Lara's Gift (9 page)

I took the pen and began to draw. Before I finished, I balled up the paper and tossed it into the pail filled with Mama’s scraps. I took another sheet of paper, and then another, and another. All of them ended up in crumpled balls with Mama’s scraps. Every dress I had drawn looked like a sack. None of my designs would have impressed the Countess, of that I was certain.

One by one Mama picked through my papers and flattened them out. “Don’t be hard on yourself. It’s difficult work. Try closing your eyes. Let the pen take you where it wants to go,” Mama suggested.

I closed my eyes and loosened my grip on the pen. My hand moved with ease and a certain calm came to me.

“Let me have a look.” Mama took the paper into her hands. “Is this what came to you—a borzoi?”

Just then, my temples pounded.

I pressed my fingers against the pain and closed my eyes.

There were Zola and Zar snuggled in the soft straw, coddling six pups. Or was it seven? The white pup—a female—faded in and out.

Something in the way the pup faded in and out made me worry.

“Larochka, are you all right?”

“I’m concerned about one of Zola’s pups.”

“Did she have them already?” Mama’s voice sounded surprised.

“Well … um … no, I don’t think so.” I didn’t know what to say and stopped.

Mama looked at me, puzzled. “You’re scaring me, Lara. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” I lied.

And then Mama’s eyes grew big. “You had a vision, didn’t you?”

The concern in her voice was like a magical key that broke down a door that I thought had been sealed shut. “I’m sick about it. I promised Papa I would get rid of them.”

“Have you been having them all along?” Mama asked.

I nodded in shame.

“You should have told us. I thought they had stopped coming to you,” Mama said. “Well, that changes everything in my mind. You must live the life that God has chosen for you. Your papa and I shall adjust to God’s will.”

“Adjust? If Papa finds out that I’m still having visions, he’ll
never
let me near the dogs again. And I belong with them. It’s what I know.”

“That’s becoming clear to me. I wish I had known,”

Mama said. She glanced down at my sketch of a borzoi. “You need to tell your papa.”

“I can’t,
Matushka
. I’m afraid,” I said. “You saw how he reacted the first time I had a vision.”

“Then you must find a way to prove him wrong.”

“How?” I asked.

Mama’s face bunched up in thought. “Trust in God. Through your gift he’ll show you the way.”

Just then, Bohdan fidgeted. His tiny lips opened and closed like a newborn pup rooting for milk.

“Who’ll help you with Bohdan?”

“I’ll make do.” Mama picked up Bohdan, gently kissed his cheeks, and then prepared to nurse him. “I come from hardy stock, remember?”

With any luck her hardy stock lived in me, too. I would need it to prove Papa wrong.

CHAPTER EIGHT
 

The Bet

Just as I bundled up in my sheepskin coat and fur hat, eager to be reunited with the dogs, I heard scratching at the studio door. When I opened it, Zar bounded inside, circled me, and then leaned against my legs, looking up at me with happy eyes. I got down and hugged my arms around him, stroking and petting him, like it was the first time I ever saw a dog. I ran my fingers through his curls and checked the wound on his neck. And just like Alexander had said, it had healed.

“Zar’s coming is a sign,” Mama said.

The thought gave me strength.

“
Davai
, we must hurry and check on Zola,” I said to him.

We raced outside through the deep snow in the direction
of the kennel, past the wooden chapel and its bell tower. When we reached the kennel, we sped past the stalls lined with lounging borzoi. I found Zola tucked in the corner of the birthing stall where I had left her, quietly resting on a bed of straw. Zar bounded over to her and nibbled gently on her ears and along her neck. She rolled in closer to him and grunted.

Just as I settled next to Zola a slight headache formed, and then Papa barged into the birthing area. “I thought I saw you come in here. You should be helping your mama.”

“She told me I could visit the dogs.” I saw panic on Papa’s face. “Don’t worry, Bohdan’s quite fine.”

Papa ranted, but I didn’t hear him. My head ached.

I quickly turned from Papa to hide my vision and closed my eyes with worry.

There was Zola giving birth to the pups!

And then the image faded.

“Tonight’s the night,” I blurted in excitement.

I quickly cupped my mouth, wishing I could take back the words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Papa’s voice sounded scared.

“Tonight, Zola will give birth.”

“The pups aren’t due for another week.” Papa looked over at Zola resting peacefully in the fresh golden straw of the birthing stall. She lay flat on her side, her eyes
closed. Her silky-coated chest, painted in golden hues against patches of white, rose and fell gently with each breath. “She’s not showing any signs of labor, either. What makes you think the pups are coming tonight?”

I edged closer to Papa and rested my chin along the mahogany slabs of the stall. I could hardly blame him for his question. Normally Zola acted much more nervous right before a birth, panting and pacing.

But Zola was as calm as Zar.

Could I be wrong about the pups coming tonight?

In my wondering I could hear Mama’s voice,
Trust, Lara, trust
, and I could see her heart-shaped face, framed by long, dark braids. It was her kind amber eyes I could see most. They were willing me to trust my gift, urging me to speak up.

Yet the words crawled off my tongue. “I … had … a … vision.”

Papa’s ruddy cheeks turned white. “Not another word! Do you hear?”

“I see things,
Tyatya
—I can’t help it!”

“I told you to get rid of them.” Papa wagged his meaty finger at me.

“I’ve tried,
Tyatya
.”

“You didn’t try hard enough,” he said. “You’ve got to ignore them.”

“Why should I ignore them, when they can help us?”

Papa harrumphed. “Mistakes are made from decisions based on visions. I can’t let that happen.”

“Have you ever wondered how I was always the first to inform you of a litter coming? Or when a pup became ill in the night and needed tending?” I asked. “And what about the time when Snigurka got lost chasing a hare? Do you remember who found her,
Tyatya
? Me.”

“I’ve got to put my faith in the Rules. It’s what I know.”

The deeper Papa’s words sunk into my thoughts, the more they poked at my heart. “When it comes to the dogs, put your faith in
me
—there will be six or seven pups born tonight. That’s something your Rules can’t tell you.”

Papa’s eyes brightened, as they always did whenever a big litter was born. The Count often rewarded him with a heap of gold rubles. Not to mention my favorites: 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—a symbol of abundance and fertility. To wash it all down, the Count always pulled out his finest bottles of iced champagne for a proper toast.

“Shhh.” Papa put his finger to his lips. He looked over his shoulder, and then he leaned into me, his face so close to mine.

“Do you want to live a life like Rasputin?”

As favored as Rasputin was with the Tsar and his wife,
Alexander’s family feared Rasputin had too much influence over the Imperial Family. There were even threats on his life.

“A life like his would be awful.”

Papa turned his attention to Zola. He twisted his long black beard, deep in thought. His gaze moved upward to the icon of the Mother with Child that hung above Zola for good luck. It had been hanging in that very spot for hundreds of years—for as long as my ancestors had been breeding borzoi for the Count and his family before him. Papa never stood idle for too long. Yet he studied that icon, as if the answer to all his questions hid behind the gold leaf of the painting.

“Zola shouldn’t be left alone,” I said.

Papa tried to ignore me. Quick to remind him about his own Rules, I added, “Golden Rule Number Three: Never walk away from a borzoi giving birth.”

Papa threw his arms in the air. “Nobody’s going to work overnight on a hunch, waiting for puppies that may or may not come.”

“I will.” It was time I prove Papa wrong about my gift.

“Your mama needs you, as does your brother,” Papa said.

“Mama said she’d be fine.”

Papa frowned and his gray eyes looked as cold as a winter storm.

“Mama understands me,
Tyatya
. I thought you did, too.”

“This isn’t the life I want for you.” He tucked the loose strands of my hair behind my ears. As he put on his sheepskin coat, he cleared his throat, and raised one finger high into the air. “I don’t think the pups will come tonight, and to prove
you
wrong, I’ll let you stay with Zola. Just this once. If the pups don’t come tonight, then you’re to forget about the dogs and devote your full attention to helping your mama. Agreed?”

“And what if the pups come?”

Papa took another long, hard look at Zola resting peacefully in the straw. “The pups won’t come tonight,” he answered. “Of that I’m certain. Should a miracle occur, I’ll gladly reveal the secret behind Golden Rule Number Eight.”

Before he could change his mind, I snatched his hand and shook it, for as much as I had begged him in the past to tell me what hid behind Golden Rule Number Eight, I never could wrench it out of him.

“Are we done? I have work.” Papa let go of my hand and as he hurried off, he turned to me, and almost as an afterthought, he added, “If the pups come tonight, you know where to find me.”

A big smile came to my face. “Not
if
,
Tyatya
,
when
.”

CHAPTER NINE
 

Chara

Outside, under a glowing full moon, the north wind whistled and beat against the stable windows, as swirls of snow tossed in the air like long fluttering ribbons—flying higher and higher until they faded into the inky darkness of the night sky. I quickly lost myself in the vanishing trails of windswept snow. If only the north wind could swoop up my baby brother and make
him
disappear.

I chastised myself for such a dreadful thought and prayed the spirits wouldn’t come for little Bohdan.

“All right, Zar. Let’s get ready.” It was Zola’s night, and I needed to make preparations. Golden Rule Number Two—Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

I kindled the stove and stoked the fire, for the pups would need the extra warmth. Red-orange flames roared
and a blast of hot air hit my face. I pulled out the medicine box and gathered clean cotton towels and some healing herbs. From deep inside my pocket I pulled out Alexander’s knife and polished the metal blade until I could see my reflection, in case I had to cut an umbilical cord or pup’s sac. Then I sorted through a pile of bear hides trimmed with black velvet, picking the fluffiest one to line the birthing nest. I took another for myself and laid it on the straw next to Zola.

Her dark eyes opened just a bit as she lifted her head, just long enough to take notice of the fuss I made, before letting it flop back down on the straw.

“You’ll be okay, girl.” Slowly, I glided my hand along her big belly in search of movement inside.

Nothing.

Who knew how long I would have to wait, but I didn’t care as long as I remained united with Zar and the other borzoi. So I found a cozy position with Zar curled up next to me, pawing my pocket for meat.

“All gone.” I let him see my empty hands as proof, for borzoi trusted no other sense more than their eyes.

Zar let out a soft moan and nudged my hand.

“Silly boy,” I said. “If I had any meat, it would go to Zola. She’s got the tough job ahead of her.”

At the sound of her name, Zola stood and shook the strands of straw loose from her fur. A thin greenish discharge dripped from her buttocks. And like a caged,
cooped-up wild animal, she paced—with commanding dignity—around the stall, panting.