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Chapter 2
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Tauragė County, Lithuania, 1863
The soldiers were at his heels.
The rifle dropped from his hands as Tauras scrambled up the mound. Bits of grass and dirt flew up around him as the one soldier fired off shots from his sidearm. A bayonet stabbed the earthwork where Tauras' foot had been seconds before. Somehow he made it to the top.
Crashing his way through tree cover, Tauras slid down the other side. The Russians, weighed down with their gear, were having a harder time climbing the steep slope. He was at least a hundred meters ahead by the time he heard them descending. Still not enough time or distance to return to camp. No matter. Tauras knew the woods in this county well, having spent many summers traipsing through them whenever Feliks would come to visit. He was east of one of the small tributaries that fed the Šešuvis river. Once he crossed that, he would be on his family's land.
Tauras put more distance between himself and the Russians, eventually reaching the river. It was narrow here and he waded across, the cool water a welcome relief to his tired, aching legs. He sat down in a clump of trees near the bank. If the soldiers had managed to follow him this far, he would surely hear them splashing their way across the river.
Tauras leaned back against a tree, catching his breath and weighing his options. Returning to the seminary in Varniai was out of the question — the city was overrun by Russian soldiers — and there was too much open country to try and cross with Tauras having no means of crossing it, other than his own two feet. He had no money, no food, and no supplies. Going back to camp was not a possibility either — the soldiers, if they weren't still chasing him, had probably found it by now and might set a trap and wait. He was, however, near the border. He could cross into East Prussia and wait this out. But Russian patrols were likely strong there. He would either need to find a way to sneak past them or go to Tauragė, follow the main road out of town, and cross properly at the border. The first option carried the greatest risk, and Tauras doubted his luck would hold out enough for him to slip across the border undetected. The second option was still risky, but legal, affording a lesser chance of being caught and sent to Siberia. Plus, his family's name carried weight. A small, arrogant part of him betted if the border guards gave him trouble, he would just need to give them his name and they would let him pass. But, looking at himself as he was now — his worn clothes, his dirty and scratched skin — the officials in Tauragė might think him no more than some deranged beggar. He would first need money and some decent clothes if he was going to go through with this.
And that meant going back home.
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o
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The shadows were beginning to lengthen by the time he reached the forest that bordered the back of his family's estate. He kept his distance, watching from the trees. He would have to wait until nightfall to make his approach. His father would not wish to see him. His mother, maybe. Matas and Aurelija — his brother and sister...
A dull ache shot through his heart at the thought. Of course Matas and Aurelija would want to see him. And he did miss them terribly. Matas' birthday was coming up soon, Tauras thought absently. His brother would be thirteen — no longer a child, and undoubtedly a far cry from the naive little boy Tauras had known three years ago. But...there was a small, bitter part of him that had not forgiven Matas. Just as he had not — and would never — forgive his father.
The first stars were beginning to show as the lights in the house began to steadily extinguish. The family was getting ready for bed, though Tauras knew his parents would stay up at least another hour longer before finally retiring to their room.
Tauras stretched. His muscles, having been in motion the better part of the day, were now protesting at the sudden and prolonged stillness. His stomach soon joined in, having not eaten since that morning. He rubbed it, anticipating his family's well-stocked pantry, as he stared out across the grounds.
The sky above was now a deep, muddy blue. Clouds drifted over the pinpricks of stars. A waxing moon hung high above, casting its feeble light upon the house and the wide expanse of grass between it and the forest. This was the time to move.
Tauras emerged from his hiding place among the trees, then dashed on the tips of his toes across the grounds, slowing only once he reached the pebbled path that led to the basement kitchen. The small stones crunched under his feet, but with a few bounds, Tauras was at the door. He tried the handle first, surprised when it opened. A few of the servants must still be up, he thought, entering the house as silently as he could.
The kitchen was dark, save for the weak, amber glow of a candle guttering in the hall. The light moved, seeming to glow brighter. A shadow stretched along the wall behind it. A shape appeared, framed in the kitchen doorway. It was the head housekeeper, Rūta. She gave an audible gasp of surprise the moment her light fell on him.
"It's all right," Tauras whispered. "It's me."
"M-Master Laurinaitis!" she cried, hand covering her heart. "You gave me such a fright! What are you doing here?"
"Right now, looking for something to eat."
Rūta drew a steadying breath and nodded, her duty to the family overcoming her momentary shock.
A small candelabra stood in the center of a long table in the middle of the room. Rūta lit it and began slicing some bread and cheese and set them on a plate, her eyes occasionally casting Tauras a questioning glance. Forty years spent in service to the family, however, had taught her not to voice her wonderings unless invited.
Tauras sat and began devouring the food. The housekeeper then set a mug of ale and a cup of milk on the table. Tauras gulped them both down.
"Thank you," he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Rūta frowned and shook her head. "Master Laurinaitis — forgive me, sir, for asking — but where have you been? Not at the seminary, surely, with manners like that."
Tauras felt his heart lighten at her gentle scolding. "Not as of late, no."
"Then where...?"
Tauras studied her a moment. Many of the servants did not agree with his father's politics. A few of the older ones were veterans of the first uprising some thirty years ago. Rūta had lost her brother in it.
"Are you — in trouble, sir?" Rūta asked.
Tauras gave a wan smile. "I might be," he said quietly.
Rūta's eyes widened, taking in his worn, disheveled appearance, the scratches on his arms and face, and understood. She crossed herself and sank onto the bench beside him.
"I just need some things from my room — clothes, money — then I'll be on my way."
Tauras rose and began making his way to the hall.
"Sir!" Rūta exclaimed as she stood. "You cannot, sir!"
Tauras turned. "And why not? Is my father still awake?"
"No, he isn't. It's...i-it's them. They're in the house."
"Who?"
"Russian soldiers. Your father's given them quarter. The officers are upstairs; the rest of the men are in the stables. I thought you were one of them when I came round the corner."
Tauras swore under his breath. He began pacing. His room was most likely being occupied, which left him no chance of getting in and getting provisions. And that only left him with one option for crossing the border: sneaking past God only knew how many Russian patrols.
"Sir?" Rūta ventured.
"What is it?" Tauras said, continuing his pacing, lost in thought.
"I could do it, sir."
"What? Do what?"
"I could get you what you need."
Tauras stopped. He turned slowly to look at her.
"I could do it," Rūta insisted again. "Just tell me what you need, sir. I'll get it tomorrow when they're out. I'll keep it in my room 'til the night comes, then leave it by the kitchen door 'round midnight. Would that — would that work, sir?"
"Rūta," Tauras breathed, a mix of gratitude and incredulity in his eyes. "Y-yes! I think that would."
Rūta smiled. "Right. That's settled, then."
Tauras thanked her and told her where to find the money stashed in his room and the clothes he would need. Before he left, Rūta gave him a small burlap bag. In it was some bread, fruit, and dried meat, a clay bottle filled with water, and a bar of soap.
"You might want to wash," she said, smirking, but a question lingered in her eyes.
Tauras took her hand. "Don't tell them you've seen me, Rūta. Even after I've gone. Please. Let them think I'm still at the seminary."
Rūta's eyes were damp as she looked at him and nodded.
Tauras thanked her again and set off across the darkened estate grounds for the woods beyond.
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o
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He awoke, as he was accustomed to, with dawn's first light. The grounds of his family's estate were covered in a shimmering dew. Tauras sat up, brushing dead leaves from his shirt and hair. He ate a little of what Rūta had given him, just enough to ease the hunger ache in his stomach. He watched the estate as it came to life — the curtains being drawn to let in the morning light, the gardener weeding the hedges, a maid collecting eggs from the henhouse. Everything ran with a rhythm, a routine, he had followed dutifully, predictably, in his youth. The same rhythm Matas and Aurelija were following now, their father guiding them, ensuring they would not fall out of step the way Tauras had.
He turned his gaze away from the house, the memories of his youth, while not unpleasant, were not wholly fond either. Tauras scanned the woods, mindful of what Rūta had told him last night, watching for the slightest disturbance that might indicate his hiding spot would be found. But it seemed the Russian soldiers had no need to patrol this particular forest for rebels. His father's sympathies may yet save him from being discovered. Tauras scoffed at the thought and hunkered down, clutching the burlap bag close. He would have to force himself to sleep the day to be rested and ready to leave that night. He shut his eyes, hoping that if anyone came upon him, he would be driven off as a beggar.
Still, sleep did not come easy. Tauras had learned from his squadron to keep an ear open for any sound, and the forest offered plenty — from creatures rustling in the fallen leaves to birds calling high in the branches. His fatigued mind and body eventually gave in to some form of rest as the afternoon wore into evening. When he next opened his eyes, night covered the estate grounds.
Tauras looked towards the house. The warm glow of candlelight emanated from the windows. Stars shone in the night sky, though the moon was not yet fully risen. He estimated it to be around ten o'clock. His mother and father were usually in bed by now. Tauras frowned. Something was wrong.
And then he heard it. The sound of a piano as someone opened the door leading to the back terrace. The swell of voices drifted out on the still night air.
Tauras cursed under his breath. His parents had chosen tonight, of all nights, to throw a party.
As Tauras watched, however, he realized this was not one of his parents' large gatherings. And Rūta would have told him last night if they were planning anything. No, this was something impromptu. Something, he felt, watching silhouetted figures emerge onto the terrace, that had to do with the officers occupying his house.
As the moon rose higher, Tauras wondered if Rūta had been able to get away long enough to leave his things by the door. Would any of the other servants notice or question her about it?
Tauras guessed by now it had to be midnight — or later. The moon was almost directly overhead and the party was just now starting to wind down. The door to the terrace had closed. Some of the lights upstairs had gone out. In the great room, someone tugged on a curtain. Tauras saw it jerk twice across the window, almost as if someone was trying to shake something out of it.
It happened again.
Tauras squinted into the darkness, willing his eyes to make out the person doing it, but they were indistinguishable from so far away.
He wondered if it was Rūta, trying to send him a message. Was she trying to tell him to stay away or to come to the house? The only way for him to know was to move.
Tauras' heart pounded in his throat as he stood. Taking a deep breath, he dashed across the grounds, coming to rest beneath the terrace. He strained his ears, listening for anyone who might be coming back out, before making his way around to the kitchen.
The terrace was quiet.
Tauras was just about to move when raucous voices erupted to his right. The enlisted men were having their own celebration in the stable block. The voices sounded like they were drawing closer. Tauras needed to move or he'd risk being seen.
He ducked to the left, keeping low along the terrace wall and moving as silently as he could along the pebbled walkway, sneaking down to the kitchen entrance.
There was no light in the kitchen, but Tauras saw, by the dim light of the moon and stars, a parcel waiting for him by the door. Rūta had placed everything in an old knapsack. Tauras grabbed it, making a quick rummage, feeling his clothes, money, and even the teeth of a comb and the cold metal handle of what felt like a razor. He smiled to himself a moment — Rūta really had thought of everything — then he flung the knapsack over his shoulder and cut a wide arc to the left, as far from the house as he could manage. He reached the tree-line and began picking his way back to his camp.
The forest was dense with shadows. Tauras could hardly make out his own hand in front of him. He kept to the edge, using the house and grey grounds as a guide, pausing every so often to listen for any indication he had been seen or followed. But all was still.
He reached his camp and put the burlap bag Rūta had given him the previous night into his knapsack. Tauras took one final look at the house behind him. Only the great room was now lit. The servants would be up for another half hour tidying it.
A desire to go back — to see his parents and brother and sister again — suddenly seized him. For a fleeting moment he believed, if he went back, it would somehow undo the past three years. Matas would never have betrayed him — his father would never have sent him away — he would never have joined the uprising — he never would have failed his comrades or seen them fall...
Tauras' throat tightened.
A sound pushed its way out, escaping as a breath. It could not be anything more for fear of making himself heard. Tauras covered his mouth, another sob straining at his throat. He drew a deep breath through his nose and turned, shouldering the knapsack, and set off through the woods. If he kept straight, he would come to the tributary. He would then follow it down to where it joined the Šešuvis. From there, it would be about a sixteen kilometer trek along the river before he reached the village of Gaurė. Then an additional twelve to Tauragė. He had about a five hour walk ahead of him. Tauras' feet ached at the thought, his whole body feeling suddenly tired. He ate some of the dried meat Rūta had packed and pressed on.
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o
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Dawn's light streaked through the sky as Tauras approached the town of Tauragė. He found an inn and, after rousing the innkeeper, paid for a meal and a room. He only intended to stay a few hours — time enough to eat, wash, change clothes, and shave the patchy stubble growing along his cheeks and jaw. Once he sat down on the bed, however, exhaustion overcame him and he was soon asleep.
The innkeeper woke him the next morning, threatening to charge him double if he did not vacate the room soon.
Tauras hurriedly washed, shaved, and dressed. He repacked his knapsack before leaving, hiding the paper money in his shoes should he run into any trouble, only keeping the coins and a few bills in his pants pocket. Tauras combed his knotted hair as best he could, then tied it back. He breakfasted at cafe near the town square.
The cafe was crowded.
Tauras managed to squeeze himself into a table near the back. As the waiter took his order, the couple at the table to his left got up. He felt himself relax a little at the newly vacated space. It was soon occupied, though, by the tallest man Tauras had ever seen. He wore a Russian officer's uniform — a captain, judging by the single red stripe on his shoulder boards.
Tauras' face grew flush. He picked up the newspaper the waiter had left him and hid behind it.
The man swept the brimmed cap from his head and sat. Tauras watched him from behind his newspaper. His ash-colored hair was almost indistinguishable from the rest of his pale face. His eyes reminded Tauras of a frozen lake — betraying no depth, but something lurked there, far below the surface. The man smiled warmly as he spoke to the waiter, but the moment he was gone, the Russian's face adopted an inscrutable look once more.
A few moments later, Tauras' order arrived. He set the newspaper down, unable to hide behind it while eating at the small table. He kept his gaze determinedly fixed on his plate and cup of coffee, though he could see the man watching him.
Unable to feign ignorance any longer for fear of seeming too suspicious, Tauras lifted his head as he drank his coffee, watching the other people in the cafe over the rim of his cup. The man shifted in his seat, the motion drawing Tauras' attention. He caught the man's eye, then lowered his gaze away with an apologetic smile.
"Please forgive my rudeness," the man said, seizing the opportunity to speak. "I do not mean to stare. It's just...you look very familiar. Have we met?"
"Not to my knowledge. I think I would remember meeting someone like you," Tauras said, eyes sweeping over the man's shear size.
The man laughed. "Captain Ivan Braginski," he offered by way of introduction.
"Tauras Laurinaitis."
Captain Braginski's eyes widened in recognition. "Ah! Of course. You are Juozas' son, yes? You look just like him."
Tauras sipped his coffee to hide his grimace. "Yes. I've been told that."
The captain's order arrived. Tauras hoped this would be the end of their conversation, but the officer was all too content to carry on.
"I dined with your family this past spring. Your father said you were at the seminary in Varniai."
"Yes."
Silence stretched between them. Tauras knew the captain was waiting for him to elaborate, to explain why he was here, in Tauragė.
Tauras cleared his throat. "I'm...going to visit my cousin in Germany for the summer."
There was a half truth to that statement. He did have a cousin in Germany, though the thought of visiting Eduard had not crossed his mind until he spoke it aloud.
"And how does he like it there?"
"Fine, I suppose. Although he — "
Tauras stopped himself, feeling it would not be prudent to divulge that secret to a Russian officer who seemed to hold his family in some regard.
But the captain's brow was raised, a burgeoning interest evident in his eyes.
Tauras gave a resigned sigh. "He didn't have much of a choice. His father sent him off to school there when he was young. No one in the family really — except for me, no one in the family keeps in contact with him."
"Why is that?"
Tauras glanced around the cafe. Many of the people knew his family. Some probably even knew of the scandal involving his uncle and his German maid twenty-one years ago. None knew of Eduard, though — the illegitimate son their dalliance produced. The family had worked hard to keep Eduard's existence hushed up until his uncle finally sent the boy away upon the insistence of his wife.
"My apologies, captain. That is...not the kind of gossip for a public cafe," Tauras said, lowering his voice. "I do not wish to betray my cousin's trust — nor my family's — by revealing it here."
Captain Braginski grinned conspiratorially. "Some other time, then."
"Perhaps," Tauras said with a deferential nod. He then paid for his meal and excused himself, taking leave of the Russian captain before any more questions could be put to him.
Tauras was never so thankful to be outside. The sky overhead was clear. In the distance, fat white clouds were gathering. And Tauras felt he could finally take the first decent breath of air he'd had since he climbed that mound. He soon found the main road, letting it lead him out of town and to the border crossing.
As he crossed the bridge over the Jūra river, a group of Russian soldiers was heading the opposite way. One of them looked up and over at him as they passed. Tauras did the same, perhaps having become a bit lax due to the fair weather and the thought that, soon, he would be free from the threat of capture.
It happened in the blink of an eye.
The soldier stopped and turned with a shout: "Hey!"
Tauras continued on, hoping the man was not calling out to him, despite the warning growing in his head.
"Hey!" the soldier yelled again.
The sound of footfalls behind him, Tauras did not look over his shoulder but broke into a run. He was soon overtaken by three men — two grabbing him from behind, pulling him down. He landed on the ground, the breath flying from his lungs. Tauras gasped for air as the third man — the one that had called out — approached, fisted a hand in his hair, and yanked his head back.
"Well?" one of the men asked.
The other nodded. "It's him. Take him to the captain."
The two men that had tackled him hooked their arms under his and lifted him to his feet. They pulled the knapsack from his back and bound his hands before him in iron cuffs. The man that called out gave Tauras a nasty sneer as he shouldered the Lithuanian's bag and set off back across the bridge. The two men behind Tauras gave him a shove to get him moving. His feet dragged though his mind was working feverishly. He had a feeling he knew who "the captain" was, though how could Braginski have mobilized men so quickly to come after him? He had left the captain's company hardly fifteen minutes ago. And these men were coming into the town, not going out of it.
The more he thought of it, the more certain he became these soldiers had not been sent by captain Braginski. Then why had they accosted him? This all had to be a misunderstanding, Tauras thought. Except the man now holding his knapsack seemed to recognize him. But how? He thought back to his family's estate. He was fairly certain none of the soldiers there had seen him. Maybe the man had come upon him in the woods while he was sleeping. But if he had, why wait until now to take him prisoner?
Another thought crossed his mind — one that made his blood freeze. That the soldier had been one of the ones he had ambushed. One of the ones he had been running from. Tauras tried to remember their faces, but everything was a chaotic blur of gunshots and shouts.
He cursed himself for having lost a day to sleep. He should have kept pressing on. He could have slept all he wanted once he reached Prussia. And now...now he had to rely on his brief rapport with a Russian captain and hope this would all get straightened out.
A short distance from the bridge stood a three-story brick building. The customs house. A stone wall, at least four meters high, stretched out from the left and right. The soldiers marched Tauras through one of the heavy, arched wooden doors set into it. Beyond the wall was a rectangular courtyard with a few smaller buildings inside. One of the men grabbed Tauras' shoulder, pulling him to the left. They entered the main building. He was jerked to the left again and shoved down a hallway. The captain's office was at the end.
An ashen blonde head was bent over a stack of papers. The captain finished adding his signature to one and looked up, eyes falling on Tauras.
"Ah, Mr. Laurinaitis! We meet again."
The soldier holding Tauras' knapsack cleared his throat. "Sir," he said with a quick salute.
The two soldiers behind Tauras snapped to attention. Captain Braginski's face shifted from mild amusement back to the expressionless guise Tauras had seen at the cafe.
"What is it, corporal? Why have you handcuffed Mr. Laurinaitis?"
The corporal looked at the captain with a somewhat bemused expression. He quickly recovered himself, however. "Sir, I'm — not sure how you know this man, but believe me when I say he is a rebel. He is part of the uprising and is responsible for the attack made against myself and my fellow soldiers three days ago."
Captain Braginski slowly stood, his height seeming to fill the room. Tauras noticed the corporal shrink away as the captain strode over and addressed him.
"This man?" the captain said, gesturing to Tauras. "He attacked you all alone?"
"N-no, sir. There were four others with him. He — he fled, sir."
Captain Braginski swung his head around, eyeing Tauras with a look that suggested he did not quite believe the corporal's accusation. He then turned back to the corporal and led him over to a corner of the room. They began conversing in such fast, hushed Russian, Tauras could hardly make out what they were saying. Once or twice he thought he heard the word "family." Then the corporal gestured to the knapsack he was carrying. Captain Braginski fell silent at that, thinking for a moment. He nodded to the corporal, then resumed his seat at his desk. He looked up at Tauras with those eyes, so like a frozen lake.
"Is this bag all you have with you?"
"Yes," Tauras said, a cold dread settling in his stomach.
The captain leaned back in his chair, rolling his wide shoulders back. "You are traveling awfully light for someone visiting their cousin for the summer. Tell me, what we would find" — the captain gestured for the knapsack — "if we were to look in here?"
Tauras saw the ice in the captain's eyes beginning to crack. He would soon know what those depths contained.
"J-just — " A chill ran down Tauras' arms. His hands were clammy as he watched the corporal set his bag on the captain's desk.
"Yes?"
"Just some — some clothes, and — a-and — "
The captain stood, not waiting for him to finish, and upended the bag, sending the contents spilling out onto his desk. He examined the food in the burlap bag, then moved onto the tattered pants and shirt. He set the items down, glowering up at Tauras with a displeased sigh.
"S-sir! C-captain, please! My family — th-they don't know. They have nothing to do with this. Please! D-don't — "
"Don't what? You are in no position to bargain or make demands."
Tauras fell silent.
"You have been brought here, an accused insurgent. The corporal has given testimony against you, and, knowing your family, I was disinclined to believe it. But what little you have with you and the state of the clothes in your bag would suggest what he tells me is true. You have yet to deny this charge and your earlier outburst lends further credence. Rather than speculate any further, I will ask you plain: Is what the corporal says true? Are you with the uprising?"
Tauras bowed his head. Beyond the window the clouds were darkening, casting a grey shadow over the captain's room. He thought again of Matas and Aurelija, of his mother, Rūta who had helped him. He had damned them all the moment he left the seminary, the moment he had joined the revolution. Tears brimmed in his eyes.
"My family...p-please..."
"No harm will come to your family. You have my word."
Tauras looked up, tears streaming silently down his cheeks.
"Are you with the uprising?" the captain demanded again.
Tauras flinched and nodded. "Yes," he breathed.
Captain Braginski leaned down, flattening his hands on his desk as he held Tauras' gaze. "You lied to me," he said, his voice deadly calm. "You've dishonored your family. You are responsible for the deaths of men — good men — whose only wish was to serve the Empire. You are a traitor. And as such, you shall be punished as one. There is a transport scheduled to depart for Kara in six days' time, and you shall be on board. But first, the lash."
Tauras' chin trembled. He felt suddenly dizzy. The walls were spinning, pressing in on him, squeezing the air from the room. He'd heard about Kara — the system of prisons set up around the river that also bore the name, where the prisoners mined gold for the tsar day in and day out. He lurched to the side. One of the soldiers caught him and pushed him back up.
"Tell me," the captain said, addressing him, "if you were studying to be a priest, you must know your scriptures well, yes?"
Tauras nodded, the action feeling disconnected and foreign, as if someone else had made his head move.
"Then you shall receive your forty lashes minus one."
Tauras' legs would no longer support him. He felt himself sinking to his knees. But the soldiers were ready and grabbed him around the arms before he could hit the floor.
"Take him to the courtyard," the captain ordered them. "I will join you presently."
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o
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Tilsit, East Prussia, 1869
After two weeks filled with long days and nights spent cranking out page after page, the books and newspapers were ready. Eduard was due to leave the following day, meeting up with a coach on the high street mid-morning. The newspapers had been hidden in the inner lining of his coat. The books were in a secret compartment in his suitcase. He had packed and re-packed the case several times, wanting to get the load distribution right so it would feel balanced in the hand in the event the border guards decided to inspect his belongings.
He and Tauras were upstairs in the second floor sitting room. Raivis was downstairs, organizing the letter cases for what must have been the fifth time that week. The number of menial, repetitive tasks Tauras set him always increased the closer the time came for Eduard's departure.
Tauras stood by the window, looking out as a light snow fell. His thumb and forefinger absently twirled the small, golden cross he wore around his neck as he watched the flakes disappear into the grey waters of the Memel. The cross had been a gift from Feliks eleven years ago. In another lifetime. One that almost did not seem like his.
"You're worried," Eduard said. He was sitting on the threadbare sofa, polishing his shoes.
"I'm always worried." Tauras tucked the cross back under his shirt collar, still watching the snow.
Eduard held the shoe up to the light, checking to make sure he had covered every scuff mark. Satisfied with his work, he began on the other one.
"I've been doing this for four years, Tauras. And I was swindling the good people of Saxony long before that. Give me some credit."
Tauras looked over at Eduard, struck by his cousin's flippant attitude. "I do. Believe me. But I can't help worrying every time you — you leave."
"Always good to know at least someone in the family cares for my well-being."
"This isn't a joke, Ed! Maybe I would worry less if you took this seriously for a change!"
Eduard set the shoe and polishing rag down, eyeing his cousin over the rims of his glasses. "I do take it seriously. Why else would I go to all this trouble — finding contacts and shining my goddamn shoes, dressing up and pretending to be some highborn German citizen — just to help you smuggle books across the border? You don't know half of what I do to keep the shop's expenses from dipping into the red so we can keep this up. So forgive me if I don't spend the days wringing my hands over it."
"No — I know. And I'm sorry. It's just I — I couldn't...if anything ever happened to you, I couldn't — " Tauras broke off, shaking his head. He turned back to the window.
Eduard stood and went over to him, placing a hand on his cousin's shoulder. Tauras tensed and drew away.
"I'm doing it again, Ed," he said thickly. "I'm putting my family in danger again and for what? A language that can't even mourn its loss. What does it matter?"
"What it represents matters," Eduard said softly.
Tauras continued to stare silently out the window.
Eduard pressed his lips together, watching his cousin a moment, then went back to his polishing, leaving Tauras with his thoughts.
The sky outside had darkened from a flat white to an iron grey as the sun began to set.
"I'm going out," Tauras said at length.
Eduard looked up, his glasses slipping down his nose. "It's almost dinner time."
"I'm not hungry."
With a few quick strides, Tauras was already descending the stairs before Eduard could even object. He startled Raivis, who seemed to have fallen asleep leaning against one of the letter cases. The boy jumped up, about to apologize, but Tauras was already swinging his coat over his shoulders and disappearing through the front door.
Tauras made his way down the riverfront, tugging his collar up and over his cheeks, head bowed against the falling snow. There was a pub on the corner four blocks away where the men that worked on the river would gather. It was here Tauras headed.
The din of raucous voices could be heard even before he entered. A dull amber light spilled out from the windows and onto the street. Tauras opened the door, pushing his way through drunken dockhands and barge captains to a table at the back. He ordered a beer and drank it slowly, his mind too preoccupied with Eduard's trip. He did not know why, but something felt different this time. Yes, he always worried whenever Eduard left, knowing all too well what his cousin was risking for him. But that worry had never consumed him as much as it did now. He thought back to the tea leaves the day Eduard had come home with the basket and the book. It was ridiculous to believe in such superstitions, yet he could not get the symbols out of his head. And he knew if he confessed his fears to Eduard, his cousin would simply laugh it off like he always did.
Tauras' gaze roamed over the pub and the people within — a rough mix of Lithuanians, like him, and the Prussians that lived along the river. The other residents of Tilsit would not dare to venture down this way once the sun set. Everyone knew the riverfront was full of nothing but lecherous barge hands and immigrants. So it came as a surprise to see a head of such shocking white-blonde hair among the dingy mariner's caps that normally filled the pub. Tauras would have thought the sergeant-major would have stayed on his side of the high street, closer to the garrison. He was not in uniform and already seemed a few drinks in from the boisterous laugh that erupted from his throat. Tauras finished his beer, deciding now was a good time to leave, not fancying another run-in with the Prussian gendarme, drunk or sober. He pushed his way back through the crowd, unaware of the pale set of eyes following him.
A few flurries drifted lazily down, swirling about on the light breeze from the river. A thin blanket of snow crunched under Tauras' feet as he made his way back to his house.
The tolling of church bells broke through the quiet of the evening. It was six o'clock. Still early. Tauras paused at the street corner, thinking. Then he turned and headed up to the high street.
The church stood just north of the river, bordering the market square, its dark spire piercing the skies above the dilapidated houses that marked this quarter of Tilsit. It was Lutheran, and Tauras, having been raised Catholic, felt more than a little out of place as he approached. Not counting the seminary, the last time he had been in a church was when his father had dragged him to the village parish in Batakiai. A leaden weight settled in Tauras' gut at the thought. Every Sunday his family would take the trip down from their estate and into the village to attend mass. He had received four of the seven sacraments there. Baptism, Eucharist, Confirmation. And Penance. But that day he had gone alone with his father, the carriage thick with tension as it trundled along, the grinding of the wheels along the rutted track deafening amid the silence within. His father had taken him by the arm, pulling him into the church, and made him kneel in prayer to ask for forgiveness, for absolution from his trespasses.
For hours his father made him pray.
Then it was time for penance.
Tauras' knees ached as he stood and limped his way over to the confessional. He focused on the pain, his heart too numb to feel anything else. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
Though how could loving someone be a sin, even if that person was another man? Tauras asked God countless times that day. He never received an answer.
That was the day he had lost his faith.
And now here he was, crawling back to some semblance of it. Tauras pushed open the door. The church was quiet, empty. The only light was that of a few long, thin candles on a round metal stand. Tauras approached, wondering if these were like the votive candles he would sometimes light after mass. There was a box on a small shelf beside the bracket. In it were more candles. Tauras took one out, touching its wick to one of the lighted ones, and set his candle in a holder. There was nowhere to kneel, so he took a seat in a nearby pew, watching his flame flicker and dance.
The ritual seemed just as futile as reading tea leaves. But maybe that was not the point. It was not the action itself but something far more intangible. What it represents matters, Eduard had said. And perhaps that held true here as well.
Thinking of his cousin again, Tauras leaned forward, head bowed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. And prayed:
Dear Lord, please keep him safe.
.
.
.
A/N First I just wanna say a tremendous Thank You to everyone who has supported this little story! You guys have blown me away—I honestly did not expect this to get picked up so fast. You all are the best!
So I did edit some little things in the first chapter — I had been using the Russian name for the river in Tilsit (present-day Sovetsk In Kaliningrad Oblast) instead of the German one, so I went back and changed it. Sorry for any confusion.
The Tauragė customs house (known today as Tauragė Castle) — the building Tauras is taken to by the Russian soldiers. It housed a border prison where contraband smugglers and border trespassers (and later, book smugglers) were temporarily kept.
Border crossing in the 19th century — in general, waaaaaay more relaxed than it is today. In my research, I found a political cartoon of Germans and French guards at a border sign, joking and trading cigarettes while people walked across the border in the background. Imperial Russia did have a passport system introduced in 1719. An internal passport was used by citizens traveling within the Empire but outside of their registered place of residence. It's likely, given that Lithuania was a part of the Russian Empire at this time, Tauras would have needed a passport to cross the border, but I really couldn't find any detailed information on passport use in the 19th century—there was plenty of stuff talking about passports and identity documents during the Soviet era, tho.
Kara katorga — a set of prisons located along the Kara River in the Transbaikalia region of Russia. Katorga was a system of penal labor. The inmates in Kara were used to mine gold. Many of them were criminal convicts, but following the Polish-Lithuanian uprisings in 1830-31 and 1863-64, many of the captured insurgents were sent here as well as a number of Russian revolutionaries.
Forty lashes minus one — a punishment listed in the Old Testament Book of Deuteronomy. According to ancient belief, a man could not endure forty lashes and live. According to the New Testament Book of Corinthians, the apostle Paul received "the forty lashes minus one" five separate times.
Catholicism vs. Lutheranism — Lutheranism is one of the largest, and oldest, branches of Protestantism, identifying with the teachings of Martin Luther who sought to reform theology and the practice of the church. Structurally, both the Catholic mass and the Lutheran service are very similar (full disclosure: I was raised Catholic, survived 8 years of Catholic school, and have been to both Catholic and Lutheran services) but their belief systems are very different. For example, in the Catholic faith, the Pope is the final word when it comes to religious authority, whereas in Lutheranism the Bible is the final word. Catholicism also has seven sacraments whereas Lutheranism only has two, baptism and communion.
I'm probably gonna post some links and photos to my Tumblr tagged as #the book smuggler that I've used for research for this story. Username is the same as here: lithugraph