AFTER the man had departed Ivan Drovski took Katrinka to one side, waving away the villagers who had gathered about the child.
"What message from Peter Petrovski and his good wife?" he asked.
"My father sent me a letter," replied Katrinka, her eyes sparkling. "He is well and not in chains. He says that Peter and I are to go to St. Petersburg."
"Why, my child," exclaimed Ivan under his breath, "what could two children do in St. Petersburg? Such talk is foolishness." The good man's brow knotted in a frown.
"I do not know, but I must obey my father," replied Katrinka. "He has written."
"We will show the letter to the priest after the service," said Ivan, holding out his great hand. "He will tell us what to do."
Katrinka gave the letter to Ivan Drovski and then, taking Peter by the hand, went into the church where the Easter services were being held, all of the people standing up or lying face downward on the floor. It seemed as if her father and mother were nearer by than they had been for a long time.
After the service Ivan waited for the priest, and showed him the letter that had been brought to Katrinka by the stranger.
The priest took it, his brows knotted, and when he had finished reading it, thrust it into the pocket of his cassock.
Katrinka looked at him appealingly. She wanted the letter from her father but was afraid to ask for it. She followed the priest as he crossed the little stretch of ground which separated his tiny izba from the church and, just before he stooped to enter his low doorway, called out softly:–
"Father, you have forgotten to return my letter."
The priest turned and looked at the child. He was still frowning.
"No, little one, I have not forgotten. The letter will be returned to you in due time. Go home now, and pray the good Lord that he will keep you from mingling with evil men and women."
The child made a reverence, turned, and slowly walked away.
The priest shook his head, then stooped and entered the low door of his cottage. That very afternoon he dispatched the letter to an officer in St. Petersburg.
On the following Thursday a tall, black-bearded man rapped on Katrinka's door.
She saw him from the window, and the magnificence of his uniform with its golden eagles frightened her, as did his sharp black eyes and the white teeth that glistened behind his black beard.
Nevertheless, she opened the door as wide as it would go and invited him to enter, politely asking him if he would have some tea. He shook his head. He did not take the trouble to remove his hat, which Katrinka thought strange in a man who seemed so rich and intelligent.
"Is this the cottage of Peter Petrovski?" he demanded.
Katrinka nodded shyly.
"I have been sent here by one of the Grand Dukes. You have in your possession, I am told, a black box. Bring it to me."
Katrinka's knees trembled beneath her. This must be Stefan Norvitch, whom her father had told her to find in St. Petersburg. She looked up at the man fearfully. When she finally summoned courage enough to speak her voice was tremulous.
"Is your name Stefan Norvitch?"
The man frowned.
Katrinka shrank from him. She was very much frightened.
"I am an officer in the employ of the Emperor. I have been sent to demand the tin box which is in your keeping and which you were ordered to take to Stefan Norvitch, the revolutionist. Bring me the box at once, child, or show me where it is hidden."
Katrinka opened the door of the closet back of the clay oven.
"There it is," she said, pointing to a tin box on the shelf. "I do not know what it contains."
The man took the box from its resting place. It was shallow and only about eight inches square, but apparently it was heavy. He smiled, showing his great white teeth. Then he tried to open the box and, finding that it was locked, attempted to pry up the cover. But the lock was too strong.
"Where is the key to this box?" he asked, turning to Katrinka.
"I do not know. I have never seen it," the child replied, shrinking from the man, who scowled fiercely at her as he pulled from his pocket a bunch of keys attached to a gold chain.
He tried to fit several keys into the lock without success, then turned again to Katrinka.
"We are wasting time. Make haste and bring me the key to this box."
"MAKE HASTE AND BRING ME THE KEY TO THE BOX"
"I have never seen it, sir," she insisted. "I do not know what the box contains. Father told me to take it to Stefan Norvitch in St. Petersburg. If you are not he I cannot let you have the box."
The man shrugged his shoulders, and with the box in his hand, went out to the carriage with the three horses and its padded coachman. The harness shone and the carriage was much newer and more beautiful than the one that had brought the stranger to the church on Easter morning.
The officer who rode in it was plump and red-cheeked. But as it rattled away he did not look back as the man had done who had brought the message to Katrinka from her father. Katrinka sighed as she looked after the carriage and then smiled. After all it was better to have lost the tin box than to have found that this man was Stefan Norvitch, to whom her father had told her to go in St. Petersburg. She felt sure that this stranger who claimed to have come from a Grand Duke would be very cruel to little children.
She laughed softly under her breath. How lucky it was that he had driven off without seeing little Peter, whom he might have carried away!
Relieved at the thought of Peter's safety, Katrinka began to sing, and then, as if she could express her happiness in no other way, went dancing across the meadows, her hands waving above her head, her small feet beating time to her song. At the end of the field she saw little Peter half hidden by the cow that had been turned out to graze on the tender spring grass. She called him to her and, taking his hand went to the house of Ivan Drovski. Ivan and Mother Drovski were in the fields hard at work with their spring plowing, but Marie sat on a bench in front of the cottage, sewing lace to the edge of her wedding petticoat.
Katrinka sat down on the grass at Marie's feet, and drawing Peter down into her lap, told her friend of the visit of the magnificent officer who had driven away with her father's tin box.
This chapter has been put on-line as part of the
BUILD-A-BOOK Initiative at the
Celebration of Women Writers.
Initial text entry and proof-reading of this chapter were the work of volunteer
Judith Fetterolf.
