The Great Alone (56 page)

The Tarakanov family stood together in a group at the base of the Castle Hill steps. Only Wolf’s spouse, Marya, was absent. An illness confined her to bed, and an Aleut woman looked after her. Like those around them, they speculated among themselves about the possible cause for this summons by Prince Maksutov.

It was most unusual. Only the privileged set, composed mainly of officers or managers within the company and their wives and families, were invited to the balls, plays, or fetes given by their titled governor. The Tarakanov family was on the fringe of that set. Anastasia’s marriage to a naval officer had gained her entrance to such festivities. The family connections, coupled with Nadia’s natural beauty and aristocratic behavior, occasionally allowed her to be included in the charmed circle.

Soldiers in red-trimmed dark uniforms came smartly to attention at the head of the kremlin steps. A hush settled over the curious crowd below as Prince Maksutov appeared in full dress uniform. His medals for bravery earned during the Crimean War were pinned to his chest for all to see. A Byzantine-styled beard fringed his jaw and chin, giving him a long-faced look. He descended the steps to a midway point, then grimly faced the throng.

“It is my unpleasant duty to inform you that I have received official word from St. Petersburg that Russian America has been sold to the United States.”

Stunned by the totally unexpected announcement, Wolf turned to his children and saw the same shock on their faces. A murmur of dismay ran through the assemblage, followed by a protest.

“What of the pledge to sign a new charter?” someone shouted.

When the Prince failed to respond and offer an explanation, Wolf realized the Tsar had broken his word to them. There could be no other interpretation. He could understand the bitterness he saw in Prince Maksutov’s expression.

“They are to take possession in October of this year,” the Prince continued. “Under the terms of the sale, those of you who wish to remain in the ceded territory are free to do so—with the exception of naval personnel, who will return to Russia. If you choose to stay, the treaty of cession provides that the inhabitants of the ceded territory, ‘with the exception of uncivilized native tribes, shall be admitted to the enjoyment of all the rights, privileges and immunities of citizens of the United States and shall be maintained and protected in the free enjoyment of their liberty, property and religion.’ “ The last he read from the paper in his hand.

There was no restriction of race. Only the uncivilized were denied citizenship, Wolf realized, relieved to learn he would not be forced at his age to leave the land of his birth. None of his family need fear their mixed Russian and native ancestry. Then he noticed the apprehension in his daughter’s expression and felt the first pang of separation. As the wife of a Russian naval officer, she had to leave with her husband.

“If, within a three-year period, any of you who have chosen to stay should change your mind and wish to move to Russia, the Russian government will provide transportation for you and your families. For those who stay, title will be given to the homes and land you presently occupy. The company will also sign over the various shops, mills, and equipment so that you may carry on your trade or profession. It is hoped that the men in San Francisco who are interested in furs will obtain a franchise from their government so that those of you who work in the peltry will continue to have employment.”

Prince Maksutov explained at length the provisions of the treaty of cession signed in Washington, D.C., and the options available to them. At the conclusion of his address, the crowd was slow to disperse, unconsciously clinging together. So much of their lives had been controlled by the company that this freedom of choice was new to them. There was no one telling them what to do.

“Perhaps it won’t be as bad as we feared,” Stanislav suggested, looking to Wolf, his father, for an opinion.

“They cannot claim we are uncivilized.” His Creole wife, Dominika, glanced anxiously at their grown son, Dimitri, who had recently graduated from the navigators’ school.

“It isn’t a decision we must make hastily.” Lev thoughtfully stroked his mustache. “We have the opportunity to see what it would be like to be ruled by Americans. It is my feeling we should wait. What do you say, Father?”

But Wolf was watching his daughter as she turned silently to leave, linking her arm with her husband’s, her head tipped down. For them there was nothing to decide, no alternative to consider.

Nadia darted quickly to her aunt’s side. “Where are you going?” Anastasia was her favorite aunt, the one who had introduced her to the festive parties and balls.

“There is much to do. Three months will not be as long as it sounds.” Although she appeared calm and poised, Anastasia’s eyes looked wet. The prospect of listening to her family discuss whether or not to stay when she must go was too painful to her at the moment, so she grasped for an excuse. “Everything has to be packed. And I must decide which household items to take and what to do with the rest.”

“Oh, but …” The protest died on her lips as Nadia glanced at her uncle, the sight of his uniform recalling the Prince’s order that all naval personnel were to return to Russia. For a frantic instant, she wondered how she could obtain invitations to the balls if Anastasia wasn’t here, then whether the Americans held such gala affairs. “I don’t want to stay. I want to go, too.”

“That is a decision for your father to make,” Nikolai stated and firmly guided his wife past Nadia.

Nadia turned to appeal to her father. “We aren’t going to stay, are we, Papa?”

“I haven’t decided what we will do.” There was a sharpness to his response; he hadn’t as yet determined what was best.

“But we are Russian, Papa,” Nadia reasoned. “How can we stay when the Americans come? It would be disloyal.”

“The Tsar betrayed us,” her cousin Dimitri argued. “Why was the pledge to grant a new charter not honored? Why was this country sold so secretly? The Tsar does not care what happens to us. I say we owe him no loyalty.”

“Grandpa.” Eva tugged at his hand. “What are you going to do?”

Wolf shook his head. “I must go tell Marya what has transpired.” He knew his wife would feel the same as he did and prefer to live out the remainder of their lives in the only land they knew as home. Yet he dreaded telling her that their only daughter would be leaving with her husband.

CHAPTER XXXII

Emerging from the governor’s mansion, Ryan Colby strolled to the top of the veranda steps, then halted and drew a long panatela cigar from his inside jacket pocket. Using the small knife that he kept in the pocket of his brocade vest, he deftly snipped off the closed end of the cigar. Unhurriedly, he returned the knife to his pocket and placed one end of the cigar in his mouth, then reached in another pocket for a match, all the while idly studying the castlelike fortifications atop the knoll and the harbor scene beyond the batteries.

Besides the two American gunboats riding at anchor in the harbor, the
John L. Stevens
was moored in the bay. American troops from the Ninth Infantry and the Second Artillery lounged on the decks. Landing permission had been refused by the Russians until the territory was formally turned over to the United States, an event that waited for the arrival of the official representative from the American government, General Lovell Rousseau, who was en route to Sitka on the U.S.S.
Ossipee.

Ryan Colby raked the match head across the back of his trousers and cupped the fire close to the cigar tip. His hands and fingers were spotlessly clean and free of calluses. Sunlight showed the copper glints in his light brown mustache and hair, both neatly trimmed. His face rarely revealed what he was thinking unless he wished it. For most of his twenty-five years, he had lived by the quickness of his wits and hands, mostly in the mining camps of California, and of late in San Francisco’s Barbary Coast. Experience accounted for the cynicism that was permanently etched into his angular face and made his hazel eyes appear old.

As he shook out the match flame, the door behind him opened. He half turned, leisurely removing the cigar from his mouth, and studied the sandy-haired man coming toward him. He smiled crookedly, briefly commiserating with the eager young attorney over the deal they’d both lost out on.

“I could have saved my breath,” Gabe Blackwood declared, halting beside Ryan. He buttoned the jacket of his three-piece brown tweed suit, but it didn’t greatly improve its fit. “The Prince wasn’t even interested in hearing the offer I was authorized to make. I think he’d already made up his mind to sell the company’s stock of goods to Hutchinson.”

Ryan shrugged off the loss, too accustomed to luck sometimes sitting on someone else’s shoulders to let himself be upset by it. “And Hutchinson bought it for a song. A mere sixty-five thousand dollars.”

“How do you know that?” Gabe Blackwood frowned.

“I know. It doesn’t matter how. He can sell it in California and turn a quarter of a million dollars in profit. Of course, that shrewd New England trader has convinced Maksutov that most of it will stay here.” Personally, Ryan admired the feat.

“It’s obvious Maksutov wasn’t doing the negotiating when the Russians got Congress to pay seven million two hundred thousand dollars for this Alaska Territory.” The attorney donned his derby hat, then started down the steps. Ryan accompanied him.

The two men had met aboard ship en route to the newly purchased territory. In the beginning, Ryan had been amused by the idealistic lawyer who was roughly his own age. His own life had left him with few illusions. Countless times on the voyage, he had marveled at how naïve and gullible Blackwood was, always ready to believe the best and certain that right would prevail. The man was intelligent, but he didn’t have a grain of common sense. To some things he was as blind as the lady holding the scales. Still, Ryan rather liked the fellow, even though he felt sorry for him.

“What are you going to do now?” Blackwood eyed him curiously as they descended the fortress stairs to the town. “Head back to California?”

“Me? Not a chance. If Alaska is an iceberg as some of the newspapers claim, then the money Hutchinson just made is only the tip of it. I intend to get my share of the profit, then get the hell out.” Ryan stuck the cigar in his mouth, holding it between his teeth.

“Do you mean you’re going into business here? What kind?”

“Look at that town.” Ryan waved his cigar in a sweeping gesture that encompassed the buildings and streets spreading out before them. “Show me where a man can go to quench his thirst. All you see are churches, a blacksmith shop, bakery, tailor, schools, but not a single saloon or gaming hall. The town could use a few.”

“But”—Blackwood frowned at him—“territorial laws forbid trafficking in liquor. It’s illegal to import it.”

Ryan laughed and shook his head. “It isn’t under territorial law yet. Legal or not, there’ll be saloons. And I’m going to have one, if not more. I didn’t come here early to buy the Russians’ stock of sheepskin coats, hardware, or dry goods. As far as I’m concerned, Hutchinson is welcome to them. I wanted to purchase the company’s barrels of rum and casks of wine, its supply of sugar, molasses, and grain to distill my own liquor. If I can, I’m going to buy it from Hutchinson now. If not, I’ll have it shipped in.”

“But it will be against the law.”

“Who’s going to arrest me, Gabe?” Ryan mocked. “The Army’s going to be in charge after the takeover, at least to start with. You show me a soldier who doesn’t like his liquor. The Army isn’t going to close down a saloon. But I tell you what—if I get arrested, I’ll send for you in California to defend me.”

“I won’t be there,” Blackwood replied quietly, appearing subdued and a little hurt by the way Ryan had poked fun at him. “I’m going to stay here and open a law office.”

“The hell you say.” Ryan had never pegged him as the pioneering sort.

“You saw what it was like in San Francisco before we left. Everyone was talking about Alaska and the opportunities here. It’s the same in Seattle and Portland, I’ve heard. People are going to be coming here. Someday Alaska is going to be a state, and I’m going to be part of making that happen.”

Ryan had heard a lot of big talk in his life. But the determination in Blackwood’s voice and the visionary look in his eyes struck Ryan. “Maybe you’ll even be the first governor,” he murmured.

Blackwood glanced sharply at him to see if he was being mocked again. “Maybe I will,” he asserted defensively.

However idealistically motivated, the man had political ambitions, Ryan realized. And he also knew that more than one man’s hide had been saved by influential friends. Blackwood just might be more useful to him than he’d first thought.

“If you’re going to open an office, we need to find you a place. Location’s important in any business or profession. Let’s take a walk through town.” Ryan directed him up the one and only business street in Sitka. “I’ve already picked out the location I want for my saloon. I’ll tell you what.” He slapped the hand holding the cigar on Gabe’s shoulder, knocking off the buildup of ash. “I’ll be your first client and you can handle all the legal work on the land I want to purchase.”

“I’d like that.” Gabe’s sudden grin was almost boyish.

“You’re an honest man, Gabe Blackwood.” But Ryan didn’t believe for a minute that he would remain so. Nor did he dwell on the thought, his attention moving to assess the town and the various potentials for quick gain. He decided if he had any cash left over, he’d buy up some land on speculation. If Blackwood was right and there was a large influx of Americans following the transfer, property values were bound to rise.