Romanov(16)

All night, Mamma stayed awake and held his hand.

All night, I cried.

I knew Iisus’ heart heard me. And I was certain the fervency of my tear-prayers would surely break it.





5



May 24



Everyone woke at sunrise—not because we were rested and certainly not from the sun shining, for it couldn’t penetrate the whitewash. We woke because we were together again. It was better than any birthday or Easter morning. We also knew that rhythm was a fierce weapon against despair.

Alexei stayed in bed, his knee already swollen to twice its size. Dr. Botkin bent over him with his tiny satchel of medicines. They wouldn’t be enough. He needed healing spells. But Alexei’s joy at being with Mamma and Papa again provided a small balm for his suffering.

This morning my mind was no longer in despair. Instead, my thoughts lingered on the bruise against my sternum. The press of a figure-eight piece of wood I’d kept on my person since Tobolsk.

I hurried into the main room where Papa sat in a chair beside a large potted palm, reading a newspaper. “Dobroye utra, Papa.” Oh, how nice it was to say that again.

He flopped a corner of the paper down. “Good morning, Nastya.” I kissed his cheek and then took a breath to speak, but Papa spoke first. Swiftly. “You should spend the day with Maria. She has missed you dreadfully.”

I closed my mouth, reading his dismissal. His warning. Then I noticed the doors to the landing—and to Commandant Avdeev’s office—were propped open. I picked up the hint and joined in so no pauses in conversation would implicate me. “Of course! I’ve missed her, too.”

If I singled out Papa on the first day, that would rouse suspicion. Papa had been here for a month, which meant he had spent that time reading the soldiers and the commandant. He would let me know when it was safe to speak with him alone. I was much more used to the long corridors and private spaces in Tobolsk.

I needed to forget everything I knew. Everything I’d been accustomed to.

This was different. This was exile.

But the doll burned against my skin. I wanted to know when to use it. What it meant. What it contained. I wanted answers. Knowledge. But Papa asked for my patience without speaking a word. So I spent the day with Maria.

We breakfasted in the dining room, easily the nicest room in our quarters with enormous oak doors opening to a parquet floor and a room filled with dark, heavy furniture upholstered in leather. Maria practically pasted herself to my side. When I’d been stuck in Tobolsk, at least I had the companionship of my siblings. But poor Maria had no friends with her when she came to Ekaterinburg.

We were allowed outside after lunch, and we practically fled the house into the fresh air. Considering we had grown up more outdoors than indoors—boating, foraging, gardening—the Ipatiev House felt like a stifling box. And this was only the first day.

“I don’t know how I shall bear being in that house,” I confided to Maria.

She hooked her arm around mine and we took in the measly garden. It was barely a patch of grass with a few trees. Ninety paces long at most. I tried to be thankful and resisted comparing it to the governor’s house in Tobolsk—which had still paled to the rolling grounds of the Alexander Palace. It had been so long since I’d been at the palace that the idea touched my memory like a different lifetime.

“They painted the windows only a week ago.” Maria set a brisk pace and I matched it. I didn’t know how long the commandant would allow us to remain outside, so we needed to get our exercise in while we could.

“Why?”

“Our arrival was supposed to be a secret, but when we got here there were riots at the station. We had to bypass it and then come to the house via a long road route. Only a couple weeks ago, our presence was announced in the Ural’skiy Rabochiy paper. After that, they painted the windows and increased the guards. I think maybe they’re afraid we’ll signal for help.”

The dogs ran in circles—Tatiana sat on the grass tossing a ball to her two pups. But Alexei’s sweet spaniel would have none of it. Joy sat by the door, wagging her tail in the sunshine and longing for her master.

“Poor Alexei,” Maria murmured as we passed Joy. “If only we could bring sunshine back in to him.”

“As if the guards would allow it. They seem stiffer than their own vodka bottles.” Three Bolsheviks stood out in the garden, watching us. One in particular seemed to follow Maria’s and my path with his gaze. I resisted the urge to check and make sure the Matryoshka doll was secure.

“Not all of them.” A glimmer of sunlight entered Maria’s tone. “They have not been as receptive as the soldiers in Tobolsk, but they are still good men. Papa says they are only trying to serve their country. The problem is, their country has branded us as enemies. That’s not our fault. That’s not the Bolshevik soldiers’ fault.”

I knew what Papa said. But Maria seemed particularly passionate. And when her eyes met those of the guard who watched us so closely, I knew why. Maria had been here a full month. And that soldier had a kind face. She’d found a friend in the only place she could.

Zash entered the garden wearing a freshly washed uniform and a rigid spine. He caught my gaze, but then he spotted the friendly Bolshevik. Zash’s face broke into a wild grin and he spread his arms wide. “Ivan!”