Romanov(32)

Neither of us seemed pleased with that.

The swing was our new savior. It broke the final thread of tension between us and the soldiers we interacted with on a daily basis. Even the pacing and rifles of the patrolling Bolsheviks couldn’t keep the hope from slipping in.

We bottled every pinhole of light and sunshine as though they were spells of old—from a soldier’s smile to a new tree swing to an extra five minutes outside. I had to make a daily list in my mind so when Avdeev was particularly drunk or when the unkind Bolsheviks pillaged our food, I still had encouragement to remind me that humanity and joy existed.

Summer heat blew the storms in, bringing gusts of torment with them. The heat pulled us outside into the shade of the poplars one moment and then the gale drenched us the next. “Everyone inside,” Avdeev hollered, exiting his alcohol-ridden office.

“We don’t mind the rain!” I threw my arms wide and embraced the drenching.

I hadn’t taken in how drunk Avdeev actually was, because at my proclamation he stomped across the wet grass toward me, his face as thunderous as the clouds above. I backpedaled, but a strong hand gripped my arm from behind. “I will see her inside, sir.”

I relaxed at Zash’s presence, even though his voice was brusque. Avdeev nodded and then herded the rest of my family indoors.

I returned to the house with Zash at my side. Did Avdeev really have to cut our half hour short? Why couldn’t we be out in the rain? It did us no harm.

As we ascended back to our prison cells, the sealed windows kept in all the cigarette smoke from the soldiers taking shelter from the rain. It also trapped the vile odors of the overused lavatory, which quickly mixed with the smell of lunch coming from our small kitchen.

No wonder poor Mamma never got well. She was breathing this in every moment of every day.

Avdeev stood in the doorway of his office with narrowed eyes, ensuring our reentry. With Zash at my side I felt bolder. “Please, Commandant, let us open some windows.”

“And allow you to signal the citizens outside for help? Absolutely not.” Avdeev shoved me into our room, severing the connection between Zash and me, and shut the door.

Not even a pause. Not even a flash of empathy.

Swine.

I was so angry, I stomped right through the dining room and into Alexei’s room where I popped open the fortochka and breathed in the storm.

Wet boots from thirty soldiers and hot brows turned the house into a sealed, airless crate of stench. When Avdeev checked on us during breakfast the next morning, and it was still raining, I tried the meek approach. “Commandant? May we open a window, please? Just for a few minutes?”

He held my gaze for a long moment. “No.”

No matter how many times we asked over the next few days, Avdeev would not allow us to unseal a window. How could he stand the smell? Did not he and the soldiers feel as encased and suffocated as we did?

The rain did not abate, nor did the heat. The humid air hung like airborne grime, attaching itself to our skin and bedclothes. The five-room tomb became a breeding ground for parasites. We cleaned our linens as best we could, trying to keep the filth at bay. But the dogs started scratching first. Then Tatiana and Alexei. And then me.

My scalp itched to no end, and no matter how many times I rinsed my hair or washed my pillowcase, the itching wouldn’t stop. Finally, Mamma’s maid, Anna, stepped into the room with an armful of linens. “Head lice.”

I startled from my card game with Maria—one hand flying to my head.

“Lice have bred in this prison and I pray that the commandant feels their bites on his scalp more severely than any of you.” Anna set the linens down and faced us with a grim set to her mouth. “But since you are infested already, there is only one thing we can do.”

She held up a pair of scissors and a razor.

Maria burst into tears.

*

“You are still beautiful.” I caught Ivan’s gentle murmur on the other side of the door to the landing.

I’d come to ring the bell that would summon a guard—him—to escort me to the lavatory. But apparently Maria was out there already . . . with him.

Maria sported the baldness best of us all. Her head shape was elegant and proportionate, but that brought her no comfort coming from me. I was her sister. Yet when her handsome Ivan asked, “Do you believe me?” Maria released a breathless whisper. “Yes, Ivan. I will always believe you.”

Always. She would always believe him. She had let her heart go. If Avdeev saw them . . .

I rang the bell with a clang and burst onto the landing. Maria and Ivan jumped, but I saw how close they’d been standing. Inches apart. Barely.

I hauled Maria back into our room and shoved a pack of cards into her hand. “Shuffle these.”

“I don’t want to play bezi—”

I stalked back onto the landing, shut the door behind us, and went toe to toe with Ivan. “My sister is beautiful and you are handsome, but if you dare to touch her then you risk all our necks. I like you, Ivan. But I don’t want to see you shot. Even more so, I don’t want to see my sister shot because she kissed a guard.”

Ivan’s Adam’s apple bobbed severely and he had the honor to look ashamed. It gave me no pleasure to scold him—but better him than Maria. Maria wouldn’t listen to me. I liked seeing her happy. But not if it meant she would die.

I stepped away and only then spotted Zash at the top of the stairs. How much had he heard? He stared at Ivan and I thought about the words that had spilled from my lips—what if I’d endangered Ivan? Maria? What if my rash actions resulted in the danger I so desperately sought to avoid?