Romanov(38)

I missed the last half of Papa’s prayer as the wink replayed in my mind—like some sort of naughty reminder that my heart had dared to flutter when met by those long-lashed soldier eyes. I hadn’t even looked in them long enough to know their color, though I was sure if I asked Maria she would be able to tell me. She paid attention to those things.

When she and I finally climbed onto our cots that night and the lights went out, I rolled to face her, about to ask if she knew the color of Zash’s eyes. But she spoke first.

“I want to tell Ivan.”

I gaped. “What?” To ensure I understood, I asked, “Tell him what?”

“About the rescue. I want him to come with us.”

I reached for her hand. “Oh, Maria, you can’t. Not yet. Not now. Wait until we’ve heard back from the White Army officer. Wait until a plan is more permanently in motion.”

“Why should I wait?”

“Because to reveal such a risky endeavor so early puts us in danger.”

“Like when you almost got shot?” she retorted.

The pain in that memory erased Zash’s wink. “Yes. Exactly like that.”

“Ivan is a good man. He will not harm me. He won’t tell anyone.”

“I can see that he is kind and gentle with you, but for the safety of our family—and you know Papa would agree—wait a little longer.” She was silent for a long time. “Maria . . . I do not oppose your attraction to him. I want you to be happy.”

“Do you?” She sounded teary. “You scolded Ivan the other day. Scolded him!”

I reached across the small gap of our cots and cupped both hands around her fist. “Oh, sweet Sister, I want you to be happy, but you must be careful in your interactions here. Don’t you see that? You’re endangering all of us. You’re endangering Ivan. He is endangering you! For now, you must quiet your feelings.” I lowered my voice to a bare breath. “Wait until the White Army rescues us. I’m sure Ivan will join us if this plan works.”

“But what if they kill him first?” she whimpered. “What if the White Army arrives and they don’t know he is gentle and kind and caring? What if they shoot him in the head and . . . and . . .” She started to sob.

Only then did I realize how deeply involved she and Ivan were. I’d seen her flirt before. I’d seen her wail over boys, but not like this. And I was sure our imprisonment and torment made every act of kindness feel that much more longed for.

I squeezed her fists. “We must trust that Iisus will protect us. Like Papa read tonight.” I said it mostly for my benefit as well as hers. But my own traitorous heart started thumping its concern about Zash. What if he got injured—or even killed—during our rescue?

“Does Iisus protect Bolshevik soldiers?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Ivan is not a Bolshevik. You said so yourself. He is a soldier.” He was here because of her. But if I told Maria that now, there’d be no stopping her from risking all our lives through her love for him.

He was not a Bolshevik. He was a boy in love. No Bolshevik would tell a lice-ridden former princess that she was beautiful.

No Bolshevik would risk his reputation with his commandant to push that girl on a swing.

And no Bolshevik would steady her on her feet, hold her close . . . and wink at her.

My heart flipped again. I tugged my hands away from Maria, feeling like a dreadful hypocrite.





13



June 26



“S dnem rozhdeniya!” Everyone encircled Maria’s bed and shouted the birthday greeting as loud as we could. Her eyes popped open and a smile quickly followed.

We cheered and danced around her bed. Well, all except Mamma. She sat in her wheelchair, trying to smile. Papa held Alexei and we shouted, “Huzzah!” so loud that the soldiers in the basement likely heard us.

Maria squealed and pulled the blanket over her head. Tatiana and I jumped forward to tickle her. None of us had any gifts, so we did what we could to pamper her. Mamma braided lace pieces together as a new ribbon for her head. Both Alexei and I gave her our servings of cocoa. Even Joy seemed to understand Maria deserved extra licks, rubs, and pouncing today.

Around noon, I snuck into our small kitchen to see what items we had in stock. I found nothing but a small bag of lentils and some broth. Nothing that could make a cake or even a sweet blini for her birthday. The basket from the sisters had not yet been brought up. When it did arrive, I’d be digging for far more than eggs and sugar. Was it too soon for the White Army officer to reply?

“What do you want to do today?” Papa asked Maria when I reentered the room. “More card games? I can read any book you like.”

“Will you tell me how you and Mamma met?” Maria settled on the floor nearest the window, but her gaze flickered toward the main door. I didn’t know which guards were on duty today, but she was likely thinking about Ivan. And romance.

I sat next to her, wanting to hear the story. Trying—and failing—not to think about Zash. Papa’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, so you request a fairy tale!” He scratched Joy’s furry head. “How can I resist?”

Even Mamma cracked a smile as her eyes took on a reminiscent shine.

“I was sixteen and first saw your mamma at the wedding of her sister. It was the way you always hope to meet your love—at a ball where I could ask for her hand dance after dance after dance.”