The Friday of the dinner, Anya made sure all was in readiness. Food was being prepared and the courses would be served on time. The new butler and maid had been thoroughly prepared for their roles in the dining room. There were fresh flowers placed around the room in tasteful arrangements. As was her Father's habit, Anya had a profusion of candles ready to be lit. Candlelight was preferable to the harsh light of either gas or electricity to her mind.
The first couple arrived. As Anya had instructed, the maid took their wraps, then carefully deposited them in the bedroom. The food was delicious and the wine good, Anya kept the conversation light and all moved smoothly along.
As there was no parlor for the men to retire to alone, everyone went into the sitting room. Charles found he was content with Anya's handling of the evening. He was on his way and had no further qualms regarding Anya's competence as a hostess.
The women gathered in one corner of the sitting room next to the fireplace. The butler had laid a small fire at Anya's instruction. She lit the kindling and the blaze leapt up the flue. Seating herself near the doorway into the hall, Anya was prepared to produce wraps when each couple was ready to take their leave.
The first question from one of the women left her breathless.
"On the invitation, I noticed your maiden name is Bressoff. Are you an émigré?"
In confusion, Anya glanced over at Charles, who was hanging on every word his friend, Allen, said. Not sure how to answer the question, she looked down at her hands as she thought how best to reply. "Actually, my family has not been a part of Russian society for almost three generations. My grandfather was a third son of a minor nobleman. He went to Alaska to hunt for furs."
A quick glance told her Charles was still deep in conversation with Allen. Elise, his wife had asked the first question, but another soon followed.
"Alaska! Did you live in a regular house? Shirley Jackson leaned forward, eagerly awaiting her answer.
"Yes, we have a regular house. It is made of logs, of course. But the inside is paneled with lovely planks cut from the island's own trees."
"You live on an island?"
Anya did not like the direction the evening had taken. "Sitka is on an island. Sitka is the capital of the territory. In fact, it has been called the Paris of the North."
Anya waved more questions off. "Ladies, tell me about yourselves, please!"
Once the conversation was off in another direction, she rested easier.
Everyone had left for their own homes. Charles, having drunk a bit of wine then a dram of scotch with the other gentlemen, was in a good mood. Now to top the evening off, he and Anya could retire to bed. He was eager to see where that led. Anya was in the bathroom washing up when he entered.
"Very well done, wife. You did an excellent job."
She straightened and wiped her face on a towel. "I am sorry the same cannot be said of you, Charles."
"What do you mean by that?" His mood began to turn sour.
"Precisely when did you decide to use my maiden name on the invitations?"
"Is that what you are upset about?" He moved forward to take Anya's hands so he might reassure her that nothing was going to happen to her when the towel snapped out and caught him in the chest.
"Do not touch me! You are a foolish, arrogant man! You know what my Father told you. This is not America, this is Russia. What have you done Charles?"
He took a step back through the doorway. Anya reached out to push him out of her way.
"Oh come now! Your Father was being too controlling. It was only six little invitations! I handed them out at the embassy. Who or what is going to happen from six invitations?"
"My Father is controlling?" Her finger poked him solidly in the chest. "You! You give me what amounts to a servant's salary for a household allowance."
Anya poked him again. Her voice fell to a tightly controlled level which was almost a whisper. "You, tell me what to do, how to do it and when to do it, including in our bed!"
Keetering backed up with his legs against the mattress.
"You are a miser. Further, you are no longer welcome to my bed or body!" Anya pushed him with both hands. Charles fell across the bed. Bouncing once, with arms outstretched he stared at his wife. Eyes blazing, Anya rattled off a few words he did not understand.
"If, you value your life and your body parts." She continued, staring pointedly at his groin. "You will not touch me again. I am finished with you and this farce of a marriage."
"How do you think you are going to leave here? Think again Anya. You will do as you are told!" He yelled at her as she walked into the sitting room. Pulling a couple of spare blankets from the linen closet in the hallway, Anya took a pillow from one of the chairs and made a bed by the fire. After throwing on a bit more wood the young woman removed her gown.
Sleeping in her slip on the floor was better than sleeping with Keetering. She did not bother telling him two fifty dollar gold pieces would get her to Sweden, perhaps even to London. If she got to London, her father's office there would see to the rest. She was going home.
Foka had arranged to meet his client near the new bridge. There, money and information would change hands. A good trade indeed. What would take place from this point on, was no business of Foka's. He wanted the transaction over with as quickly as possible. Since the government did not want the girl, he could take the money with impunity.
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