Then there was Nadia. Worry over her also cut into his sleep, and it would again if he didn’t know she was safe, so he went to the women’s train.
Four cars from his goal, he heard a low chuckle and stopped.
Zeman sauntered over to him. “Off to see your wife?” His breath and his tone were sour.
“What do you want, Zeman?”
Zeman shrugged. “I’ve been talking with the Russians. One of them said he had a warrant for the execution of a family hiding near Piryatin. He found them easily enough. They were with a relative, but somehow, the twenty-year-old daughter escaped. It got me thinking. Piryatin, that’s where we were stationed before Bakhmach. And that’s where you gained that pretty little wife of yours.”
Filip wasn’t scared of Zeman, but he found his hand searching for the Beholla pistol he’d loaned Emil. “She’s from Petrograd, not Piryatin.”
“As was the family in question.”
“A lot of Russians have spent time in Petrograd, especially with the disruption the war has caused.”
Zeman didn’t reply at once. Filip waited for him to specify his threat or make a demand.
One side of Zeman’s mouth pulled into a sneer. “We’ve been ordered to stay neutral in Russian affairs. I don’t imagine our officers will look kindly on anyone harboring criminals.”
Nadia wasn’t a criminal. She was a refugee. Filip couldn’t ignore this, or Zeman would make it worse. He stepped to within inches of Zeman’s face. “The Penza Agreement places the entire legion—and everyone traveling with us—under safe passage, guaranteed by the Bolsheviks. You wouldn’t want to stir up trouble, would you?”
“I might.”
Filip slammed Zeman into a nearby teplushka, smashing the air from the man’s lungs with a satisfying whoosh. “Don’t make trouble for her, or you’ll regret it. I’m not the only one you’ll make into an enemy.”
Zeman’s sneer was gone, but anger showed in his eyes. Would he really destroy an innocent women just because he couldn’t have her?
Filip released him, and Zeman slunk away without another word. Filip had probably left bruises. Every time Zeman moved his shoulders for the next few days, he’d remember Filip’s threat.
But would that threat keep Nadia safe? Or had it made things worse? Marriage with Nadia was becoming more complicated by the hour.
He marched to the woman’s coach. When he arrived, the siding was shut, even though it seemed early for everyone to be sleeping; it was barely twilight. He knocked on the siding. “Nadia?”
“Filip?” The voice came not from inside the women’s coach but from beneath the one in front of it. He turned to see Nadia crawling out from under a boxcar.
“What are you doing under there? I thought Emil escorted you back?” Filip didn’t often yell at the men under his command, but Emil’s negligence was inexcusable. He’d give the lad an earful.
“He did. But Larisa and Petr wanted some time alone, and I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Aren’t you cold?”
“No. I’m wearing Dima’s jacket and the coat and hat you bought for me.” The fur cap lay at an angle, with stray bits of her black hair peeping out from under it. Her voice seemed shy, almost apologetic.
Did she think he was upset with her? He’d probably let too much of his anger at Zeman seep through. “Aren’t you bored just sitting there?”
“I’d rather be bored than run into the Cheka.”
Still frightened. That wasn’t what he wanted, but caution would help keep her safe. “Have you had supper yet?”
“No. They moved the trains about yesterday. I’m not sure where the dining car is now, and I didn’t want to blunder into one of the commissars.” She glanced at the coach. “Larisa said she’d show me where to go later.”
“I can show you now.”
“But I’ve already taken up so much of your day.”
“I would be happy to eat with you.” Filip had never before had such a beautiful dining companion. He ought to enjoy the view while the marriage lasted.
She glanced at the train carriage, then back at him and nodded her agreement, letting him guide her toward the dining car. She really did walk like a princess. It made her stand out, and yet, he liked it. Changing it would be a shame. Of course, not changing it might also be a shame if it caught Orlov’s attention.
Cheerful notes sounded from one of the coaches they passed, an old Czech folk song played on a mandolin.
Nadia smiled. “Do you play an instrument?”
“I’m not very musical, I’m afraid. You?”
“I play the piano, a little.” They passed an open area and saw a group kicking a ball around. Then, a bit beyond that, another group performed gymnastics. Nadia stopped to watch the leaps and tumbles. “They’re very good, aren’t they?”
Filip had thought the movements mediocre rather than extraordinary. “A lot of us can do that easily enough.”
Her head turned toward him. “You can do that?”
“I grew up attending Sokol clubs. They were all about gymnastics and Czech patriotism.”
She hadn’t been loud, not the entire day, but now she seemed even quieter. Perhaps she didn’t approve of Sokol clubs. They weren’t revolutionary in the way the Bolsheviks were, but their nationalism challenged the existing order. Not in Russia, but that might not make a difference. They watched a while longer. A crowd of legionnaires and Russian peasants had formed. Nadia observed with interest, but they observed with enthusiasm, clapping their hands and gasping. It almost made Filip want to join in, but that would leave Nadia alone, and with Zeman and Orlov to watch out for, it was better to stay beside her.
After a while, the performers ended their routine, and night swallowed the railroad tracks. There weren’t many lanterns or candles, but the dining car was still lit. It might once have been a typical dining car, with tables and benches and waiters. Now it was more like a canteen, serving bread and thin cabbage soup for lines of Czechoslovak soldiers and their dependents. Filip and Nadia waited in line like all the others, then took their food to one of the communal tables.
Steam from the soup warmed Filip’s face. He watched his wife and had the impression that she wasn’t used to drinking her soup, but spoons weren’t available. “I suppose that’s not what or how you’re used to eating.”
“I’m willing and able to adapt.” Her tone held a hint of sharpness. Or was it defensiveness?
He hadn’t meant his comment to sound like criticism. It was more an apology that he couldn’t offer her the type of meal she was used to. Maybe he should stop talking. Everything he said came out wrong.
When they finished, he returned their bowls. “I’ll walk you back.”
As they passed the hospital car, a few bandaged men made their slow way up the stairs into the boxcar.
“Do you have many wounded?” Nadia asked.
“Some.”
“I volunteered at a hospital in Petrograd. It was a hospital for officers, of course.” She paused. “I don’t know why I said that. The enlisted were just as wounded, just as much in need of care. But we were always assigned to officer wards. I hate to say it, but volunteering in a hospital was a most fashionable activity for upper-class women.” She took a few steps closer to the car. “Do they need more help, do you suppose? I could volunteer again.”
“It wouldn’t be just officers. And the accommodations aren’t as fancy as what you’re used to.” The wounded usually slept on straw spread on the floor. The boxcar was little better than a barn.