When Antoni Grawlinski returned from St. Petersburg, his face and demeanor were dark, so Anna’s first thought was that his father had died, that Antoni had come back a baron.
But, no, he told her abruptly, his father had astonished everyone by staging a recovery. And without further comment, he retired to his room.
On the day after Antoni’s arrival, Countess Stella Gronska held what was, in essence, a family meeting after the evening meal. It was she who spoke first. “Anna Maria, I have told Antoni about your… condition. He understands, my dear.”
Anna looked to her husband, who smiled weakly.
“And you will accept, Antoni?” Anna asked.
“Accept?” he asked.
“Yes. Does my aunt mean to say you will accept my child?”
Antoni cleared his throat. He was clearly surprised. “You mean as my own?”
Zofia spoke up now. “The child is not Antoni’s, Anna, and as such will always—always—remain an impediment to your marriage.”
“But Aunt Stella said that he understands. Do you understand, Antoni?”
“Yes, Anna, but I cannot recognize such a child as my own.”
“I meant that Antoni would see you through your term,” the countess said. “There are too many difficulties for him to adopt it, if that is your thought. Supposing the child is a boy… you could not expect Antoni to allow a child not his own to be his heir.”
Anna felt her body go rigid. “Heir to my father’s fortune and estate!”
“And to his own, dearest.”
“Mother is right, Anna. Of course, no one needs to know that the child is not Antoni’s, but from a legal point of view as well as from Antoni’s, your baby could not inherit his title and estate. Listen, dearest, keeping the child will make things impossibly difficult for everyone concerned . . . including the child. You must think about that.”
“I have thought about that,” Anna said, her eyes making contact in turn with those of her aunt, her cousin, and her husband. “I had thought about the possibility of a child in those first days of recovery, but then I put it from my mind, or nearly so. God would not allow it, I thought. But now… it is strange… since I know there is life within me, my feelings have changed. Perhaps this life, like all life, is a gift from God. I want my baby.”
“I do not mean to make light of the tragedies you’ve suffered,” the countess said, “but only think if you had not married. My dear child! Your name has been saved. And can you question your good fortune in making a respectable match?”
While Antoni said little, the countess and Zofia continued to tap away at Anna’s fragile shell of resistance. The child must be given up.
“What would become of my baby?” she asked at last.
“It would be offered to a good home in some other parish or city,” the countess said. “We will say that you and Antoni lost your first child.”
“The greatest secrecy will be taken with the matter,” Zofia added. “Mother knows all about such matters, don’t you, Mother?”
Countess Gronska’s brown eyes flared with surprise and anger. Anna noticed some unspoken current pass between mother and daughter, but she was too concerned about her own child to care.
Anna respected and loved her aunt. And even though the countess seemed detached and distracted of late, her aunt’s judgment was important to her. But Anna was not the same young girl who had come to live with the Gronski family only a few months before. She had loved and she had lost. She found herself locked in a loveless marriage, a marriage she was convinced had no future. In this matter, then, she vowed to follow her own mind and heart. She would not be the water making way for the rock; the rock would make way for her.
Anna stiffened in her chair, summoning her resolve. She realized that it would not be easy to defy everyone. “I intend to keep my child, Aunt Stella. It is the only reason for me to live.”
Antoni’s fist crashed onto the table. “Enough! I’ve listened to enough.” He stood. “I’ll leave it to you, Countess, to talk some sense into your niece. Goodnight.”
The three women sat in silence for a long minute after Antoni’s departure.
“Well,” Zofia said, “I think that Anna’s attitude is most admirable, Mother. Remember that she has many months to come to a decision.”
Zofia is playing the solicitous diplomat, Anna thought. How confident she is that she will win me over.
“Mother, would you leave me alone with my cousin now?”
The countess seemed exhausted and had little argument left in her, so she deferred to her daughter, kissing them both and retiring to her room.
Zofia’s black eyes assessed her cousin. “Now, Ania,” she sighed, “you must be realistic.”
“I want to keep my child, Zofia.”
“What do you hope to gain by taking this stance?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think that you do.”
“I have no hidden motive.”
Zofia’s smile seemed more a smirk. “I can see what you’re up to.”
Anna could only stare.
“You think if you insist on having this child that Antoni will have the marriage voided. Isn’t that it? You still think that somehow you will have Jan one day!”
“I have no hope of that.”
“In fact, you think—you know!—that this child is Jan’s, don’t you?”
“Zofia, I know that this child is not Jan’s. Do you think that it is his?”
Zofia winced. “I don’t really care.” Her anger was on the rise.
Anna stood and moved toward the door.
“Anna, you will listen to me. If Antoni leaves you, you as a noblewoman cannot bear a child out of wedlock!”
“Zofia, it is unlike you to be so concerned with convention.”
“Don’t mock me! The sooner you realize that you will not have Jan and that he is not worth having, the sooner you can get on with your life.”
At the door Anna turned back to face her cousin. “I will have my child, Zofia.”
“Then don’t expect help from me,” Zofia hissed, “and don’t expect Antoni to play Józef to your Virgin Mary!”