The Great Alone (49 page)

She arched back from him, her hands pushing at his chest. Caleb immediately released her, angry with himself for having frightened her with his passion. A pelting rain struck before he had a chance to apologize and beg her forgiveness. She turned and started running toward the settlement.

“Larissa, wait.” Caleb ran after her.

The rain came down hard. The muslin shirt under her sarafan was already drenched by the time Caleb draped his coat over her head and around her shoulders. They ran together toward her cabin.

As they arrived there, she reached for the latch. “Larissa, wait.” Rain ran down his face and plastered his shirt against his skin. She paused without turning from the door. Her grandmother was inside, maybe her uncle as well. He couldn’t tell her the things he wanted to say in front of them. Abruptly, she swept off his coat and pushed it into his hands. “I didn’t mean—”

Her fingers touched his lips to silence him. Just as quickly she raised up on her toes and kissed him, giving him a taste of her own passion. Her action stunned him. By the time he reached for her, all his hand touched was the slippery cloth of her wet skirt as she darted inside the cabin.

Caleb stared at the door for a minute, then he smiled widely, his spirits suddenly soaring. He hadn’t frightened her after all, he realized, and walked away from the cabin chuckling to himself, indifferent to the drenching rain and his wet clothes.

“She will not be good for you. She will never please you the way I have.” Raven’s taunting voice caught him in midstride.

The laughter died in his throat as Caleb turned toward the blanket-wrapped figure huddled in the narrow space between two buildings. After a quick glance over his shoulder at the cabin to make sure he wasn’t observed, he stepped off the planked walk into the open passage.

“What are you doing here?”

Raven lifted back the hooding blanket and turned her head to show him her right cheek. A purpling bruise radiated from the angry red cut on her cheek. “Zachar did this.”

“You deserved it. I would have done more than that.”

“Yes.” She turned, showing him the perfect side of her face, her black eyes glowing, her lips curving in a near smile. “You are the only man to fight me and win. You made me cry out in pain—and in pleasure.” She moved toward him, her tawny face shining with the rainwater. “I know your ship will be finished in two days. Take me with you.”

“No.”

“We are alike, Caleb. You wish to trade for furs. I will show you the villages that have many.”

“Which villages?”

“They trade only for guns. Do you have guns?”

“Yes.” Caleb had no intention of complying with Baranov’s edict against selling them to the Indians. “Where are the villages?”

“I will show you.”

“I don’t need a guide.”

“I can trade for you. Get many furs for one gun,” she reasoned, then quickly switched to another tactic when she saw the first wasn’t working. “Zachar is leaving soon to go to some island far to the north. He wishes to take me. But I have no wish to leave the land of my people. I go with you. You take me from here.”

“No.” Caleb shook his head. “If you want to leave Zachar, go back to your people. Or don’t they want your kind either?”

Her expression grew cold. “Maybe I talk to Larissa.”

“That boy isn’t mine. But if you open your mouth to her I’ll tell the first shaman I meet that you’re a witch and that it is you who keeps your people from taking this land back from the Russians.” He watched the color drain from her face as fear leaped into her eyes.

Once he’d seen a Tlingit medicine man expose a witch to the tribe. She had confessed her guilt only after he’d held her under water until she’d nearly drowned, then set her naked on a bed of hot ashes. The tribe had hanged her.

Raven’s silence satisfied Caleb that she wouldn’t carry out her threat. He left her and walked back to the boardwalk. There was no one on the street as he stepped from between the two buildings and headed toward the harbor.

The shipbuilder informed Caleb that the
Sea Gypsy’s
repairs would be completed on the morrow, a day earlier than he’d originally thought, and exactly when Raven had claimed. He spent an idle moment wondering how she had known before dismissing it as unimportant.

At best he could stall another day. After nearly two weeks in port, the novelty of the place had worn off for his crew. They were getting restless. This was the trading season, and other merchant ships were getting the jump on them, while they didn’t have a single pelt in their hold. He’d have trouble with the crew if he tried to delay any longer. In truth, he couldn’t afford to lose more of the season, not on his first voyage as skipper and owner of the brig.

Resolutely he pushed off and started across the street. Everything glistened in the sun-dazzled morning. The rainwashed clarity of the air gave a jewel-like sparkle to the sapphire waters of the bay and the emerald forests of the islands. Even the timbered buildings in town had a polished look to them.

The Russian town bustled with activity. It seemed everyone was eager to be outside in the sunlight after yesterday’s confining rain.

Old Tasha Tarakanov sat on a chair in the front yard of her log home letting the sunlight warm her frail bones. Caleb was conscious of the way she watched him. He suspected she disapproved of him, although she had said or done nothing to indicate it. And it was her approval that he needed. He’d known all along that she played the major role in Larissa’s life. Her father was of minor importance. In the little time he’d had, he’d done his best to win the old woman over, but he wasn’t sure he’d succeeded.

Caleb spied Larissa hoeing out the weeds in the vegetable garden, a task that earned her a ruble a day from the company. The bright silk scarf covering her head was tied at the nape of her neck, and a belt girded the loose-fitting sarafan at her waistline. She looked up as if she’d been expecting him and dropped the hoe to come hurrying to meet him.

“I hoped you would come.” Her eyes sparkled.

“You knew I would,” Caleb mocked lightly.

Her smile widened. She made a small movement toward him, then hesitated and glanced over her shoulder as if suddenly remembering her grandmother. She took him by the arm and led him up the path to the old woman.

“Good morning, Babushka.” From the start, he’d taken the liberty of calling her by the Russian word for grandmother, hoping to endear himself to her. “You look like you are enjoying this fine weather. The sunshine will do you good.”

Larissa began a translation before he finished speaking, then did the same when her grandmother replied. “She greets you and agrees it is a fine morning.”

Taking the soft package from under his arm, Caleb presented it to the old woman. “This is for you, Babushka.” He laid it on her lap. Each time he’d visited the cabin, he’d brought a little gift—some tea or sugar, and once some tobacco for Larissa’s Uncle Mikhail. This time the occasion was more momentous and he’d increased the value of the gift accordingly. The bundle contained several yards of fine English cloth. He waited for her to unwrap it, but she made no move to do so. “Tell her to open it.”

Larissa passed on his message. The old woman tipped her head back to look at him, her gaze steady. As she began speaking, Larissa started the translation a phrase or two behind. “She thanks you for the gift, but she wonders why you bring her presents. She asks—
Babushka!”
Larissa’s cheeks reddened.

“What did she say?” Caleb frowned.

Obviously embarrassed, Larissa hesitated over her answer. “In the Aleutian Islands … where my grandmother was born … when a man wishes to … to take a woman to his home, he gives … presents to her parents. If the gifts are accepted, she goes to live with him. That is the custom.”

“And she thinks I’m trying to buy you.”

She lifted her gaze to examine his face. “I have been baptized into the Holy Faith. To live with a man without God’s blessing would be a sin.”

“Tell your grandmother that it is true I do love you and want you to be my wife, but I bring her presents only out of admiration and respect,” he said. “It is also true that I came today to seek your family’s permission to marry you. If there was a priest at Sitka I would ask him to perform the marriage sacrament, but there is none. Ask your grandmother what I should do.”

The wondrous joy that radiated from her expression left no doubt that she accepted his suit. Her lips parted speechlessly. Turning, she sank to her knees beside her grandmother’s chair. A torrent of Russian spilled from her, eager and entreating.

As Tasha listened to her granddaughter, a chilling emptiness crept into her body. She suddenly felt very old and very tired. “You would leave with him to go to this place called Boston?”

Dim was her memory of the day she sailed from Massacre Bay at Attu with Andrei Tolstykh, never again to see her mother, Winter Swan, her uncle, Many Whiskers, or old Weaver Woman. She gazed at the dark green mass of spruce and cedar towering beyond the stockade walls, growing thickly like so many stalks of grass. How she missed her treeless island and its ever-blowing wind.

“Caleb says we will come back often.” Larissa’s voice roused Tasha from her time-misted thoughts. “This is where he trades for furs. He says maybe he will also build a cabin here. When we come back, that is where we would live.”

“Come back.” The phrase reminded Tasha that Andrei had also promised her mother that he would bring her back to Attu. She had believed. She couldn’t have known the Russians would alter forever their way of life. Now the Yankees came. Tasha folded the wool shawl across her chest, feeling so cold.

“Babushka, I love him. He leaves soon.”

“And you would go with him?” She stared at her granddaughter.

“It’s not that I want to leave you, Babushka, but I love him.”

Tasha shook her head tiredly. “I must think.”

“Babushka,” Larissa pleaded.

“Tell him I will speak to my sons.” She rose from her chair and walked slowly to the cabin, her steps as heavy as her heart.

A tear slid down her cheek as Larissa watched her grandmother go. She felt torn. So blinded by happiness, she had not considered the pain of leaving until she’d seen it in her grandmother’s eyes.

She felt the warm pressure of Caleb’s hands on her shoulders and turned. “She wants to talk to my father and uncle. Caleb, she is so ill.”

“And you are young. It isn’t as though you are all the family she has. She won’t be alone. She has her sons. If it worries you, I will make provisions to see that she is cared for.”

“I wish—” But she was confused, uncertain of what she wished.

“Come walk with me,” he urged.

But she felt the tug in the opposite direction. “Perhaps I should go to her.”

“Larissa, we may have so little time.”

Swayed by his appeal, she let herself be led away from the cabin.

Caleb paused beside the large flat-topped rock that lay on the curved beach and gathered Larissa into his arms, kissing her with a restrained ardor. When he lifted his head, he continued to hold her, conscious of the disturbed rush of her breathing.

“I can’t bear the thought of leaving you, Larissa,” he murmured against the smooth skin of her temple. “You do love me, don’t you?”

“With all my heart,” she whispered fervently.

“What will we do if your family refuses us permission?” He wanted this alliance to cement his trade relationship in Russian America, not create a rift.

“I don’t know.”

“Somehow you must convince them to give consent. I promise you I’ll see that your grandmother lives comfortably the rest of her days.”

“I—”

“Captain! Praise be to Saint Patrick that I found you!” His second mate, O’Shaughnessy, hurried toward them, out of breath, his cheeks as red as his flame-colored hair. Caleb immediately stepped backward, putting a proper distance between himself and Larissa. “By your leave, miss.” The Irishman belatedly doffed his hat to her before continuing. “I searched this Rooskie town from stem to stern for you, Cap’n.”

“What do you want?”

“ ’Tis the first mate what wants you, Cap’n. He sent me t’ fetch ya’ double-quick.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s the Rooskie governor, Baranov. He comes out and boards the
Sea Gypsy
without so much as a ‘by-your-leave.’ When Hicks questions him, he demands to see the manifest.”

“Hicks refused, didn’t he?”

“Baranov brought his soldiers with him. T’was show him the manifest or fight. With half the crew ashore, t’wouldn’t ha’ been much of a fight, sir. He had me get the manifest, then ordered me t’ find you.”

Caleb swore under his breath. “He’ll see the damned guns and ammunition listed.”

“Aye, an’ I tole Hicks there’ll be the devil to pay and no hot pitch when he does.”

“Come.” Caleb took Larissa by the arm.

“What is wrong?”

“I don’t have time to explain. I must return to my ship.” But he sensed he had offered her little reassurance. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

When they reached the harbor area, Caleb gratefully accepted Larissa’s assurances that he didn’t need to escort her back to the cabin, and he climbed into the waiting boat to be rowed to the
Gypsy.
He studied the cluster of men on the brig’s deck, recognizing Baranov among them. He knew Baranov would be angry. His hope for a trade alliance or, at the very least, favorable trade concessions was in jeopardy.