in the eastern corner, which held Mamka’s little village of icons painted on wood. The glow of the red oil lamp above caught the silver foil of the Madonna and child and St. Winnoc, who protected Mamka against fever. The countess made a little bow to the saints, and then made her way toward Mamka’s bed, the heron feather in her hat bouncing as she walked.
The candle threw her shadow high along the wall and teased the diamonds at her ears and throat to life. And her boots. I watched the countess’s hem closely for a glimpse now and then of them—pearl gray kid stitched with silver threads. The very ones Grand Duchess Tatiana wore, pictured in a magazine. I pulled at my skirt to cover my own woven birchbark shoes.
The countess forged ahead to Mamka’s bedside, the tiny brown dog clutched to her bosom. As she passed me, I bent at the waist in a deep bow, clasping my apron to hide the holes.
I stepped to the head of Mamka’s bed as she sat up straighter and extended one hand toward the countess, a ghost of her manners from her time at court, when she’d visited her cousin, a lady-in-waiting there. If she hadn’t fallen for poor Papa she might still be there.
“Zina Glebova Kozlov Pushkinsky, Your Grace,” Mamka said with a cautious smile. Of course, we were all named Pushkinsky, the lower classes living in that district.
The countess paused and then reached one pink-kid-gloved hand and shook Mamka’s in the briefest way.
“I was not told I’d be attending a sickbed,” the countess said, slowly, in Russian. She waved away wolf lard smoke from the candle.
“I’m sorry, Countess Streshnayva,” Mamka said in her prettiest French. “I didn’t know I’d be feeling so poorly.”
The countess stared at Mamka for a second, then answered in French. “Certainly, you of all people should have seen it coming.” She let out a funny little laugh.
“Please sit,” Mamka said.
“I was told you’re a crystal seer—have you no ball?”
She expected a dark woman with bells on her shoes?
Mamka smiled at her. “I cannot start until you sit, Countess.”
The countess cast her gaze about the room and then, ever so slowly, lowered herself onto the edge of the chair. “No samovar?”
“No, Countess. Taken for taxes. We tried to get it back but it had already been sent to the city.”
Mamka kept her voice steady but we had both ended up crying on that terrible day.
The countess brushed raindrops from her sleeve. “One must pay taxes after all.”
Mamka nodded to the bed stand. “No tea, but the boiled milk is for you.”
The countess plucked up the cup, held it to the dog’s snout and he produced little lapping sounds as he drank.
My gaze went to the planked wall of Taras’s shed where just a wisp of white breath escaped from the crack between the boards. Please don’t come out and ruin it all.
“Do I know you?” asked the countess as she lifted the lorgnette she wore on a chain and looked Mamka over.
“Well, actually, Countess, my father taught in the city—you may have known of—”
The countess dropped her lorgnette. “Pardon my haste, but do get on with it.”
Mamka gathered the neck of her nightdress in one pale-as-ivory fist. “Please. Before we start I would like to say that I ask for no money in payment.”
“Well, that is a first.”
“Instead, would you find a place on your staff for my daughter, Varinka, here? She is a hard worker.”
I stood straighter.
The countess glanced at me. “Oh, this is most inappropriate.”
“She’s pretty, is she not?” Mamka asked. “And I’ve schooled her well. She has read widely and knows all the saints. Every Greek and Roman god and goddess. I taught her and my husband’s young apprentice French. She took to the language well.”
“I prefer men serving in the dining room.”
“Kitchen help? A dairymaid? She has a way with children.”
“How old?”
“Sixteen—”
“And unmarried?”
Mamka just looked down at her hands and the blood rushed to my cheeks. Every peasant girl in the village had been married by fifteen. My life would never be like theirs.
“Does she bathe on Saturday?” asked the countess.
“Every day. And she speaks good French. Taught her myself.”
“Really? Well, I don’t see why not. It’s impossible to get good help out here in the wild.”
Mamka reached out her hand to the countess. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”
Me? Work for the countess? What was this dining room? Would they let us have leftover food from that room? I would wear