This bit of uber Xena fan fiction belongs to me. Any references to the characters of RCA/Universal's "Xena: Warrior Princess" are purely intentional, but are not designed to make me any money. I also owe a debt to Chekhov's "The Cherry Orchard." Again, no insult or infringement is intended.
This story [will contain, someday when it grows up] scenes of love and sex between consenting adult women. If this is illegal where you live, or if you are under 18 years of age, do not read any further.
No violence here, but one small mention of unwanted physical advances. Any feedback, good, bad or indifferent, is greatly appreciated. E-mail: vandersonsc@yahoo.com

Chapter 1

My brother and I are the fifth generation to inhabit this land, our farm, Winterhaven. Our family history, started by my great, grandfather, is kept in a large leather-bound volume in our small library. From the time I understood words on a page, I voraciously read this book, trying to learn who I was and from where I came. The notion that I had ancestors who had lives before mine, who loved and died and were my family, fascinated me.

Decades before I was born, our ancestors came to the country-side near Kiev. Emigration to Russia during this time was just starting to expand, and far-thinking peasants like my great, great grandfather saw an opportunity to help build the nation and make a ruble or two in the process. He and his wife settled in the area north of what would later be the city, on the edge of the forest. It was his wish to clear the land and grow hay for the burgeoning city's horse population. The land around Kiev is a rich black-gray, and is easily cleared for such crops. Through great, great grandfather's efforts, our family rose from the peasant class to low middle class.

Our great, grandfather, Andrei, inherited the family sense of ambition. He thought it more profitable to raise the horses himself, and did so. Having been raised in relative obscurity, Andrei wished that his son might make a mark for himself as more than just a middle-class farmer and horse owner. My grandfather, Savva, attended gymnasiums in Moscow and University in Paris. As a child, I clearly remember Grandpa Savva regaling me with stories of his youth in Paris--the beauty and warmth of the city, his walks along the fog-shrouded Seine, the splendor of the royal coaches as they passed in the streets. While I enjoyed his stories, I, like my father, loved both our farm and Kiev, and had no wish to see much of the world. Father tried to follow in grandpapa's educational footsteps, but failed his courses on purpose so that he might return home. Actually, he never said this in so many words, but knowing how he felt about the land, and knowing how intelligent he was, I guessed about his lack of success in school.

Father did, however, get one thing from his trips to Paris--my mother. They met and married there in only a month's time. Neither would ever tell me the details of the courtship, only that they knew they were meant to be together on first sight. I knew little of mother's family, which is why when I read the letter that father gave me, my life was irrevocably changed.

I vividly remember the day I received that letter. It was terribly cold, snow still fresh from the previous evening's fall, though the Spring of 1904 was just around the corner according to our calendar. This particular winter had been harsh, not only in terms of weather--it had taken a great toll on my father's health as well. So, on this day, it was only myself and our stableman, Andrev, who ventured out into the fields and stables of Winterhaven, checking fences for any damage from the storm.

I admit I was paying little attention to these tasks. Being outdoors after the close confinement of father's sick room was liberating, but I worried nonetheless. Nikolas, my brother, tried as best he could to help, having been a sickly child himself he understood the plight of an invalid all too well. But he and father had never been more than acquaintances, and Nikolas's administrations only served to make them both even more uncomfortable. Nikolas usually found refuge outside the house, in the artisans' section of Kiev, known as Podol. He told me he found the art galleries and the noise of the port-side vendors comforting, while the farm only served to remind him of his inability to please father.

I did not blame him for escaping from the farm. Since I enjoyed the outdoors, I did not mind doing the work myself. I only envied Nikolas's freedom as a man to come and go from Kiev as he wished. For their lack of communication, I can only blame our father. I, being so much like him, could never understand his distance from Nikolas, for I loved them both equally; perhaps I even loved my brother a little more. As I said, Nikolas was a sickly child, and father, being a robust, gruff sort of man, never knew how to act around anything so frail.

Father stood close to six and a half feet tall, a giant bear, with dark curly hair and beard. The only thing Nikolas was ever denied in life was father's affection, simply because he only knew how to express it in rough and tumble ways--ways better understood by dogs and horses than people. Our mother suffered because of this too. I have no doubt that she and father loved each other, considering the circumstances under which they were married, but they were two very different people. When it became clear after the still-birth of her third child, my sister, that my mother was not long on this earth, father withdrew even further from her and anything that reminded him of her frailty and beauty. This included Nikolas, since he very much favors mother--fair hair, large pink lips and constant rosy cheeks.

I, on the other hand, favor father in both temperaments and looks. I am nearly six feet in height with long black hair and broad shoulders. My features are not soft-every part of me is angles and spare flesh. I had seen the blue of my eyes reflected in father's face throughout my life, while Nicolas and mother shared the exact same shade of hazel. I have inherited father's large hands and feet and his boisterous laugh. I must say, this has gotten me in trouble on more than one occasion, since it drew far too much attention in my direction at several sedate social functions. While I had grown up a virtual boy in this house, my hair has always been looked upon as a gift by mother and her friends, and is it the thing I have always been most vain about. Mother used to sit with me in front of the fire after a bath, and brush it until it was dry and brilliantly shiny. Mother's female friends, ever vigilant for proper behavior in young women, would invariably remark, "She's a lovely girl, Cynthia, but even that hair and those eyes won't be enough to get a man if she insists on wearing those awful clothes and smelling always of horses." Mother would smile at them indulgently, and nod in agreement, but she still allowed me to continue in my ways until very nearly the time of my coming out ball.

I was sixteen when mother died. She was the light of our home and of my life, and when she left it seemed to me that the sun had set forever. Wrapped in my own grief, I had little time or inclination to help either father or Nikolas with theirs. After what he considered a decent period for mourning, father notified me that I was to follow in his footsteps. I was to attend all his business transactions and learn to run the estate. I can see now that this was a purely practical decision on his part. Nikolas was only ten at the time, and not knowing whether he would live or die, father chose me as his heir apparent. This caused a great uproar in our local community and a wealth of conflicting emotions for me. On the one hand, I learned everything a boy of my age should learn, from hunting to farming to accounting, and was proud of my accomplishments. On the other hand, father now took me to all social functions in mother's place and I was forced to play the role of the genteel debutante. I did not care what any of our country neighbors thought about this, but forced to straddle both worlds left me confused about my exact role in life.

On top of all of this, there was Nikolas to look after. I spent whatever spare time I had in his room, trying not only to nurse him to health, but to give him as much of my education as possible. I would sit by his bedside and we would read together for hours, or I would regale him with tales of my adventures in as much detail as I could so that he might learn from them and feel as I did about them.

My hard work on his behalf was not in vein. A miraculous change overtook Nikolas about the time of his thirteenth birthday. From that day on he slowly regained most of his strength and health, until a mere year later, he was riding the fields with me and working in the stables with Andrev and his brothers. The doctor explained it away as the onset of puberty, but cautioned Nikolas not to overtax his system lest he should have a relapse. I could tell that father was delighted, but still he showed no outward sign of it to Nikolas. They remained distant all of father's life.

Winterhaven, once large, was not as prosperous as it once had been. By the time father returned from Paris with his new bride, the land had been worked practically to death, grandfather was forced to sell much of it, and release his workers and staff. Father had successfully, I assumed, worked to restore the family name and land by building a clientele among our wealthier neighbors. Because of her culture and grace, I also believed that mother had much to do with the success in the area. At least, I never saw that we were in need of much, except the usual house staff befitting landed gentry. Our only servant was a woman who cooked and cleaned the house, Mrs. Poliokopf. I simply chalked that up to father's eccentricity, but I was proved wrong a few years after mother's death.

I returned from my ride with Andrev to find Nikolas and the doctor in father's room. Removing my cloak and gloves in the heat of the sick room, I noticed tears in Nikolas's eyes and the doctor motioned for me to follow him into the hall.

"I did not want to talk with you in front of your brother and father," he whispered, "but he is not doing well, and I am worried that your brother may relapse into another illness if he learns of the full extent of your father's illness."

"My brother has not even had a passing acquaintance with a cold in four years. He knows the extent of father's illness because I have told him. I deeply appreciate your concern, Dr. Miloslavsky, but Nikolas is old enough to run this estate himself and should be prepared to do so if . . . once father dies," I firmly replied. I now had tears in my eyes, having faced the fact that father's passing was so close at hand.

"I had no idea this was the case, Alexandra Petrovka, I am just a simple country doctor, if you want me to leave I will go. . . ."

I was furious with him for playing the martyr at a time like this, he had played it so often before when he came to see Nikolas. Yet, to placate him, I automatically assumed a distressed stance, as I had so often done before. "I did not mean to offend you. Please don't use such a formal tone. We have known each other for years and you have always called me Sashka as my family does. I am under a terrible strain now, with father so close to. . . ." And I began to cry real tears.

"All is forgiven, Sashka, do not cry. There'll be plenty of time for that at the funeral. For now, go comfort your brother. I've given your Father a sedative to ease his last hours. I feel it is best if I remain here in case of any problems. I'll be down in the kitchen if you need me."

How I despised that old man! All too many times in the past, he had come with these same death-knells for Nikolas, only to be proved wrong. I wish he was wrong this time too, but I knew from my own experience that Father was deathly ill. Dr. Miloslavsky was also right about one other thing: he was a simple country doctor, the only one for miles around (Kiev being nearly half a day away on horseback), so I kept my mouth shut whenever he played martyr or dispensed his terrible bedside manner.

I entered Father's room quietly and stood beside Nikolas, who sat on the bed. Father slowly opened his eyes, and seemed to take a long time to focus on us. "Nikolas . . . Alexandra, my children. There is no need to whisper in the hall as if I was a child. I know I am dying."

Nikolas and I both started to speak, but father would have none of it. "Both of you sit here on the bed, I have some things to tell you." He patted the bedspread next to him. "In the top drawer of my bureau is a letter and my will. I had the lawyer, Kareyev, draw up the will when I realized how sick I really am."

"Father. . . ., " I tried to interject.

"Hush, Sashka, this is important. I won't leave you in the dark about its contents. It was wrong of me to try to teach you the workings of the estate, Sashka, I am only thankful that you had the strength to teach Nikolas what I could not."

"Father, I would not trade my education for anything. It wasn't wrong. . . ."

"It was wrong, but nevertheless, it's what I did. The will leaves the majority of the estate to Nikolas, since he is the only male heir, and is of an age to claim his inheritance. It does, however, include the stipulation that the two of you will share the profits of the farm equally until such a time as Alexandra is married. The letter arrived days before I became ill, I have not had the time to deal with its contents, but it is self explanatory." Father began a fit of coughing that did not subside for several moments. I was finally able to calm his throat with a drink of water from his bedside table.

"Thank you, Sashka." His next statements were some time in coming, "I know I have not often told you I love you, but that doesn't mean I don't. I love you both equally. That is all I have to say for now, please leave me so I can sleep."

Nikolas and I retreated slowly from the room, but not before I paused and retrieved the letter and will from father's bureau as he requested.

The moment I closed father's door, Nikolas stopped my progress, "Dear sister, if what father says of the will is true, I will gladly relinquish. . . ."

"Nikolas," I cut him off, "father is correct. As is custom, the eldest male heir inherits the estate. I think this family has already broken with enough tradition, considering my somewhat unorthodox education, though I wouldn't part with it for the world. Besides, I know that although it will be yours in name, we will share, and share alike, as always. Nothing need be said." I kissed his cheek and he kissed my hand, smiling.

"Now, since father is resting, let's get a cup of tea and sit in front of the fire in the library."

The library had long been both our favorite room in the house. It was downstairs, on the south side of the house, so on sunny days it got bright light all day long. On winter days, the heavy red drapes could be drawn, a fire lit, and the small room grew warm and cozy in very little time. Two walls of the room were lined with books from floor to ceiling. Grandfather had loved to read as much as I, but father never developed a taste for it, so he rarely strayed into this room.

We retrieved the tea setting from the kitchen, where the "good" doctor was regaling Mrs. Poliokopf with stories of his days as a young cavalry surgeon. Luckily for her, she is quite hard of hearing and didn't have to endure this barrage; she simply nodded and emitted an occasional "uh huh" while continuing to prepare dinner. Nikolas and I nearly collapsed in a fit of laughter once inside the study.

"I really despise that old bastard."

"Nikolas!"

"Well, it's true. He used to come into my room when I was ill and tell those same boring stories over and over again until I thought I would scream. I think that's part of the reason I got well, just so I wouldn't have to endure his company."

I smiled, "Yes, I agree, he is probably the most uncouth individual I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. But, after all, he is here to help father."

"And eat out our cupboard. If Mrs. Poliokopf wasn't nearly deaf I'd go rescue her from such a fate."

"Yes, but we both know she rarely listens to anyone, let alone Dr. Miloslavsky. I sometimes think she has no trouble hearing at all, but only pretends not to understand, since her hearing seems fine when it's something she wants to know about."

We both chuckled, then lapsed into a soothing silence, drinking tea and listening to the wind rattle the windows.

"Sashka, I've been thinking. . . ."

"About what?"

"Well, I had planned on broaching this subject with father, but now is obviously not the right time. . . ."

"Yes?"

"I would very much like to attend University." The next words came out in a rush, "I know this is, to put it lightly, a bad time, but if we hired extra hands for the farm, I know I wouldn't be missed. I would, of course, be home every holiday. Oh, sister, I have dreamed of this for so long. . . ."

"Nikolas," I laughed, because he seemed so worried, "I think it's wonderful that you want to go."

He stopped abruptly and smiled, "I knew you would. I guess I'd just rehearsed this speech for father too many times."

I laughed again, "You are wrong about one thing, I am going to miss you terribly. I will hate not seeing you for such long time periods, but I'm sure both myself and the farm will manage. You don't need my blessing for this, you know."

"Yes, but I didn't want you to believe this a rash decision on my part, a passing fancy. I've dreamed of this since the first time I picked up a book and you explained its meaning to me."

"I think it is wonderful that you want to go, but, as you said, this is not the right time to think about this subject. Can you wait until things are a little more settled before making any plans?"

"Oh, certainly. Actually, I've made plans for sometime, they just haven't been realized yet."

I teased, "I see, so you knew father would allow you to go all along, eh?"

"Well, whether he was going to allow such a thing or not, I was going to go anyway."

"And how exactly were you going to pay for this education?," I asked.

Nikolas smiled ruefully, "That's the part I had yet to figure out."

We both began to laugh at this, harder and harder, until we stretched out in hysterics on the floor. I knew we were terribly exhausted, and the laughter was only a release of the tension of the last month, but I felt slightly guilty nonetheless. My guilt increased ten-fold when Dr. Miloslavsky stepped into the room and announced in a singularly pompous manner, "You father is dead." Nikolas and I looked at each other and burst out in hysterics again. The doctor fell into a stunned silence, not knowing what to make of our laughter. We laughed until my sides ached and the tears streamed down our cheeks. It gradually subsided and our tears became very real as the impact of father's death hit us. We continued to sit on the floor and hold each other, gently rocking back and forth.

"I'm sure the two of you meant no disrespect. . . ."

"No, Dr. Miloslavsky," I replied as I got up, "Nikolas and I are simply so exhausted that I'm afraid we took leave of our senses momentarily."

"Yes, well, I see. At any rate, I went to check on your father's condition a few moments ago and discovered he had stopped breathing. He went peacefully in his sleep, I only hope I have such a death as that. Funeral arrangements must be made. I can see that neither of you is in condition to do that, so I shall take it upon myself to do so. . . ."

"Uh, good Dr. Miloslavsky," Nikolas intervened, "that is very kind of you, but we are both quite under control now, and wish to make the arrangements ourselves."

"Very well. I took it upon myself to have your father placed downstairs in a cooler room in the house until the undertaker arrives. He should be fine until tomorrow when I will bring the necessary paperwork by. There will naturally be a wake, yes? My guess is that the ground is too hard to dig a grave. . . ."

Again, Nikolas cut the doctor off, "The family crypt is above the ground, doctor. We will make the arrangements, thank you and good day."

The doctor gave a curt bow, snapping his heels together as he did so, and exited the room. Nikolas and I spent the next several minutes simply holding each other, not crying, for I believe my grief was too great to do so, and his was too little.

Nikolas smiled sadly at me, "I don't feel much like supper, but we had better eat something."

"I don't think I can. I'm going to see that father is alright."

"Fine, but promise me you'll at least meet me in the pantry."

"I'll meet you there, but I don't promise that I'll eat."

I left to find father on a low table in the old ballroom, his arms folded across his chest. His face had gone slack, free from the pain he had been experiencing; he looked relaxed for the first time in my memory. I had thought I would be wracked with sobs, but it suddenly occurred to me that he might have grown tired of his illness and been ready to die, thus the reason for what he said earlier. I walked to him, feeling relief, and trying not to feel guilty that I felt that way. I stood by his side for some time, it seemed like hours until I heard the hall clock chime six and knew it had been but a few minutes. I then reached out and took his hand in mine, kissed the knuckle on his ring finger and whispered, "I love you too." I placed his hand carefully back on his chest, turned, and strode out of the room to meet Nikolas for a supper for which I was suddenly hungry.

CHAPTER 2

Father was placed in the family crypt two days later. The service was brief, but well attended. At least I remember it that way, but my memory about that time could be wrong, everything was such a blur, especially through my sporadic tears. Nikolas was both my strength and guiding light. He made all the arrangements and made sure the farm was attended to in our distraction.

On the day of the funeral, the weather took a turn for the better, and began to feel more like spring. By the next day all but the shady places had lost their snow. I went out in the early afternoon to sit on the veranda behind the house and feel the sun shine upon my face. Water ran in small rivers all across what would soon be our lawn. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, the sun warmly releasing my grief.

"You look like a cat curled in the sun."

I looked up and shaded my eyes to see Baron Viktor Morozov, a man for whom I had no small distaste, and who had actively pursued me for some time in our youth.

"I did not hear you approach Baron Morozov, you startled me."

"Forgive me, Alexandra. And what's this 'Baron' nonsense? Can you not call me Viktor as you did when we were young?"

"I did many regretful things when I was younger that I do not do now."

This insult seemed to have no effect on him. "Do you mind if I share your sunlight?" He proceeded to sit down uninvited. "I was deeply sorry to hear of your father's passing. I hope he did not suffer in the end."

"Thank you for your concern, Baron." I was attempting to make as little conversation with him as possible in the hopes that he might grow uncomfortable and leave me in solitude.

"Alexandra, this may not be the most opportune moment to broach this subject, but you must know that I still have powerful feelings for you."

"Yes, I remember how powerful your feelings are," I sarcastically replied. Baron Morozov had been far too ardent in his attentions one evening many years before, and had Andrev not chosen to visit the barn that night, I shudder to think what might have happened.

"Won't you forgive the folly of youth? I still love you and wish to marry you. It is my understanding that Winterhaven is deeply in debt and in danger of being sold." I was too stunned to speak, but the shock must have registered on my face. "Don't try to deny it, I've talked with Kareyev and he's told me what troubles you face. I simply want to make your life easier. My fortune is enough to maintain both our households. Say you'll be my wife, Sashka."

He had taken me in his arms and pressed his body full length against mine during this speech. I struggled to escape, but he held me fast.

"Don't fight it, Sashka, we were meant to be together."

"We'll be together the first cold day in hell," I hissed, "take your filthy hands off me." He reluctantly released me.

"You're making a big mistake, Alexandra."

"How dare you attempt to win my affections when I am still in mourning! You are as crass as always, and I would not have you, now or ever. You disgust me, now get out of my sight."

"You'll eat your words when Winterhaven is sold for taxes and you have nothing to eat but snow!"

With that he strode off, and I collapsed into my chair. Winterhaven sold for taxes?! How could this be? I rushed off to find Nikolas. He was in the library looking out the window, his hands clasped behind his back, a pose I knew meant he was deep in thought.

"Nikolas, Baron Morozov just paid a visit. . . ."

"What?! What the hell did he want? He didn't hurt you did he?"

"Not physically, no. He seems to be under the impression that Winterhaven is in danger of being sold for taxes. I can't believe. . . ."

The next words didn't leave my mouth when I saw the expression on Nikolas's face. "Sister, I had planned on taking care of this myself, so as not to intrude on your grief."

I was furious with him, "I am perfectly capable of making that decision for myself! Do we not share this farm equally? Or only when it suits you? I cannot believe you would keep something this important from me!"

"Whoa, whoa, you're right," Nikolas held up in hands in a truce. "I'm sorry, Sashka. I haven't been myself lately and simply assumed too much."

He looked as though he might cry, and I realized the strain of the last few days had taken its toll on him. "Oh, Nikolas, I'm sorry too. Is it true about the farm?"

"I'm afraid so. I spoke with Kareyev this morning. How Morozov found out is the least of our problems. But, I think I have found a solution. Remember that letter that father gave us with the will?" I nodded. "Kareyev apparently knew its contents as well, since he urged me to read it and take this golden opportunity."

Nikolas handed me the letter from off the desk and I sat down to read it. It was addressed to father:

Monsieur Ivan Petrovka,

I will be brief and to the point. You know that I objected strongly to your marriage to my niece, and thus, our communication through the years has been sporadic and strained at best. I am sure you will understand how difficult it is for me to beg this favor of you.

Please give this considerable thought. I await your decision.
Yours,
Henri Meillieur

I looked up in amazement. "This is wonderful Nikolas, but he thinks I'm a boy!"

"Yes, apparently their communication was nil. Still, I can write a letter explaining the situation and leave for France at once, or simply leave at once and explain the situation when I arrive."

"You're seriously thinking of going to France? But you don't know the first thing about wine making, or any of our illustrious relatives."

"All true, but think about it, Sashka, this could be our chance to save Winterhaven. If the winery is as profitable as our dear old uncle claims, there should be more than enough money to go around. Besides, I have always wondered what mother's family is like, and from the sounds of it there's not many of them left. And, once I have possession of the vineyard, I'll hire an overseer, and attend school in Paris during the offseason."

"I can see you've given this considerable thought. I suppose you're right. We'll have to figure out a way to keep Winterhaven from being sold over the course of the next year while you're on "trial."

"Yes," Nikolas nodded, "I hadn't thought of that. Kareyev says there are not many options open to us. We can either sell now and pay the taxes or face debtors' prison by mid-summer."

"Debtors' prison?!" I was stunned, my mind working furiously. "I had no idea things were that bleak. No, there must be a way. I know we could sell a small portion of the estate to Baron Morozov, say 200 acres or so. I'm almost certain he wanted the eastern section of land from my dowry more than he wanted me, so I'm sure I could persuade him. Much as I hate to suggest this, we could sell the stock until we are more financially solvent and work to buy everything back later."

"You realize that means that Andrev will have to go as well, since there will be no horses to take care of."

I hadn't thought of that. "Well," I reasoned, "we must keep a few, if only for hunting and travelling purposes. Oh, Nikolas, I don't want to lose as loyal a servant as Andrev. . . ."

"Neither do I, but if he has a better opportunity elsewhere, I would suggest to him that he take it. All we have to offer at this point is room and board in exchange for his work."

We outlined a sketchy plan. Nikolas would leave for France as soon as arrangements could be made. I would remain in Russia and continue to run Winterhaven with minimal operations.

When I informed Andrev of the situation, his response was longer than anything I had ever heard him utter at one sitting before, and I could have hugged him for it, "Alexandra Petrovka, your father took me in when I had no where else to turn. I could not, even if I wanted to, leave your family. Please know that I will remain with you no matter what the circumstances." I knew he could read the gratitude in my face, because he placed both hands on my shoulders and said, "Enough about this. Go help Nikolas Petrovka prepare for his trip, and I will prepare the bulk of the horses for sale." With that he grabbed a brush and headed for the nearest stall, and I walked quickly back to the house to help my brother.

Chapter 3

I am amazed to this day at the audacity with which I handled the events of the days preceding my trip to France. But I know now, as I knew then, that I had no other choice but to go.

Nikolas returned to Winterhaven only four days after leaving. His train had been held up by a huge snowstorm. Spending two days in the damp cold, struggling to free the train with other passengers equipped with shovels, Nikolas took ill with a fever for the first time in years. If not for the kindness of his fellow passengers, I have no idea how he would have made it home alone.

Mrs. Poliokopf and I immediately put Nikolas to bed and sent for Dr. Miloslavski.

As usual, the simple doctor's news was grave. "He should remain in bed until well after his fever breaks. If he does not get continual rest for at least four weeks, I am afraid he will develop pneumonia. He's well on his way to doing so now. I advise not to let him travel."

I became lost in thought through the rest of Dr. Miloslavski's chastisements. Four weeks?! If someone did not get to France within the next fortnight we would lose both Winterhaven and the vineyard. But who? As a woman, I could not travel alone, nor could Mrs. Poliokopf come with me because she needed to stay to look after Nikolas. Besides, I seriously doubted that great-uncle Henri would allow a woman to run his precious vineyard, no matter how well educated. Then it occurred to me--an idea so preposterous that it just might work. Uncle Henri thinks I'm a boy, so why not be one? I was certainly tall enough. I could simply cut my hair, and father's clothing would fit loose enough to hide my femininity. It just might work!

I ran to the mirror in father's room to decide whether or not I could pass muster. I pulled my hair back from my face; yes, I might have a hard time explaining the lack of a beard for someone my age, but other than that. . . .

I didn't know if I could keep up the ruse for an entire year, but perhaps if I ran the vineyard efficiently enough, eventually it wouldn't make a difference, and I could lose my disguise. I didn't really believe that, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and hopes.

I knew I could tell no one of my plan until after I had cut my hair and was packed and ready to go. Then it would be too late and too much trouble for anyone to try to talk me out of it.

I found a pair of scissors in father's bureau and began to cut without rhyme or reason, trying to get it over as quickly as possible, until I realized I was doing a horrible job, and if I continued at my present rate, I would shortly be bald. I slowed and trimmed until I had a close approximation of Nikolas's hair cut: close cropped on the sides and back, only slightly longer on top. I ran my fingers through the short black curls and fought back my tears at this unaccustomed feeling of nakedness. No, I must remain firm it my resolve. If I cried now it would be doubly hard to convince Nikolas that I meant business.

I pulled father's travel trunk from its spot in the corner of his room, then opened father's wardrobe to inspect his clothing. I had no trouble selecting a shirt and collar, father owned nothing but white, and I had fastened his collar so often for him it was like second nature to me.

Nearly all of father's pants came to the ends of my toes, so I opted for his riding habits and boots. When I was much younger, father had allowed me to dress myself in such a manner, and it took me quite a while to get accustomed to wearing a dress. Though they were slightly large, this clothing felt like slipping on kid gloves--I had forgotten how good it felt not to wear a petticoat. Father's jackets were far too large for me to wear comfortably, so I hoped that Nikolas would be willing to part with some of his. I selected a dark green tweed pair of pants and black boots for the trip, and packed father's brown boots, all of his riding pants, and all of his shirts. At the last minute, I threw in his toilet articles, realizing I could not bring my own. I stepped in front of the mirror and gasped at the sight. I had seen pictures of father as a young man, and I could almost pass for him now. I touched my back where my hair had been, and again started to cry for its loss. Wiping away tears, I looked around the room and thought of what it would be like to lose the entire house. With that, my resolve was set. I pulled myself up to my full height, christened myself "Alexander Peter Petrovka" in as deep a voice as I could muster, and walked my suitcase swiftly downstairs. The only thing left to do was to convince Nikolas that this was not as a crazy an idea as I thought it was.

Chapter 4

It was late in the evening when I finally arrived at Uncle Henri's home. Extremely weary from my week's travel, I wanted nothing more than to slip off my dusty clothes and into a bed. I was too tired to even care about a bath or a meal. I knew, however, that at the very least, I needed to make a formal introduction of myself to my great uncle. And, if I was to save Winterhaven, I must do everything according to the book. After the terrible row I had with Nikolas over this plan, I was determined to make it succeed.

While on the train, I had practiced lowering my already deep voice, and discovered that if I spoke softly it would drop of its own accord. No one on the trip had seemed to notice that I am a woman; I traveled in complete safety and obscurity. One older woman remarked on my beardless state, but she was silenced by her travelling companion, who told her beards were "passe." I had planned on making up some story about a skin condition which prevented me from growing a passable beard, but found it better to remain silent until I was asked about my lack of whiskers--the older women had supplied me with an easy answer.

The passing scenery held incredible interest for me as I crossed the continent. I had never traveled extensively, remaining usually within a fifty mile radius of Winterhaven. In the day it took me to convince Nikolas of my scheme, and to get ready for my journey, the weather had taken an unexpected turn. On the day I traveled, the temperature had risen several degrees, and my train was able to travel unimpeded.

Passing out of Kiev, I felt my heart give a lurch, already beginning to miss all that was familiar to me. Always a thrilling sight, we crossed the Dnepr River and headed south before heading west toward France. The sparce forest slowly gave way to steppes, and we passed field after field of wheat.

As the train drew nearer to Dijon, I could see the high roofs and chimneys of its residences. I had read that Dijon was the 'doorway' to France's famous Burgundy wine country, and knew my travels were almost over. I hoped that Uncle Henri had received my cable, and would have a carriage waiting to take me to his farm in Beaune. Thankfully, he had, and I enjoyed a leisurely, if somewhat bumpy and long, ride to his house. En route, I observed the lushness of this wine valley. Vineyard upon vineyard traced the hillsides, giving way to trees that dotted the tops. The late winter sun glinted dully off the twisted vines that looked like a thousand arthritic hands reaching for the sky. I assumed that soon these vines would be covered in leaves, and eventually grapes, and that's when my lessons would begin.

By the time I reached Uncle Henri's door it was nearly full dark, I was too tired to be nervous about meeting him. A butler, whom I later learned was Lucien, opened the door before I had a chance to knock. My well-rehearsed introduction speech never left my lips. "We've been expecting you Monsieur Petrovka. Welcome, and please follow me. Other staff will attend to your bags." Although Lucien was a mere five feet, two inches tall, he cut an imposing figure nonetheless. His voice had a booming, commanding presence, and he swaggered as I followed him down a long hallway to what was, presumably, the study.

Inside the room, a roaring fire kept it a comfortable temperature. Lucien took my coat, scarf, and gloves as I removed each. He indicated a large sofa on which to sit, and explained that I had missed supper, but a tray of food could be brought if I so desired. I was famished, said yes to the food, and with that Lucien departed.

I took in my surroundings. The house was decorated with surprising simplicity. I had heard that the French were notoriously gaudy, but nothing in this house affirmed this statement. I noticed rich, warm tapestries in greens and golds hung in several places as I had walked down the hall, all with matching rugs and furniture. The room I occupied now was done almost entirely in green and brown, with softer rose accents in the pillows in the sofa upon which I sat, and the carpet under my feet. Just about the only ornate thing I had noticed thus far were the lighting fixtures, which had been placed along the wall and throughout the study. These fixtures were gold and had a huge number of projectiles at the base, each of which looked like pictures of palm fronds that I had seen.

I had crossed the room for a close up look at the light, and was engaged in the study of one when the door opened and Uncle Henri stepped into the room. His resemblance to mother and Nikolas was quite remarkable. But I was dismayed to see him in such a state of ill health--father at his worst had not looked as haggard as this. I did my best to conceal my chagrin, and glanced at the companion at his side who aided his approach. Next to him stood the most magnificent women I had ever seen. The first thing I noticed was her bearing, although she was stooped to help Uncle Henri, she moved with a smooth grace. Her hair was a deep auburn, piled high on her head in a series of braids. The glow from the fire made it shine like a halo around her head, and for the briefest moment I had the desire to release it all down her back, and brush out the braids with my fingers. Her skin was fair, except for her ruddied cheeks and freckled nose. Her eyes sparkled a quiet green, while her lips were a lovely, full pink. She did not wear a corset, as was the fashion, but rather a simple, high-waisted grown. Although it did not cling to her, I sensed her frame was solid, much like mine. She too was tall for a woman, though not quite as tall as I, but an inch or two taller than Uncle Henri.

Never in my life had I reacted that way to anyone, and I was mesmerised by her for sometime before I realized I was being spoken to.

"Alexander? Alexander?!"

I tore my eyes away from this woman's face to find Uncle Henri's hand held out to shake mine.

"Monsieur Meilleur. I am sorry, please forgive my manners. I am afraid this journey has taken its toll. I am quite tired." I slowly shook his hand as I said all this, while he eyed me with some suspicion.

"You're Ivan's son, alright. I wasn't sure at first. Your French seems good enough. I was under the impression that you were of legal age to inherit, but you're barely out of short pants, not even old enough to grow a beard. . . ."

"Um, yes, well, I am twenty-eight, Monsieur Meilleur, if my age is not apparent. I had a beard shortly before I left, but I shaved since I wasn't sure I could keep it neatly trimmed on the journey." I touched my chin thoughtfully, " I rather like it. I may not grow another for some time." Lord, this man was forthright and gruff, and scrutinized me closely! I could see why father and he did not get along, both held strong opinions, and I was not sure I would like him any better than father did.

"I like men without beards. They look less scruffy . . . and far more handsome." That enchanting creature had spoken and, as cliched as it sounds, I could swear I heard music. She also looked at me closely, too closely for what I had been taught was proper for a woman, and I could feel the heat rise in my face.

"Quite right, quite right. Wouldn't have one myself if I wasn't too old to shave. Well, twenty-eight, eh? Could have fooled me, but I'll take your word for it. Please excuse an old man's manners, Alexander Petrovka, my grand nephew, this is my ward, Margaret Sutton."

She held out her hand, and I could not resist bringing it to my lips. "It is a pleasure to meet you Monsieur Petrovka." I kissed her hand and released it, muttering the proper responses.

"Well, my boy, sit down. Has Lucien offered you some supper yet?"

"Lucien? You mean the gentleman who showed me in? Yes, he said he would be back shortly."

Margaret spoke up, "Lucien has been known to have a forceful hand. If you are too tired from your journey, Monsieur Petrovka, you may forgo supper and go directly to your room."

"Thank you, Mademoiselle Sutton, I am quite tired, but I am afraid my noisy stomach would keep me awake."

"Then you had better eat," she smiled. My heart beat so loudly in my ears when she smiled in my direction, I thought for sure the entire room was filled with the sound. Her smile became fixed as she stared into my face, and I again felt it grow hot. I looked everywhere but at her, but I still found it difficult to maintain my part of the conversation until Lucien brought supper.

Though it proved an excellent distraction from Margaret's gaze, I am at a loss as to what exactly I ate. I do remember Uncle Henri asking dozens of questions about my family and the status of things in Kiev. He conveyed his condolences about the death of my father, but I saw no real emotion behind his words. I began to wonder what exactly had estranged my family from mother's relatives. I thought to ask Uncle Henri, and decided not to risk his wrath so early in our relationship.

"Well, my boy, I see Russian appetites are not exaggerated," joked Uncle Henri.

I glanced down and was astonished to discover I had eaten every morsal of the huge meal that had been placed before me. "I must have been hungrier than I realized. . . . "

"No need to apologize, I like to see a hearty appetite. Now, Margaret, would you show our guest to his room? I'll get Lucien to help me to bed."

"Certainly Uncle, and good night. Won't you follow me, Monsieur Petrovka?" Margaret kissed Uncle Henri's cheek during this exchange, and I rose so quickly to follow her I nearly knocked my food tray over.

No one seemed to notice my clumsiness. Margaret took a candelabra from a shelf by the door and lit each candle before we proceeded through the house. I thought it very odd that I should be allowed time with Margaret unescorted, me a virtual stranger, and made a comment to that affect.

"Uncle Henri trusts me completely, and if you did behave in an ill-manner, you would be thrown from the house," she replied.

"I see," I said in mock seriousness, "In that case, I shall always be on my best behavior."

"I knew you would, Monsieur Petrovka."

I followed her upstairs and across a landing until we reached a door at the beginning of the hallway. "This is your room. Your luggage has been placed inside. I'm sure you will have no trouble finding everything. A fire has been laid, so the room should be quite warm and bright. Good night, Monsieur."

"Good night, Mademoiselle Sutton." She turned to go, and I felt the need for her company just a moment longer, "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, breakfast is at eight o'clock."

"Of course, how silly of me," I blushed.

"Good night, Monsieur Petrovka"

"Good night."

****************

I entered my new room, which was indeed quite warm, and sat on a chair in front of the fire to contemplate my startling reaction to Miss Sutton. What was I thinking? I had planned to play the role of a man only to keep Winterhaven for my family, but I was still a woman under my disguise. Had my reaction been influenced by the mannish behavior I needed to exhibit over the last week? No, although I preferred the outdoor life at home to more sedate female duties, it had, nevertheless, been a struggle to maintain my ruse even for this long. I remembered thinking on the train that I hoped it would get easier to play the man, or my plan would never succeed. Why was I so inexplicably drawn to this woman? She was at once a stranger, yet seemed as familiar to me as my own face. Was that it? That she was familiar to me? No, I know I had never met her, or anyone like her in my lifetime. Was it just her or would I continue to feel this strangely, attracted to all women, the longer I stayed a man? Yet, in all my life, I had been physically attracted to no one, male or female; perhaps I was just now beginning to age and mature. . . . No, I had to admit I was briefly attracted to Baron Morozov, or at least, attracted to his attraction to me. My reaction to him held none of the fierce longing I felt in Margaret Sutton's presence. Thinking of her now brought a flood of warmth to my face, a flutter to my stomach, as if I stood on the deck of a great, rolling ship. I shook my head to clear it, and turned my attention to my surroundings, hoping against hope that if I ignored these longings they would go away in their own time.

The room I was to stay in was quite large. It must have taken a great deal of firewood or coal to keep this room even passably warm, and I felt almost toasty. The bed was enormous, complete with a large canopy and down quilt, and was across the room nearly twenty feet from the door. One small window would not be enough to keep me in the sunlight I craved, so my only hope to maintain my sanity was to spend as much time out doors as possible. I removed my jacket, and my boots, and concentrated on unpacking my trunk. The only piece of furniture in the room, aside from the bed and chair in front of the fire, was a huge wardrobe near the door. Once my trunk was unpacked, and I had changed into a suitable nightshirt, I fell upon the bed and was almost immediately asleep.

Chapter 6

I awoke the next morning still lying atop the covers. A chill had crept into the room, and I was quite cold. Luckily, I woke and climbed under the quilt before the footman entered to wake me, or he might have gotten an eye-full of my true sex through the shirt I wore. I made a note to myself to be more careful in the future. As nearly as I could tell from the small window, it was still early; the sun had just peeked over the horizon. The footman, an extremely thin fellow named Patric, inquired as to whether I wanted a bath. Not wanting to reveal myself, but also not wanting to appear too modest, I said yes. Besides, I dearly wanted to luxuriate in hot water before this long day in a new place would begin. I needn't have worried about appearing modest, Patric returned, followed by a line of servants, both male and female, who set up the tub, poured the water, and left me to my own devices. I quickly got up, locked the door and tossed off my nightshirt to get in the tub. Oh, my travel weary feet and back thought I'd died and gone to heaven! I knew I couldn't stall very long, someone would be back with more hot water soon. I scrubbed the dirt off my face and body, washed and rinsed my hair and was out and dry in 15 or so minutes. By the time Patric returned, I was dressed in Nikolas's gray trousers and matching charcoal coat. Although we had fought tremendously over my taking this trip, once Nikolas saw that I was determined to go, he loaned me all of his best clothing. We discovered that my feet were only a size smaller than his, and I could fit into his shoes better than father's.

I hadn't gotten a clear look at the house in last night's darkness, and on my way downstairs marveled at the beauty of its tapestries and woodwork. The highly polished, dark wood floor at the bottom of the stairs was almost blindingly bright as the sun struck its surface. I could still smell the residue of polish, and wondered how many workers it took to keep it in such shape. My boots made a resounding click as I walked across the floor, and I felt I should tiptoe or risk marring its surface.

I was unsure where the dining room might be, but followed the sounds of dishes clattering and the smell of frying bacon, and soon discovered it on my own. Uncle Henri and Margaret were already seated at the table, she absorbed in a book, while he read a dilapidated newspaper. Uncle Henri was dressed in what I would later learn was his standard attire--a black coat and pants with a white shirt and cravat. Margaret fairly shimmered in a cream dress touched off with ribbons of green and gold around her waist and in her hair.

"I trust you slept well, my boy," said Uncle Henri gruffly.

"Quite well, thank you, sir. I'm afraid I wasn't much company last evening I was so tired."

"On the contrary," observed Margaret, "I thought you did admirably, considering the state one might be in after such a long journey. I had a terrible time of it crossing from England, sea sick the whole time, so that I was barely presentable upon arrival."

I found it hard to believe that she would be unpresentable at any time, but I thanked her for her kind remarks. The smell of the food made my mouth water, and I had to force myself to eat slowly.

"Uncle," I inquired, "I am sure you are aware that I know little about the wine business, but I would like to learn as quickly as possible. When are we to begin my education?"

"Well, well, you're as forthright as your father. I like your eagerness. I had planned on allowing you these two days to rest from your journey."

"That will not be necessary. I am feeling quite up to anything."

"I would be happy to show you around the vineyard and begin explaining some of its workings; however, work tomorrow is out of the question--it's Sunday. We will be attending Mass."

I had forgotten it was Saturday. The thought of attending a Catholic Mass was somewhat alarming as I had never set foot in a church in my life. Margaret must have seen something in my face, because she said, "Uncle Henri, I am sure Monsieur Petrovka would prefer to spend the Sabbath as is customary in his house . . . ."

"Nonsense. It won't kill him to accompany us. And it will give him an opportunity to see and meet some locals. They need to know as soon as possible that he might be my heir apparent."

"But Uncle . . . ."

I didn't want to be the cause of a row, and interjected, "Uncle, Mademoiselle Sutton, I would be pleased to follow your customs initially, and am eager to see all of the countryside, including the town. It looked quite charming from the glimpses I caught from the train and carriage."

Margaret gave me a reproachful look, and continued to eat. I felt my stomach lurch, upset that she was upset with me, so I spent the rest of the breakfast trying to win back what affection she had for me. I failed, and she abruptly left the table. Uncle Henri was absorbed in his paper, so I excused myself and caught up with Margaret in the hallway.

"Mademoiselle Sutton . . . a word with you, please?"

"Follow me." With that she quickly turned on her heal and I followed her into the same study we had spent last evening in. She whirled to face me and I saw just how angry she really was. "I'll have a word with you also, sir. To be frank, Uncle Henri's health is failing. He has not the strength to give you instruction today and ride to town tomorrow. He is obstinent, and it is sometimes difficult for me to keep him from such activity, so I try to limit his activities without seeming too obvious. I will thank you to remember this next time you choose to interrupt me."

I felt the heat rise to my face in the shame of my thoughtlessness, and held up my hands to ward off another verbal attack. "Please forgive me, Mademoiselle Sutton. It is quite obvious that Uncle Henri is ill. I'm afraid in my eagerness to be of assistance with the vineyard, I failed to take all things into consideration. It was also inconsiderate of me to interrupt you, but I thought the two of you were fighting on my account, and I wanted to prevent any further argument. I would be happy to do what I can to rectify the situation. Please tell me how I can help. . . . "

I saw Margaret's anger evaporate, and she sat heavily on the sofa. "I'm sorry for being so abrupt Monsieur Petrovka. I'm afraid the stress of the illness has taken its toll."

I sat next to her. "I understand. Please don't apologize. You'd think with my own father so recently ill, I would have been more observant of Uncle Henri's condition."

Again, Margaret must have seen something in my face, I don't mask my emotions very well. I probably looked as sad as I felt. She took my hand and offered her condolences about my father's death. I swear the room swam when she touched me. I took several deep breaths to calm my nerves, and released her hands from mine. "How can we keep Uncle Henri from doing too much?" I asked.

We both sat in silence for a time before Margaret haltingly spoke. "Monsieur Petrovka . . . I don't want you to think me forward, but . . . ."

"Yes?"

"Well, Uncle Henri's illness has changed his mind on a number of subjects, the most of which is your family. To be frank again, he despised your father for taking his niece from him. He has never said so directly to me, but I could sometimes hear him confide in my father when he would visit our house. Your invitation here was not solely because he's desperate to keep the vineyard from government hands. I truly think he wanted to try to make amends now that he's . . . dying." Margaret's voice caught in her throat, and it was my turn to take her hand in comfort. She drew away, "I'm alright." I gave her my handkerchief and she dabbed her eyes.

"Thank you. Anyway, before my father died, he made Uncle Henri my guardian. He also elicited a promise from Uncle Henri that he would care for me until I married. He has fulfilled that promise, but he is afraid you will not do the same when you inherit the estate. I know this places him under considerable stress, he and I are a family and he has told me he worries about my future. Coupled with the stress of losing the vineyard, I'm afraid this is taking an even worse toll on his health. However . . . I had thought you might be the solution to both problems . . . . "

"How so?"

"Well, you seem capable, I have no doubt you will succeed with the vineyard, and this will be a load off him . . . I'm not asking you to marry me, but if Uncle Henri believes we have an attraction for each other, he would not only feel less stress, but stay home more to allow us to be alone. He will get the rest he needs. Do you see?"

I did see. I was also scared--if Margaret got too close to me, she would discover I am not a man. Not that we would ever do anything improper, but a courtship allowed for certain liberties. Viktor had certainly taken enough of those for me to know. "Mademoiselle Sutton . . . if you are worried about your living situation after Uncle Henri's passing, be rest assured that I would not think of changing the arrangement. You are more a part of this farm than I. . . . "

"It's not that Monsieur, I am not asking for anymore charity. While I feel like a family member, I know in my heart I'm not. Besides, I have not seen my home country, England, in six years, and I long to return. I have enough money left from my inheritance to book passage back to England, and have the promise of a teaching job with mother's old school upon my return."

I tried not to look as crestfallen as I felt at the prospect of her leaving, no matter how far off that time might be. Margaret must have interpreted my expression as an aversion to her plan, because she said, "I know I'm asking a lot. I don't think we would have to play our roles very long. . . ."

"Mademoiselle Sutton, I will try to help you as best I can. Do you think tomorrow would appear too soon for the attraction? We could ask to spend the day in together?"

Margaret smiled with delight and threw her arms around my neck to give me a hug of thanks. I hugged back, touching her lightly across the small of her back.

She released me. "Uncle Henri will insist on showing you the vineyard and winery himself, and I don't think I can prevent that. Mass, however, can be compensated for here at home in the field chapel. We must put our plan into action at dinner this evening . . . no, even sooner. While you ride with Uncle Henri today, do you think you could espouse a few of my 'virtues'?"

This last part was said in jest, but I, in all seriousness, replied, "I can think of many of your virtues about which I could talk for hours."

Margaret laughed at what she thought was a joke, and we made plans for that night at dinner.

Chapter 7

Uncle Henri and I walked directly to the stables not long after breakfast. I first received a tour of Uncle Henri's impressive stables. Knowing as much as I did about horses, I spent a great deal of time examining each animal as well as the stable conditions. "Excellent stock," I commented as we strode about, "Perhaps I might improve your breeding program while I am here as well."

"We don't have much need for that," Uncle Henri frowned.

"I had not meant any disrespect, sir." I replied hastily. "I find myself like a fish out of water, and I wish to contribute what small skills I have to improving all aspects of the estate."

Uncle Henri seemed satisfied with that answer, and replied, "Well, I would trust you to know about horses. Perhaps we are in need of some fresher stock." With that he turned and strode back the way we came.

Because of his health, he was forced to spend our long ride being chauffeured in a small carriage. I expressed the desire to ride a horse of my own so that I might stretch my traveling legs. I silently thanked Andrev as I mounted the beautiful Bay mare that Uncle Henri offered for my use while I lived in France. Andrev had been the one to insist that I learn to ride properly, not with any "blasted" sidesaddle.

We rode out of the stable yard to the east. The early afternoon was crisp and clean, the last vestiges of winter were falling away. The sun was finishing its climb toward midday, and felt wonderful on my hatless head.

"It's a beautiful day, Uncle."

"That it is, my boy. I don't know why Margaret fusses at me so. This fresh air and sunshine are invigorating; makes me feel healthier."

"She is simply concerned for your well-being, in fact, I received quite a dressing-down for 'allowing' you to do so much in two days."

Uncle Henri chuckled, "Not afraid of anyone or anything, that girl. Reminds me of your mother at her age."

I very much wanted to ask Uncle Henri about my mother as a young woman, but thought it might be a little too early to make waves. Instead, I took the opportunity to talk about Margaret. "How old is Margaret?"

"A question you should ask her not me. Old enough to speak her mind."

"I was just curious. She seems old enough to be married, and yet she isn't. I thought perhaps she might still be too young."

Uncle Henri looked at me from the corner of his eye, but said nothing. I took this as a reasonably good sign, and continued. "She intrigues me. Our short conversations have been . . . interesting, and I appreciate her ability to make me feel at ease in this new place." I stopped here, afraid I said too much to be believable. In truth, I could have said a great deal more.

"She seems to have made quite an impression in just 12 hours. Let me tell you something, my boy, she'll look at you no sooner than she'd look at that mare. She has her mind set on England, and nothing will get in her way. You're wasting your time if you start hoping for anything else.

"But, I only meant . . . . "

"I know what you meant, my boy. Let's get back to business and forget this whole thing."

"Uncle, I did not mean to insult either you or Mademoiselle Sutton, I was merely . . ."

"No insult taken. I was just pointing out a few facts. Now, let's get back to the vineyard, eh?"

"Certainly."

We rode on for a quarter of a mile in silence. Fields and fields of grapevines stretched out on either side of the road. The low, twisted bushes cast intricate shadows, and up close I was able to see the vibrant green leaves that were just beginning to peak out for the coming season. I could see workers plucking the rows between vines clean of weeds and rocks.

"The winery is actually closer to the house, on the west side, but I wanted you to see the extent of the property," said Uncle Henri. "I will expect much from you in the coming months, Alexander. My father made me learn this business from the ground up. You will do the same. Beginning Monday you will join these workers and help clear these fields. It is important that you learn the entire process."

"I understand, Uncle. I am here to learn as much as I can."

"Good. Then let's head back and I'll show you the winery."

We rode back towards the house, but veered down a hill on the west side, and approached a large building. In front stood several large oaken casks. Each was about waist high, and as we approached I could see the stained insides.

Uncle Henri remarked, "Those are the old stomping vats. The grapes used to be pressed by the feet of my female workers. We rarely use those now. My old foreman, a fine chap who now owns his own vineyard, had modern grape presses installed in part of the bottling room." He rose from his seat and climbed down from the carriage before I could dismount to assist him. "Come, my boy, let me show you the inside."

I offered Uncle Henri my arm, and helped him walk into the building. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but when they did, I saw three huge oak barrels that filled the room we entered.

"This," he explained, "is where the juice ferments into alcohol. These are empty now, just waiting for this year's crop." We walked through a door at the far end of the room. There, I saw a large conveyor belt that ran from the press to a small window near the ceiling. "This is the press I told you about. The grape pulp and seeds are strained out, and ride the conveyor belt out through that window. We use those scraps as fertilizer. I warn you not to go near that pile in the height of summer unless you wear the proper attire. Bees come from miles around, attracted by the scent; I've been stung more times than I care to admit."

We proceeded into yet another room that was at present completely empty. "This," he explained, "is the bottling room. We'll move bottles and other equipment into this room as the appropriate time draws near. You will learn about that process up close as well."

"This is quite fascinating, Uncle Henri."

"Shall we taste a drop from last year's crop?" he quipped.

I smiled, "I'd be delighted."

With that, we headed back to the house for dinner.

I did not see Margaret alone before dinner that evening, and so we did not have an opportunity to discuss our 'strategy' for the meal. Uncle Henri and I arrived back from the tour of the winery and stables around 4 o'clock, and I excused myself to clean up before we ate. Unsure of how formal the dinners might be, I summoned a servant to inquire. Lucien came immediately.

"Yes, sir. How can I be of service?"

"Well, I'm rather embarrassed, but I must ask. Is there any formality to dinner? I mean, how is it that I should dress?"

"I have taken the liberty of laying out a suitable set of clothes from your wardrobe. Please feel free, however, to select others if these are not to your liking."

I hadn't even glanced at my bed, where, indeed, a black jacket and pants had been laid out. Not my best suit of clothes, since I had borrowed Nikolas's formal suit, but still much nicer than the riding clothes I currently wore.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry to bring you all the way up here. I didn't see that. Thank you for your help."

"Shall I bring a basin of warm water for your use?"

"Yes, that would be lovel . . . that would be fine."

With that, Lucien parted. I really had to watch my language! I may be dressing like a man, and acting like a man, but I was still speaking like a woman might. I could never imagine Nikolas saying a basin of water would be "lovely." Lucien brought the water and I made myself as presentable as possible before descending the stairs. No one was in the dining room, so I took the liberty of wandering around the ground floor. I made a note to myself to ask Margaret for a tour of the house, since I very quickly got lost in the maze of halls and rooms. I walked past a room fitted from floor to ceiling with books, and vowed to return when time permitted. Luckily, I happened back upon the dining area just as Margaret was descending the stairs. She looked beautiful in a gown of pale yellow, much more fashionable than the previous clothing I had seen her wear.

"I'm glad to see you are so promptly ready for dinner, Monsieur Petrovka."

"I must admit, Mademoiselle Sutton, I was ready quite some time ago, but thought to wander about the house until the proper time. By the way, what is the proper time?"

Margaret laughed. "Oh, I am sorry. It was my job to inform you of all the idiosyncrasies of the household, and I'm afraid in our plotting, I simply forgot."

"Quite all right. Lucien helped me with suitable attire. The rest you can fill me in on later, after dinner."

"With pleasure, sir. We will need to talk about many things later."

With that, I took her arm and escorted her to the table just as Uncle Henri was arriving himself. The table had apparently been set while I was wandering, and looked the picture of elegance. The polished silver shone brightly in the candlelight, and it appeared a profusion of candles rested everywhere--several candlabras rested on the table, the sideboard, and suspended from the ceiling. Uncle Henri proceeded to sit at the head of the table, and rang a bell for the first course of the meal. Two servants entered the room as I placed Margaret in her seat. One carried a soup tureen and the other a pitcher of water with lemon slices. I was delighted to see the lemon--it is a rarity on the farm in Russia--but the soup was a cold mass of potatoes that did not look appealing in the least.

"You're late, Alexander, please remember that dinner is at 6:00 sharp," scolded Uncle Henri.

"Uncle Henri, I'm afraid our tardiness is my fault. I neglected to inform Monsieur Petrovka as to the exact time we eat."

"Well, never mind. Let's get to it. Alexander, I'll wager you've never had vichyssoise before."

"Uh, no, sir, I have not." And never will again if I can help it. I don't know how I managed to eat an entire bowl of the rancid stuff, but I did. I glanced up as I finished to find Margaret barely suppressing a hoot of laughter at my obvious discomfort. I made a face at her, and she dropped her spoon trying to cover her mouth with her napkin. The spoon plunked into her bowl, splashing potatoes and broth all over the table and floor. I could feel my laughter threatening to bubble to the surface, and was hard pressed to keep it in check.

"Margaret, I have not known you to be a clumsy girl," remarked Uncle Henri, "what brought this on?"

"A small piece of potato was stuck in my throat."

"I don't need to hear a graphic description, just tell me you are in distress and I'll get Lucien to save you."

"I'm fine now, Uncle."

"Successfully dislodged it, eh?" I interjected. Margaret made a face at me from behind her napkin, and I barely suppressed my own hoot of laughter. One of the servants appeared to clean the floor, and we finished our soup without further incident.

We were just getting started on the next course, a rack of lamb, when I heard Margaret clear her throat. "Still having potato trouble?" asked Uncle Henri.

"No, Uncle, I'm fine."

I hadn't realized the throat clearing was for me, until I felt Margaret's foot tap mine under the table. Oh, our plan! I'd almost forgotten. Let's see. . . . I needed to say something suitable and not too presumptuous. I admit, I hadn't given much thought to how to start. Apparently, I waited too long, and Margaret made the first move.

"Monsieur Petrovka, did you enjoy your ride around the vineyard?"

"Very much so. I look forward to learning as much as I can about making wine, and in such beautiful surroundings I will take double pleasure in my lessons."

"Did Uncle Henri show you our gardens?"

"No, we did not have the time since we covered nearly all of the vineyard on my tour."

"Would you care to see them after dinner? Twilight is really the loveliest time of day to experience their beauty."

"That sounds delightful. Uncle, would you care to join us on our stroll?"

Uncle Henri's mouth had started to hang open during this exchange, apparently unable to believe his ears, and all he could muster was a shake of his head to indicate "no."

We finished dinner, and I stood and extended my arm for Margaret to take as we walked to the gardens. I glanced at Uncle Henri and you would have thought he had seen a miracle right before his eyes, and still didn't quite believe it.

Margaret led me out the front door and around the house to a footpath that led down a small hill. At its base were several groups of flower gardens and a smattering of fruit trees, each with a wide path between them and several stone benches along the way. These were indeed lovely, but I doubted twilight was the best time for viewing, since the vibrant colors were muted by the lack of light. We walked for some time before we came to rest on a bench directly across from a patch of lemon trees, their flower giving off a strong, tangy odor.

"I know Uncle Henri will think me mad about you now. He knows my favorite time in the garden is late afternoon," said Margaret.

"Yes, I can barely see the colors of everything here, but it's beautiful nonetheless," I replied.

"Do you think I over played my hand a bit too early? I am so anxious for this plan to work."

"No, I don't think so, as long as we don't remain out here for too long. By the way, speaking of the plan, I'm glad we found some time alone. I had a devil of a time trying to think up something to say at dinner. We must make up some signals or something as well as a more definite outline of what we're doing."

Margaret laughed, "I cleared my throat four times before you looked up. The look on your face when you tried to eat the vichyssoise was hysterically funny."

"Next time, just tap my foot again. Besides, you could have distracted Uncle even further by actually choking, THEN I could have fed the horrid mess to the dogs."

Margaret laughed again, and I was prompted to say, "You have a lovely laugh. It brightens up your whole being." Margaret immediately got serious again, "You don't need to flatter me when Uncle Henri is not within earshot."

"It isn't flattery, it is an observation on my part. Besides, I need to practice to get good at this. I've only been here for one day."

"Has it been only one? It seems like much more time than that."

We fell into an uncomfortable silence. Margaret was the first one to speak. "So, what's our plan for tomorrow?"

"I thought about asking Uncle if I could escort you to town tomorrow."

"No, you had better let me mention your request to him. He's not likely to let us go alone unless I make the request." We sat in further silence, and I had the opportunity to discreetly look at Margaret up close. Twilight might not have been the best time to view the gardens, but the setting sun cast a halo of light around Margaret's head, and she looked incredibly beautiful. I became so absorbed in this occupation, that I failed to notice Margaret look my way.

"Let's save that tour for an afternoon; like you said, we musn't stay down here too long."

I took her arm, and we slowly walked back up the path to the house. We needn't have worried about staying in the garden too long--Uncle Henri had retired to his room by the time we stepped into the front hall. Lucien was there to greet us, and ask if we might enjoy an aperitif in the study. I spoke up first, "Actually, Mademoiselle Sutton, during my walk around the house earlier, I noticed a library; perhaps we might go there instead?"

"What an excellent idea, Monsieur Petrovka. It will be one less stop on our house tour tomorrow."

Lucien then asked if he should lay a fire in the room, and I told him it wasn't necessary, that I would do it myself. He departed to fetch our brandies, and Margaret and I headed towards the library.

"I'm afraid I'll either need to draw a map, or start looking for landmarks to help find my way around here," I commented.

"Yes, it is a bit tricky. The library is on the far south side of the house, so if you simply follow this hallway to its end, the door is directly in front of you."

"The library at Winterhaven is also on the southern end the house. My brother and I enjoy its light and warmth during the winter months."

"Your brother? I was under the impression from Uncle Henri that you had no siblings."

"Uh, no. I have one younger brother, six years my junior."

"Is he taking care of your farm in your absence?"

"Yes, he is quite adept at managing the stables. I expect to find the farm in excellent shape upon my return."

"When are you planning to return, Monsieur?"

My answer was cut short as we entered the library. I took one of the candles from the candlabra that Margaret held, and lit a few of the wall sconces clustered close to a group of chairs. The added light revealed a room not too unlike my own library at home. Thick red carpets adorned the floors, as did red draperies, and several overstuffed chairs and a sofa were scattered somewhat haphazardly around the room. I was suddenly overwhelmed with home sickness. "It appears that libraries in both Russia and France have comfort in common," I said.

Margaret must have caught a hint of my homesickness in my voice. "I know how you feel, being so far from a home you miss. Again, when will you be returning to Russia?"

I walked toward the fireplace, and began laying starter and kindling. "Well, the answer to that question lies in my ability to learn the wine making business, and in Uncle Henri's satisfaction in the job I do. I know I will be spending at least a year here."

"A year? Why so long?"

"That is part of the terms of my agreement with Uncle Henri. It will take that long to go through a wine season, and to try to turn a profit. If I succeed, Uncle Henri says he will feel secure that he is leaving the vineyard in capable hands."

I finished lighting the fire, then sat opposite Margaret in one of the overstuffed chairs. Lucien returned and placed our drinks on the small, low table that was between each chair. Upon his departure, I asked, "Is it proper to toast with brandy?"

"Well, if it's not, I think we can bend a few rules here and there," Margaret smiled.

I lifted my glass and said, "To our plan, and our eventual safe return to our homelands. To a fruitful season this year and many in the future. And to your graciousness as a hostess, thank you for making me feel welcome in our adopted country."

We both drank, and leaned back in our chairs to stare at the fire. "That was a lovely toast, Monsieur. I am afraid I have been a bit lax in my duties as hostess, however, I intend to change all that starting tomorrow. I am an early riser, and would be happy to give you a tour of the house before we head for town if you'd like."

I had to stiffle a sleepy yawn as I replied, "I would like that. How about I meet you in the entry hall at seven?"

Margaret must have noticed my half-yawn. "Monsieur, it is getting late, and you have had a very busy day, would you care to retire?"

"No, please forgive my rudeness. I am a bit sleepy, but I would like to sit and talk some more, unless, of course you are too tired?"

"No, but I know the brandy will take affect soon enough. It always makes me drowsy."

"Well, then tell me about your homeland. I know very little about England."

"I was quite young when we left. Still, I remember it as a very green place. Cold almost all of the time. I remember my mother always trying to keep me wrapped in a velvet cloak, and me always running into the fog, hair flying behind me. My fondest memory of my mother is her chasing after me, laughing, and finally shedding her coat as we ran down a beach together.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to go on this way. You are an easy person to talk to Monsieur, so I'm afraid I'm getting rather personal."

"Not at all, Mademoiselle Sutton. I asked you to tell me about England, and if your main memories are of your family, then I would like to hear them. I hope it is not painful for you to reminisce this way."

"I shed my tears for my parents long ago. I'm glad I did not hold my grief inside. It allows me now to remember them fondly."

"I only hope I am able to do the same soon."

"Now it is I who must apologize, Monsieur. I had forgotten your recent loss. Would you like to talk about it?"

I didn't think I wanted to, but I ended up pouring out my grief in a way I had not yet been able to, what with the planning about Winterhaven and the trip to France. Margaret was a good listener, neither commenting on my tears, nor offering any condolences. She and I had both finished two brandies by the time we rose to go to bed. On the way out of the library, Margaret paused to pull a slim volume from one of the shelves. At the top of the stairs, she turned to hand me the book she had chosen. "Monsieur, please allow me to share a volume of poetry with you. The author was one of my mother's favorites, and I found great joy in her work after my parents' deaths. In fact, I am told that I am descendent from her on my father's side."

I took the volume from her, and thumbed through the pages. "Alas, Mademoiselle, I cannot read English."

"But I have heard you use English in some of our conversations."

"Yes, I can speak a few words, but never learned to read it. In fact, although I can speak French quite well, I can only read Russian. My mother used to sing and talk to me in the other two languages because she never became completely comfortable speaking Russian. I had instruction on reading Greek and Latin in school, but that is the extent of my language knowledge."

Margaret queried, "Perhaps you might instruct me in Greek and Latin, since my command of the classic languages is abysmal, while I can teach you to read English and French? I know I'll need a better command of the former if I'm to return to England and teach."

"I should like that very much. I am, however, uncertain how much time I'll have once my training starts."

"Yes, you'll likely be very busy over the next several months." Margaret could not hide her disappointment.

"I think we might combine our tutoring with our 'plan.' It would provide us with the perfect excuse to spend more time together."

Margaret brightened, "That will work beautifully. We'll start tomorrow evening."

We walked up the stairs together, and Margaret left me at the top with a good night and walked to her room. I watched her go for a moment, then turned in the opposite direction towards my room.

***********

The next day started much as the previous one, I was given the hot water and left to my own devices by servants who quickly disappeared after they had installed the water. I was thankful that neither Lucien nor Patric chose to stay and attend to my needs. I understand this is the custom among many of the nobility, but apparently this did not extend to landed gentry.

I bathed quickly and met Margaret at the top of the stairs ready for my tour of the house. "Good morning, Monsieur, ready for the grand tour?"

"Absolutely," I smiled, "wouldn't miss it for the world. "

She slipped her arm through mine as we descended the stairs and we started with the rooms along the hallway that lead to the library. These were mostly offices and sitting rooms for guests.

Once the hall turned to the right in front of the library, it ended at a large set of double doors. Margaret opened both at the same time and I found myself staring into the largest ballroom I had ever seen. "This is magnificent, " I said, staring in awe at the incredible paintings on the ceiling.

"This is my second favorite room in the house, the library being the first, of course," Margaret replied.

There were several sets of doors around the length of the room, which opened up to both the inside and the outside of the house.

"We came from the direction of the stairs and through the doors normally used by the kitchen to serve food. Most of the guests follow the hallway from the other direction since it offers a direct route to the room."

"So the halls move in a somewhat circular pattern then?"

"Yes, the down stairs hallways make a square around the center, which ends up being this room, and the rooms around the outer edges are mostly like the offices and sitting rooms you've already seen. The dining room, kitchen, ballroom and servants quarters are also downstairs. All the other bedrooms are upstairs."

"How many rooms are there upstairs?"

"There are 15 rooms upstairs and another 15 offices, sitting rooms parlours, what-have-you down here. The servants have their own smaller kitchen and dining area, as well as 10 bedrooms."

I laughed, "And I thought we did things big in Russia."

Margaret smiled, "The house is not really that large once you've learned its ins and outs. I won't show you the servants' quarters though--we respect their privacy and allow them to use the rooms as they please."

"I quite understand. Well, Mademoiselle Sutton, shall we adjourn to the dining room for breakfast?"

We found Uncle Henri already eating, "Late again, Margaret. Is this a new habit you're forming with the arrival of Monsieur Petrovka?" I was shocked that he would chastize Margaret in front of me, until I realized he was joking when Margaret laughed. "Yes, Uncle, now that Monsieur Petrovka is here, I shall spend all my time lolly-gagging about the house and let him do all the work." With that, she kissed him on the check, unfurled her napkin, and sat down.

"Mademoiselle Sutton was kind enough to give me a brief tour of the house. Your ballroom is breathtaking. Wherever did you find such a shade of blue for the walls?"

"My late wife picked the colour, and hired the painters to do the work. Everything you see in this house had her hand in it."

"It is a beautiful home, sir."

We passed the rest of breakfast with only a smattering of conversation. Near the end of the meal, Margaret again tapped my foot, but this time I was ready. "Uncle, " I started, "Margaret tells me there is a field church on the property that the servants attend. . . . "

"Yes. I have occasionally visited the chapel to mix with the help, but my usual place is at the head of my own church at the cathedral in Beaune. I am a deacon, you know."

"No, sir, I did not realize that. That will make the favor I was going to ask doubly difficult."

"Well, speak up, my boy, no sense dawdling."

"Quite right. Sir, it has been some time since I stepped foot into a church. Since my baptism at age 18 months, in fact. Having just arrived, I feel the magnitude of a large church might be a bit overwhelming to start. I thought perhaps we might attend church at the field chapel and save the cathedral for another time? This will also give me an opportunity to mix with the men and women I'll be working with while I help clear the fields."

"Well, I don't really understand your reticence to go to the cathedral, but your idea about mixing with the workers is a good one. Very well, we'll go to the field chapel this morning instead." With that, Henri returned to reading his paper.

"Thank you, Uncle, I am most grateful."

I looked up to find Margaret beaming at me for having thought up a way to keep Uncle from the long drive to town. I returned her smile, and looked quickly down at my meal, afraid she would see me blush.

"Uncle, " now it was Margaret's turn to work on the plan, "I had promised Monsieur Petrovka that I would also give him a small tour of the city. Is it possible that we might take one of the carriages into town following church."

"Yes, yes, whatever you wish. Now let me read my paper in peace."

*************

The field church was actually quite large, and I was really glad I did ask to go there first--I was not lying when I said I'd not been to church since I was 18 months. Mother insisted I be baptized, but father refused to allow his children to grow up Catholic, so we never went with mother when she attended every Sunday. I found my nervousness fading as the service started. Margaret sat on one side of me, Uncle Henri on the other, and each seemed to know the intricacies of the service without looking at the placard mounted on the wall. I spent the initial moments trying to catch up to what was being said and done and prayed about and sung. After a while, I simply sat back and listened. I found the hymns particularly soothing. While I have a horrid singing voice, I listened to the choir with rapt attention. Besides, I figured if Uncle Henri and Margaret got one listen at my terrible soprano, the jig would be up, so I remained silent. Following the service, Uncle Henri went and stood at the door next to the priest and shook the hand of everyone who exited the church. He failed to introduce me to anyone, nor did he make motions for me to join him, so Margaret and I stood at the side and made idle chatter until he was done. I figured there was time enough to meet the workers once I started in the fields myself. Uncle Henri joined us as soon as the last parishioner walked by him, the priest at his side.

"A fine service Father Michaud. I do not remember a better sermon," said Uncle Henri.

"Merci, Monsieur," the priest replied. "Your presence in our church is always a blessing to the people who attend."

"I may be attending services more often if my ward and my grand nephew have anything to say about it." Uncle Henri was speaking these words as he came upon us. "Allow me to introduce my grandnephew from Kiev, Alexander Petrovka. Alexander, this is Father Michaud."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, sir, I quite enjoyed the entire service. As I explained to my Uncle, it has been quite sometime since I set foot in a church. My father frowned on all things religious."

"Perhaps we can make you a convert then, Monsieur Petrovka, " Father Michaud smiled.

"I was baptized a Catholic, Father, I just never returned for the rest of my education, until today that is."

Father Michaud smiled again, "I would be most honored to provide that education should you desire it."

"I will certainly give it consideration."

"We must be going, " Uncle Henri interrupted, "lunch will be served promptly at 1:00. Perhaps you might join us Father?"

"Alas, I have plans to spend my day in the confessional. I always find my parishioners need absolution the most following a Saturday night," Father Michaud laughed, "Perhaps some other time, Monsieur Meillieur?"

"Of course, Father, my house is always open to you. Good day."

"Good day, Monsieur."

To be Continued . . . . 7/14/00