wearily. “With Anna, who can tell? I least of all.”

  At the end of July, Mathilde took Gino and Sonia to Normandy. Johanna de Mey’s younger sister had a summer residence in the beach town of Arromanches, and Mathilde took several rooms at the local hotel so that she and her children might visit Ossip each day. He had grown stronger, but still appeared drained of energy, his skin ashen, his eyes enormous in his gaunt face. Even his hair hung limp, the crisp curls gone. Sonia found him a pathetic semblance of his former self, as she sat near him on the beach. They spoke of Petri and Botkin and Sokolov, but not a word was spoken of the Tagantsevs. Sonia did not mention Mikhail Botkin’s portrait.

  The day before Sonia’s departure, a letter arrived, and Ossip’s eyes glowed when he began to read it. “Imagine!” he cried. “It is from Nina Mikhailovna Tobias! She says that they are in Imatra, in Finland, for the summer. Did you know that she planned to write to me?”

  “She spoke of it in passing,” his sister replied softly.

  Mathilde took the family home early, for Ossip had grown tired from too many visits. In the train, Sonia thought with infinite sadness of her brother’s face, of Natasha in the boat, of her own loneliness in St. Petersburg. Her entire life had been tied to Ossip. Even her feelings for Volodia… She saw the spires and onion-shaped cupolas of her city and for the first time they did not make her heart rise on a crest of emotion. A numbness had taken possession of her senses.

  When, one mid-August afternoon, Stepan entered the sitting room where she was serving tea for her mother and Johanna, Sonia hardly lifted her head until he said, “Vladimir Nicolaievitch Tagantsev is here to see you, Baroness.”

  “Volodia? Please, show him in!” Mathilde said. She exchanged looks with Johanna.

  The young man strode into the room, clad in rich chocolate wool and a neatly starched shirt. As always, he struck Sonia as appearing older than his not-quite-nineteen years, and her pulse began to pound blindly in her temples. She could hardly breathe. When she raised her clear gray eyes to his face, he colored slightly.

  He came to Mathilde, bowed over her hand, and did the same with Johanna. “Mathilde Yureyevna,” he began, “I wanted to come, long before this. Circumstances prevented me. I have written to Ossip, and plan to do so every week. Now I came to learn of his progress from you, and to apologize for not coming… sooner.”

  “I understand, Vladimir Nicolaievitch,” Mathilde replied. She regarded the young man with indulgence. She had always liked him. “How is your mother?”

  “Mama is fine, thank you. But Ossip?”

  “Sit down, and Sonia will pour you some tea, and you can try some of these eclairs,” Mathilde said. He looked at Sonia and sat upon the sofa next to her, so that his leg touched hers under her pink skirt. She was silent as she poured from the magnificent silver pot, her tiny hand clutching the scrolled handle. Her mother began to speak of Ossip, and Volodia sat attentive, his brow knit, his face pensive. Once in a while he took a discreet bite of cake, or a sip of tea. But he did not interrupt. Mathilde was grateful to be speaking of her favorite, who was gone, and he allowed her this pleasure with unvoiced compassion.

  Finally, Mathilde stopped speaking and Volodia made some comments, not once looking at Sonia beside him.

  Johanna de Mey said, “Mathilde and I would enjoy some music. You always played so well, Vladimir Nicolaievitch. Sonia has been neglecting her practice these days —why not play some four-hand pieces for us, to encourage her?”

  “It would be my pleasure, Johanna Ivanovna,” Volodia said. Sonia rose, and silently preceded him into the piano room. She sat down, holding some music sheets out to him. Still without a word, he made a selection and took a seat beside her. They began to play.

  “I have not yet congratulated you upon winning your gold medal,” Sonia murmured.

  “Thank you, Sofia Davidovna. That is very gracious of you. The chief honors belong to Ossip, though, who succeeded under such dreadful circumstances.”

  “And what will you do now?”

  �
��I am scheduled to begin classes at the Faculty of Law,” he replied.

  “A family tradition?” she said with slight irony.

  “Yes, it was my father’s wish. But I do not always comply with his desires. I like the law. I would not do what did not please me.”

  “I find that difficult to believe,” Sonia stated.

  “You are being unnecessarily cruel, Sofia Davidovna. My sister is very unhappy. I would give the world to relieve her of her misery. But she is a woman. I am not, and my will is my own.”

  “Your father is one of the most powerful men in the nation. Would you really defy him?” she asked, and this time, beneath her sarcasm, a soft note lingered. She raised her gray eyes to his brown ones, and then lowered them again with a blush.

  “I would defy him in a minute,” he whispered. “I need but one word of encouragement.”

  She stopped playing, and his fingers continued, by themselves, while she stared at him in wonder. He struck up a furious tempo, attacking the keyboard with frenzy. “Sofia Davidovna,” he said, “it should hardly be a secret to you that I love you. I have been mad about you since you were thirteen. Surely you knew?”

  “You dare to say that, after what has happened?” she asked, in a hushed voice.

  “No. I dare to speak because of what has happened. I swear—it will not happen to us! I never thought, all these years, that we could make it work. I thought Ossip and Natasha senseless fools. I thought they were romantic and silly. You shared my opinion. But now I am a man, and I realize that Ossip was right. It was his timing, and his sense of drama, which were wrong. I shall not take ‘no’ for an answer, Sofia Davidovna. Two lives have been ruined. I shall not stand for two more.”

  She said, aghast, “But I had no idea you felt so strongly! It occurred to me, once or twice, that I might have—appealed to you. But never this! I did not think you cared…”

  “I have never been more serious in my life. I beg of you—do not turn me away. I love you. I could make you happy!”

  “But I thought—and Ossip too—that you were being kind to me for his sake, out of friendship for him!”

  “Please continue playing, while I talk to you,” he pleaded. “I never shared my feelings with Ossip. He might have revealed them to you, and I was certain that you did not care. Now that I am about to enter the University, I had to learn the truth. Tell me, Sofia Davidovna,” he whispered, “do you care for me at all? Could you spend your life with me? Do you love me?”

  She opened her mouth and wanted to cry out: Of course I care! I too have always cared! But she could not speak. He read the answer in her eyes. Her fingers played from memory, without feeling, and her face, turned to his, was completely open, as though her entire being was pouring out to him through her pupils. He bent toward her and she lifted her lips, but before he could touch them with his own, he drew back and asked, in a trembling, husky voice, “Tell me aloud, Sofia Davidovna. I need to hear the words.”

  She turned away. Then, in a detached monotone: “No, Vladimir Nicolaievitch. You are my sworn friend, but I do not love you. I am sorry.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. This time it was she who kept playing. He said, “But—”

  “You misunderstood me, Vladimir Nicolaievich. It was sympathy, and companionship. But not love.”

  “I cannot believe you,” he stammered. The healthy color had fled from his cheeks. “You did not lie to me with your eyes.”

  “I am telling you the truth now. Please, do not hurt your pride! I have told you: I care, but not as you would have me care! And I am not even worthy of such caring! I am an average girl, Vladimir Nicolaievitch. You deserve someone far more exquisite, far more intelligent. Someone who could return your wondrous love. I—I cannot. I wish I could, for my own sake. But feelings occur when they occur—I cannot force them.”

  He stood up then, his legs shaking. “My God,” he said.

  She looked at him, and for a second her eyes lit again, and her hands reached to him; and then she shook her head, mutely. Without looking at her he walked out of the room, and he saw nothing of the undisguised adoration on her face as she watched him go. She heard his hasty farewell to her mother, and Johanna’s surprised exclamation. She even heard Stepan in the vestibule calling for Volodia’s footman. Her head came down upon the keys, and she began to weep, her arms outstretched upon the piano. Heavy sobs shook her and drowned out the other noises in the house.

  It surprised her when no one came to rouse her. She lifted her head and dried her tears, and realized that it was completely dark in the piano room. Her mother and Johanna had long since left the sitting room, which was bathed in gentle evening light. She stood and smoothed out her hair. When she went into her room, she saw a tray on the bed. Beneath a glass dome was a breast of chicken with new potatoes and asparagus spears, a croissant, a dollop of butter, and a baked apple swimming in raisins and rum. There was a note by the tray, and to her amazement, it was written in Johanna’s angular handwriting: “I thought that you might not feel up to supper,” it read.

  Sonia was shaken. This was the first time her governess had performed an act of kindness toward her. Had she guessed? But Sonia had never spoken of her feelings. Not even Ossip, who loved and understood her better than anyone else, had known. In dazed bewilderment, she took the dome off the platter. A rich aroma reached her nostrils. She replaced the glass, nauseated, and once again began to cry.

  The following week, her Aunt Rosa said, as she sat munching a honey cake, “I have heard the most extraordinary news! It seems that Ossip’s young friend, Vladimir, has joined one of the regiments fighting the British for control of interests in Persia! Surely the son of Tagantsev would not be required to join. David says there is to be a settlement of this conflict any day now. So his enlistment can make little difference in the outcome of the fighting. It would seem like the act of a desperate man!”

  “I thought he was about to enter the Faculty of Law,” Mathilde stated. “He was always so solid, so stable. I wonder what on earth possessed him?”

  Early one morning, after the peace agreement had been made, Johanna entered Sonia’s room. Sonia was doubly surprised, because it was Johanna’s custom to awaken late. She sat up on her pillows, half asleep, while the older woman came to the side of her bed. “I did not want to wake you last night,” she stated. “We heard the news from a friend, by telephone. It seems that the fighting was bloody just before the peace. Volodia was killed.”

  Sonia opened her mouth and jammed her fist into it between her teeth, biting fiercely on her knuckles. Johanna said, evenly, “He died at once. It was painless.”

  The girl’s eyes, huge and staring, repelled the governess. Sonia said nothing but remained upright, her hand in her mouth, her face white.

  “Sonia?” Johanna de Mey regarded her with concern, but turned away when she saw the nakedness of the girl’s pain. She tiptoed out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

  Sonia did not weep. She bit with all her might into her flesh, until the blood came spurting onto the clean sheet. It was cold, but she did not feel the chill. Her gray eyes sought the small portrait upon her secretary, and she stared at it with horror.

  Then she rose and went to the painting, taking the small frame in her hands. She brought it to her lips, and kissed the nut-brown face, so small and perfectly etched. But when she replaced it, it faced the wall. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, and brought the fist of one hand into the palm of the other, so that it hurt. She was still standing there when Marfa’s knock announced breakfast.

  Chapter 10

  David and Mathilde never knew what ended their second daughter’s childhood and turned her so suddenly into a woman. Had he known of Volodia’s last moments with Sonia, David would have recalled the words of his friend, the sculptor Antokolsky, who had since passed away. The artist had said, contrasting the two cousins, “A man might commit murder on account of Tania. But for Sonia he would give his life.” Sonia had neve
r heard Antokolsky’s pronouncement; but her guilt was tremendous, and she carried it silently within her, not even writing Ossip about it. For where she knew her own ability to endure grief, she also suspected a weakness in her brother. She did not write him of Volodia’s death until 1908, when she felt that he had sufficiently recovered his health to stand up to the loss of his dearest friend.

  Sonia had decided to write to her brother about Natasha’s wedding at the same time. “I know what you are feeling, reading this,” she had told him. “I feel it with you. Today I know you loved these two more than anyone, except perhaps Mama, and me. Volodia will never return, and Natasha’s life will surely never be the same because of this loss. Think of me a little in your grief: for your health and happiness are the only hope I have that my fate will be different from Natasha’s. Do not allow the life and love inside you to perish.” Her brother would never know what writing these phrases cost her, or what a sacrifice she had made to try to ease his grief while letting her own resurface.

  Only Johanna de Mey knew what Sonia was feeling. She had said to Mathilde, “The Baron is stifling the life out of his children one by one,” but her friend had not understood, and Johanna had thought better of explaining it, now that the Tagantsev twins, by death and marriage, could no longer influence David’s relationship with his wife. She had allowed the matter to drop, and with it her sympathy for Sonia, so brief and incomprehensible to the girl, had ceased. Johanna sensed that Sonia had grown, had hardened from Volodia’s death. And in this newly matured young woman Johanna de Mey saw an adversary.

  The government of Switzerland had decided to send an ambassador to St. Petersburg, and had selected a Monsieur Odier, whose wife Mathilde had met on one of her vacations with her parents. Madame Odier, who had never traveled, had been afraid to come to a country so distant from her own. And so, to make her life easier, David had set up the bottom floor of the house on Vassilievsky Island for the new Minister and his family. Now the Swiss flag hung from a long pole outside the front door.