“Russia is out of the war now.”
Papa paced to the hearth. “We are no longer in Russia. We are in the Ukraine, and the Ukraine has just opened the door to the German Army. They will strip the land of every last kernel of grain, and their presence will intensify the civil war between the Nationalists and the Bolsheviks. I’ve heard rumors, Anna, of what happened to people like us who stayed in Petrograd. We should leave while we can.”
Painful silence filled the room. They’d found safety in the Ukraine, but they couldn’t stay forever. They no longer received rents from their peasants, the Bolsheviks had seized all their bank assets, and their properties in Petrograd, Moscow, and Tambov Oblast had been requisitioned. Nadia didn’t want to leave Russia behind forever, but the things she loved most about her motherland—the balls, the music, the ballet—those things had already been taken from her. If the German Army was coming, surely it was time to leave.
“I’ve heard lovely things about Paris,” Nadia said.
Papa smiled. “That’s my girl. We’ll start a new life in France.”
Her father spent the next two hours convincing his wife and his sister to emigrate to France, at least until the Bolsheviks lost power.
Mama gave in, finally. “I suppose, if it will keep our little Nadia safe.”
“I’m not so little anymore, Mama.”
Mama smiled. Her smile held so much beauty, as always, but since the deaths of Alexander and Nikolai, it also held a permanent sadness. “No. But you’re all we have left. I can live knowing we’ve lost Lavanda Selo and our jewels and our paintings. But I don’t think I could live knowing I’d lost my last child.”
***
Nadia was about to dress for supper that night when loud bangs shook the house. She’d heard knocks like that before, in Petrograd, when the Bolsheviks had come to arrest her father. The family had sneaked out through the servants’ quarters and fled to Lavanda Selo, then fled again to the Ukraine. The fear still chased them.
Several heartbeats passed before Nadia moved. The noise came from the front of the manor, so Nadia headed for the back.
The cook rushed through the hall toward her. “It’s the Cheka. Run!”
The secret police, here? Despite the numerous hearths and stoves heating the manor, it suddenly felt very cold. Nadia followed the cook until she heard her mother scream.
“Mama?” Nadia glanced at the hallway leading to safety, but she couldn’t leave her mother. “I have to find Mama.”
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll run.” The cook shooed her toward the servants’ staircase, but Nadia rushed the other way. She ran down the main staircase and reached the ground floor just as two men hauled Papa from his study. One of them pointed a revolver at her.
Nadia inhaled a breath full of fear. Would he shoot? She said a silent prayer, pleading for mercy. The man jerked his head toward the front entrance, and she joined her father and walked outside.
Her mother, aunt, and most of the servants stood in the center of the cold courtyard. Nadia dashed to her mother and took her hand. Mama had already dressed for supper in an evening gown of scarlet, and light from the windows revealed goose bumps on her arms.
Five menacing men flanked them. The one in charge wore a long coat of black leather and spoke with a crisp, cool voice. “The staff is free to leave unharmed with their belongings. The former Baron and his family are to stay.”
The servants hurried away, a few with backward glances. Then it was just Nadia, her parents, her aunt, and the five armed Chekists. She should have listened to the cook and run.
“Did you think you could escape justice, former Baron Linsky?” The lead agent stood directly in front of them. “You and your class are like the large apples harvested in fall, grown fat only because the other apples have been plucked off and left to rot, just like the Russian working classes. Discarded and forgotten. Until now.”
Papa didn’t answer. Not even a glare broke the calm of his face. It was as if he were bored, waiting for his troika to arrive. The agents weren’t worthy of attention. Nadia tried to follow his example, but she trembled. From cold or from fear.
“You lived in luxury while your peasants—including my family—starved. You were heartless, but now I will see justice.” He walked to Mama. “Former baroness, you are as lovely as I remember. If only your beauty were paired with something other than indifference for your fellowmen.” Then he stood before Nadia. “And you are much like the Fabergé eggs the aristocrats waste so much money on: beautiful, extravagant, useless.”
Nadia followed the lead of her parents and tried to mask any response. She wasn’t useless. Was she?
“Like weeds, the aristocrats must be plucked out and destroyed. The Linsky family is charged with counterrevolutionary activities, continued loyalty to the criminal, former Tsar Nicholas II, and countless crimes against the people of Russia.”
“What right have you to judge us?” Papa’s voice was controlled and polished. He showed none of the fear that Nadia felt growing with each pronouncement.
“As a member of the All-Russian Extraordinary Commission to Combat Counterrevolution and Sabotage, I have been tasked with removing enemies of the revolution. I doubt you remember, but you evicted my family in the dead of winter. My mother died, and a sister. My father brought my brother and me to the city, where they both caught typhus. I am all that remains of my family because you could think only of your rents. We worked that land for generations! It was ours by right!”
“Not by law.” Nadia’s father maintained his composure.
“We’ve a new law now. And according to our law, you are sentenced to death. As is your family.”
A startled cry escaped Mama’s lips, but she quickly clenched her jaw and stood more erect than before.
Nadia could barely breathe. Death? Just because she’d been born rich? She gripped her mother’s hand and then her aunt’s.
Papa glanced at them, then back at the Cheka agent. “The Ukraine is now a sovereign country. You and your revolution have no jurisdiction here.”
The agent huffed. “Tell that to the bullets. Revolutions are meaningless without firing squads.” He motioned to his men. “Bind their hands.”
There had to be some mistake. He didn’t really mean to execute them, did he? Nadia’s parents and her aunt kept all emotions hidden as the agents tied their hands behind their backs. Didn’t her family realize what was about to happen? They’d all been condemned to death.
The Cheka agent frowned. “Where are the sons? I remember Alexander and Nikolai galloping through the fields with no concern for the crops they ruined, no thought of how many people toiled from sunup to sundown so that they could feast every night and squander their days with amusement. Arrogant, useless boys. I imagine they’ve grown into arrogant, useless men.”
Nadia’s cheeks burned. Alexander and Nikolai had been neither arrogant nor useless. She remembered them riding through the crops once or twice, but she also remembered Papa reprimanding them. They hadn’t done it again.
Papa lifted his chin in defiance. “Rittmeister Alexander Ilych Linsky perished in service of tsar and country in 1915. Cornet Nikolai Ilych Linsky did the same in 1916. They were heroes of the empire.”
“They were oppressors of the proletariat, fighting in a bourgeoisie war.”
“You can insult me and shoot me, but you will not dishonor the memory of my valiant sons.” There, at last, was a hint of anger from her father.
The agent didn’t bother arguing. “The former baron first.”
Two of the agents grabbed her father’s arms. He struggled for a moment, straining to kiss his wife. The agent raised a hand, apparently to grant that small concession.
“Goodbye, my dear,” her father whispered to her mother. Then the men moved him to the courtyard wall.
Mama had been stoic until then, but now a whimper escaped her mouth.