Excerpt

Chapters 1 - 5 from Song of Miriam

ONE


“Where are the Jews?” Prince Potemkin demanded upon his entrance into the Grand Ballroom. His booming voice caused heads to turn.

Fashioned after St. Nicholas Hall at the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, the immense room was two hundred feet long and sixty-one feet wide. The walls were lined with pale, ivory colored silk and hung with enormous mirrors framed in gold. The floors were inlaid with marble and rare woods in intricate designs. Ornate candle-lit chandeliers cast a lovely glow over the guests and caused their jewelry to glitter and sparkle. Servants who wore elaborate surcoats emblazoned with the royal crest, red shoes and white stockings, stood like statuesque sentinels at every door. Tall lackeys in red turbans and black pantaloons silently opened doors. The Grand Staircase, flanked by huge marble columns and steps, was lined with Cossack Life Guards in scarlet tunics.

Tonight’s Grand Ball celebrated Czarina Catherine’s departure from St. Petersburg. Her Majesty would arrive in Kiev within three weeks and remain until the ice on the Dniepr River melted, at which time she and her entourage would set sail for the southern provinces. The ballroom was filled with Nobles, Caucasians, Hussars and Uhlans, some who had come from as far as the frontiers of China. Fountains overflowed with wine, barrels spouted vodka and champagne corks exploded as guests gorged on caviar and roasted meats.

The tempestuous love affair between Catherine and Potemkin was long over, yet rumors of a secret morganatic marriage persisted. The powerful prince, meticulous in the beribboned uniform of Field Marshall of the Army, waited impatiently for his young guests to be presented.

"Reb Dov Zeklinski and Madame Miriam Zeklinski, Sire," murmured his aide-de-camp.

"Charming." Potemkin appraised the young woman. She wore a pale ivory gown etched with seed pearls, a fetching contrast to her olive complexion and almond-shaped eyes.

"Arrange to see me, Zeklinski," Potemkin said to Dov, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "The sooner the better. Shall we dance, Madame?"

Rumors flew through the air like wisps of smoke from a candle. Who was the mysterious woman led by Prince Potemkin? From which part of the empire had this exotic princess emerged? Persia? Byzantium? Her sultry eyes certainly suggested the orient. The ballroom buzzed with speculation, except for the few who knew who she was.

"Potemkin courts the Jews in public," Count Petrov said as he observed the prince’s flagrant display. "He has the czarina's blessings, no doubt." The count was stout, his face bloated from years of excess food and drink. He had all to do to keep from scratching his head for relief from the irritating wig on his head.

"Beware, Petrov. You court treason with such talk."

"Nonsense. He taunts the nobility with this act. Is it not our duty to save Mother Russia from Jewish infidels?"

"But what can we do? Potemkin is powerful."

Petrov ignored the comment. "That blackguard has depleted the royal treasury for this unnecessary journey. He sees to it that the czarina’s eyes will fall only on clean, whitewashed cottages, freshly gilded church spires and well-dressed serfs. Mark me, sirs. The day will come when the czar-killer of Ivan and Peter, and her lover will be called to account."

"Your beauty soothes our weary eyes, Madame Zeklinski."

"You flatter me, Sire," Miriam said. She curtsied as he bowed, and took the hand he offered as they reached the dance floor.

"Can you not see that all eyes are upon you tonight?"

"On the contrary, it is Your Majesty who draws all eyes.”

The prince smiled. "Perhaps. Your French is flawless, you possess wit and you dance with grace. This bespeaks a superior education. Is this so with all Jewish women of your station?”

"My father’s doing, sire. He will be honored to hear that you admire my tutoring since he insists on the finest education for his children."

"Please convey our compliments to your father, Madame. Did you know that the czarina is committed to the education of women? Her Majesty established the first school for Christian girls twenty years ago. There are many such schools now."

"A noble idea, Sire. Perhaps Jewish women might also be allowed to attend Her Majesty's schools one day." He raised an eyebrow, causing Miriam to wonder whether she'd been too bold. When the music ended, she curtsied.

"Our pleasure, Madame." Potemkin gave her hand to the tall officer who had presented her and her husband to the prince. His uniform of dark green jacket and gold-braided cape, white pants and black boots marked him as an officer of the Preobrazhansky Guards, the czarina's battalion. He had fine blonde hair, a beard that barely concealed the scar on his right cheek, and seductive blue eyes that seemed to tease.

"Count Razovsky at your service, Madame.”

“You can serve me best by returning me to my husband, then.”

“At the moment, gentlemen who wish to take advantage of your husband’s financial words of wisdom surround him. May I claim this dance? I prefer to be first before you are besieged by eager admirers."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"No need to pretend coyness, Madame. My meaning is clear. Now that the prince has favored you with the first dance of the evening, you can have any man here, but perhaps you already have a lover."

Miriam reddened. "What right have you to pose such an insolent question?”

His eyes widened in amused surprise. "Have I offended you? I meant only to flatter.”

"You are wide of the mark, sir."

"My apologies, then. Please, Madame. Don't abandon me on such poor terms. My sister and Countess Gorov will be furious with me for having driven you off before an introduction."

She began to turn away, but he placed a restraining hand on her arm and added, “May I present my sister, Countess Anya Razovsky."

Miriam noted the young woman’s handsome Slavic features; hair the color of fine wheat, pale blue eyes, fair skin very like delicate porcelain. The family resemblance was remarkable.

"And this is our dear friend, Countess Gorov," Razovsky continued, indicating the older woman at his sister's side.

"You're the Jewess? Where is your husband?" The older woman’s lined face suggested a lively intelligence in spite of her startling questions.

"He is otherwise engaged at the moment."

"I wish to meet him. There were few Jewish subjects in Russia before the Polish Partition, you see. We must come to know one another better, my dear. Invite me to tea.”

"My pleasure, Countess. Would Wednesday at three be suitable?"

"Of course. Anya shall escort me." The feisty old woman turned to the count. "Dance with me, Alexei, before I grow too old for such pleasures."

The count’s sister smiled. "Take no offense, Madame Zeklinski. Natasha loves to shock, but she means no harm."

"No doubt," Miriam replied, flustered by the dowager, yet oddly not offended.

"Are you visiting our city?”

"No. My husband and I reside in Kiev."

"Forgive my ignorance. My brother and I have been abroad." The countess spoke with the breathless voice of youth, her smile friendly. “A fortunate journey for me since I met my betrothed, Prince Peter Bedorov, in Paris." The young countess liked the look of Miriam, sensing in her a kindred spirit. Perhaps she wants a friend as much as I do, she thought. For her part, Miriam was warmed by the woman's easy manner. She was also struck by the marked contrast to her insolent brother.

A young officer claimed the countess for a promised dance, but Miriam was not alone for long.

Count Razovsky asked, “May I have this dance?” Unable to invent a dignified way to refuse him, Miriam allowed the offensive officer to lead her to the floor.

"You dance well, Madame."

"Does that surprise you?”

"I see that I am not yet forgiven for my faux pas. I am determined that, in due time you shall.” Miriam fled when the music ended, but the count had no time for reflection.

"Who was that mysterious woman you were dancing with, Alexei? Everyone’s dying to know." Hannelore von Hals’ impish green eyes shone like burnished emeralds. Her powdered wig, ringed in curls, was piled on top of her head in the current French fashion.

"She is Madame Zeklinski. Her husband's a financier."

"The Jewish tycoon whose name is on everyone's lips?"

"Yes. It is good to see you, Dunya."

"Dunya is no longer my name darling, an unpleasant reminder of my humble serf origins. I've discarded it for Hannelore."

"I never thought of you as a serf. Hannelore, eh? Suits you well."

"Madame Hannelore von Hals."

"So you married old von Hals. Congratulations, then."

"Offer me your condolences. Hermann died six months ago."

"Oh? Sorry."

"You needn't be. I saw to it that we had a good life together."

"I would not have expected any less of you."

"And how are you faring?"

"Alas, this day is one of the worst of my life."

"Are you in need of a sympathetic ear?"

"Badly.”

"Do tell, then. Why so glum?"

"Potemkin gave me distressing news this morning. To make matters worse, I seem to have offended Madame Zeklinski."

"Whatever did you say to offend her?"

"I said she could have her choice of lovers."

Hannelore laughed. "Poor Alexei! You're unused to women who scorn your advances."

"I only meant to compliment her desirability."

"I wonder why she took such offense. Every woman at court would swoon for your attentions. What of the bad news from Potemkin?"

"I'm not to be allowed to join my regiment and take part in Empress Catherine's journey. My orders are to return to St. Petersburg following the czarina's departure in the spring."

"He hasn't forgiven you for disobeying him and taking your sister abroad, I take it. Are you no longer his aide?"

"I remain in that post, but only because my uncle has influence at court. The dear man has advised me to accept my punishment without further complaint."

"That's wise. Was the grand tour of Europe worth all the trouble it has caused you?"

"Not a question of worth. It was necessary for my sister's sake, with fortuitous results, I might add. Prince Bedorov met Anya in Paris and they fell in love. They plan to be wed next year. Potemkin's displeasure is a small price to pay for having done my duty. She'll marry well, which is what my parents would have wanted for her.” A flicker of pain at the thought of his dead parents crossed his face, and he changed the subject. “What brings you to Kiev?"

"The empress requested that my husband join her for this journey. Hermann built several frigates and battleships for the Royal Navy, you see. The czarina intended to honor him for his services to the empire, but by the time the news reached Berlin, he was dead. I am here to represent him."

"Excellent," he said, admiring her audacity at accepting an invitation meant for her husband. "Will you live here when you return?"

"No. I shall continue to live in Berlin in our palace. I've many friends there.”

"Your husband left you well provided for?"

"Yes. I’m enormously wealthy."

On her hasty retreat from the irritating count, a young officer who begged for the next dance accosted Miriam. The pink-faced cherub seemed barely old enough for the military uniform he wore. His words tumbled out in a rush.

"Lieutenant Petrov at your service, but you would honor me if you would call me Ilya. I must confess that your beauty and your wit have bewitched me. Truth be known, Madame, I am madly in love with you."

"Then you are indeed mad, sir, for you do not know me."

"Don't mock me, Madame. I know my heart well enough to know when I'm in love."

"She suppressed the desire to laugh at the absurdity for she had no wish to offend such a child. "Forgive me, then. Apparently you possess a romantic soul, but I am already spoken for."

"Your husband is of little consequence to me."

"He is of great consequence to me, though I am flattered by your attentions."

"Can we at least be friends?"

"Of course, Ilya is it?"

“Then you must dance with me. It will make me the envy of all the men in my company.”

At the end of the evening, Miriam and Dov sped home under the warmth of sable throws. Dov’s blue eyes blazed with the triumph of the evening. He was a handsome man, short of stature, yet comely in spite of it. He longed to share his successful evening with his wife, yet his anger prevented him. They rode in uneasy silence, both still simmering over Borschov, their overseer.

“He steals from us, Dov,” Miriam protested earlier in the day. “Our serfs hate him.”

“All overseers steal. Borschov must deal with four thousand serfs and he turns a profit for us. If you treated him with the dignity his position demands, we wouldn’t be arguing.”

“I manage our estate. Why didn’t you order him to speak to me directly?”

“I’m far too busy with Zeklinski Enterprises to be burdened with petty disputes. Learn to carry out your duties properly.”

“How can you expect me to accomplish that when you interfere?”

“Carry on you must, my dear, but do it without upsetting Borschov’s operations.”

She clenched her fists. “Do not encourage that detestable man to disobey my orders. It’s the least you can do when he disagrees with me.”

“All right, then. Tell Borschov that he is to order supplies from my office henceforth. My clerk Hershl will see to his needs. In return, you are to treat him with respect. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” She heard anger in his voice in spite of his words, but experience had taught her that there was nothing further to be gained.



z



The Zeklinski mansion, a handsome pillared structure, was three stories tall. It occupied the highest promontory on the estate. On a clear day, smoke from its many chimneys could be seen from as far away as the wharf on the Dniepr River.

The entrance led to a circular marble hall that rose to the height of the second and third floors. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the dome of a sky-blue ceiling decorated with painted cherubs lounging atop swollen white clouds.

The ground floor held a drawing room, dining room, library, Dov's study, Miriam's morning room, a piano conservatory, ballroom, and a synagogue, which had once been a chapel. The circular staircase led to the second story balcony where the master suite and guest rooms opened onto the balustrade.

The servants' quarters were on the third story, reached by a back staircase connecting all three levels. Below stairs were two kitchens, one for meat meals and one for dairy meals, both designed to meet the strict Judaic dietary requirements of kashruth. In addition, there was a fine wine cellar and many storage rooms as well as a specially constructed bath, or mikveh, a religious ritual.

Dov had employed an Italian architect to renovate their new home, for it had fallen into neglect. In spite of falling plaster, fresh paint and dangerous scaffolding, the two were content to be free from the constraints of childhood in their new home. The work was finished by the time they celebrated their first year of marriage.

Miriam broke the silence as they readied for bed. “How was your evening?”

“Very dull. Men of noble birth begged me to tell them how to increase their wealth. And you? What did the prince have to say?”

“He was most flattering. Jealous?”

“Have I reason to be?”

She smiled. “No. He did ask me to be sure to thank you for agreeing to billet the Israelovsky Battalion when they arrive with the czarina.”

“It’s a great honor to host the first Jewish battalion in the history of the Russian army.

“I also met a young lieutenant who vowed his undying love for me. Ilya something or other."

"Shall I challenge him to a duel?"

"A duel? How silly! You've never held a sword in your life."

He laughed. "Nor would I know what to do with a sword. Besides, it would interfere with my audience with Potemkin on Wednesday."

"That is such good news. Wednesday, did you say? I've invited Countess Gorov and Countess Razovsky to tea then." She hesitated. "Actually, Countess Gorov ordered me to do so. Remarkable woman. She apologized in advance for the bigotry we shall have to endure from her ignorant countrymen."

"Were you offended?"

"Not at all." Miriam described her encounter, to Dov's amusement.

"Countess Razovsky must be the wife of Potemkin's aide.”

"No. The countess is his sister."

"Then he's not married?"

"I don't know, but if he is, he's very presumptuous."

"What did he presume?"

"Asked me if I had a lover."

"That was bold, but you do have a lover. Let me show you." Dov took her in his arms and brushed his tongue over her lips, an erotic act that roused a fire within her. In spite of such a promising beginning, Dov’s passion swiftly reached its peak as usual.

"Goodnight, dear," he said, disengaging. He stroked her flushed cheek and in an instant he was asleep.

Miriam lay awake feeling restless, like a mountain climber at the summit unable to descend. She had come to believe that her lustful cravings were a shameful affliction, an aberration of character.

Once she'd asked Dov to hold her in his arms afterward. He fell asleep holding her, only to wake and complain of a stiff arm. Did lovers hold their sweethearts and whisper tender phrases of love only in romantic novels, she wondered? She'd even tried to hint that he might be more adventurous in bed.

"Making love isn't like a business contract," she had said once. Dov reacted with annoyance at the suggestion that he was somehow remiss and she never dared suggest it again.

Seventeen and not yet pregnant, she thought in misery. Miriam’s eyes filled with tears.



TWO

"I will not tolerate these delays, Vassily. The Israelovsky Battalion arrives in less than two weeks, yet when I inspected the camp site yesterday, precious little work had been done." Scoundrel, Miriam thought, angry with her overseer's resistance.

Vassily Borschov wore trousers tucked inside black boots and an embroidered belted blouse. His face had been scarred by some childhood ailment, marking him with a malevolent air, much suited to his dour disposition. The serfs had good reason to be terrified of him, for he was a cruel taskmaster. He was overseer when she and Dov took up residence, yet Miriam disliked him from the first.

"I repeat. Build platforms for the men so they need not sleep on icy ground, a cabin for the sergeant, two well-equipped kitchens, and a synagogue. The soldiers require a corral for their horses, as near to the stream as possible for water. See to it that they have a daily supply of kosher beef and poultry as well as grain and fresh produce from the Zeklinski storehouses."

The overseer replied as if Miriam were a child. “One kitchen is sufficient, Madame.”

"Your insubordination exceeds your intelligence, sir. Two fully equipped kitchens are necessary to meet the requirements of our religious dietary laws. One is used only for meals that contain meat, and the other is used only for meals that contain products from our dairy. Prince Potemkin has asked for a report on the comfort of the Israelovsky Battalion, in which he takes great pride," Miriam lied.

Borschov seethed with fury over this unexpected development. So, Madame will not trust me to order on my own, Borschov thought. They say Jews trust no one. The tradesmen I deal with will be angry over losing so much business. Puts an end to my commissions from them.

“Draw up a list of what you need for my husband’s clerk."

The overseer coughed.

"What is it?"

"I shall need more lumber."

"I've already told you to see my husband's clerk for your needs. My carriage is waiting."

"Allow me, Madame," he said, holding the door for her. He bowed with deliberate insolence, but the performance was lost on her. She was on her way to visit the salon of Madame Henriette. The French seamstress had gained a reputation as the finest in Kiev and Dov had insisted she patronize her.



z



The Israelovsky Cavalry traveled to Kiev with Her Majesty’s entourage. Every evening, Sergeant Josef Brodsky recorded the day's events in the company log. He appeared older than his twenty years. Some said he was homely, yet his deep-set brown eyes spoke of compassion. He paid scant attention to the bitter cold inside his tent as he wrote.

His parents had died of pneumonia in the severe epidemic of 1767, when he was an infant. Local authorities set fire to his small village to prevent the epidemic from spreading to nearby hamlets. The few survivors took refuge with relatives, but no place could be found for the infant. Too many mouths to feed and far too little food burdened the countryside. Josef was placed in the care of the orphanage in Shklov where he remained until his conscription into the army.

By the time he was old enough to inquire about his parents, no one knew anything about them. Even the records at the orphanage were meager. A little card stated that his father, who died on May 15, 1770, was a tailor named Yitzhak. His mother's name was Mollie, deceased two days earlier.

Josef had come to expect little from life, but his fortunes improved when he turned thirteen. The caretaker at the orphanage died and Josef took his place, receiving a small stipend and a room of his own. On his free evenings, he took to patronizing the local tavern. He would nurse one drink and watch the men compete in arm-wrestling, a favorite local sport. He couldn't remember when he found the courage to challenge the winner. He just knew for a certainty that he would win and he did. When his reputation reached the ears of the Christians in the village, they flocked to the Jewish tavern solely to pit their skill against his. Taken in by his frail appearance, his competitors and their friends bet against him, but his supporters always won, paying for the lad's drink and pressing upon him a few coins to prove their generosity of spirit.

When he became sergeant of the Israelovsky Battalion, he took to caring for the men of his battalion, a hapless group of Jewish soldiers who had the misfortune to be conscripted either because they had been orphans like him, or because their widowed mothers were too poor to pay the recruit levy. He warned his men that they had to be a better cavalry than the other horse regiments, for they represented their people. He needn’t have worried, for his soldiers were willing to do anything he asked. To his surprise, he found in them a family of his own.



z



Potemkin's headquarters in the Petcherskaya Lavra Monastery loomed like a fortress against the vast landscape of spires and mosques and minarets in Kiev.

“Welcome, Reb Zeklinski,” said Count Razovsky. “Follow me, sir.” He led Dov past hordes of men hopeful for an audience with the prince. The count knocked once, opened the door for him, and withdrew.

"Shalom,” the prince said. "How is your grandfather?"

"In good health, Sire. He arrives next week."

"The Shtadlan is a fine man," the prince said. “Do you call him that?”

"I call him Zayde, Sire."

"He has written to tell us that you are brilliant."

"Isn't that the way with doting grandfathers, Sire?"

Potemkin laughed. "Quite so. He has chosen you to head Zeklinski Enterprises, a great burden for one so young. We trust you are equal to the task.”

“I shall do my best, Your Majesty.”

"Let us add that your wife's beauty is striking. Outspoken, but charming. Take care you treat her well."

"Most certainly, Sire. I am devoted to my wife." Dov wondered what Miriam might have said to the prince to warrant such a comment.

"We compliment you on your choice."

"Thank you, Sire, but the choice was not ours to make. We were betrothed at birth."

"That so?"

"An ancient Jewish custom."

"You build barges?" the prince asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"Yes, Your Highness. Forgive my impertinence. Might I inquire how you learned of our newest venture?"

"Our business to know what is of advantage to the Crown. Her Highness needs barges, but we suspect you knew that when you contracted to build them. How many are you prepared to deliver ready to sail by the first of May?"

"Fifty, Your Majesty,"

"One hundred."

"Forgive me, Sire. My small shipyard can only produce fifty, perhaps sixty at the most."

"Get another. We shall also require seven large galleys for Her Imperial Highness and her entourage."

I'm being tested, Dov thought. "Of course, Sire."

"We intend to hold you to your word."

"Your Majesty flatters my humble abilities," Dov began boldly. "Yet lumber is scarce in winter."

"Precisely. We are prepared to help as a special favor to your grandfather. We had the foresight to ship enough lumber from our forests in the north last fall, before the Dniepr froze. You may purchase all you need from our stock."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. My grandfather will be so pleased," he said, understanding that there was no point in dissent. "And the price?"

Potemkin named an outrageous sum.

"That is a great deal of money, Sire. Fairly takes my breath away. Might I inquire whether this sum includes the deed to your forests?" Dov wondered whether he'd gone too far.

Potemkin laughed good-naturedly. "We like your spirit, young man, but the price is firm. Surely, you've wit enough to know that you can make up the cost of the lumber on the sale of the barges to the Crown, just as your grandfather has always done when he fulfills our exclusive army contracts. Let us discuss what we have in mind."

Dov mentally computed costs as he listened to Potemkin. Both men would realize a handsome profit.

"Agreed, Your Excellency. One more question?"

"What is it?"

"When the vessels are no longer of any use to the Crown, Sire, may we repurchase them for one third of their cost?"

"One half."

"Done, Your Highness."

"See Razovsky about the lumber, and inform your grandfather we look forward to his visit. We want to hear more about the academy he is establishing for the advancement of your people.”



z



"Countess." Madame Henriette said. She curtsied, believing she faced a titled lady. The dressmaker’s spirits soared with the anticipation of huge profits.

"Why don't you examine these sketches? The latest Paris fashions, I assure you, whilst I arrange for tea, Princess...?"

"Madame Zeklinski," Miriam corrected, absorbed in the sketches.

"Forgive me, Madame." The disappointed dressmaker hurried off to assist a more important patron in her busy salon.

"That gown is lovely. Just right for you, countess. Follow me and we'll pin out the hem."

"This won’t do, Henriette," the angry countess said.

"Is there something wrong with the gown, countess?"

"Nothing to do with the gown. It's that woman.”

"Do you know her?"

"Henriette, you will rue the day your clientele learns that a Jewess trades here. Cancel my order, for I refuse to patronize the same salon with the likes of her. My friends will do the same when they hear of this."

"Mon Dieu! I had no idea. You are perfectly right, countess. I can't have a Jewess ruining my trade. What nerve, to presume she would be welcome here. Excuse me while I correct the situation. Come here, Lisette. Pin the countess' hem at once."



z



Dov closed the door behind him, needing time to digest the full import of his interview. Instead, Count Razovsky led him to a small cell that served as his own office.

"Brandy? The monks here make it themselves. By the way, I understand that my sister and Countess Gorov are having tea with your wife today."

"Yes, my wife needs friends. We know so few people in Kiev."

"Then my sister and I shall introduce you at a dinner in your honor. Does three weeks from this evening suit you?"

"Most kind," Dov said, amused. The man had to know they had been ignored because they were Jewish.

Razovsky said, "Our pleasure, sir. Shall we review the Crown's requirements?” He spread out the drawings. “These are the specifications for the czarina's galleys.”

Each one was designed with room to hold doctors, hairdressers, master chefs, engineers, a large staff of servants and a full orchestra. Seven palaces on water for only one journey, Dov thought, awed by the excess. He wondered how Potemkin had learned about the shipyards, since he'd only signed the agreement two days earlier. Misha Golanov, his barge builder, would have apoplexy when he saw the drawings, most likely, but Dov was sure that Misha would find a way.

"More brandy?" Dov declined as the count poured himself another. Now for my own business, the officer thought grimly. "I wonder," he began, "Might there be an opportunity for me to invest my capital in your business?"

Dov raised an eyebrow. "What have you in mind?"

"My funds are tied up in other ventures at the moment. Perhaps there is a way for me to use the fall harvest from my estate as collateral for a loan. Is that feasible?"

Bastard's scratching for a bribe, Dov thought. Let him squirm a bit while I think it out. Does he really think I can be fooled by the offer of his harvest as collateral? What would I do with a few measly stalks of wheat? Use them for oars for the barges? He's offering to introduce us to society in return. Not such a bad exchange. Miriam will be delighted and it suits my purposes.

"Of course," Dov said at last. "But there's no need to trouble yourself with collateral. Allow me to advance you the capital from my personal funds. Interest free, of course. No, no. I wouldn't think of charging interest to a friend. How much will you need to tide you over?"



z



"Countess Gorov and Countess Razovsky, Madame," announced Boris as he ushered the women into the drawing room. Miriam noted her butler's obvious pride with some amusement. Jewish guests never received the same warm welcome.

"You've excellent taste in furnishings, Madame Zeklinski. The Cherssovs used to live here, you see. They were friends of my parents," said Anya. "They all died in the influenza epidemic of 1768."

"How terrible for you.” A servant entered the drawing room with tea and cakes. Miriam poured tea for her guests.

"How did you meet your husband?" asked Anya with the interest of a woman whose mind was taken with her own future.

"Our parents broke the plate when I was two months old. It is traditional to hold a family betrothal celebration at which a plate is literally smashed to symbolize that the agreement cannot be broken."

"You grew up with your husband?"

"That would have been improper. When I was ten, our families moved to St. Petersburg, but my husband remained behind with his grandfather to complete his education. By the time we married, I had forgotten what he looked like. I have to confess that I was terrified. I didn't sleep well for weeks before my wedding."

"You needn't have worried," said Countess Razovsky with a smile, "He was pointed out to me at the ball, though I've yet to be introduced. He's quite handsome."

Time flew by for Miriam as the afternoon advanced. She reveled in the easy familiarity, for the women behaved as though they'd known her all their lives. This blending of two cultures was not as difficult as she had imagined. Yet not without its thorns, she thought, recalling the humiliating scene in the dressmaker's salon. She was sorry to see the afternoon come to an end.



z



Dov's spirits were so high as he related the triumph of his audience with Potemkin, Miriam hadn't the heart to describe of her own humiliation at the hands of the dressmaker. Instead, she recounted the afternoon spent with her two new friends.

"I'm to pay a visit to Countess Razovsky tomorrow afternoon, and she and I have both been invited to tea with Countess Gorov next Wednesday."

"Razovsky and his sister are arranging a dinner in our honor three weeks from tonight. Madame Henriette should have one of your new gowns ready by then."

Miriam's face turned a flaming red.

"What is it?"

"I was humiliated by that horrid dressmaker."

"What do you mean?"

Miriam related the painful story. "She snatched the sketches from my hands, and demanded I leave at once. `Jews are not welcome here,' she said in front of all her patrons."

Dov scowled. "It won't happen again, I promise you."

"Of course not, for I shall never again step foot in that woman's salon."

"Yes you will."

"No, I won't."

"We'll see about that."

"Are you angry with me? Why would you want to force me to repeat such a vile experience?"

"Refusing to go back is not the answer to anti-Semitism."

"I mean it, Dov. I won't be humiliated again. Let's drop the subject."

"All right," he agreed, vowing to have his way in spite of her protests.

"I've had a letter from my father today," he said. "He and Zayde and my uncles will be here within the week."



THREE


Tears of joy sprang to Miriam's eyes at the sight of her father. "What a wonderful surprise, Poppa. What brings you to Kiev?"

Chaim Jacobs was a tall vigorous man grown portly through the years. Bristled black hair peppered with gray crowned his ruddy face. "How could I resist the opportunity to see my sweet daughter? I was about to leave for Amsterdam, but your father-in-law persuaded me to detour, so I accompanied him."

"How long can you stay?"

"Only the night, I'm afraid. Tomorrow I must continue on to Amsterdam. My brother has purchased a huge consignment of raw diamonds from South Africa for me."

"How are Momma and the twins? Are they well?"

"Your sisters keep busy irritating their tutors while your mother admonishes them to improve their minds. Hopeless, but they're darling girls anyway. They all send their love."

"Does Momma still suffer those awful headaches?"

"They don't seem to be so bad anymore," he lied, unwilling to burden her. "Let me look at you. How are you?"

"I’m well," She answered a bit too quickly, yet her eyes told him otherwise.

"There's something troubling you. What is it?"

"Just homesickness at the sight of you, that's all." Tears flooded her face. "Oh, Poppa! I want so much to have a child."

"There, there," he soothed. Her pain invaded him, becoming his pain, for he loved his oldest daughter dearly. "Surely you will be with child in time." Each of her shuddering sighs stabbed at his heart.

"We've been wed nearly two years."

"Have you shared this¼unhappiness with Dov?"

"I'm sure that he doesn't want to hurt me, so he says nothing. I'm proud to be his wife and that makes me feel even worse, do you see?"

Her father paused for thought. "Dov's grandfather is planning to dedicate his academy in Shklov in June. If you're not with child by then, you can discuss this with your Uncle Leon. He's a fine physician. Put it out of your mind until then. All right?"

She attempted a smile, ashamed of her childish outburst. Her father set out to cheer her with amusing anecdotes about her eight-year-old twin sisters, Bela and Bluma. She laughed at his tales, grateful for deliverance from the pain weighing on her heart.



z



Dov's private office was on the second story overlooking the wharf, for he relished the view of the busy Dniepr waterfront. His clerk Hershl sat outside his door facing the visitors’ anteroom. A large meeting room for conferences, a kitchen and a water closet completed the second floor.

His clerks, most of whom were related to the family, worked at writing desks on the ground floor, but they had more than mere family ties in common, for they had grown up with Dov and they were intensely loyal to him. Three in particular, were invaluable to him. One was an expert in contract law who had a special aptitude for Russian statutes. No easy task, for the labyrinth of fiats and decrees and ukases were often contradictory. No one ever thought to rescind the old before implementing the new. Another was a brilliant mathematician who could deliver complex cost estimates with astonishing accuracy. The third man was Hershl, Dov's dependable head clerk who paid meticulous attention to the smallest detail. In addition to serving as his private aide, he supervised the growing army of scribes, assistant clerks and messengers.

From the first, the anteroom burst at the seams with optimistic hopefuls pleading for an audience. Some petitioners begged for work, some were there to solicit a loan, and some were unscrupulous adventurers hoping to convince the new tycoon to invest in one outlandish scheme or another.

Dov had had the foresight to envision future expansion, and carefully acquired a five-year option to buy the two buildings on either side. The imposing sign, ZEKLINSKI ENTERPRISES, never failed to thrill him when he came upon it early each morning.

"I'm glad we've had time to talk." Dov said as they waited for Zayde to return from his audience with Prince Potemkin. “What do you think, father? Will Uncle Moses cause difficulty?” Dov resembled his father Avram, dressed in tasteful western fashion. Both had blue eyes a Grecian nose and a square-cut chin.

His father smiled. “He wants your position, Dov. I’m sure he wonders why I turned it down in your favor.”

“I often wonder the same thing.”

“You have a special aptitude for business that I lack, son. Your grandfather and I both agree that you are better suited to the machinations and difficult maneuvers involved in our vast holdings. Quite frankly, I haven’t the stomach for it. I am content to support my only son’s efforts.”

“Thank you, father.” They sat in comfortable silence as they waited.



z



"How was your visit, Zayde?"

The shtadlan wore the traditional garb of the orthodox Jew; black caftan, wide-brimmed fur shtremel over a skullcap. Kalman Zeklinski towered over his son and grandson, an attribute that might have caused envy in Dov had he not idolized the patriarch. The imposing patriarch’s features were handsome—white hair, alert blue eyes and dense eyebrows.

"The prince said I have reason to be proud of you, Dov."

"I'm relieved to hear it. Did he discuss the nature of our negotiations?"

"No. He preferred to discuss religion, a topic of great interest to him. He spent two years in a monastery as a young man and his interest lingers. He's promised to visit the academy so he can debate the meaning of God with our Talmudic scholars." The older man paused. "By the way, he spoke favorably of your wife. Said she was spirited. What could he have meant by that?"

Dov told him what Miriam had said concerning Jewish girls attending Her Majesty’s Christian schools for women. The three men laughed indulgently at Miriam's boldness.

"Potemkin's aide-de-camp had kind things to say about you as well."

"I shouldn't wonder," Dov's father commented. "Tell your grandfather about your meeting with him."

Dov recounted his dealings with Razovsky. "What do you think, Zayde? Was forty thousand rubles too steep a bribe?"

"Not in the least. If he's anything like Potemkin, he's up to his ears in gambling debts. We've built Zeklinski Enterprises with the Crown's exclusive contracts as a result and you will continue to do the same. Cultivate your new friend, Dov. His patronage shall open doors for you and your wife. That alone is well worth the price."

"Forty thousand rubles for Judaism."

"I can assure you it won't compromise Judaism but it will show Russia how capable we Jews are of making major contributions to the empire."



FOUR

"We'll have coffee and brandy in the drawing room," said Dov to his uncles after dinner.

"How is the progress of the academy, Zayde?" asked Uncle Moses. Tall and slim, his intense brown eyes peered out from under dark, bushy brows, though his hair had turned prematurely gray.

The shtadlan paused to sip his brandy. "The study of science, philosophy and literature is the mark of a truly civilized society, isn't that so?" His eyes shone with the fervor of a prophet. "As you know, the academy will house a synagogue, study rooms, library, laboratories, printing presses. All designed with the most modern equipment.

"I grow old, my sons. Only God knows how much time He will allow me to remain on this earth. Written in the book of life, no? If the city of Shklov gains a reputation as the home of Jewish culture and enlightenment in Eastern Europe, my small contribution will not have been in vain. We shall all celebrate the opening with dedication ceremonies in June."

"Wonderful idea."

"The whole family will be delighted."

"You can count on our being there."

There was an uneasy pause in the conversation, for the patriarch's academy was not foremost in the minds of Dov's uncles.

Uncle Asher was in charge of producing army uniforms, a cottage industry ranging in homes and factories all over the country. He was the handsomest of the shtadlan's sons-in-law. "The academy's progress is welcome news, father-in-law, but frankly, we’d like to hear about your new plans, Dov."

"Yes. Tell us," urged portly Uncle Isaac in charge of leather goods for the army. He always made a display of refusing second helpings at family dinners, but he fooled no one, for he was a prodigious eater.

"It's no secret that we're growing as rapidly as is the Russian Empire itself, Uncle Isaac. Zeklinski Enterprises intends to keep pace with that growth."

"What are your plans?" asked Uncle Moses, the family banker.

"There is untapped territory out there, gentlemen. I'm talking about the Southern Provinces where Potemkin plans to lead the czarina in the spring. Kherson, Ekaterinoslav, the Crimea. In a word, Byzantium. The Crown waives the usual travel restrictions in order to encourage its subjects—Jews as well—to migrate to the southern provinces. They've been promised free land, freedom to worship and no taxation. In keeping with this, Zeklinski Enterprises is about to enter a new era."

"What's that?" prodded Uncle Isaac.

"We are going into a new business. Barge building." Stunned silence greeted Dov's news.

"Why? Aren't we doing well enough as things stand?"

"That isn't the point, Uncle Asher. We lower our margin of profit when we're forced to pay others to transport our goods. Misha Golanov, an excellent builder with a small shipyard, will build for us. Our capital will finance his expansion in return for the exclusive right to purchase the barges he builds. We stand to gain on all fronts. Our builder takes all the risks inherent in operating a shipyard and we buy his product for a price well below market." Dov saw no need to reveal his promise to Potemkin.

"Why a reduced rate of interest when we earn a safe return on the open market?"

"I knew you'd ask me that question Uncle Moses." The others laughed at Dov's sly reference to Moses' tight rein on funds.

"Answer the question," Moses demanded, more sharply than he'd intended. "Why is the man selling his product for less than the going price?"

"Golanov is having trouble collecting money owed to him for completed work. You know how lax the Russians are about paying their bills. He has a reputation as one of the finest of shipbuilders in all of Kiev in spite of the fact that he's on the brink of bankruptcy. We plan to purchase one hundred barges."

"One hundred did you say?" Arrogant young bastard, Moses thought. Dov's remarks confirmed his worst fears. "That's far too many."

"Not at all. The Crown needs them for the Caarina’s journey. We'll sell them at a profit when the journey is over. Isn't that so, Zayde?"

His grandfather nodded in approval. "Dov has my full support. He is your leader now and he needs yours as well."

"You have mine, Dov," said Moses, hiding his skepticism.

"Mine, too," added Isaac.

Dov was drunk with power as he outlined the details of his plan to his uncles.

Miriam was grateful for the monotonous task of weaving the needle in and out of her tapestry as she listened. It added an air of serenity she did not really feel. She was fascinated by the passion in Dov’s eyes and the excitement in his voice. Something deep inside nagged at her. An echo. A whisper. An ache. A startling thought raced across her mind like a bracing wind.

Dov's voice was full of a lover's passion. She yearned for him to pursue her with such ardor.


FIVE


"You should not have done such a childish thing, Miriam." Dov did not bother to disguise his anger.

"I don't see any wrong in it."

"How dare you reveal our most intimate affairs to your father?"

"Dov, please. I'm upset because I'm not pregnant."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"But he's my father."

"This is no one else's concern but ours. Do you understand me? You've humiliated me. You owe me an apology."

"I've already said I was sorry."

"Promise never to discuss our personal affairs with anyone but me, do you hear?" He went on lecturing her until she could bear it no longer.

"You've made your point. It won't happen again though I meant no disrespect. Why can't you understand how I feel about not becoming pregnant? I suspect you are worried too, though we never discuss it, do we?"

Dov bit off every word through clenched teeth. "Pregnancy happens when it happens! You couldn't have chosen a worse time for this petty nonsense. It is you who fail to understand how much my work consumes me. My enemies, and that includes my own dear uncles, would love to see me fail. I certainly don't expect my wife to be disloyal."

"As you wish," she answered, yet it was she who felt the more betrayed.

"What are you wearing to Razovsky's dinner party tonight?"

"My rose gown. Does that suit you?"

"It will have to, I suppose." He took a deep breath. "It's time you went back to Madame Henriette's salon."

"Never."

"Madame Henriette will welcome you this time."

"I mean it, Dov."

"It’s important to me that you return."

"Why?" she persisted stubbornly.

"I have my reasons. Need I remind you that a dutiful wife should not question her husband, or are you intent on betraying me over this as well?"

"Enlighten me, Dov. Why must I return to such a hostile establishment?"

He ignored her question. "Be sure to choose the best designs, the finest silks and satins and velvets and any finery that takes your fancy. I don't care whether you need it or not. When other women admire your clothing, you can also say they were made by that fine French dressmaker, Madame Henriette. I'm going to change for dinner and I suggest you do the same or we'll be late."



z



Count Alexei Razovsky owned more than twenty five hundred serfs. Among them were skilled shoemakers, carpenters, grooms, stable boys, dairymaids, farmers, cooks, bakers, dish-washers, laundresses, foot-men, butlers, house maids and valets, as well as musicians, actors, poets and painters, to name but a few.

He had gone to considerable expense to ensure the success of the dinner in honor of the Zeklinskis, extending his credit well beyond his means. It was not the first time he incurred debt, nor would it be the last.

His first guest, however, did not applaud his efforts. "I fail to understand why a dinner for Jews is so necessary. They're anti-Christ, you know."

"Come, come Petrov. Reb Zeklinski performs essential services for the Crown. It is your duty to be here tonight. Think how pleased Prince Potemkin will be when I inform him that Count Petrov, one of Kiev’s most prominent noblemen, was among my guests."

"Delighted to see you, Countess." Alexei turned to kiss the tall woman's hand. Petrov’s wife was a beak-nosed matron whose lips seemed permanently frozen in disapproval. "Where is your dear daughter Marya?"

"She's home. Not well."

"Sorry to hear it. Send her my wishes for a speedy recovery. And how are you, Ilya?"

"Where's Madame Zeklinski? It's her I came to see," the young officer pouted. His father glared at him, for they had had a nasty row that morning.

"Ah, here they are now. Allow me to introduce you to Reb Zeklinski and Madame Zeklinski. This is Count and Countess Petrov."

"Welcome to Ki­ev,” Petrov mumbled,

"Darling," Ilya said. He bowed with a flourish and kissed her hand. "I've missed you."

"Hello, Lieutenant. Allow me to present my husband. This is Lieutenant Petrov, the young man I met at the ball, dear.”

"My wife informs me you are an admirer of hers."

"Your wife is very beautiful. Be on your guard, sir." Petrov's father turned away in disgust, but the exchange of silent scorn between father and son did not escape Dov.

"I'll heed your warning, lieutenant," Dov answered, amused, "But I trust you to behave as a gentleman, for I am forced to leave my wife in your care. Will you both excuse me? Our host beckons."

"May I have a word, Dov?"

"Now?”

“No, but soon.”

“Nine o'clock tomorrow morning? In my office."

"Excellent. Now come and meet Countess Gorov. She's insisting upon it."

"Come closer." The dowager raised her lorgnette to study Dov. "Your wife is the first Jew I've ever met and you are the second. Never had the opportunity before, you see."

"I've never met anyone like you before, either." What a beauty she must have been in her day, Dov thought, noting the faded color of her lively eyes and the fine structure of her age-lined face.

"Are you as wealthy as they say?"

"Yes," he answered, startled by the rude question.

"Beware, then. You'll be much envied, and envy always leads to trouble.” The old woman turned her attention to General Brezhnovin's wife and ignored Dov as though he were no longer there. "Ah, Elizabeth. How is your rheumatism?"



z



Miriam and Ilya had become friends since they met the night of Potemkin’s ball. He called on her frequently, often taking her riding out in public at which time he would fill her with amusing court gossip. "I've had the worst row with my father today." He couldn't bring himself to add that his friendship with Miriam was the major cause of contention.

"What could have made your father so angry?"

"The usual. He thinks I gamble and drink too much. But he has no right to interfere with my life. I'm a man, aren’t I?" Miriam stifled a smile, for Ilya was a child in her view.

"Fathers do tend to worry, I suppose. I know mine does." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she recalled the anguish of her argument with Dov.

"Yes, but you are free to do whatever you like because you are a married woman.”

Dov was relieved to hear the butler's announcement, for he'd been trapped by General Brezhnovin, who had insisted upon reciting the tale of his role in a battle long since played.

A liveried serf stood at attention behind every chair, to see to each guest's comfort. As each course was served, the servant promptly filled the proper wine glass with another rare vintage.

After the first course, Razovsky stood and tapped his glass for attention. "Our guest of honor, Reb Zeklinski, supplies the army with uniforms, leather, horses and provisions. He's engaged in building the barges and galleys for the czarina's journey as well. Isn't that so?"

"Your guests will think me immodest, Count Razovsky," Dov protested, pleased nevertheless be the center of attention.

"What a coincidence," said Hannelore von Hals. At her request, Razovsky had seated her on Dov's right. "I happen to own shipyards in Sebastopol."

"Really?"

"My late husband left them to me, but my solicitors are advising me to sell. Do you think that's wise?"

"Are you requesting advice, Madame?"

"Would you be willing to offer it if I were?"

He laughed, understanding that she was toying with him. "Would you be inclined to accept my advice?"

"I'm prepared to listen, after which I would decide whether or not to accept it." Her sly smile intrigued him.

"You show excellent judgment, Madame von Hals, and a great deal of wit. Feel free to call on me for advice and do with it what you will."

Dov turned to Countess Gorov, who sat on his left. "Would you do us the honor of joining us for dinner some evening?"

"Did you think I would refuse because you and your wife are Jewish?" All eyes turned her way, for she had spoken in a loud voice. Countess Petrov and Countess Brezhnovin who had been deep in conversation, were shocked into embarrassed silence.

The dowager glared at the two women seated opposite her. "We've all heard the most shameful tales about your people. Wrongly, we've been led to believe that Jews are all greedy profiteers who sell false papers, kill Christian babies at Easter and drink their blood." Countess Brezhnovin choked on her champagne.

"Don't make such a fuss, Elizabeth. You know it's true." The silence that followed was thunderous, but the countess was not to be denied. "The Zeklinskis know what we've been taught to think. Isn't that so, Reb Zeklinski?"

"You speak truth Countess Gorov. L'chayim, which means, `To your health,' in the language of my people. Your honesty is refreshing and I salute you for it." His toast woke General Brezhnovin who had sipped too much champagne.

"Yes, yes, of course," he sputtered, raising his glass. "To our charming host and hostess. Nazdrov'ya!" he toasted in Russian, smiling in the direction of his wife, unable to focus his bleary eyes on her glowering face.

At the end of dinner, Razovsky announced to his guests, "Gentlemen, please stay and enjoy your brandy and cigars while the ladies retire to the drawing room. When you are ready, join us in the conservatory where Madame Zeklinski and my sister will perform a piano duet."

The two young women played well, except for an occasional wrong note that was invariably Anya's error, yet she recovered in time to keep up with Miriam’s flawless performance. Dov glanced at his host who seemed absorbed by the music.

In truth, Count Razovsky barely heard the music. He found himself immersed in a private fantasy in which he was the successful financier and Miriam was his wife, playing for his ears alone. In a fleeting vision, he made love to her right there in the conservatory. When the applause jolted him out of his reverie, he joined in as if he had heard every note.

Anya said graciously, "Thank you, but it is Madame Zeklinski to whom you should be most grateful. Her patient tutelage inspires me to perform far better than I've ever done before."

After the last guest departed, Anya said to her brother, "What a lovely evening! I do wish Peter had been here. He's bound to grow as fond of the Zeklinskis as we are, I'm sure." She stifled a yawn. "I'm off to bed, dear. Coming?"

"I'll have a nightcap first."

He retired to the library and poured himself a brandy. He removed a pearl-handled pistol from the gun case, one of a pair on display, and took aim at nothing in particular. Damn near killed myself with this after my parents died, he recalled as he returned it to its place. Should start hunting again. Rusty. Mustn't lose my touch. Last brandy. Zeklinski might turn me down tomorrow. Wouldn’t blame him if he did.

He moved unsteadily toward a chair and sank down. His scar began to twitch and the glass slid to the floor, its contents staining the Aubusson rug.