She ducked into an alley to remove her brooch, then buttoned Dima’s jacket again. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see her ripped blouse or, worse, the torn chemise underneath. She kept the brooch inside her hand and kept her hand in the jacket pocket.
A man with a variety of watches and jewelry occupied a stall a block away. None of the items seemed new, nor of as high a quality as her piece.
“Excuse me, sir. Do you also buy secondhand items?”
“Sometimes.”
“How much would you give me for this?” Nadia showed him the brooch.
The man took it, examined it from multiple angles, and weighed it in his hands. “Sixty kopecks.”
Sixty kopecks? The brooch was worth rubles, not kopecks. She wasn’t going to be cheated out of her brooch the way she’d been cheated out of two cigarettes. She wanted—needed—its full value. She held out her hand. “I think I’ll look for a better offer.”
The man ran his thumb over the stone. “Eighty kopecks.”
Eighty still wasn’t enough, not for a gem of that size.
“This is real gold and a real aquamarine.”
“One ruble. That’s my final offer. Who would I find to buy something like this? It would never sell for its full value.”
Nadia reached for it. The man returned it with a hint of regret in his pursed lips. There had to be other merchants she could try. Or she could solicit a well-to-do woman directly. Would they think her a thief in her current clothing? That couldn’t be helped. She needed money, and she needed it soon, before the Bolsheviks found her.
“Excuse me, miss?”
Nadia turned.
A tall man in a wool frock coat and a fur ushanka stood nearby. “I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m in need of a gift for my wife, and nothing I’ve seen will do. Perhaps we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement about the brooch you’re hawking?”
Finally, something was working in her favor. “This would be a lovely gift for your wife.” Nadia held out the brooch and allowed the man to examine it.
“Would you accept twenty rubles for it?”
“Yes.” Her mother no doubt spent more than twenty rubles on it, but it wasn’t new, so the price seemed fair. Twenty rubles ought to get her to the Black Sea.
The man dug in his pocket with one hand.
Someone yanked on Nadia’s left sleeve. She turned to see a small boy with sandy blond hair peeping from his knitted cap.
“Yes?” she said.
“Do you have any change, miss? I’m lost, and I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
The poor boy. His clothing was worn, and she doubted it kept out the winter chill. She was hungry and cold herself, so she understood. “Here. You can trade these.” She handed him the rest of Dima’s cigarettes. It wasn’t much, but a wise trade could fill his belly. A boy like that was probably better at bargaining than she was and would undoubtedly get more than one small roll.
“Thank you, miss.” The boy smiled, revealing crooked teeth, and then rushed off.
Nadia turned back to the man needing a gift for his wife. But he wasn’t there. The man—and her brooch—were gone.
Chapter Five
Nadia searched for the man, rushing through the market and exploring every alley. She looked for the boy, too, as suspicion that he had been part of the theft grew. She’d wanted so badly for someone to step in and offer her a way forward, some type of escape. That desire had blinded her common sense, and she’d fallen for their con.
Now she had no brooch, no cigarettes, and no money.
She walked along a street lined with wooden homes, almost ready to give up the search. Even if she found the man, she was unlikely to get her brooch back unless someone of authority was with her, and she didn’t dare approach anyone like that for fear they worked with the Cheka.
Her steps halted. Not five houses down were two of the men who had shot her parents. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she spun around, gasping as grief and fear tightened her chest. She was walking too fast; she’d attract their attention. But if she didn’t run, they might catch her.
She had to be sensible. Long strides, steady pace. Like someone rushing to get out of the cold. She’d escaped the night before; she could do it again. They weren’t looking for someone in a groom’s well-worn jacket, nor someone with such untidy hair. It had been dark in the courtyard. She doubted they’d remember if her skirt was black or gray or navy.
She prayed for divine aid. Prayers hadn’t helped her the day before, but she was desperate, and Mama said God was always there, even when it was too dark to see Him. Nadia turned one corner, then another. When she looked back, she didn’t recognize anyone. She kept up her pace for another block, and before her lay the train depot.
Swarms of soldiers moved about. Civilians too, but they were the minority. A group of armed men marched past. Those ribbons on their caps—they were part of the Czechoslovak Legion.
The women in the bakery had said the Czechs and Slovaks were withdrawing. If Nadia could somehow get a ride with them . . .
It was so strange to be a beggar. No money, no family. She was completely dependent on the generosity of others, and so far that day, she’d seen little kindness. But the soldiers she’d met when she’d fallen off Konstantin had been decent men. Probably low-born, ill-educated, and poor, but willing to help. Would they offer help again? Passage out of the Ukraine was a significantly larger favor than help back onto a horse.
She pushed into the crowd. Even if she couldn’t find help, it would be hard for the Bolsheviks to see her among the commotion of the train depot. The Czechs and Slovaks had discipline, making the tumult orderly. They reminded her of a guards unit, but elite Russian units like that had all but disappeared, destroyed by a war, a pair of revolutions, and a series of mass desertions.
Luck was with her—Dalek Pokorný stood before a short, powerfully built man with dark eyes and dark hair. Dalek nodded and then marched off. He hadn’t saluted, but something about the motion suggested he was following orders. She peered more closely at the man with the dark features: strong jaw, upright bearing, and a no-nonsense appearance. A typical gymnastyorka-style tunic with a Sam Browne belt. Polished boots. An officer, unless the silver chevrons on his sleeve were lying.
She ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it so she’d be more presentable. The officer called to another man, who came to him, listened, nodded, and also walked off. Then another man spoke with him.
Nadia glanced around, scanning faces, hoping she wouldn’t see the Cheka agents. While in Piryatin, she would live in terror. She needed to get out. She waited while the officer spoke with yet another man, then she stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir.”
“Yes?” His dark eyes turned on her.
“How might one secure passage with your army to Russia? I’m anxious to leave, and though my skills are modest, I am willing to do whatever is asked.” That wasn’t entirely true. There were some things she wouldn’t do, but she was desperate enough to offer menial labor. And she had useful abilities. “I’m a trained nurse.” As a volunteer, she’d received a shortened course of instruction, but she’d proven herself valuable in a Petrograd hospital for wounded officers.
The man looked past her, annoyance on his face. “I have an entire army to evacuate, part of which is still engaged with the enemy, and I have very few trains with which to do it. I also have a very large, very formidable German Army bearing down on me. I barely have space for members of the Czechoslovak Legion and their families. I don’t have room for anyone else.”
“But you don’t understand. The Bolsheviks killed my parents. They almost killed me. They will if they catch me. And I’ve done nothing wrong.” Nadia hated to beg, but more than that, she dreaded falling into the Cheka’s hands again. “Please.”