A New Wrinkle (Bezukonsky)

Returning Home

Prince Andrey Bolkonsky had been away from home for a long time. He felt more at ease when abroad than he did when facing his father and his sister. He liked the feeling of having something to focus on, something to put all of his energy into, so he never stayed home long. Today, however, he had nothing of the sort, and he had to return back to his father's estate.
Andrey did have an estate of his own, with his own grand house and servicemen, but he couldn't stand to live in that dull place alone anymore, so he had moved himself and his son back to his father's. Old Prince Nikolay Bolkonsky was ailing and aging, and was expected to keel over any day now. He was taken care of by Princess Marya, a shy, timid, polite woman, getting on in her years and who had lost all hope of marriage. The two were a tragic pair, a decaying old man who spits poison and his gentle daughter who absorbs it.
Prince Andrey's carriage rolled to a stop at the steps of the mansion. Tikhon, Nikolay's trusted advisor, met Andrey at the top. The coachman dismounted the carriage and started unloading Andrey's luggage for a servant to take in.
"Welcome home, Prince Andrey Nikolaevich. Your sister and son are in the drawing room, awaiting your arrival," Tikhon said, his voice low and resonant. "Was your journey well?"
"Yes, thank you, Tikhon. I had much on my mind." Andrey had had a lot on his mind, with the loss of his wife, the infidelity of his fiancee, and the man he dreamed of ruining but reconciled with instead. These thoughts occupied his mind most of the way here from Austerlitz, where he had been stationed for some time when he was in the army. Andrey shook Tikhon's hand and started up the stairs, not caring to ask about his father. He knew he would see him eventually.
The big doors of the house opened with a loud creak. The cold Russian air blew into the empty entranceway, making it seem even emptier than it was. The maids and servants had all but been fired by Old Prince Bolkonsky, leaving the upkeep to Tikhon and a few others kept around, on top of their existing duties. A layer of dust covered the linen furniture covers, making the chairs and tables look like oblong ghosts in the dim light. Andrey had just made a step towards the drawing room when he heard a young man's voice calling for his father.
"Papa, Papa you're home!" Nikolinka exclaimed as he walked out of the room, barely containing his stride to small steps rather than the leaping bounds he wished to greet his father with.
"Good afternoon, Nkolushka! My, how you've grown. Have you been waiting for me long?" Andrey asked his son, taller than ever, but with the same rosy cheeks, hopeful eyes, and thick, golden curls he had as a child.
"Only since we came home from church. Aunt Mary is excited to see you, she's seemed happier since your letter came, the one about coming home."
"I had hoped it would. Run along now, find your tutor. I'll come to take you somewhere special soon." Andrey waved his son off and headed into the drawing room. A slender figure stood by the window, a halo of hair braided around her head, clutching a rosary near her heart. Andrey stopped just in front of a desk by the door. "Sister, I'm home."
Princess Mary turned around, still clutching the cross dangling from her neck. She rushed over to her brother, unable to find any words to say to him. Her grief had been so great, made worse by the degeneration of her father, and the abuses he would shout at her daily. The old prince was never kind to his daughter, but his treatment of her took a turn for the worse when his health did. Mary embraced her brother, dropping the rosary to pull him in close to her. She buried her face in his shoulder, holding in her tears tighter than she was holding Andrey.
"Mary, what now? What has he said to you that you cannot even speak upon seeing me for the first time in months?" Andrey pulled away from his sister, holding her by the shoulders and craning his neck to meet her eye.
"Oh, Andrey, it's no matter. To judge him is wrong, he is old and feeble and cannot help it."
"Nonsense. The man crooked and vile, let yourself judge."
"I can't, Andrey. Only God can judge him, so I will let God do so. I will not try to take His place."
"Oh, sister. Your nobility is something to envy," Andrey touched his sister's cheek. "Where is the old man, anyway?"
"In his quarters, hopefully in his bed. He won't listen to me, only to Madame Bourienne, and Heaven knows she doesn't know what's best for him." Marya wiped away a tear emerging from her eye.
"What was that about 'only God can judge' again?" Andrey chuckled and took a step back. He looked around the room, searching for anything that had changed in his absence, but finding everything eerily the same.
    "I know," Mary crossed herself, took her rosary in her hand, and said a quick prayer under her breath. "He's waiting for you, you know. He won't admit it, but I know he's been wanting to see you. I have to warn you, Andrey, his health is even worse, and I feel he knows the end is drawing near for him."
    "I'll go to him, Mary, just give me some time to be home first. I'm sure lots has changed in the time I've been gone," Andrey promised, and Mary gave him a look that said "You know nothing has."