“Where are your brothers now? With the White Army? Or the Red?”
“Alexander died near Przemyśl. Nikolai died during the Brusilov Offensive.”
Lines of sympathy formed around his mouth. “So between the war and the revolution, you’ve lost your entire family?”
“Yes.” Nadia hoped he wouldn’t ask any more questions about her family because emotion already tightened her throat.
“I’m sorry.” Maybe he could tell she didn’t want to speak about Alexander and Nikolai just then, because he changed the subject. “Some of the other men and I have something for the car. We’re going to install a stove.”
A bone-gripping chill penetrated the train at nights, leaving Nadia to shiver in her coat and single blanket. She missed the warmth of her family’s homes, where servants always kept the rooms a comfortable temperature. “That sounds lovely.”
“It will probably make the center of the car hot and leave the corners freezing, but somewhere in the middle, it should be pleasant.”
Anton and another soldier appeared then, carrying a secondhand stove. Veronika walked with her husband, a smile lighting her face. Larisa laughed at something the other man said. Nadia assumed he was her husband.
Veronika stayed with Anton, and none of the other women would want Nadia around, so she watched the installation from just outside the boxcar. Filip climbed to the roof and sawed a hole for the stovepipe. It was too small, so he made it larger while Anton and the other soldier worked on the stove itself, bolting it to the floor of the boxcar and fitting the pieces of pipe together.
A stove would mean warmer nights and hot water to wash with. She could make tea—her single cooking skill—for the other women . . . if they had tea, and if she could figure out how to use the stove. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it? Just put the wood in and strike a match. It sounded so simple but so had braiding hair.
Filip stayed on top of the boxcar while Anton started a fire in the newly installed stove to make sure it worked correctly. Smoke floated gracefully from the short chimney. “Is any leaking into the car?” Filip asked.
“No.” Larisa’s husband inspected the pipes. He banged on them to make sure they would hold and nodded his satisfaction. The project was complete.
Filip climbed down with impressive agility and approached Nadia with what seemed like caution. Perhaps he was just as nervous as she was.
She gave him a smile of gratitude. “Thank you. The stove is very welcome.”
“Do you need anything else? I’m off duty at present.”
Had she been in her family’s Petrograd manor or their country estate and had Filip been a servant, she would have given him an extensive list. But he wasn’t her servant and had already rescued her from the Bolsheviks and from a marriage to Jakub Zeman. Now he’d given her warmth. She couldn’t ask him for anything more. “No. Thank you.”
Larisa slipped an arm through her husband’s. “It might be quicker to list what she doesn’t need.”
Larisa and her husband left. Nadia didn’t know if Larisa had meant the statement as an insult or if she’d been trying to help, but regardless of the intentions, Nadia’s face went hot.
Veronika stepped in with a graceful smile. “Corporal Sedlák, she has nothing. She needs a new blouse or two, underclothing, a blanket, and a thicker coat.”
Filip watched Anton and Veronika rush off together, then turned to her. She hoped he wouldn’t be upset that she’d not been more forthright. “I don’t know exactly what to buy,” he said, “so, um, can you come with me, Miss . . . Mrs. What should I call you? Mrs. Sedláková?”
That was a good question. They barely knew each other, certainly not well enough to call one another by their Christian names. But she thought of him as Filip, not as Corporal or Mr. Sedlák. And they were married. “What should I call you?”
“Filip.”
“Then you should call me Nadia.”
“Nadia, then. Will you come with me?” His lips twisted in question. His face was striking, in its way. Eyes, eyebrows, and hair, all a warm brown against fair skin.
She had no objections to shopping with Filip, but going into a crowded marketplace gave her pause. Would anyone from the Cheka be there? And would they recognize her?
“It’s just that I know next to nothing about women’s clothing. And you’re the one who will wear it.” His face showed less hope now, more embarrassment. Did he think her reluctance had something to do with him?
“Will you take your rifle?” Not that one rifle could adequately protect her from a group of Bolsheviks. And if it came to a threat, would Filip consider her worth the risk? He’d already risked his reputation, but this was different.
His lips parted, and he seemed to understand. “No one will hurt you, I promise. There’ll be other legionnaires about. I wasn’t planning to bring my rifle, but I’ll bring this.” He patted his holstered handgun. “Will that do?”
She nodded. She’d been so foolhardy at her aunt’s estate, riding off on old Konstantin all by herself. Now she was scared to go to the market with an armed escort. She had to gather her courage. It wouldn’t do to live her life in fear.
“Wait here a moment.” Filip stepped over the coupling between two boxcars and disappeared for a minute. Nadia glanced around. She had to stop being so nervous every time she was left alone, but after the executions and the attack in the stables, hostility seemed to loom everywhere.
Filip returned and held out a head scarf. “Would you feel safer with this? It would make you harder to recognize. I doubt any of those men are here, but if it makes it easier to go out . . .”
She took the scarf from him. “Thank you.” Filip Sedlák was a rare man. He understood, but he didn’t judge. She wrapped the scarf over her head and accepted Filip’s arm when he offered it.
They took a few steps, and then she stopped. “Filip, I don’t have any money.”
“I know. I’ll take care of it.”
She should say something. But how could she ever adequately thank him? Did he have a lot of money? Or would buying a blouse for her mean he couldn’t buy things he needed for himself? The silence drew on, but she couldn’t find words to fill it, not the entire walk from the trains.
Each market in Russia was different, yet they were all similar enough to feel familiar. Stalls and shacks lined a frozen road. People came to shop, but more than that, they came to talk and debate, and groups of them congregated all around the market. Someone in the crowd wore a long black coat. Nadia stiffened before realizing it was wool, not leather. Just a normal person going about his business, not a member of the Cheka.
“I don’t know that we’ll find anything new.” Filip looked around. “The longer the war drags on, the harder it is to find new things.”
“I’m not in a position to be picky.”
“It’s just that you’re probably used to nice things, and I don’t think we’ll find them here. Even if we did . . .” Filip felt something in his pocket. His money? “What do you need most?”
Her face heated, but she had to say it. “Drawers and a chemise.” Having only one pair was a considerable problem, one that would get worse with time and warmer weather. She could do without a corset and a corset cover. Another petticoat would be useful for warmth, but she had one, and that was enough. “More stockings. A blouse or two. Mine is . . .” She hadn’t told him the details of her escape, just that Dima had helped her. “One of the Bolsheviks tore it. Veronika helped me stitch it, but the repair is obvious. I suppose it sounds vain, but . . .” It wasn’t so much the damaged blouse as the memory that came with it. She’d tried to wash it, but blood stained the cuffs. She didn’t want to look at her parents’ blood whenever she extended her wrists or remember Kuznetsov whenever she noticed the repair.