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Authors: Sarah Miller
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NIKOLAEVNA
December 1915
Tsarskoe Selo
P oor Mama had only just returned from her dear friend Princess Sonia’s funeral when the telegram about Aleksei came. Together we gather in the lilac boudoir, Mama cradled in her chaise with letters and pictures of Papa and Aleksei stacked high on the lemonwood table beside her. Tatiana sits poised in the big armchair with Mama’s heart drops at her fingertips, while Olga burrows into the sofa among the built-in bookcases. Anastasia and I toy with Jemmy on the pistachio-colored carpet.
Just being in this room makes me feel better. Mama chose the striped silk on the walls especially to match a favorite sprig of flowers Papa gave her when they were young, and it always smells of lilacs here, no matter the season.
“‘Because of his cold Aleksei has had bleeding at the nose at intervals the whole day,’” Mama reads to us.
My heart kicks in my chest. A nosebleed! Mama lays the telegram in her lap and smiles sadly at the photo of Aleksei in his uniform. I can’t understand why she seems so calm. One sneeze puts Aleksei in a pickle worse than a cut, as bad as a bruise. You can’t tie a bandage around a nosebleed.
“Don’t look so grim, girlies.” Mama creases the telegram and slides it into her pocket. “Dr. Derevenko will take fine care of our Sunbeam. And Papa wants me to come to Stavka on the sixth. Won’t that be lovely? Olga, you’ll come with me, won’t you, dearest?” A little smile blooms on Olga’s face, and for a tiny moment I forget about Aleksei. I can’t remember the last time I saw Olga smile and mean it. “I’m going to send him a wire this minute,” Mama continues. “Come along. We’ll stop at Anya’s on our way. The air will do you good.”
As Olga passes by me, I snatch up her hand in mine and tug it to my cheek. “You’ll kiss Papa for me, won’t you?”
“ Konechno , sweetheart Mashka,” she says with a good strong squeeze. “A hundred times over.”
“Tatya, what’s going on?” I ask once they’ve gone. “Why isn’t Mama worried?” Not worrying feels like not breathing when Aleksei is ill.
“She is going to see Otets Grigori at Anya’s house,” she says over her shoulder as she straightens up Mama’s chaise and table.
“What makes you so sure?” Anastasia asks. “Mama doesn’t even know if he’s there.”
“I imagine he will be by the time she arrives,” Tatiana says. “Anya will see to that. You saw Mama put the telegram in her pocket. She will show it to Otets Grigori, and he will tell her whether or not she needs to worry. We might as well do the same. It is all in God’s hands.”
She sounds just like Papa: Tak i byt, he’d say. So be it.
“I don’t see why Olga gets to go to Anya’s and to Stavka , and we have to stay here and wait,” Anastasia grumps, slouching onto Olga’s empty place on the sofa. “And don’t say it’s because she’s the oldest.”
“She needs it more than we do,” Tatiana says, her voice sharp. I shrink back against the chaise and chew at my lip. Tatiana glances at me, takes a breath, and begins again. “Seeing Papa and Otets Grigori will do her good. Besides, waiting makes Olga nervous, and her nerves have all they can handle right now.”
“Well, I’m not staying in this old room. I’m going to take Jemmy for a walk,” Anastasia says, grabbing up the little dear and flouncing out, “before she ‘does the governor’ in here and you have to clean it up.”
Tatiana sits down on Mama’s chaise, folding her hands between her knees with a sigh.
“Jemmy is always Nastya’s dog, until she makes a mess,” I say, trying to laugh as I climb up beside Tatiana. “Then she remembers who Jemmy really belongs to.”
Tatiana’s lips waver a bit, almost smiling. She puts her arm around me and squeezes my shoulders. “I would rather have you, my fat little Bow-Wow, than any dog, no matter how darling.”
I lean in close and hug her back. “She’s being a beast,” I
December 1915
Tsarskoe Selo
P oor Mama had only just returned from her dear friend Princess Sonia’s funeral when the telegram about Aleksei came. Together we gather in the lilac boudoir, Mama cradled in her chaise with letters and pictures of Papa and Aleksei stacked high on the lemonwood table beside her. Tatiana sits poised in the big armchair with Mama’s heart drops at her fingertips, while Olga burrows into the sofa among the built-in bookcases. Anastasia and I toy with Jemmy on the pistachio-colored carpet.
Just being in this room makes me feel better. Mama chose the striped silk on the walls especially to match a favorite sprig of flowers Papa gave her when they were young, and it always smells of lilacs here, no matter the season.
“‘Because of his cold Aleksei has had bleeding at the nose at intervals the whole day,’” Mama reads to us.
My heart kicks in my chest. A nosebleed! Mama lays the telegram in her lap and smiles sadly at the photo of Aleksei in his uniform. I can’t understand why she seems so calm. One sneeze puts Aleksei in a pickle worse than a cut, as bad as a bruise. You can’t tie a bandage around a nosebleed.
“Don’t look so grim, girlies.” Mama creases the telegram and slides it into her pocket. “Dr. Derevenko will take fine care of our Sunbeam. And Papa wants me to come to Stavka on the sixth. Won’t that be lovely? Olga, you’ll come with me, won’t you, dearest?” A little smile blooms on Olga’s face, and for a tiny moment I forget about Aleksei. I can’t remember the last time I saw Olga smile and mean it. “I’m going to send him a wire this minute,” Mama continues. “Come along. We’ll stop at Anya’s on our way. The air will do you good.”
As Olga passes by me, I snatch up her hand in mine and tug it to my cheek. “You’ll kiss Papa for me, won’t you?”
“ Konechno , sweetheart Mashka,” she says with a good strong squeeze. “A hundred times over.”
“Tatya, what’s going on?” I ask once they’ve gone. “Why isn’t Mama worried?” Not worrying feels like not breathing when Aleksei is ill.
“She is going to see Otets Grigori at Anya’s house,” she says over her shoulder as she straightens up Mama’s chaise and table.
“What makes you so sure?” Anastasia asks. “Mama doesn’t even know if he’s there.”
“I imagine he will be by the time she arrives,” Tatiana says. “Anya will see to that. You saw Mama put the telegram in her pocket. She will show it to Otets Grigori, and he will tell her whether or not she needs to worry. We might as well do the same. It is all in God’s hands.”
She sounds just like Papa: Tak i byt, he’d say. So be it.
“I don’t see why Olga gets to go to Anya’s and to Stavka , and we have to stay here and wait,” Anastasia grumps, slouching onto Olga’s empty place on the sofa. “And don’t say it’s because she’s the oldest.”
“She needs it more than we do,” Tatiana says, her voice sharp. I shrink back against the chaise and chew at my lip. Tatiana glances at me, takes a breath, and begins again. “Seeing Papa and Otets Grigori will do her good. Besides, waiting makes Olga nervous, and her nerves have all they can handle right now.”
“Well, I’m not staying in this old room. I’m going to take Jemmy for a walk,” Anastasia says, grabbing up the little dear and flouncing out, “before she ‘does the governor’ in here and you have to clean it up.”
Tatiana sits down on Mama’s chaise, folding her hands between her knees with a sigh.
“Jemmy is always Nastya’s dog, until she makes a mess,” I say, trying to laugh as I climb up beside Tatiana. “Then she remembers who Jemmy really belongs to.”
Tatiana’s lips waver a bit, almost smiling. She puts her arm around me and squeezes my shoulders. “I would rather have you, my fat little Bow-Wow, than any dog, no matter how darling.”
I lean in close and hug her back. “She’s being a beast,” I
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