Romanov(44)

Yakov Yurovsky.

Yurovsky stopped in the entryway of our quarters. “Greetings, Citizens.” He seemed to speak only to me. His eyes burned through me to the Matryoshka doll tucked into my bodice. He knew. He knew because my face betrayed me. In this moment I lost my ability to shield my emotions. My guard was down. My family broken. My will crumpled by the appearance of this man.

“Greetings, Commandant.” Papa extended his hand.

Yurovsky shook it once. “How is the tsarevich’s knee?”

Papa’s eyebrows jumped at the inquiry. “Not yet well.”

Yurovsky gave a singular nod and appraised the room. “There will be an inspection and recording of your belongings as well as your quarters.” There was no question. We would comply. He was our new warden.

And with his arrival . . . everything changed.

*

We never saw Avdeev again. Yurovsky completed his inspection of our quarters and took note of our items that had been stolen by the guards. Papa commented on how thorough Yurovsky was. He seemed optimistic. I was not, especially as Yurovsky eyed me every time he crossed my path.

He knew I had the doll. And he wanted it back.

I grew edgy. During the change in command we were not allowed out in the garden and Zash was not on duty on the landing. I wanted to see him. I wanted to ensure he was okay since Ivan’s death.

As dawn rose on Yurovsky’s first full day in command, I woke to the sound of boots on the stairs. I crept from my bed, sliding my hand out of Maria’s tense grip of sleep. I tiptoed to the door of the landing and listened. The boots stopped at what sounded like Yurovsky’s office. A knock. A muffled, “Da.” The door creaked. The boots clicked. The door shut.

Then silence.

I sat by the door, listening as I once did when Maria and Ivan were flirting out on the landing. Five minutes passed, the light brightened against the whitewash, and then the door opened. The footsteps left. Just a meeting. Possibly with a guard. Yurovsky was gathering intel as the new commandant, but why so early in the morning?

I was about to push myself from the floor and return to my room to change, but then another set of boots came up the stairs. Another knock. Another whisper. Another meeting. Every five minutes this happened. Every five minutes the pattern of boots was different. Different men meeting with Yurovsky. What were they telling him? Were they loyal to us?

The day went on and at breakfast we had our daily inspection and roll call. No cocoa was served. The time for our garden outing came. And went. Perhaps Yurovsky was not yet aware of our previous schedule.

My throat ached for the fresh air. My skin wept as it imagined the sun upon it. I needed light. I needed open sky. I’d not breathed fully since before Beloborodov pulled into the drive.

A half hour later, Yurovsky entered our space. Papa stood from his chair. “Are we to go into the garden?”

“Not today.” Yurovsky consulted his pocket watch, then glanced at me. “The guards are being replaced. During this transition you are to stay in your quarters.”

My heart lurched with an awful spasm. “Which guards? Why?”

His dark eyes narrowed. “All of the guards are being replaced. I expect you know why.”

Maria sat with glassy eyes, untouched mending in her lap. Yurovsky was replacing the guards because he believed they’d been compromised. That meant they were leaving. Zash was leaving. He might already be gone.

I couldn’t swallow. No. Please don’t let him take Zash from me. I understood, to an extent, how Maria had felt when she looked at Ivan for the last time and what she must have seen. She must have known, in that moment, that she would never see him again.

Would I get a good-bye with Zash? Where were the soldiers being sent? If Yurovsky thought they were compromised, they might be sent to prison. Or even executed! We’d heard the gunshots in Ekaterinburg. Every day.

The rest of the afternoon passed in agony. Our food from the convent sisters was even more limited. Mamma’s headache worsened. I sat by our one open window—far enough away to be safe from the eyes of the guards waiting to shoot at me but close enough to watch the string of soldiers tromp away from Ekaterinburg, group by group. The clank of their packing and the scuffle of their departure reached our ears through the floor.

I watched. And watched. And watched. Watching for his midnight hair. For his straight spine. For the elegant eyes that winked at me. For his glance over his shoulder toward my window. For a good-bye. But everyone wore budenovka hats. They left in groups too large and too swift for me to sift through.

By the end of the day, when the old guards were gone and the new ones had walked in carrying a chill in their posture strong enough to freeze out the July sweat, I knew I’d missed him. Zash had slipped away. We didn’t get our good-bye. I had lost him in the madness.

I finally allowed myself to cry into my pillow. Until the sun had gone. Until my appetite had gone. Until my hope had gone.





17


“You must come eat, Nastya.” Alexei served food onto my plate and I crawled from my bed. I couldn’t drift away like Maria had. Alexei needed me. My family needed me. Zash was not central enough in my life for me to allow him to derail it.

I needed to move on. To face forward.

So we ate—rather, we picked at our food because we were all so exhausted. But we’d starve without it. The moment the last fork was set down, Yurovsky entered our space. Avdeev had never come in after supper. What did Yurovsky want? I couldn’t meet his eyes—not because of the doll, but because of Zash’s departure.