CHAPTER XIV

LITTLE CLAVA

THE short spring-tide was almost spent when news came. The men were all sentenced to exile in Eastern Siberia for various periods; Alexis, whose term was the longest, for ten years. As usual, the wives who chose to go into exile with their husbands might do so, and take their children. Not one of the women, warned by Paraska's experience, chose to remain behind. There were only a few days for disposing of all their possessions, and they were forced to sell their goods for what their neighbours would give. Yarina, the richest woman in Knishi, bought a good deal of the stock; and it was noticed that the sellers looked satisfied and grateful, whilst Okhrim went about swearing at his daughter-in-law. Father Cyril seemed much pleased, and very friendly with her.

"You are not fifteen yet?" Father Cyril inquired of Michael.

The boy was so manly in his bearing and so well-grown it was difficult to believe him still under the age at which he could be entered in the convoy-list as a child.

"I shall be fifteen next Michaelmas," he replied.

"A good thing!" said Father Cyril. "But you will have to go as a child, my boy."

"I'd go as a baby," he answered, laughing, "rather than not go with my father. But there is Velia," he said, his face growing grave and anxious.

"She cannot go," said Father Cyril; "the children already separated from their parents are not to be restored to them. And it is best! Think of such a journey, month after month, through the bitter winter and the scorching summer, for little children. My heart aches whenever I think of it."

"But our poor little Velia!" exclaimed Michael, suddenly realising what his departure would be to her. How would the tender-hearted little soul bear the separation? He recollected her cry, "Never go away again, brother! Never leave little Velia again!"

"Michael," said Father Cyril, "trust me. Velia and little Clava shall be as my own children. They must observe the rites of our Church, but I will teach them the truths that lie underneath the symbols. Do not be afraid. They shall not cross themselves except when they do so in remembrance of our crucified Lord. They shall not pray to the icons, but to the saints whom the icons recall to our minds. I will take care no superstition is mixed up with their religion."

"But we pray straight to God," objected Michael, "neither to the icons nor the saints. Our Lord said, 'When ye pray, say, Our Father which art in heaven.' He did not speak of saints."

"They shall say the Lord's Prayer night and morning," answered Father Cyril gently; "my boy, you have no voice in this matter. Only trust in me. As far as mortal man can guide them into truth, I will do so. Trust Velia to God also. He loves her more than you can."

Tatiania, like the other women, had sold her few possessions, and made all the necessary preparations for joining her husband at Kovylsk with her children. But when she heard that little Clava would not be given back to her, she declared she would not stir without her. There were other almost broken-hearted mothers, who were leaving their little ones behind in far less happy circumstances than little Clava. But their remonstrances and entreaties were in vain. Tatiania sat down in her empty house, and refused to listen to anyone.

"She is going mad," said Sergius to Michael.

Michael, like the rest, had sold the cattle and sheep, and the store of grain left from last year's harvest, for a small sum indeed. But he was rich in comparison with the others, though he had given half the money to Paraska, who must now leave Knishi. She would be homeless and friendless, hardly able to earn a living, as no Stundist could be taken as a servant into an Orthodox family.

"Your mother is going mad!" she said to Sergius. "Tell her to think of me! I had the chance of going with Demyan, and I gave it up to stay with my children. They were torn away from me, my two little boys, and I never set eyes on them again, and never knew what became of them. That's enough to make a mother mad! But she knows good Father Cyril has adopted little Clava. I'll go and reason with her," she added, running off to Tatiania's house.

The poor mother was sitting on the side of the bed which was no longer her own, rocking herself to and fro.

"They were all born here," she cried; "and two of them died here before my little Clava was born. She is the dearest of them all! I'd rather see her lying dead here than leave her behind, and never know what was happening to her. She'd fret so after her mother if she didn't see me at mass in the church. No, I cannot go! I will not go without her."

"But you have sold all your goods," urged Paraska; "you have nothing left but a few roubles. After to-morrow, you'll not have even this roof over your head. Think of your husband! If you won't go, of course Serge and Marfa cannot go. Because it is you who choose whether you'll go or stay. They only count as children. You'll all be beggars together."

"Serge and Marfa are big and strong; they can work," said Tatiania.

"And who can they work for?" asked Paraska. "They mustn't work for the Orthodox folks, and there 'll not be a Stundist left in all Knishi. There's Vania has to leave three children."

"I'll never leave little Clava," interrupted Tatiania.

Paraska went back to Ostron, where Sergius was awaiting her return. Oh, how mournful the old familiar place looked, now the barns and the stables were empty! There was only the old mare left; and the telega, already holding her luggage and the small bundle of clothes which Michael was taking for his long journey to Siberia. There was no pleasant cackle of poultry in the deserted fold-yard, no bleating of young lambs and calves, as was usual at this time of the year. The broken-hearted woman all at once realised how peaceful had been her days of sorrow, protected and comforted by Alexis and Catherine Ivanoff. She was losing a second home and a second family.

"Paraska!" shouted Michael, as she lingered at the gate.

She hastened on to the desolate house, already stripped of furniture, and the two boys asked her eagerly what Tatiania said.

"She will go mad to-night, if she is not mad now this moment," answered Paraska. "She won't go; and of course nobody can make her. She is not a prisoner."

"But what can we do?" cried Sergius.

It was a cruel dilemma. He and Marfa could not accompany their father into exile if their mother persisted in her refusal. Now all their possessions were sold, the small sum realised by the sale would barely keep them through the summer. Unless they became Orthodox, they could not maintain themselves by labour; and both of them were old enough to know and understand the religion for which their father had suffered a long imprisonment, and was about to encounter exile. They could not renounce their faith, though the most miserable poverty, if not starvation, awaited them in the near future.

But the inmost heart of their distress was the thought of their father going alone, forsaken by his own wife and children, to his distant place of exile. He had never beaten them, as most other fathers did, had never even spoken an unkind word to them. Their mother had been fretful, and unreasonably angry at times, especially with Marfa, but their father never.

Then they would lose Michael; and what would Knishi be without him? He would go with his father, march by his side, share his lot all through the long journey by rail and river and on foot, till they reached their place of exile; and there he would make a new home in that far-off country. Sergius had looked forward to this fresh experience with profound interest. He had only once been out of Knishi, and that was when Michael and he had driven in the sledge to Kovylsk. He was longing to travel. He did not care how or where, but a passion for roving had taken possession of him.

"Let us go and tell Father Cyril," said Michael.

Never had Father Cyril been so unhappy as since the order had come to Knishi for a clean sweeping out of heresy from his parish. He could not bring himself to acquiesce in the stern decree; though rather than leave the victims of it to the cruel measures of the Starosta Okhrim, he had carried the tidings to the unfortunate women whose husbands had been in prison all the winter. Heartrending scenes he had witnessed, and harrowing petitions he had listened to, but he could do nothing. Those few days aged him by years.

"I cannot bear it!" he sometimes cried when he was alone.

But still he went about, comforting the sorrowful women, and as far as possible seeing that no very great injustice was done to them. It was through him that Yarina bought at fair prices many of the cattle. He had done all he could to soften the severity of the sentence.

"I will go and see Tatiania," he said to Michael.

But his persuasions were useless.

"Will you give me my child?" she asked.

"I cannot," he replied sorrowfully; "it is against the order. But she shall be as one of my own. My poor woman, you must submit to the will of God."

"It's not God's will I should be robbed of my child," she replied; "if He had been pleased to take her to Himself, I would say, 'Thy will be done!' They are cruel men who have torn her from my arms; and I'll stay here and die rather than forsake her."

"Think of your husband and Marfa and Sergius," said Father Cyril.

"I love her better than all the world," cried Tatiania passionately—"better than our Lord Himself. God forgive me!" she added, frightened at the sound of the words she had uttered.

Marfa shuddered, and Sergius stood aghast.

Father Cyril spoke softly, with tears in his eyes.

"Amen! God forgive you, poor mother!" he said. "She does not know what she is saying."

He went homewards, pondering in his heart the strange and terrible problem of how Christians could persecute their fellow-Christians. How was it possible they could think they were doing God service? To-morrow nine homesteads would be left desolate, and the hapless women and children would start on a journey of which many would never reach the end. And this was done in the name of the Lord, whom both oppressor and oppressed worshipped.