In November, Jan Stelnicki rented a small townhome in Warsaw proper. He had closed his family home in Kraków, Poland’s one-time capital. He chose Warsaw because in the days following his father’s death he had taken up the cause of the Patriotic Party, and Warsaw, of course, was now the center of all politics in Poland.
Those nobles, some of them magnates, who were disillusioned with the Constitution were becoming more and more vocal. And dangerous. There was a movement afoot, it was rumored, to ask the Russian Empress to intercede on behalf of them.
Such an action would mean war on a large scale, a kind of combined civil and foreign war: noble against noble; Pole against Russian. Consequently, Warsaw was a hive of activity with intrigue on many levels, from the back room of an inn to the throne room at the Royal Castle.
There were days, too, when Jan would admit to himself that he was in Warsaw for another reason.
These were the days he would wander down to the Queen’s Head, an inn at the river’s edge with an eclectic clientele. The weather had grown cold, so he sat indoors, sipping a coffee. Sometimes he overheard customers remark that he seemed utterly lost in thought or perhaps a bit simple. He was not staring into space, as they probably supposed. If they were to follow his gaze, they would find that it led out the filthy window, across the freezing river, to the white timbered townhome on the bluff.
Once, he had dared to ride by the house in a closed cab. He caught a glimpse of Zofia at a window, but no sign of Anna.
He questioned his obsession with Anna, mocking himself for it. Why was he tortured by thoughts of a married woman? Why had she married? He had been so certain of her feelings for him.
He prayed for a glimpse of her, just one glimpse. But the great white house held her like a captive bird.
One day he ran into Zofia shopping at the Market Square. She was at once cool and coquettish. He was unable to read her.
They awkwardly exchanged greetings and trivial news. He asked about the Countess Gronska, but couldn’t quite bring himself to ask about Anna. Zofia was full of a story about how she had inherited everything, Walter nothing. He wasn’t interested and didn’t quite follow its twists and turns. He thought only about Anna. When Zofia exhausted herself to little effect, they said goodbye.
Jan turned and started to walk away.
“Oh, Jan,” Zofia called.
Jan turned around.
“Anna is quite happy. Did you know she is to have a baby?”
Jan felt the blood drain from his face.
Zofia was smiling strangely.
He said something, mumbled something he would not remember later, then fled.
That would end his obsession, he thought. He avoided the river after that, losing himself in his work, in the cause.
Within a month, though, he sat in the Queen’s Head watching a curtain of snow fall onto the Vistula, a curtain that could not quite obscure the white house on the bluff.