from the boy in the high chair. He turned to smile at the countess, his blue eyes shining in the candlelight. His skin was the color of an ermine’s winter coat, like that of the baby on the Virgin’s lap at the village church. On his feet he wore white leather moccasins tied with blue satin bows.
All at once the child began to cry and kick his chair. His mother offered him a biscuit but his howls grew louder. Did she not see he wanted to free himself of that chair?
From my place at the wall I crouched, screwed up my face in the child’s direction, and he turned to me with a look of surprise. All at once a smile broke out on his face. I tried another face, this time stuck out my tongue.
The boy laughed outright. “Plus! Plus! Le referais!”
Of course, he wanted more. Did anyone there play with him or was he just their little pet?
The boy’s mother raised her eyebrows and smiled at me.
Mr. Streshnayva held up his glass. “To Max!”
The countess leaned toward the younger girl. “Do try the borscht, Luba. The tsarina herself gave me the recipe.” She then waved in the direction of the tureen.
My signal. All at once my knees grew weak. I stood straighter and stepped to the sideboard, wiped my palms down the front of my apron, and removed the lid. The countess gestured toward the younger daughter and I carried the tureen to her side and set it on the table. I dipped the ladle and spooned enough borscht into her bowl to cover the bottom. She looked at me with a grimace and waved me off.
“Luba, really,” the countess said and pointed to her own bowl.
My hands shook as I stepped toward her. I set the tureen on the table, pulled the ladle from the soup and hovered it over her bowl. Then all at once, in my wrist I felt a sharp pain, and my hand faltered and, as if in a dream, a fleck of purple no bigger than a pinhead flew to the countess’s white sleeve.
The countess pushed back her chair as if stung. “What must it take to get decent help in the dining room?” she asked in Russian.
Breath stuck in my throat and I stood like an elk caught in a clearing. What to do?
I brushed at her sleeve with a napkin. “I can wash it—”
“This is linen, it’s ruined. Out.”
“But—”
“Do you not understand out? Out, out, out!”
The countess’s older daughter stood and pushed her chair back. “Agnessa, it’s just a spot.”
I threw down the napkin and ran toward the kitchen, the blood pounding in my ears.
I stepped into the pantry and closed the door behind me, tears stinging my eyes. I pulled off my apron, ripping one of the ties, and kicked off the clunky shoes. They had money to burn in that house. Could they not provide their servants with proper shoes? I wrapped my legs and slipped into the woven shoes I came with. At least they fit.
A knock came at the door and it opened. It was the boy’s mother, the child on her hip.
She held out her hand. “Don’t mind Agnessa. I am Sofya.”
I bowed deep before her. “Varinka Niscemi Kozlov Pushkinsky.”
“No need to bow, Varinka.”
“Your mother—”
“My stepmother. Agnessa has trouble keeping her anger in check sometimes. We’ve all felt it, I’m afraid. Please don’t be offended.”
I held my tongue and studied the floor. I turned my head to hide my tears. “I’ll be going now.”
Sofya touched my sleeve. “Wait. What a lovely scent that is.”
I stood, mute. Was she mocking me?
“Don’t be afraid. Is it peppermint?”
“Yes. Make it myself.”
“Reminds me of my childhood. Do you have any experience with children, Varinka? You certainly charmed young Max, here.”
I paused. “Just village children. I try and teach them a little Latin. And French, which my Mamka taught me.”
She smiled. “Vraiment? Merveilleux. This is Max. He is just over two years old.” She swayed and cooed something in his ear and then walked out of the room, expecting me to follow.
Sofya turned to me as we walked. “Our Swiss nanny, Justine, left this morning for home. She cried every day she was here since she missed her family, so it was a relief to see her go, I’m afraid. We also had an English nanny but Luba left a lizard in her bed.”
Sofya led me up the steep back stairs to a nursery as big as our whole izba,