Anna ran her hands over her belly, round as a pumpkin. Within a month the baby would be here. She had that at least to look forward to.
It was the second of November, All Souls Day. She could not help but remember the holy day in 1794—so many years before. Her aunt had died that day, just before the Russians descended on Praga. Even now—so many years later—a chill pulsed within her veins when she recalled the thousands of innocents who had died in the massacre. And when it was over, the last partition had been put in place, and Poland ceased to exist. Later, the Duchy of Warsaw appeased a few, but greater hopes were placed on the shoulders of Emperor Napoléon Bonaparte.
After the retreat from Russia, however, hopes had thinned. And now, with news of the death of Prince Poniatowski, the Polish spirit seemed altogether crushed. Like so many of her fellow Poles, Anna had come to love the Prince who valued his word and honor over power and position. Had he switched sides, Aleksandr might have made him King of Poland. So many others had switched—and prospered. Prince Józef Poniatowski might have saved his uncle from the epithet, the last King of Poland. But in the end, his sense of honor won out.
It was the Polish way.
Anna’s thoughts returned now to concern for her husband and son. What of them?
Had they tried to make the crossing of the River Elster? Had they survived it? Or had they stayed behind to become captives of the allies? Anna knew in her heart they had attempted the crossing rather than allow the Russians to take them.
Did they make it across? Why had no word come?
Anna had lost one member of her family. Her dearest Tadek. She prayed no more would be taken. No more. Let my husband and Michał live, she whispered.
An hour later, Barbara called to her from her bedchamber. “Mama, come here! Come quickly.” She sounded as if she was in distress.
It took some doing for Anna to get up out of the chair, much less move quickly, but in very little time she was in her old bedchamber.
Barbara sat in the window seat, her back stiff, her eyes wide with—what? Fright?
“What is it?” Anna demanded. “What is it, Basia?”
Barbara’s mouth fell slack. “A wagon in the distance—turning into our drive!”
Anna moved to the window. For another moment the two silently watched it wend its way down the poplar-lined lane. Anna’s temple pulsed as she relived the day her father’s body had been brought home in the same fashion.
“It’s a single driver, Mama.”
“I see.” Anna felt her heart start to hammer in her chest. “Is it a soldier? Can you make him out? Your eyes are better than mine.”
“I can’t tell. It looks like he’s wearing rags,” Barbara said. “What kind of a wagon is that?”
“It’s a caisson, Basia.”
“What is that?”
“It’s a military wagon. It’s used for transporting weapons—or the dead.”
They stared without speaking for another minute—until they both were able to recognize the driver. And then—as the caisson drew near the drive in front of the manor house, they both saw the body of a soldier in the wagon.
Anna drew herself up and took her daughter’s hand. Barbara’s face was stricken with pain and fear. “Let’s go down, Basia. You will help me on the stairs.”
They moved out to the staircase, and as they descended it was Anna who seemed to be lending assistance to the trembling Barbara.
The wagon was drawing near just as the two went out onto the portico.
“Mama!” Jan Michał called, pulling the caisson to a halt. He jumped from the driver’s perch, his eyes immediately flushing with tears.
He was in Anna’s arms then, and Barbara’s arms encircled the two of them.
The moment lengthened. It seemed as if all of them had lost the power of speech. Anna pulled away then and moved to the wagon.
“He’ll be fine, Mama.”
Anna turned back, facing her son, uncomprehending.
“He went into a deep sleep half an hour ago.” Jan Michał explained. “He had tried so hard to stay awake.”
Disbelieving, Anna peered into the wagon.
Jan lay, still and white as a corpse. She reached in to place her hand on his. It was warm.
“Jan,” she said. “Jan!”
Jan Stelnicki’s eyes opened wide at the sound. His head rolled toward her, his eyes taking in her hand, then her face. While his body had been bloodied and bruised, his eyes were as blue as the sky had been the summer day they had met in the meadow.
“Anna,” he said, “is it you? Am I dreaming?”
“It is, Jan. It is no dream.”
“Good God, Michał!” Jan cried out suddenly, rearing up. “You let me sleep for my homecoming.”
“The doctor said you should sleep!”
“If you hadn’t pulled me from the river, I’d give you a good thrashing! Now help me get out of this coffin. It’s not my time yet, by God!”
Michał and Anna both assisted him in getting out as Barbara ran forward to kiss him.
“You can hug me, too, Basia,” Jan said, his arms going about her. “I won’t break. Three Russian bullet holes but the doctors swear I’ll survive.”
As he released his daughter, his eyes came back to Anna. His hand reached out to tenderly touch the roundness of her belly. “You have me back, Anna,” he said. “You have me back.”
Ignoring the tears that wet her cheeks, Anna reached up to Jan, drew his face to hers, and kissed him. It was a kiss that transported her to an autumn forest long ago in Halicz, a kiss that would carry her forward all of her days.