Lara's Gift (16 page)

It killed me to say these words aloud.

“Are you sure, Larochka?” Papa asked.

“Alexander’s family would lose favor with the Tsar if we don’t,” I said.

“Not if we send His Imperial Majesty pups from Zar’s litter,” Alexander proposed. “What would be better than a troika of his progeny?”

Alexander’s idea was tempting. I sure would prefer to keep Zar at my side. But it also went against my dream to breed borzoi worthy of the Tsar.

“I can’t let you make that mistake, Alexander. Your family needs to send Zar. He’s your best dog and it’s the best thing to do for the Woronzova Kennel,” I said. “Also, what will your father tell His Imperial Majesty Tsar Nicholas if Zar doesn’t show up?”

Alexander turned to my papa.

“This is your decision,” Papa said. “Though I agree with Lara, sending Zar to the Tsar is the best choice for the kennel.”

“We’ll still have Zar’s pups to carry his line,” I said. Then I held him tightly around his neck, giving
him
small bites of affection. I took a deep breath, garnered all my strength, and whispered into Zar’s ear, “You must carry on the Woronzova line and make us all proud.” Zar tilted his head and nudged my chin. “I’ll never forget you, Zar.”

“All right, then it’s settled,” Alexander said. “Zar goes in the morning.”

The hunter collected the dead wolves and loaded them onto his sledge. We thanked him and parted ways.

Along our journey home I held Zar close in my lap.
Alexander leaned into me. “It’s very brave of you to give up Zar. I know how much he means to you.”

“It’s the right thing to do, Sasha,” I said.

“Still, I’ll never forget what you did for my family.”

When we were a few versts away from the estate, Papa lifted his hunting horn from his neck and handed it to me.

It felt heavy with memories—memories from past stewards who wore the horn around their necks, too. I traced the outline of the gold borzoi running with outstretched legs, as Zar nosed it with his long snout. “This is you.”

Zar tilted his head from side to side, and then pawed at the horn.

“Gentle, boy.” I lifted the horn away from his long legs, over my head, and around my neck.

“Go ahead, Lara. Let Boris, Maxim, and the rest of the kennel hands know we’re coming with good news,” Papa said.

“Really?” I asked.

“You’ve earned it, Lara.”

I brought the horn to my lips, took a deep breath, and blew as hard and as long as I could.

Alexander clapped.
“Molodietz!”

I looked to Papa and he patted my head as he would with one of the dogs. It had been a long time since he
had done that—and a long time since I had felt as one with him.

I removed the horn from my neck and handed it back to Papa.

Papa put up his hands. “It’s yours now.”

“Does this mean—”

Papa raised his finger high in the air, as if he were the Tsar. “As the current Woronzova Kennel steward, and by the power vested in me by my forefathers, it’s obvious you belong with the dogs.”

I made Papa repeat these words several times before I finally believed him. And then I asked, “What about the midwife’s nephew?”

“I understand he’s afraid of dogs,” Papa said, winking at Alexander. “I doubt he’d be a suitable match for my daughter.”

I turned to Alexander and hugged him for being such a loyal friend.

“And until I do find a suitable match on whom we can both agree,” Papa added, “I’ll be expecting solid results from you with Zar’s pups.”

“Oh,
Tyatya
!” My heart hammered as though it would burst between my rib cage, and my head filled up with plans to breed Chara as soon as possible to ensure Zar’s lineage. “I promise not to disappoint you.”

Papa pulled a flask out from the inside pocket of his
Cossack jacket, patched and frayed. “In the spirit of Golden Rule Number Two—hope for the best, prepare for the worst.” He took a swill from the flask, and then passed it to Alexander.

Alexander raised the flask and nodded his head to me. “Here’s to selfishly keeping you on the estate to build my dream.”

When he handed me the flask, I put it to my lips and took a sip, just as they had done. As the plum brandy warmed my insides, I felt like I finally belonged.

“I’d like to propose a few changes, too,” I said.

Papa eyed me with suspicion. “One change at a time, Lara.”

I crossed my arms and Zar poked Papa with his long nose.

“She deserves an attentive ear,” Alexander said.

“All right, all right,” Papa said.

I cleared my throat and raised my finger high in the air, as if I were the Tsar. “As long as the future Count agrees, I hereby abolish Golden Rule Number Eight—visions shall no longer be shunned as evil. They’ll be embraced for the gift they are and put to good use.”

“That will take some getting used to,” Papa said.

With an encouraging nod from Alexander, I continued. “As for your silly new Rule, Golden Rule Number Nine. It has to change.” I looked down at Zar. “Anyone
with a passion to hunt should be allowed to follow that passion.”

“Let’s toast to that,” Alexander said.

Again, we passed the flask of plum brandy around.

I took a sip, and it suddenly dawned on me. “What about Bohdan, Papa?” It didn’t seem right to rob him of becoming kennel steward.

“When he’s old enough, we’ll ask him if the dogs call to him,” Papa answered. “Who knows? He might take after his mama and prefer a needle and thread.”

“And if he doesn’t?” I asked.

“I suppose we could have two kennel stewards,” Papa answered, looking at Alexander for his reaction. “There’s nothing in the Golden Rules against it.”

“I’m all for it,” Alexander said.

“Did you hear that, Zar?” I asked. “Papa said I could become the next kennel steward. I owe it all to you.”

Zar gave Papa his paw and nudged his elbow.

“He wants to shake on it,” I said.

Papa laughed and shook Zar’s paw.

When we approached the estate, the stable bells rang like a chorus of singing icons, as if the Tsar was expected. Everyone from the kitchen staff to the stable hands hovered at the entrance of the stable doors—even Mama, rocking Bohdan in her arms. Next to her stood Ruslan, waving his arms frantically. Like at Christmastime, the
mood was festive and the spirit was high. Papa pulled on the reins and the sleigh came to a stop. Everyone gathered around us, applauding our success.

I pulled out the black box decorated with Zar’s image and raised it high over my head. “It brought us luck!”

“It’s you who brought the luck,” Ruslan said.

“He’s right. Boris told us what happened.” Mama gave me a teary-eyed wink and her wet cheeks glistened under the full moon. “I knew you’d find a way. I’m so proud of you. So is Bohdan. Listen to him coo.”

Zar was first to jump out of the sleigh, his feathery tail wagging, his eyes watching my every move, his feet dancing from paw to paw—waiting for me to join him. No sooner did my feet land on the packed snow than Zar lifted his paw into my hand and then gingerly placed his other paw onto my shoulder. He stood a head or more taller than me. “Whoa, boy! What’s this all about?”

“Zar wants to dance,” Alexander encouraged.

“He sure does,” Ruslan added.

In mirth and wonder, as if I just touched the moon, I twirled Zar around in a fancy waltz. With his long snout he nudged underneath the earflaps of my fur hat and gave my ears tiny bites of affection. Mama and Bohdan joined us—as did Papa with his bear-hug arms wrapped around all of us.

AUTHOR’S NOTE
 

My first visit to Russia was as a student in 1984 during the Cold War era, shortly before Mikhail Gorbachev became the Soviet premier of the USSR. I am not of Russian descent, but I became fascinated by the Russian culture, people, and arts. I knew I wanted to go back to Russia in some capacity to help foster the relationship between our countries. So I got an MBA in international business, studied the Russian language, and off I went back to Russia in 1989 to work as a consultant for a newly formed Soviet co-op, similar to what we in the United States call a small business.

Because I love dogs, and with the responsibilities of school behind me, I decided to get a Russian dog and opted for a borzoi, what I considered a true Russian breed. I thought I would find plenty of borzoi in the
homeland, but that wasn’t the case. Through my struggle finding Dasha, a borzoi pup, I learned the history of Russia. I knew there was a story behind my experience, and that’s when the seed was first planted for
Lara’s Gift
.

My story idea grew when I met Bonnie Dalzell, an American Kennel Club borzoi judge and breeder, at a coursing event. She gave me a copy of a book called
Observations on Borzoi
, about the early 1900s travels of a wealthy American, Joseph B. Thomas, and his quest for the perfect borzoi in Russia. He declared the top three Russian borzoi kennels as those belonging to Tsar Nicholas, the Grand Duke Nicolai, and Count Vorontsov. I didn’t think much of it at first, until I bumped into Professor Alexander Woronzoff-Dashkoff, from my days at Smith College studying Russian. He admired Dasha and commented that his great-great-great-uncle used to breed borzoi. And then it clicked. The family names of Woronzoff and Vorontsov were one and the same. I had a million questions for Professor Woronzoff, but it was the questions he couldn’t answer and all the “what-ifs” that made my story idea take off.

There are some things I need to note for you along your reading journey. For the record, the plural of
borzoi
is
borzoi
and I have honored this. In my research of Count Vorontsov’s famous borzoi kennel, it was commonly cited in my English sources as Woronzova Kennel, with an
a
at the end, which most likely reflected the pronunciation
to an American ear. However, if translated properly from Russian to English, it probably should have been referred to as Woronzovo Kennel, with an
o
at the end. In this case, I have used the former spelling, which is what is most often cited in borzoi history sources. I have done my best to accurately portray this time period in history down to the tiniest of details. Although I take full responsibility for any inaccuracies, I have taken some liberties that I have addressed below.

In Russia, it is customary for Russians to address each other using their full name, including their patronymic name, which originates from the father’s first name. Only when Russians are on very familiar terms do they address each other by their first name alone. For the purpose of this story, I have omitted the patronymic name and have used either the first name or the family name to refer to each character. The Russian names I use in the book are those of actual people who lived and worked on the Vorontsov estate in the mid-1800s that I found in a census record.

During the Imperial Era, peasant girls called their fathers
Tyatya
, which translates to “Daddy” in English. They would not have called their father Papa. This title was reserved for nobility. Whenever Lara addresses her father in speech, I correctly use the term
Tyatya
. However, to keep things simple, I have used Papa instead of Father throughout to create the kind of tone I wanted for
this story. The same scenario applies to Mama. Wherever Lara addresses her mama directly in dialogue, I have used the correct term of
Matushka
.

Borzoi pups were named by their owners after famous borzoi and from a short list of traditional names. They were not necessarily named by the kennel steward’s daughter. In my story, given Lara’s gift and her special relationship with Alexander, I feel it’s plausible that she would have been given the honor. For the most part, the names she did give the pups are names that would have been given at the time this story takes place, with the exception of Ryczar, which means “knight.” An uneducated peasant girl might not have known this word. However, because of her love for Pushkin, I believe a girl like Lara may have been familiar with this word. Because she wants to honor Zar’s mother, Zarya, and because she’s not educated, she shortens it incorrectly to “Zar” instead of “Czar.”

Because Pushkin’s poems are so lyrical, I believe it’s plausible that a girl like Lara could have memorized some of her favorite stanzas. Many of Pushkin’s fairy tales were shared in an oral fashion and passed down from one generation to the next in this manner as well.

Although girls Lara’s age with her social status during the Imperial Era wore colorful scarves over their heads, I chose to give Lara a fur hat because this is how I saw her character.

During the Imperial Era, Russians were known worldwide for the quality of the bells they produced for the church. Russian Orthodox Christians, whether working in the fields during harvesttime or standing inside a church, would listen to the ringing of the bells to follow the various stages of the mass. Because there was an abundance of bells made by the fictional Count Vorontsov’s bell foundry, and because of his kennel’s long history, I have stretched the purpose of the bells beyond their traditional use in the church to serve elsewhere on the grand estate—such as for hunts, births, and finding one’s way home through a snowy blizzard.