Outskirts of Perm, June 1919
NEWS OF THE CIVIL WAR DID NOT OFTEN REACH THE REMOTE farm where Peter and Maria lived, but Peter heard snippets when he took farm produce to markets around the region. He and Maria had pinned their hopes on the White Army advancing and driving back the Bolsheviks, and they rejoiced when they heard that Admiral Kolchak’s troops had crossed the Urals and captured the strategic town of Tsaritsyn in June that year.
“Surely it must only be a matter of time before we can come out of hiding and search for my sister and my relatives?” Maria asked. “My grandmother must still be alive, and my cousins—and perhaps Tatiana is with them.”
She tried to imagine finding Tatiana and introducing her to her little nephew, but the picture refused to come into focus. Was she kidding herself? The entire nation had been ripped in two and hers could not be the only family to be broken apart. That was what civil wars did.
A couple of months later, Peter came back from market with news. “I heard from a British merchant that your grandmother, Maria Feodorovna, was rescued from the Crimea by a ship sent by the British king, George V, and that she is currently his guest in London.”
“And Tatiana?” Maria asked immediately, her heart leaping. “Is she in London too?”
He shook his head. “My source didn’t mention her. Perhaps she is keeping a low profile in case the Bolsheviks are still intent on wiping out the direct line of inheritance to the throne.” He glanced at little Stepan, asleep in a cot he had carved from pine, and Maria followed his gaze. Of course! Her baby son was an heir of the Romanov dynasty. That could put him in danger if anyone were to find out.
“Is there a way we could get to London?” she asked, then answered her own question. “Even if we could reach Murmansk or the Baltic shores, it would not be easy to board a ship sailing for Britain, would it?”
Peter shook his head. “Passenger ships, trains, all forms of transport are operated by militant workers. If we sold some of your jewels to pay for our passage, they would demand to know where the money came from. Besides, I don’t think we should take this little man from a safe home and subject him to the hardships of such a journey.”
They both looked at the sleeping child. His blond baby curls were darkening and his features becoming more distinctly his own, but he retained an equanimity of character that Maria thought was just like his father’s. He seldom cried, but watched the world carefully, drinking it all in.
* * *
By the end of 1919, all talk of traveling to London was abandoned after Maria found she was pregnant again. Svetlana reacted with irritation to the news.
“It’s irresponsible to bring us another mouth to feed at a time like this. Didn’t your mother teach you how to stop yourself falling pregnant?”
“No,” Maria replied, wide-eyed. She’d had no idea such a thing was possible.
“You must count the days after the start of your monthly bleed,” Svetlana explained. “Avoid lovemaking from the tenth to the seventeenth day.”
“A whole week?” Maria was astonished. She and Peter made love several times a week and she couldn’t imagine abstaining for such a long time.
“I expect you to keep up with your chores during this pregnancy,” Svetlana scolded. “There’s a lot to be done bringing in the harvest and preparing for winter. This is no place for idle hands.”
“Of course,” Maria agreed. “I promise.”
* * *
Maria gave birth to a baby girl in August 1920, by which time Stepan was toddling around the farm. He was enchanted with the newcomer, whom they named Irina, and sat watching patiently while Maria fed and changed her, then entertained her by dangling a rag doll made from scraps of fabric. Irina smiled at anyone who came near, and soon won the heart of the farmer’s wife.
“She is a happy soul.” Svetlana beamed, giving her a cuddle. “Your little boy is serious, as if he has the world’s problems on his shoulders, but this one is full of joy.”
Maria felt guilty at that. Stepan had been conceived, carried, and born while she was in the depths of mourning. All those tears she had shed must have infected him, as Svetlana had warned they would.
“Nonsense,” Peter said when she told him later. “Irina smiles at us because we smile at her. She is mimicking our expressions. Perhaps we did not smile so much at Stepan because we were still learning how to be parents. I don’t think it’s done him any harm.”
Maria liked the way he always had a logical answer. They were a good match: she was prone to bouts of anxiety and panic, but he quelled them with his calm rationality. As a child, she had feared she was not lovable, certainly not as well loved as her siblings, but Peter made her feel precious and special, as if he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be with her.
Sometimes she woke in the night, stricken with terror that she might lose him one day. She knew she would never manage to look after the children without him. But listening to his breathing helped to soothe her, and if the fear was especially intense, she would snuggle close and pull his arm across her, feeling the heat of his body—he was always much hotter than her—and the steady beat of his heart.
* * *
A severe drought in 1921 spoiled the grain harvest throughout the region. Peter worked long hours carrying buckets of water from the lake in an attempt to irrigate the crops, but it was not enough to save the wheat and barley; their stalks withered and died in the ground. Not only would they be unable to bake bread to feed themselves then sell their excess produce at market, but there was not going to be enough fodder to see the animals through the winter. Peter and the farmer calculated how many cows they could afford to keep, then Peter set off to sell the rest for the best price he could obtain.
“Now there will be less milk and less beef,” he told Maria. “I’ll have to do more hunting through the winter.”
He began hunting in the early hours of the morning, then again at dusk after he had finished his chores, but the population of elk, grouse, and rabbits seemed more sparse and his endeavors could not save them from hunger pangs most days that autumn. With the winter fast approaching it was hard to know how they would cope.
“Did you know the Revolution in February 1917 was sparked by women protesting over the shortage of bread?” Peter asked Maria, while they played with their toddlers in the barn one evening. He was pretending to be a big bear and chasing them around so they would be tired enough to sleep despite the hunger knotting their stomachs.
“We girls had measles and were in our sickbeds that month,” Maria told him. “The first I knew of the Revolution was when Papa returned from army headquarters and told us he was no longer Tsar. New guards arrived and we were confined to the palace grounds.”
“I heard your father ordered his royal guard to open fire on the protesters but they refused,” Peter told her. “There were too many women in the crowd—women who simply wanted to be able to feed their children.”
“My goodness, I can’t believe Papa can have known that. He must have been misinformed.”
“Perhaps.” Peter was tight-lipped.
Maria felt she had to defend her family. “I know stories were circulating in the newspapers saying that the Romanovs ate caviar at every meal and ordered their clothes from Paris couturiers, but they were quite unfair. We did not buy any new gowns after the start of the 1914 war, and our meals were humble fare. I mean . . .” She thought back. There had been fish and meat at dinner, usually cooked in light sauces, and out-of-season fruits were often imported from southern lands. As she had eaten from delicate dishes served on fine china, with crested solid silver cutlery, she’d had no idea what it was like to play with your children in a barn so that hunger would not keep them awake. Surely if her father had known that those women merely wanted bread, he would have given them some?
Svetlana appeared in the doorway, holding a lantern. “Could you keep the noise down?” she asked, looking at Stepan and Irina, who were shrieking with excitement. “I have a headache.”
“Yes, of course,” Peter said straightaway. “Be quiet, children.”
They stopped obediently, crestfallen that the game was over.
“I hope your head feels better soon,” Maria called with concern, as Svetlana turned back toward the farmhouse.
* * *
The symptoms of starvation crept up slowly, like a wolf circling, waiting to pounce. At first there were painful stomach cramps that left a sensation of light-headedness when they passed. Maria sometimes had to clutch at doorways to stop herself falling over into a faint. Lethargy made it hard to get out of bed in the morning and drag herself over to heat some leftovers to line her children’s stomachs. She and Peter each tried to make the other eat, pretending not to be hungry.
“You must have more than me,” she insisted. “You have physical work to do while I can sit here conserving my energy.”
“I find berries when I am out hunting,” Peter argued, but she knew there were few to be had now the snows had come. He looked gray and gaunt, and although they had no mirror in their room, she realized she must look the same.
One evening, Peter arrived home after dark and opened his satchel to show Maria a long fish inside, with a silver belly and gold fins.
“It’s grayling,” he said, “but I only caught one. I’ll fillet it then take half to Joe and Svetlana.”
“It is not big enough to share,” Maria said quickly, salivating as she imagined the flavor. “I think we should keep it. It’s not right they should have half when there are four of us and two of them.”
“That’s unfair,” he objected. “Remember all they have done for us.”
Maria was thinking out loud. “Svetlana has a sensitive nose, but if we cook it in the forest, she will not detect the smell. Please, Peter. Your children need to be fed. Look at them!” She pointed to where they sat on the bed, listless, not even attempting to play with each other. Their baby chubbiness had dissolved and their cheeks had hollowed alarmingly. “They need food. Svetlana and her husband are still plump, and it’s just one meal. Please.”
He was clearly reluctant, but gave way in the face of her determination. They wrapped the children against the biting cold and trudged out in the snow toward the forest, carrying a lamp to light the route. Peter led them to an area where he had dug a fire pit in summer, and Maria hugged the children close while he struggled to light a fire in the bitter damp. At last the flames were flickering and he gutted the fish swiftly and efficiently, then threaded a skewer through and suspended it over the fire, turning it after a few minutes.
As soon as it was cooked, he cut chunks of flesh and doled them onto plates Maria had brought along. The fish was white and delicate flavored, the skin crisp and scented with woodsmoke. Never had Maria savored a meal as much as she did this one, eaten beneath a starry expanse of winter sky.
When they had finished, Peter heaped snow onto the embers and they rose to walk back to the farm. Just at that moment, a beam of light appeared through the trees, coming toward them, and they saw Svetlana standing behind it, her features distorted. Maria tried to kick snow over the fishbone that lay on the ground, but Svetlana saw and bent to pick it up.
“This is the thanks you give us for our hospitality!” she said. “I followed your steps because I thought it odd you should all go out so late, and now I discover your secret.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter began. “It was for the children. Their health is failing and I only caught one small fish today.”
“It’s the dishonesty of sneaking out here that I detest. I’m guessing this is a regular outing, and that you have been making fools out of my husband and me.” Her fury was increasing as she spoke, and the children cowered against Maria. She scooped them up, balancing one on each hip.
“This is the only time it has happened, I give you my word,” Peter said. “Your husband knows me for an honest man. Look how often he has trusted me to get the best price for his stock.”
“Perhaps he was mistaken. No doubt he will change his mind when he hears of your betrayal.”
Maria hadn’t spoken yet, but now she begged Svetlana. “Please forgive us this one mistake. You must understand that it’s hard to watch the children suffer. I promise you with all my heart that we won’t do it again.”
Svetlana rounded on her. “Why should I take your word for anything when you have lied to me all along? I know you’re a Romanov. Why don’t you go and fetch some of your millions and we can all dine richly tomorrow?”
“What do you mean? I’m not a Romanov,” Maria stuttered, at the same time as Peter said, “I think you must be mistaken.”
“I’m not mistaken,” Svetlana hissed. “I overheard you talking about it some weeks ago. Now, you both know I am no lover of the Bolsheviks, but neither am I a lover of the last Tsar and his wife. I will tell my husband what has happened this evening and we will discuss what should be done. He has a great respect for you, Peter, and I hope that will make him look favorably upon you.”
“Please . . .” Peter began. He gestured toward the children in Maria’s arms. “Think of the innocents.”
Svetlana turned on her heel and marched off through the snow.
* * *
Peter and Maria hurried back to their room. Her heart was thudding with panic, her brain a muddle of thoughts. They settled the children to sleep, then huddled by the fire, ashenfaced.
“She is not a vindictive woman,” Maria said. “She has known for some time without saying anything, so I doubt they will run to the authorities now. But all the same, it is not good . . .”
Peter was rubbing his chin between his fingers. “There is bound to be a reward for our capture. It will be hard for them to resist in these straitened times. Maybe they will not report us tonight, but as the winter continues and food remains scarce, they will weaken.”
“I shouldn’t have forced you to keep the fish for us. You didn’t want to.” She should have listened to him; he was a better person than her.
“There’s no point regretting what’s done,” he said, staring into the fire. “It’s what we do next that counts.” He came to a decision. “We have to leave tonight.”
“No!” She was terrified. “We can’t! How would we survive?”
“I will take Joe’s horse and wagon. We can leave one of your jewels in payment. They will be furious, but by morning I hope we will be many miles away.” He stood up. “It’s the only way, Maria. You pack our things and I’ll harness the horse. We must leave within the hour.”
“But where will we go?” she asked, feeling dread deep within her bones.
He shrugged and shook his head. “As yet, I have no idea.”