treasure,” she calls. “Don’t bump!”
With Mama so distracted, I march along beside the train, calling out, “Hup, hup, hup,” so Aleksei won’t hear her fussing. The train picks up speed, and I can’t keep up without hiking up my skirts and running pell-mell. No matter how worried Mama is over her precious Sunbeam, I know she’d notice that and give me an imperial scolding. I dare to jog a few sazhens beyond Aleksei’s window, then freeze at attention.
“Ten thousand kisses and a victory salute to Private Aleksei Nikolaevich!” I shout over the clank and roar as the train passes. “And Christ be with you!” I stay rooted to the spot until the caboose disappears, then sigh and trudge back to Mama’s end of the platform.
My sisters cluster around her, looking like a pack of weepy white rabbits with their pink-rimmed eyes and wobbly noses. Tatiana’s got her arm fastened around Mama’s waist like a corset. Honestly, sometimes Tatiana acts as if Mama’s no more sturdy than a flap of flowered chintz. I march right up to Mama and throw my arms around her neck, kissing both her cheeks.
“He’s so happy, Mama!”
“He is, isn’t he?” she says, smiling a little bit. “He didn’t even cry, that brave little treasure.”
“Bah! Soldiers don’t cry.”
Mama takes a great breath and squares her shoulders. “Neither do soldiers’ mothers,” she says. “Come along, my girlies.” And away we go.
Back home, we all go our separate ways. Mama settles into her lilac boudoir, and my sisters and I wander to our bedrooms. Maria mopes in an armchair with a box of chocolates and her photo album spread across her lap as if it’s been days, not minutes, since we’ve all been together. Not a sound comes from the Big Pair’s room next door. Probably sniveling onto their knitting needles. What a bunch of ninnies we are. But even I can’t pretend everything’s all right. The place feels dull and hollow as a bread crust with Aleksei and Papa both gone.
Tucking Jemmy under my arm, I wander into the playroom to kick at some of the toys we left scattered about. Nothing looks like any fun. Anyhow, if any of my sisters caught me playing with Aleksei’s toys all by myself, they’d think I was a great big baby. Instead I look once over my shoulder, then burrow into the wigwam to sulk until the heavy feeling lets go of my throat.
“You’d better be having great fun, Mr. Private Romanov,” I tell the wooden sentry posted beside the doorway to Aleksei’s bedroom, and swipe the back of my hand across my nose. Jemmy wriggles free and licks happily at my dirty hand. I kiss her nose. “Filthy little dear.” At the sound of footsteps in the corridor, I scoop Jemmy up and duck behind the flap of the wigwam. Mama’s skirts swish through the playroom, past the wooden sentry, and disappear into Aleksei’s rooms. I wait a minute, then stuff Jemmy into my sweater and crawl out. The smell of rose oil burning tells me Mama’s lit Aleksei’s icon lamps. I creep behind on all fours for my own sniff-around.
When I get to the bedroom, I find Mama on her knees in front of the six-paneled iconostasis. There’s a quiver in her voice as she prays. The clock chimes, and I realize with a little tickle in my stomach what’s happening. Mama always says Aleksei’s evening prayers with him. She’s saying his prayers as if he was still beside her. The room feels so strange, I squeeze Jemmy against me without realizing it until her little body squirms. I let her go just before she yips, but I can’t take my eyes off Mama. When she turns around, she looks as small and worried as I feel myself. As soon as she sees me she tries to paste on a smile.
“Anastasia, darling,” she says, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “I was afraid Baby would forget. All the excitement on the train.”
For the first time in my life, I wish for an instant to be Tatiana, just so I’d know what to say.
10.
OLGA NIKOLAEVNA
October
With Mama so distracted, I march along beside the train, calling out, “Hup, hup, hup,” so Aleksei won’t hear her fussing. The train picks up speed, and I can’t keep up without hiking up my skirts and running pell-mell. No matter how worried Mama is over her precious Sunbeam, I know she’d notice that and give me an imperial scolding. I dare to jog a few sazhens beyond Aleksei’s window, then freeze at attention.
“Ten thousand kisses and a victory salute to Private Aleksei Nikolaevich!” I shout over the clank and roar as the train passes. “And Christ be with you!” I stay rooted to the spot until the caboose disappears, then sigh and trudge back to Mama’s end of the platform.
My sisters cluster around her, looking like a pack of weepy white rabbits with their pink-rimmed eyes and wobbly noses. Tatiana’s got her arm fastened around Mama’s waist like a corset. Honestly, sometimes Tatiana acts as if Mama’s no more sturdy than a flap of flowered chintz. I march right up to Mama and throw my arms around her neck, kissing both her cheeks.
“He’s so happy, Mama!”
“He is, isn’t he?” she says, smiling a little bit. “He didn’t even cry, that brave little treasure.”
“Bah! Soldiers don’t cry.”
Mama takes a great breath and squares her shoulders. “Neither do soldiers’ mothers,” she says. “Come along, my girlies.” And away we go.
Back home, we all go our separate ways. Mama settles into her lilac boudoir, and my sisters and I wander to our bedrooms. Maria mopes in an armchair with a box of chocolates and her photo album spread across her lap as if it’s been days, not minutes, since we’ve all been together. Not a sound comes from the Big Pair’s room next door. Probably sniveling onto their knitting needles. What a bunch of ninnies we are. But even I can’t pretend everything’s all right. The place feels dull and hollow as a bread crust with Aleksei and Papa both gone.
Tucking Jemmy under my arm, I wander into the playroom to kick at some of the toys we left scattered about. Nothing looks like any fun. Anyhow, if any of my sisters caught me playing with Aleksei’s toys all by myself, they’d think I was a great big baby. Instead I look once over my shoulder, then burrow into the wigwam to sulk until the heavy feeling lets go of my throat.
“You’d better be having great fun, Mr. Private Romanov,” I tell the wooden sentry posted beside the doorway to Aleksei’s bedroom, and swipe the back of my hand across my nose. Jemmy wriggles free and licks happily at my dirty hand. I kiss her nose. “Filthy little dear.” At the sound of footsteps in the corridor, I scoop Jemmy up and duck behind the flap of the wigwam. Mama’s skirts swish through the playroom, past the wooden sentry, and disappear into Aleksei’s rooms. I wait a minute, then stuff Jemmy into my sweater and crawl out. The smell of rose oil burning tells me Mama’s lit Aleksei’s icon lamps. I creep behind on all fours for my own sniff-around.
When I get to the bedroom, I find Mama on her knees in front of the six-paneled iconostasis. There’s a quiver in her voice as she prays. The clock chimes, and I realize with a little tickle in my stomach what’s happening. Mama always says Aleksei’s evening prayers with him. She’s saying his prayers as if he was still beside her. The room feels so strange, I squeeze Jemmy against me without realizing it until her little body squirms. I let her go just before she yips, but I can’t take my eyes off Mama. When she turns around, she looks as small and worried as I feel myself. As soon as she sees me she tries to paste on a smile.
“Anastasia, darling,” she says, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “I was afraid Baby would forget. All the excitement on the train.”
For the first time in my life, I wish for an instant to be Tatiana, just so I’d know what to say.
10.
OLGA NIKOLAEVNA
October
Similar Books
