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MY STEP-FATHER SURPRISED me again with praising us for quick thinking. My mother had made the calls to keep Claude in jail for now, but after three meetings with her lawyer, we all agreed it would be best for me to leave the country for a few weeks, for my safety. I was glad Renee was safe; his escape to the bathroom moments before Claude’s entrance meant Claude never even knew he was there. Reluctantly, a new job, a new start, in Moscow, looked better every day.
Which is why, a week after Renee had nearly destroyed Claude with a radio, I stood on the railway, next to a steaming train that promised to carry me nearly two-thousand miles from home.
“Two whole days,” my mother whined as she hugged me for an abnormally long time. “You sure you have your credit cards? The rubles cash Elijah gave you? And remember to be safe ...”
“It’s a sleeper car, Maman, I have no reason to leave. I’ll be fine.”
“I still don’t know why you can’t just fly,” Elijah shook his head. “It would have been faster and easier.”
“I hate planes, you know that,” I admitted, though the look on my step-father’s face told me he didn’t know.
“It’s true,” my mother said, finally releasing me and looking back at her husband. “The last time she rode on a plane as to visit you when the girls were small, and she screamed like holy hell all the way to America and back.”
“Wow,” Elijah said, “you never told me that, I don’t think.”
“You never listen to me,” she jabbed, wrapping her arm around his waist. He pecked her on the cheek.
“Aww,” I said, rolling my eyes, “you guys are absolutely disgusting!”
“What is it Renee says?” My mother asked, and I knew something inherently showing her age was going to come next. “Are you jelly?”
“Maman, stop. Get some help,” I said sarcastically. My mood fell then almost instantly at the joke. “No men in Russia, Elijah said.”
Mother looked at him. “Did you, really?”
He shrugged. “What I actually said was, ‘focus on ballet.’ Leo and Pytor were nice enough to give you a chance, Jaqui, and I expect you to be professional and focused at all times. Don’t disappoint me, daughter.”
His voice was stern, but his blue eyes were filled with mirth, and I wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. I bit my lip as I heard the blow of the train horn, and the loudspeaker announce boarding. People milled about us, picking up briefcases and hoisting bags on their shoulder. A man in a dark blue trench coat with a fur-lined flat-bottom hat passed us, wearing the silver badge of the railroad. He tipped his hat to me and smiled before continuing his way. Somewhere behind me, a child was crying.
It reminded me of the tears that spilled down Renee’s cheeks this morning when I’d said goodbye before they left for school, and we left for the train station. Izzy and Darci had rushed past with a quick, tight hug, oblivious I’d be gone for who knows how long. Oh, to be so little again.
“Thank you,” I had said to Renee. “For everything.”
He nodded, too choked up to speak. “You’ll come back?” He finally forced out. I knew he was referring to our sister, Elise, who was always ‘too busy’ to visit us in Paris.
I had hugged him even tighter. “I won’t leave you, brother. Maybe soon you can come visit me.”
“I’d like that,” he had said as I released him.
I wouldn’t cry, I couldn’t. I had to be strong for my sweet, sensitive brother. I had picked up my suitcase and headed to the Mercedes with my head held high.
Just now, however, my resolve was wearing thin. I had a stack of books in my suitcase, my laptop, and my phone. I wasn’t short on entertainment. But two days on a moving vehicle, traveling across the entire continent of Europe? I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t nervous.
As if she had read my mind, my mother said, “You’re sure about this?”
I tugged the knit cap on my head, a constant reminder where the stiches had come out, but I was still missing a chunk of hair on the back of my head. Makeup covered the bruises, bites, and marks still left from Claude’s abuse. Over the last two weeks I’d had such bad migraines, and sleep hadn’t come without nightmares. When Elijah offered me this chance one last time, I took it, Vasily be damned. I was terrified that I’d run into Vasily somehow, but I hadn’t heard from him, so I assumed he meant what he said. What if I did meet him? Could I just dismiss him as easily as he’d dismissed me?
“Yes, Maman,” I said firmly, gripping my backpack straps with resolve. “Claude can’t find me in Moscow, and it will give me a chance to get back into the arts, at least. I’m doing this.”
“That’s my girl,” Elijah said, pulling me into a side hug. “Now, let’s get you boarded and settled in for your two-day adventure through the wilds.”
Only my step-father, world-famous and best-selling author, could make a dull train ride sound exciting. I let him take my suitcases.
***
IT WAS THE LONGEST two days of my life.
They were uneventful, much to my disappointment. Maman’s doctor had given me sedatives before we left, swearing I would need them to sleep on the train. Unfortunately, there was little else to do but sleep. I swear, the sleeper cars were made of different material, as it barely felt like we were even moving. The train was equipped with wireless Internet, and I was able to play a few silly games and catch up with a few of my friends via email and social media. I was careful to remove the geo tags, as Izzy had taught me a few months ago, so no one knew where I was, or where I was heading.
We crossed the border to Germany, Poland, and finally Russia. The conductors, I noticed, were more aggressively grunting at my passport the farther east we went. We stopped in Strasbourg, just on the border with Germany, then Berlin, and finally half-way in Warsaw. In Poland the officials barely smiled, but at least they offered a polite hello. After our brief stop in Minsk, the population of the train changed from mostly French and German and a scattered handful of international riders to specifically Polish and Russian occupants. Between them, the employees just groaned, moving on to the next car after checking my credentials.
Growing up in ballet, I was no stranger to different Europeans. The Opera had a multitude of Italian, German, Russian, and even Romanian performers over the years. My German wasn’t the best, but I’d picked up a few words. I even knew some Russian, though not enough to be fluent. Mother and Elijah assured me I’d be fine and plenty of people would speak English, so I wasn’t too worried. Still, on the train, I kept to myself. My language skills were too poor to be much entertainment to anyone, anyway.
But as I took my meals in the dining car and conversations moved from heavy German to the harsher Russian accents, my thoughts turned to Vasily. Had I made a mistake in sending him that picture? I still didn’t know what he looked like. He was a danseur, so I knew at the very least he was athletic and fit, but would he be classically handsome like a young Tchaikovsky, or more rugged with typical square features?
The last few hours before arriving in Moscow were the worst. I couldn’t focus on a book, and the Internet was spotty out here. I tried sketching, but everything was a jumbled ink mess. I didn’t even know who would pick me up at the station, except a nameless “Tanets representative,” according to Elijah. I assumed they’d have a sign with my name as soon as I got off and it would be easy to find them.
But what if they forgot about me?
The train screeched to a stop in Moscow finally, and I sat on the edge of the small bed in my sleeping cabin, fully dressed and suitcases packed. I watched through the little window in my door as passengers rushed past, eager to get out and stretch. I still had trouble walking on my ankle at times, so I was in no hurry to be bumbled and jostled with the crowd and risk falling. Finally, when traffic died down, I swung open the sliding door, slid my backpack on my shoulders, and grabbed my two suitcases. I had no desire to fight the baggage claim area, so everything I had was in the cabin with me.
By the time I made it down the narrow hallway and down the steps to the platform, most of the passengers had cleared the walkway. I glanced around, looking for someone with a sign, and seeing no one, I gulped hard, trying not to panic. Where was the representative?
I pressed through the sparse groups of people hurrying to board the train, which would depart back to its final destination at Paris Gare de l'Est in less than an hour.
“Smotri, idiot!” someone yelled as they bumped into me. I knew they at least meant something rude.
Elijah had insisted on studying polite Russian phrases in the last few weeks, so I knew one at least that would help me. “Izvinee, pazhalusta,” excuse me, please, I murmured, afraid I sounded like the idiot they had called me. A sign over one of the windows at the station read “Московский Белорусский” which I knew was the name of the station, Moscow Belorussky, and there was a splash of Russian under the title. A female official in a gray coat sat behind the corner. I headed that way to ask for help, praying to God she spoke English.
“Da?” The attendant looked up at me as I approached.
I tried English first. “I am waiting for someone from Tanets.”
“Tanets?” the woman looked at me, frowning.
It was clear she only understood the one word. I groaned inwardly. “Da, Tanets. Balet,” I tried to pronounce the “t” sound properly.
“Ah, Tanets!” She rumbled something else in Russian I didn’t understand, but leaned out and pointed to a bench a few yards down the walkway. I stared where she jabbed her finger and saw a tall man curled up with his coat over his arms, sleeping.
How can anyone sleep with all this noise? I was shocked. And why would someone from Tanets be sleeping?
I shrugged. I had never been to Russia before. Maybe this was acceptable, or maybe he was tired. At nearly noon on a Saturday?
“Spasibo,” I offered my thanks and approached the man. Upon closer inspection, I found he was cradling a worn crimson suitcase. The walkway had emptied out almost completely, and conductors were calling for people to board. On top of that, even for September, it was freezing out here. I wanted to get out of this cold and somewhere warm.
I paused, suddenly unable to speak. What if this man wasn’t from Tanets at all, and he was some kind of monster like Claude. What if I was walking into one of those kidnapping things like in those Liam Neeson movies? I gripped my suitcases hard and prepared to turn to run away. I’d have to find another way to Tanets. A cab, bus, or something safer.
Although as I stood there, the man looked very peaceful. Young, about my age. He was wearing a thick fur-lined cap, but I could see a sprinkling of blond hair escaping the hat and falling over his forehead. His chin was round, under thin lips and perfectly clear skin. I was weird like that—I always noticed skin quality above everything else.
Before I could interrupt his dreamscape, his eyes flittered open and revealed a set of baby blues that reminded me of my step-father. He looked up at me, his eyes widening, and he scrambled to sit up. His case fell from his arms as he shrugged into his coat, mumbling something in Russian.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” I frowned, hoping I hadn’t made a mistake, “but I’ve just arrived from Paris, and the woman over there said you were from Tanets.”
He stared at me with his mouth open.
How rude! I thought immediately. “Well, are you?”
“Da,” he finally shut his mouth and muttered, but still continued to stare, just sitting there.
“Well, have you come to pick me up or not?”
He shook his head. I realized I’d spoken in French, my automatic response. I guessed he didn’t understand me.
“Okay,” I said in English, not sure what else to say. “Can you tell me where I could get a cab, at least?”
He continued to stare at me.
“Are you stupid or something?” I blurted. I couldn’t help it, but I could barely feel my fingers and my toes were curling in my flats. Why hadn’t I worn boots? I knew it would be cold, but this was bone-chilling cold. And I refused to be the only idiot out here. At least I wasn’t staring at him like he was the last dessert on the tray and didn’t know if it was okay to take it. “Look, it’s terribly frigid out here and I’d like to get somewhere warm, please.”
That seemed to snap him out of it. He stood, snatched up his case, and stuck out his gloved hand awkwardly. “Bonjour, Jaquellyn Arnolt.” The French he spoke in was perfect, but that wasn’t the only thing that jolted me.
Blinking, I sat down my case. How did he know my name? Of course – Pytor, my new boss, must have told him. I nodded slowly, swallowing my fear. “It’s is nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.
“Where are your gloves? You cannot be in Russia without gloves!” He exclaimed instantaneously, though his French was halting, and clearly not his native language. Before I could stop him, he pulled off his gloves and shoved them at me. He struggled to find the right word. “Take!”
“I, uh, okay.” I set down my suitcases and slipped them on. They were huge, but warm, and I was grateful for it. “Spacibo,” I muttered again. I was becoming an expert at ‘thank you’ in Russian.
He picked up my suitcases. “Pytor Ivanovitch sent me, yes? From Tanets? You are his new assistant?”
I stared at him but nodded. He knew Pytor’s name, and my new job. I decided it was safe to go with this man I had just met.
“Come, we get cab,” he said in English, and took off down the walkway at a fast pace.
I hurried to catch up with him, remembering I had never asked for his name.