Lara's Gift (14 page)

Mama took the brush from him and gently combed through the knots. “Smile, dear husband. There’s much about which to be joyous.”

“Of that I don’t doubt, for the Count wouldn’t extend his hospitality over nothing,” Papa said. “But I’m lost inside myself. I can’t find my way to the truth.”

Until I had learned to trust my gift, I, too, had felt lost inside myself. Part of me wanted to fit in and follow in Papa’s boots and live by the Golden Rules, as he and his forefathers had always done. Another part of me saw the
good in my gift, for my visions spoke the truth to me and had become too real to ignore.

“Trust in yourself,
Tyatya
,” I said. “You’ll find the truth.”

For the first time since the hunt, Papa’s eyes met mine. He stared into them, as if the truth lived inside of me. “Do your visions come to you behind your eyelids?” he asked.

Papa caught me by surprise. “Yes, how did you guess?”

“I understand more than you think, Lara.”

Thousands of twinkling lights glimmered from the ballroom’s chandeliers and reflected off of the gilded moldings. Vast oils of past hunts and former Counts with their dogs hung from the ceiling to the waxed parquet floors. Best of all, Zar was received in a manner fitting his new status and Papa’s staff chanted Zar’s name in a play on words with the word
Tsar
.

“Long live Zar! Long live Zar! Long live Zar!” everyone chanted.

It even made Papa smile.

Soon the servants joined the chorus, as did the guests. The noise woke Bohdan and though startled at first, he, too, eventually blended into the singing buzz with his babbling. Zar held his head a little higher and puffed out his chest as he pranced beside me toward the tables that
lined the perimeter. On them were set all of the usual foods to celebrate the birth of a litter: black caviar served on silver platters, sour cream brimming from crystal bowls, stacks of warm
blini
wrapped in linen spun from silk, and stuffed suckling pig dressed in horseradish.

In honor of Zar were two roasted pigs spread out along a grand table that could easily sit thirty people. They were the biggest pigs I’d ever seen.

Ornate mahogany stations were set up in each corner of the grand ballroom. Upon each station sat sparkling flutes arranged in tidy rows. Buckets upon buckets of iced champagne, primed and ready to be served, covered the outer perimeter of the floor.

“I should preside among my staff on the dais,” Papa said. As if I were invisible, he bent down and kissed Bohdan’s nose, and then he left Mama and me.

For as long as I could remember, I had always joined Papa and his team on the dais in celebratory moments like this one. I willed Papa to turn around and invite me, too, but he kept walking.

With Bohdan in one arm, Mama wrapped her free arm around me. “Where you stand tonight holds no relevance, Lara. What matters most is the truth.”

“Still, it hurts. Zar belongs up there more than anyone,” I said, stroking his head.

“Your papa’s stubborn and will eventually come around,” Mama said. “He loves his work too much not
to. Which reminds me. If I hope to keep my job, I should check on the Countess. She’s wearing a gown with a back zipper that’s as stubborn as your papa. Will you be all right?”

I nodded and tried to take Bohdan from Mama.

“I’ll keep him. This is just as much your night,” she said.

Despite so much tasty food around me I wasn’t hungry. Still, I heaped spoonfuls of suckling pig, Zar’s favorite, onto a small plate and fed him one piece at a time, which he gently took from my fingers.

“Congratulations!” Ruslan rushed up and gave me a mighty pat on the back.

I almost didn’t recognize him all cleaned up in a crisp, saintly white shirt.

“Everyone’s talking about Zar,” Ruslan said. “You must be proud of him.”

“For me he’s still the same splendid dog.”

“Of course he is,” Ruslan said. “Give others a chance to catch up to what you intimately know about Zar. Sometimes there are hurdles in front of us of which we’re unaware.”

“You’re right.” For something weighed on Papa. I could feel it.

“In memory of this big moment I’ve made something for you.” Ruslan pulled a small black lacquer box of papier-mâché from his pocket and handed it to me.
On top was painted an almost iconic image of a white borzoi true to Zar from head to toe, standing proudly over a dead wolf of silvery-red-tipped color. I fingered Zar’s face, as if it were really his, for Ruslan captured the pools of courage in his almond-shaped eyes. Around the edge of the box were swirls of gilded curls—a tiny detail that matched the curls of Zar’s white frill.

“You made this—for me?”

“From all the stories I heard about the hunt from you, Alexander, and the Count, I couldn’t get Zar’s image out of my mind,” Ruslan said. “So I painted him out of my head so I could proceed with my real work.”

I placed the small black box in front of Zar. Like any dog hopeful for a bite of meat, Zar eagerly sniffed it and quickly lost interest.

“Hopefully, it pleases you more than it did Zar,” Ruslan joked.

“It does. Thank you, Ruslan. I’ll keep it for as long as I live.”

“The box is small enough to fit in your pocket,” Ruslan said. “No matter what, Zar will always be close to you.”

Just then, a trumpet sounded and the Count and his family made their grand entrance into the ballroom. The Count and Alexander proudly wore their military uniforms in honor of the Tsar. The Countess drew
oohs
and
aahs
for the rich, deep blue silk gown she wore with diamonds sewn around its jeweled neck. In her arms she
carried Almaz, wearing a diamond-encrusted collar in a pattern similar to the one around the neck of the Countess’s dress.

The Count took a position on the dais next to Papa. He looked more tired than usual, and worn down. His bookkeeper stepped forward and handed Papa a bag of gold rubles. Papa nodded to the Count and tried to look pleased, but I could tell from Papa’s eyes that no amount of gold rubles could replace Borei.

“May the festivities begin,” the Count announced. In one hand the Count picked up his saber and in the other a bottle of champagne. He took the saber and grazed it along the side of the bottle several times until he beheaded the bottle in one quick slash. Champagne bubbled out as he handed the bottle to one of the servers. The Count continued to open dozens of bottles—one after another—in the same manner.

The servers quickly poured champagne into toasting flutes. They served the Count and his family first, and then came Papa, Maxim, and the rest of his kennel hands. Zar and I should have been among those standing around the table with Papa.

When everyone had a glass, the Count raised his high above his head. “To another healthy litter! May there be more white pups like Zar in the future!” As the Count took a sip, he added, “Long live Tsar Nicholas!” He nodded first to his wife, and then to Alexander and Papa,
and then to each of the kennel staff until he finally nodded to the rest of us.

I clinked glasses with Ruslan, and then like everyone else in the room we followed the Count’s lead and took a long sip.

Alexander spoke next. “To friendship!” He smiled at me and raised his glass.

Again Ruslan and I clinked glasses and drank along with everyone else in the room. Spirits were on the rise. I could feel it in the air.

Papa raised his glass and spoke third, nodding first to the Count, and then to Alexander. “To those of us who can’t be here,” he toasted in honor of Borei.

When Papa lowered his glass, the Count followed with a closing toast. “To Ryczar—the knight of knights—and his defeat of the Red Thief!”

I patted Zar on the head as everyone cheered.

“Pei do dna!”
the Count added. “Bottoms up!”

To that, everyone clinked glasses and drank to the bottom. More bottles were opened and poured. I was not in the mood to celebrate. It felt wrong not to be under Papa’s wing. I bid good night to Ruslan and was searching for Mama when Alexander appeared.

“May I steal you away for a moment?” he asked.

Zar and I followed him into the Count’s library shelved in books from floor to ceiling along each of the four walls.

“It’s you who deserve the credit,” he said.

I braved to meet his eyes. They were like an ocean of blue—so vast, yet far from my world.

We clinked glasses and he toasted, “To my crystal ball!”

I blushed as I took a small sip.

“How is it that you always know where to be?” Alexander pressed. “I’m sure it wasn’t a coincidence that you hid yourself on the sledge or sat with Zola the night of her birth. And there are so many other times I could list.”

“Luck, I suppose.” I couldn’t tell him the truth, as much as I wanted to, as much as I
had
always wanted to tell him over the years.

“Then I wish I had your luck,” he said.

Be careful what you wish for, I thought. To carry a gift like mine brings its own burdens.

“It’s your turn to make a toast.” The way Alexander looked at me made me feel like a treasured friend spun from sugar.

“J’aime ces chiens plus que tout.”
It was the first thing that came to me.

“That’s not a toast,” Alexander said. “Try again.”

I looked down at Zar for inspiration. His trusting eyes made me smile. When I thought of Papa’s Rules and how they interfered with my dream of breeding borzoi worthy of the Tsar, my smile faded. And when I thought of my future as a dressmaker … and Papa’s wish to marry
me off to the midwife’s nephew … it all seemed … so hopeless … and that was when the words for my toast came to me.

“To the hope of hopeless matters!”

“To the hope of hopeless matters!” Alexander repeated.

We clinked glasses and drank until not a single drop of champagne remained.

“With the pressure of joining Father at the bell foundry looming over me, your toast couldn’t say it any better,” Alexander said.

Just then, chants for Zar echoed, growing louder and louder.

“We should go. They want Zar,” I said.

The Count motioned for us to join him when we re-entered the ballroom. In one hand he held an unopened telegram high above his head. He positioned Alexander to his left and me to his right with Zar. I looked to Papa and his face was hard and still, like a stone embedded at the bottom of a river. As much as I willed them to, his eyes wouldn’t meet mine.

“Does everyone have a full glass?” the Count asked.

Some hands were raised among the crowd and servers quickly attended to them. The Count cleared his throat. “It’s not every day that a kennel discovers a gem as fine as Zar among the bunch. He represents what every kennel
strives for: courage, strength, speed, and exceptional pluck.”

I looked down at Zar and stroked his head. Papa would have no choice but to make him the top stud dog. Life on the estate would be different for Zar.

“It takes generations of careful breeding to develop a line of dogs worthy enough for the Tsar.” The Count raised his glass high. “That’s why I’ve decided to pass the kennel down to my son. It has been his dream to make something of this kennel, and he’s done so—with help, of course—through the successful breeding of Zar. Let’s toast to my son’s future success!”

After Alexander clinked glasses with his father, he clinked glasses with me. “Thank you, Lara. We owe you a great deal of gratitude.”

“Your dream is coming true,” I said to him.

The Count patted Zar on the head and continued. “What I saw in Zar in the hunt for the Red Thief is nothing we can train a dog to do. What Zar has comes from deep within him. And despite his smaller size, and maybe because of it, too, Zar uses it to his advantage. He is agile and quick. He is courageous and clever. His pluck is peerless. Because of all these sound traits, I feel it isn’t fair to hoard him to ourselves.”

The Count rested his hand on my shoulder. “We have a fine litter from Zar to carry on his line. That’s why
I’ve offered to present Zar to His Imperial Majesty Tsar Nicholas … and in this telegram, which has just arrived, I suspect is his response.”

As the Count opened the telegram, I looked to Alexander, wondering if he knew about this. From the gape of his mouth he seemed just as shocked as I felt. Then I looked to Papa, and I could see that he, too, hung on every word. I searched for Mama in the crowd and found her warm amber eyes, willing me to be strong.

The Count’s face blossomed into a huge smile as he read the words. “The Tsar has accepted!”

My crystal flute slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor. “Forgive me,” I kept saying. Servers appeared and swept up the shards of glass all around me. I stood motionless, rooted to the ground, like a dead tree refusing to fall.

The Count glanced over at me with a puzzled look. Once another glass of champagne was in my hand, he continued with his toast. “Let’s drink to our success,” he proposed. He nodded to Papa first, and then to Alexander—whose mouth was still agape—and lastly to me. He even nodded to Zar.

I watched everyone around me drink and tried to raise my glass to my lips. But my fingers felt like wet noodles—and I dropped that flute, too.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN