Read Online The Bronze Horseman by Paullina Simons - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paullina Simons
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saying,
more bread
?
“Mama, Papa! Look at the food I’ve bought.”
Papa looked up briefly from his glass of vodka. “Good, daughter,” he said. She could have returned empty-handed. With a small sigh, she glanced at Alexander standing in the hallway. What
was
that on his face? Sympathy? No, not quite.
Warmer
. She whispered to him, “Put the crates down and come in with me.”
“Mama, Papa, Babushka, Deda,” said Tatiana, walking into the room and trying to keep the thrill out of her voice for the imminent introduction, “I want you to meet Alexander—”
“And Dimitri,” said Dimitri quickly, as if Tatiana had forgotten him.
“And Dimitri,” Tatiana finished.
Everyone shook hands and stared incredulously at Alexander and then at Tatiana. Mama and Papa remained seated at the table with a bottle of vodka between them and two shot glasses. Deda and Babushka went to sit on the couch to give the soldiers more room at the table. Tatiana thought her parents looked sad. Were they drinking to Pasha and chasing him down with pickles?
Papa stood up. “You did very well, Tania. I’m proud of you.” He motioned to Alexander and Dimitri. “Come. Have some vodka.”
Alexander politely shook his head. “No, thank you. I have duty later.”
“Shake your head for yourself,” said Dimitri, stepping forward.
Papa poured, frowning at Alexander. What kind of man refused a drink of vodka? Alexander may have had his reasons for refusing her father’s hospitality, but Tatiana knew that because of that, her father was going to like Di-mitri better. Such a small act, yet the feelings that would follow would be so permanent. And yet because he refused, Tatiana liked Alexander better.
“Tania, I don’t suppose you bought any milk?” Mama asked her.
“Papa told me dry goods only.”
“Where are you from?” Tatiana’s father asked Alexander.
“Krasnodar region,” he said.
Papa shook his head. “I lived in Krasnodar in my youth. You don’t sound like you’re from there.”
“Well, I am,” said Alexander mildly.
To change the subject, Tatiana asked, “Alexander, would you prefer some tea instead? I can make you some tea.”
He moved closer to her, and she had to summon her breath. “No, thank you,” he said warmly. “I can’t stay long, Tania. I’ve got to get back.”
Tatiana took off her sandals. “Excuse me,” she said. “My feet are…” She smiled. She had tried hard to pretend they did not bother her, but the blisters on her big toe and little toe were bleeding.
Alexander glanced at her feet, shaking his head. Then he looked into her face. That expression seeped into his almond eyes again. “Barefoot is better,” he said very quietly.
Dasha came into the room. She stopped and stared at the two soldiers.
She looked healthy, radiant with the day, and Tatiana suddenly thought her sister looked
too
healthy and
too
radiant, but before she could utter a sound, Dasha exclaimed, her voice thick with pleasure, “Alexander! What are
you
doing here?” Dasha didn’t even glance at Tatiana, who, perplexed, looked at Alexander and said, “You know Dasha… ?” but then broke off in the middle of the question, seeing realization and conscience and unhappiness strike his mute, comprehending face.
Tatiana looked at Dasha, then back to Alexander. She felt herself paling from the inside out.
Oh, no,
she wanted to say.
Oh, no, how can this
be
?
Alexander’s face became impassive. He smiled easily at Dasha and said, not looking at Tatiana, “Yes. Dasha and I have met.”
“You can say
that
again!” Dasha said with a laugh and a pinch of his arm. “Alexander, what are you
doing
here?”
Tatiana glanced around the room to see if anyone else had noticed what she had noticed. Dimitri was eating a pickle. Deda was reading the newspaper, his glasses on. Papa was having another drink. Mama was opening up some cookies, and Babushka had her eyes closed. No one else saw.
Mama said, “The soldiers
more bread
?
“Mama, Papa! Look at the food I’ve bought.”
Papa looked up briefly from his glass of vodka. “Good, daughter,” he said. She could have returned empty-handed. With a small sigh, she glanced at Alexander standing in the hallway. What
was
that on his face? Sympathy? No, not quite.
Warmer
. She whispered to him, “Put the crates down and come in with me.”
“Mama, Papa, Babushka, Deda,” said Tatiana, walking into the room and trying to keep the thrill out of her voice for the imminent introduction, “I want you to meet Alexander—”
“And Dimitri,” said Dimitri quickly, as if Tatiana had forgotten him.
“And Dimitri,” Tatiana finished.
Everyone shook hands and stared incredulously at Alexander and then at Tatiana. Mama and Papa remained seated at the table with a bottle of vodka between them and two shot glasses. Deda and Babushka went to sit on the couch to give the soldiers more room at the table. Tatiana thought her parents looked sad. Were they drinking to Pasha and chasing him down with pickles?
Papa stood up. “You did very well, Tania. I’m proud of you.” He motioned to Alexander and Dimitri. “Come. Have some vodka.”
Alexander politely shook his head. “No, thank you. I have duty later.”
“Shake your head for yourself,” said Dimitri, stepping forward.
Papa poured, frowning at Alexander. What kind of man refused a drink of vodka? Alexander may have had his reasons for refusing her father’s hospitality, but Tatiana knew that because of that, her father was going to like Di-mitri better. Such a small act, yet the feelings that would follow would be so permanent. And yet because he refused, Tatiana liked Alexander better.
“Tania, I don’t suppose you bought any milk?” Mama asked her.
“Papa told me dry goods only.”
“Where are you from?” Tatiana’s father asked Alexander.
“Krasnodar region,” he said.
Papa shook his head. “I lived in Krasnodar in my youth. You don’t sound like you’re from there.”
“Well, I am,” said Alexander mildly.
To change the subject, Tatiana asked, “Alexander, would you prefer some tea instead? I can make you some tea.”
He moved closer to her, and she had to summon her breath. “No, thank you,” he said warmly. “I can’t stay long, Tania. I’ve got to get back.”
Tatiana took off her sandals. “Excuse me,” she said. “My feet are…” She smiled. She had tried hard to pretend they did not bother her, but the blisters on her big toe and little toe were bleeding.
Alexander glanced at her feet, shaking his head. Then he looked into her face. That expression seeped into his almond eyes again. “Barefoot is better,” he said very quietly.
Dasha came into the room. She stopped and stared at the two soldiers.
She looked healthy, radiant with the day, and Tatiana suddenly thought her sister looked
too
healthy and
too
radiant, but before she could utter a sound, Dasha exclaimed, her voice thick with pleasure, “Alexander! What are
you
doing here?” Dasha didn’t even glance at Tatiana, who, perplexed, looked at Alexander and said, “You know Dasha… ?” but then broke off in the middle of the question, seeing realization and conscience and unhappiness strike his mute, comprehending face.
Tatiana looked at Dasha, then back to Alexander. She felt herself paling from the inside out.
Oh, no,
she wanted to say.
Oh, no, how can this
be
?
Alexander’s face became impassive. He smiled easily at Dasha and said, not looking at Tatiana, “Yes. Dasha and I have met.”
“You can say
that
again!” Dasha said with a laugh and a pinch of his arm. “Alexander, what are you
doing
here?”
Tatiana glanced around the room to see if anyone else had noticed what she had noticed. Dimitri was eating a pickle. Deda was reading the newspaper, his glasses on. Papa was having another drink. Mama was opening up some cookies, and Babushka had her eyes closed. No one else saw.
Mama said, “The soldiers
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