Lara's Gift (8 page)

The Countess pinched Bohdan’s cheeks. “My goodness, he’s precious. How is he faring?”

“Bohdan’s growing every day,” Mama answered.

“Such a lovely name,” the Countess said.

“And he coos like a bird. Listen,” I said.

The Countess leaned in. “Indeed, he does!”

“Was the ball spectacular?” Mama asked.

“It becomes grander each year, with more and more exotic foods covering the tables, more toasts, and plenty of dancing until dawn. Nobody—excluding the Tsarina—was dressed as smartly as I.”

Mama’s face turned as red as a bowl of
borscht
.

To save Mama from turning redder, I blurted, “Alexander caught one of the wolves.”

“Really? His father will be proud!” the Countess said. “Though I’d much prefer that he give up the dogs and give me some grandchildren.”

We entered through the grand doors of the four-story
stone manor and were greeted by yips and yaps from Almaz, a fluffy white toy poodle—the one Papa thought would perform better on a hunt than Zar. The Countess picked him up to quiet him, and then excused herself to freshen up. The valet led us into the grand receiving room, where specimens from past hunts surrounded us. Covering the walls were the heads of aurochs, bear, lynx, wild boar, wolves, reindeer, stag, and heath cocks, all caught by former Counts. My favorite was a stuffed bear that Alexander had hunted, standing in the corner, holding a lamp in his raised paws.

Olga busied herself chirping over Bohdan. As she removed my coat, she whispered, “Next time, I’ll make eye contact.”

We both giggled, until the valet cleared his throat and glared at Olga.

Mama and I took our seats on a plush divan covered in a rich blue silk. We sat there staring at each other in silence, as some of the kitchen staff set up the samovar and asked after Bohdan in hushed whispers. They prepared cups of tea and brought in small cakes that filled the air with the sweet smell of honey.

While I held Bohdan, Mama fussed over him, smooching his splotchy red cheeks, and removed the layers of blankets that covered him. Then she smoothed out the wrinkles in my stable clothing and patted down the
flyaway hairs around my forehead with her hands. She poked at the middle of my back. “Sit up straight.”

I reached for one of the small cakes, but Mama gently touched my arm.

“Patience,
dorogaya
,” Mama whispered to me. “It would be rude to drink and eat without our host.”

How I wanted to taste one of the small cakes. “Just a nibble,
Matushka
?”

As if in prayer, Mama closed her eyes and had that look she made when she mustered up what little patience she had left.

“Nyet,”
she answered quietly.

Bohdan was still asleep in my arms by the time the Countess reappeared. She hardly looked like she had just been outside covered from head to toe in fine sable. She came in through the parlor dressed in a red silk gown, her hair coiffed in bouncing blond ringlets. From her neck hung several strings of pearls and her floral perfume nearly drowned out the sweet honey smell of the small cakes. She held a string of small bells bound to a fancy band of leather.

“I heard all about Bohdan’s baptism in a telegram from Alexander,” the Countess said, handing Mama the band of tinkling baby bells. “I hope Bohdan enjoys them as much as my boys did.”

“Spasibo,”
Mama said.

“Well, well, well … Bohdan’s a big baby,” the Countess said as she took him from my arms. She rocked him in a loving manner, her gaze fully consumed on him. “I miss the days when Alexander was an infant. They seem so long ago. One moment they demand our full attention, and the next they no longer need us. All my Alexander ever dreams about are the perfect borzoi, the perfect hunt, and the perfect kennel. He has no interest in his father’s business.” The Countess turned to me. “You, too, should give up this nonsense with the dogs and follow in your mother’s path. If you have half of her talent, I’ll expect to see fine work from you. Perhaps you’ll even sew gowns for Alexander’s wife one day?”

I nodded out of respect and held my tongue.

“Surely you have a gift with your hands like your mother,” the Countess said. “You should take time to develop it and not waste another moment with the dogs.”

Mama cleared her throat. “Lara shall start an apprenticeship with me today.”

“That’s splendid news,” the Countess said, careful not to wake Bohdan. “When your mama passes down the art, be sure to pay attention. I don’t wish to be disappointed in the future.”

I bowed my head for fear my face would reveal the truth—that I had no desire or talent to create dresses. At the same time, I wasn’t completely foolish, either. If I couldn’t be with the borzoi, the position of dressmaker
was a much-coveted one, and certainly better than cleaning the chamber pots.

I felt trapped, like I’d been thrown into a training pen with hungry wolves, not at all sure the wolves were muzzled.

CHAPTER SEVEN
 

The Wedding Dress

Like a well-tuned clock, Bohdan began to stir and let out a cry. “He’ll be hungry soon,” Mama said.

“Don’t let me keep you,” the Countess said, pinching Bohdan’s cheeks. “Boris will take you to the studio.”

I wasn’t ready to leave. We still had not had our tea and cakes. Everything revolved around Bohdan.

“Pity, we didn’t have tea,” the Countess said.

“Another time,” Mama said.

My stomach growled.

“Good luck with the apprenticeship,” the Countess said to me. “Remember, I’m expecting great things from you.”

“I’m afraid I—”

“Now, now,” the Countess interrupted. “You are your mother’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Countess.” I smiled and tried to sound convincing, yet it all felt fake.

And I kept thinking, I’m Papa’s daughter, too.

By the time we got bundled up again, it was snowing. A thin layer of white covered Boris. He didn’t seem bothered by it and looked as comfortable at the helm of his sleigh under all that snow as a baby tucked under a bedding of eiderdown.

I climbed up to the helm and brushed the snow off of his sheepskin coat and hat.

“Under a dry snow like this,” Boris said, “it feels like an extra blanket of warmth.”

I thought of Zar and how much he liked to play in the snow.

“The studio isn’t far. I’d like to go by foot.” I wanted to sneak a visit with Zar along the way, as well as check on Zola.

“My orders are to accompany both of you.”

“It’s me, Boris.”

“I can’t cross the line with such ease as you do. I know my place among nobility,” Boris said. “Let me do my job. The Count and his family are kind and deserve my best.”

“Forgive me, Boris. You’re right.”

Sometimes I forgot how different our circumstances
were from the others who worked for the Vorontsov family.

When we arrived just outside Mama’s studio, we bid Boris farewell and trudged a short way through the powdery snow to the studio door. As soon as we entered, Mama rushed to nurse Bohdan, and I threw logs into the stove and listened to the fire crackle.

“
Matushka
, where do you get your dress designs?”

“Mostly from my dreams,” Mama answered. “Sometimes the Countess shows me a picture of what she’d like.”

“How do you manage to make so many exquisite dresses? I fear it would take me months to make just a simple frock.”

“Some dresses take a week, and then there are some that take me years.” Mama rubbed Bohdan’s back to help him fall asleep.

“Is one dress really worth all that effort?” I asked.

“Absolutely.” Mama cleared her throat and the words from Pushkin sang from her voice.

They came from Pushkin’s poem about Cleopatra. Mama had often recited it to me growing up while she did intricate beadwork on the dresses she made for the Countess.

“Pushkin’s words inspired me to make you a dress worthy of Queen Cleopatra,” Mama said. “A dress I’ve worked on for years. A dress that’s not yet complete.”

“My stable clothes suit me fine. Why would I need a dress,
Matushka
?” I asked in bewilderment.

“For your wedding day,
dorogusha
.” Mama pointed to a rack of unfinished dresses. “It’s hidden here. Come see for yourself.”

I approached the rack and fingered dresses made from velvet and silk, organza and lace, as well as chiffon and satin. Each time I gazed upon a gown, I found myself more and more drawn to what it would be like to wear a fine dress made by Mama’s hands.

It wasn’t until my eyes fell upon a dress as white as Zar that I thought this must be the one. I took the dress off its hanger and held it up against my shoulders. Such fine lace and beaded pearls all over the bodice, and the way the gown flowed to the floor made my heart swoon.

“It’s beautiful,” I said with unleashed joy.

Mama glowed with pride.

“How could you afford it?” I had never worn silk
before and thought it much too splendid for a girl like me who spent most of her days in a kennel.

“I added beads and ribbons here and there as I could afford it,” Mama said. She placed Bohdan on her other breast.

I noticed a subtle embroidered pattern of borzoi along the unfinished hem. “Oh,
Matushka
! The dogs are perfect.”

“Try it on,” she said.

I peeled off my shirt and slipped the fine dress over my head. With her free hand Mama pulled the laces together along the length of my back and tightened them. The dress felt like a cool bath on a hot and humid day. The sleeves fit snugly around the length of my arm and opened up at the elbow.

When I moved and twirled around, the silk overlay flowed in a graceful and elegant manner, much like that of a borzoi. Even when I was just a baby, Mama knew what would be important to me.

The bodice glimmered under the dim light and made a kennel girl like me feel like a girl of noble origin, born to be led around the ballroom, dipping and twirling under the candlelight of chandeliers.

“It feels as if your arms are wrapped around me,
Matushka
, holding me tightly.”

“I hope that feeling never leaves you, Larochka.”

Mama patted Bohdan’s back until he burped, then
placed him in a big basket cushioned by blankets. She took my hands into her own, and then it suddenly dawned on me. “Has Papa found me a husband?”

The wedding dress Mama had sewn for me—regardless of all the love she had put into it—now sat as a heavy yoke upon my shoulders.

“Well,
dorogusha
, there is someone in the village that he’s considering.”

“Who,
Matushka
?”

“It seems the midwife has a nephew,” Mama said. “A marriage to him would keep you close to home.”

“You can’t be serious,
Matushka
. He’s afraid of dogs. How would we manage together?”

“You’ll adapt, as I did, Lara, and the love will come. No man is perfect in the beginning.”

My love was reserved for the dogs and the dogs alone.
J’aime ces chiens plus que tout
.

If only I still had my kennel chores to keep my mind off of a loveless marriage that would take me away from Alexander and the dogs, away from my family, and away from Zar.

“The midwife asked me what skills you had—and I didn’t much like stretching the truth. Other suitors will inquire, too,” Mama said.

“I have plenty of skills,” I said. “Like nursing pups, tending sick dogs, and preparing food for all the borzoi.”

“Those are hardly the kind of skills I’m talking about,”
Mama said. “Now that your brother’s sleeping, why don’t we start your apprenticeship?”

I pushed the idea of marriage to the midwife’s nephew far from my thoughts and twirled around one last time. When I peeled the dress off, my eyes gravitated to the embroidered borzoi along the hem. “Let’s start with embroidery.”

Mama handed me some patterns and scraps of fabric.

I rifled through her designs and settled on a simple pattern of a rosette in bloom and a swatch of pink cotton. Mama threaded a needle and did a few practice stitches. “Like this—nice and easy.”

The way Mama moved the needle and thread in and out of the fabric reminded me of a borzoi running through deep snow—popping in and out. “Follow the lines and keep your stitches consistent in length,” she added.

The start of a headache pulsed across my forehead as I took the needle and thread from her. The more it pulsed, the harder I pierced the fabric.

“Not so hard, Lara. Gently.”

Even with a pattern to guide me, my stitches varied in length. The more I kept stabbing myself with the needle, the more spitting mad I became. When I finished my rosette in bloom, it looked like a bunch of angry circles enclosed within a bigger one dotted by bloody fingerprints. I presented my work to Mama.

“Oh, dear.” She looked at my fingertips and shook her head. “Lucky for you they’ll heal.”

Mama checked on Bohdan, then sat me down with some paper and a feather pen. “Let’s try sketching dresses.”