Oh, Papa, I thought as I turned away. I took several steps toward the dining room, then stopped. I hated these days of rumor and innuendo, spy-mongering, war and death. How would it all end: in victory, defeat, or, as so many were whispering, revolution? I stood there shaking. One day the war would be over, but then what for me? Marriage-to whom? Children-how many? And what of Sasha? Would I ever see him again? Would I ever understand his secrets?
Suddenly I felt the arms of a woman, soft and gentle, encircling me.
“Why, child, what’s the matter?” asked Dunya. “You’re crying.”
I spun around and clung to Dunya, burying my face in her deep, soft chest. If only I could have told her about Sasha.
“I’m afraid,” I sobbed. “I’m afraid for us all.”
“Shh, child,” she said, kissing my forehead. “These are such difficult times, such dark days.”
“But-” What, I wondered, did she know of broken hearts?
“Don’t worry. Everything will get back to normal once the war is over. Right now, everything’s just a little crazy and there are so many problems-there’s not enough food, and this winter has been so horribly cold! Once God has granted us victory over the Germans, all will be well, you’ll see. Trust me, you have many wonderful days and years ahead.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Why, just the other day your father confided that he’d had a vision of you-he said you would live a long and healthy life, and you would give him grandchildren, and you would accomplish many interesting things. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Really?” I replied, wondering if that meant I would marry for love and one day publish a book of poetry.
“Yes. He even said you would travel and live abroad.”
“Live abroad? In another country?” I said with a bitter laugh as I wiped my eyes. “That’s impossible. I don’t ever want to leave Russia.”
Dunya took me and held me and hugged me as warmly as the large oven that heated the core of our village home. But then out of nowhere our doorbell rang, making us jump apart.
“Gospodi!” gasped Dunya. “I told the security agents your father would receive no one today-and not to let anyone even into the building. Evidently, it must be something important.”
There might be agents posted in and around the building for our security, but no one ever passed through our door without Dunya’s permission, and today was to be no exception. Wiping her hands on a towel, she smoothed back some loose hair and headed straight to the front hall.
Who could it be? Who had got by the agents stationed in the lobby, let alone those posted on the stairs? As soon as I thought that, it struck me: Were the agents even here? What if they had abandoned their posts, just as they had done last night? Bozhe moi, I hadn’t told Dunya that we’d been left unguarded. If the agents were gone again, who could that be outside our door, one of father’s ordinary petitioners, some important personage-or assassins sent by my father’s grand ducal enemies?
Wasting no time, I charged after Dunya, out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and down the hall. I feared a squadron of muscular men in black leather jackets, who, brandishing guns and brass knuckle-dusters, would tear through the rooms, gun down Papa, and beat him into a bloody pulp.
“Dunya, wait!” I shouted. “Don’t open the-”
But it was too late. Dunya was already pulling open the heavy door. Standing there was neither a small herd of men nor a grand duke or prince, or even a prime minister, but a lone woman, perhaps in her late twenties. As I studied her plain black cape flowing from her shoulders and noted her hands buried deep in the folds of a tired muff, my panic subsided only slightly. After all, if a small woman whose nose had been eaten away by syphilis could nearly kill my father with one lunge of a knife, what damage could an attractive healthy-looking woman like this one do?
“What is it you wish?” asked Dunya of our visitor.
“Please, I’m seeking Father Grigori,” said the seemingly gentle woman, her eyes misty with tears. “My name is Olga Petrovna Sablinskaya, and I am in terrible need of help.”
“I’m sorry, my child, but you should not have been admitted into the building. Father Grigori is receiving no one today.”
“He must see me! Please, I beg you!” she exclaimed, pulling one hand from her muff and wiping her eyes. “I need Father Grigori’s aid on behalf of my husband, who is an ensign. He was gravely wounded and now lies in Princess Kleinmichel’s hospital. Tomorrow, however, they’ll move him out of the city to a terrible sanatorium, and I fear for his life. Can’t Father Grigori do something for a young man who has taken a bullet for the sake of the Motherland?”
Dunya started to press shut the door. “I’m sorry, my dear, but you will have to come back tomorrow. Father Grigori is totally spent and assisting no one.”
“You don’t understand, you-”
From the back of the apartment came my father’s voice, sleepy but booming. “Dunya, who calls on us? If it’s a woman visitor and she’s pretty, by all means let her in!”
Dunya studied the young woman, who was actually quite attractive, her skin pale and pure, her face sweet with a small mouth and nice blue eyes. And our housekeeper, who never could disobey my father, knew she had no choice.
“God has heard your plea…and so will Father Grigori,” Dunya said, swinging open the door. “Please, come in.”
“Slava bogu,” said Olga Petrovna. “I’m so afraid that my husband will die if they move him, and-”
“Please, child, save your words for Father Grigori’s ears. I myself can do nothing.”
This stranger seemed genuine. Hospitals had been set up in palace ballrooms all across town, and her husband could very well be lying in one of them. But as she stepped across our threshold and into our home, I flushed with fear. Did she have a gun hidden in her clothing, perhaps a little pistol cradled in her muff?
From down the hall, I ordered, “Dunya, take her cape and her muff at once!”
Surprised by my imperious command, Dunya turned and glared at me. Nevertheless, she complied, taking the woman’s worn garments in hand. But there was nothing strange, no hidden dagger or gun. Relieved that at least this woman carried no weapons, I turned and hurried back down the hall, skirting the salon and hurrying around to Papa’s study. I still didn’t understand how she had gotten into the building, let alone all the way up. Why hadn’t the security agents stopped her? Had she somehow bribed her way, either with a fistful of rubles or an open dress?
Afraid that there was only one explanation, I dashed into Papa’s little study, raced past his desk, and went up to the window. Gazing down into the courtyard, I saw nothing and no one. Were the security agents simply hiding in the shadows, or had they left us-Rasputin, his two daughters, and their housekeeper-to our own pathetic defenses?
Good Lord…
In Papa’s perfect world, there existed little more than love and freedom, absolute faith, spiritual study, and a world devoid of material belongings. These were the things he sought for his own life, the frame of mind he chose to inhabit, and the very utopia he so dearly sought for his followers. So how had everything become so twisted; what had he done to make so many connive against him? Worse, even though Papa knew how dangerous things had become, he was just like most Russians, accepting fate as nothing less than God’s will. But not I. Like most everyone these days, I feared the future but I refused to see myself as a lamb predestined for slaughter. Always, always, would I struggle to shape my own path, no matter the heavenly will. And, yes, in this way I differed radically from my naïve father, whose world was one of blacks and whites with no shades of gray in between.
Leaning against the chilly panes of glass, I peered out, checking every nook and corner in the courtyard. As far as I could tell there was no one. Should I ring the palace at once? Should I call the Empress herself and report our vulnerability? Yes, absolutely. I couldn’t risk the alternative. What if this seemingly innocent visitor was instead a beautiful bee with a deadly sting? True, she wasn’t carrying any noticeable weapons, but what if she had a vial of poison tucked up her sleeve? Or what if someone else sneaked into our home on this, one of the darkest days of the year?