“Good breeding?” Zeman snorted. “The Bolsheviks are right. The aristocracy should be eliminated. The people who till the land should own it, and the people who work in the factories should get the profits.”
“Marxism?” Dalek’s lips pulled into a humorless line, almost hidden by his mustache. “A republic. That’s what we need. No monarchy. And certainly no Marxism.”
Zeman scowled. “A republic? We need a country first.”
Filip stepped in before the conversation became heated. “Yes, we still need a country. But we have an army. And to ensure that the Germans don’t decimate our little army without a country, we need coaches, teplushkas, wagons, and boxcars.”
Zeman looked around the barracks. “Where’s Tothova?”
Dalek raised an eyebrow. “He’s no doubt exactly where I’d be if my wife were here instead of nine hundred miles away.”
“Zeman, it’s probably best if you wait till morning to find him.” The Germans were coming, but they could afford to let Anton enjoy his night. In the meantime, Filip wanted to make sure young Emil was settled.
***
Anton wrapped an arm around his wife as she snuggled next to him on their straw mattress.
“It’s so cold,” Veronika whispered.
They’d both become proficient at speaking softly, because only a curtain separated them from the next couple squeezed into the recessed barracks. When they’d first arrived, everything had been covered in fleas. It was cleaner now but not much warmer. It certainly wasn’t the home he wanted for his bride. But someday the war would end, and they’d find a place of their own in Slovakia.
He moved Veronika’s hair and kissed the back of her neck. “You’re always cold.”
“Not always. Summers in Taganrog were lovely. Hot even, in the factory.”
“Do you regret it? Leaving the factory and coming with me?”
She turned to face him and ran gentle fingers through his hair, both assuring and relaxing him. “Regret marrying the brilliant man who will take me to France and win a Czechoslovakia? Of course not. Now that your hair and skin are back to their normal color, I think you’re the handsomest, smartest man in the whole legion.”
Work in the munitions factory had left their skin and hair yellow. Anton traced Veronika’s eyebrows. They were her most striking feature: thick, with a perfect shape, and dark again now, after leaving Taganrog. “I still can’t believe you said yes.”
She kissed him. “I would have said yes a year ago, you silly, wonderful man. It took you forever to ask me.”
Anton might never have asked her to marry him if Filip Sedlák hadn’t come along and talked him into joining the legion. Now he was a soldier again, able to support a wife. Before, he’d been only a prisoner. After his capture by the Russians in 1915, he’d spent a year in a prison camp before being offered the chance to work at a factory. The work had been long, and as a Slovak prisoner, he hadn’t been paid as much as the Russians. Still, he’d had enough food to eat, a place to sleep, a church to pray in. And there had been that pretty girl with the delicate nose and full eyebrows who he had seen from time to time. “I couldn’t offer you anything when I was a prisoner.”
“You could have offered me yourself. That’s what I wanted.” Veronika leaned her forehead against his chest. “Do you think the baby will be yellow? It happened sometimes, with the other factory workers, but they worked until their babies came.”
“Did they stay yellow?”
“I don’t think so, not forever.”
“Then I’m sure ours won’t stay yellow either.”
“Do you want a boy or a girl?”
Whenever he imagined their baby, it was a boy, but saying so might set himself up for disappointment. And he didn’t want to hurt Veronika’s feelings. “If it’s a daughter, then we’ll have a son the next time. And if it’s a son, we’ll have a daughter the next time.”
Her laugh was more movement than sound, all warm breath and fluttering hair on his bare chest. “How many children are we to have?”
“I’m not sure.” He kissed her ear. “If we succeed in getting a new country, we’ll need to populate it with a great many Czecho-Slovak children. And since I’m planning to be desperately in love with you forever . . .”
A gust of cold wind ruffled the curtain separating them from Petr and Larisa. Someone must have opened the barracks door.
“Tothova!”
Anton groaned, just loud enough that Veronika could hear. “Coming.” That was a little louder. What was so important that it couldn’t wait until morning? He wasn’t supposed to have guard duty until the following night. He pulled his trousers on, then stepped to the other side of the curtain.
Jakub Zeman waited at the door. At least he hadn’t barged into their section of the barracks.
“Yes, Brother Corporal?”
“We’re to scrounge as many train cars as we can tomorrow morning. Starting at seven. We’ll offer to buy, but if people won’t sell, we’ll take them at gunpoint.”
“Do you need anything tonight?”
“No. But I didn’t want to have to find you in the morning.” Zeman turned and left, letting in another gust of cold winter air that left goose bumps on Anton’s exposed skin.
“What is it?” Veronika asked as he crawled back into bed.
“An assignment for tomorrow. I don’t know why it couldn’t have waited until morning.”
“Because he’s jealous. You’re happy, and he likes to interrupt that as often as he can.”
Anton kept his laughter soft. Veronika had Jakub Zeman figured out completely. “I am happy. And cold.” He wrapped Veronika in his arms and pulled her closer.
Chapter Three
Nadia stood before her aunt’s drawing room window, looking out, wishing she could ride off on Konstantin again. Her taste of freedom had whetted her appetite, and she wanted more.
Mama cleared her throat. “Nadia? Have you nothing to say?”
She turned to her parents, seated for tea with her aunt. “I’m sorry. My mind was elsewhere.”
Papa gave her a serious look. “In Switzerland, I hope.”
“Switzerland?” Why was he talking about Switzerland?
“Haven’t you been listening?” Mama, as ever, retained her polite, almost bored tone. Emotional displays at tea time were a sign of poor upbringing, and Mama would never do anything that might allow others to question her upbringing.
Sometimes when Nadia’s mind wandered, she could get by with appropriate nods and murmurs, but this wasn’t one of those times. “I apologize. What about Switzerland?”
Papa stood and joined Nadia at the window. “Switzerland, America, France. Wherever I can convince your mother to go.”
“Go? Why?”
Nadia’s aunt, her father’s sister, placed her teacup on her saucer and set it next to the samovar on the low table before her. “Your father believes the Ukraine is no longer safe. He doesn’t think Russia is safe either, so emigration is our best option.”
“I don’t think we should abandon our homeland.” Mama kept her voice calm but firm.
Papa gazed out the window. “This is no longer our homeland. The Bolsheviks signed away a third of our people and a third of our farmland—including the Ukraine. It’s a disgrace. The tsars of the past must be turning in their graves.”
“If it is shameful to sign such a humiliating treaty, surely it is also shameful for us to flee when you have spent your whole life in devoted service to the empire.”
Nadia had never seen her parents argue before, though this wasn’t really an argument. Neither raised their voices, and no flush appeared on Papa’s pale cheeks nor on Mama’s olive skin. And yet, they were clearly divided.
“Would you lose our last child to the war?” Papa asked. “See the end of our family line?”