Natalie Tereshchenko - The Other Side

by Elizabeth Audrey Mills

  The man drops, blood pumping from a hole in his neck where the bullet has passed right through. I can see that Rada is injured, a large red stain spreading into her shirt around her left shoulder, and she looks pale and in pain, but I am glad to see her moving.

  Olgha and I begin to run down the last few steps, but are amazed when Rada turns her gun and points it at our heads.

  "Rada, it's me, Natalie," I say lamely, stopping at the foot of the stairs. I wonder if perhaps she cannot not see clearly, or is confused by the pain.

  She lowers the gun, and I relax, but then she does what seems to me to be a strange thing: looking past us and smiling, grimly, she nods her head. Puzzled, I start to turn, to see what she is looking at, but before I have completed the movement there is a bumping sound, and something bounces past us, glancing against my legs and knocking me off my feet like a skittle.

  As I land on my hands and knees I find that, on the floor beside me, lies the body of the man Max strangled outside the bedroom. I look up to the top of the stairs, where Max is standing on the landing, grinning and theatrically brushing his hands together, as though knocking dust from them. The man had apparently somehow recovered enough to have one more try at us, but as he lies there on the floor beside us, his neck now at an odd angle, he will clearly not trouble us again.

  Chapter 31

  ~ Aftermath ~

  The stone slabs that make up the kitchen floor are awash with blood and rainwater, and I tread carefully past Malchik's still form as I cross the room to close and bolt the door. At the same time, Olgha hurries to Stefan's side and begins to examine him. Rada is sitting on the wet floor, her back against the sideboard, and I kneel by her side to examine her wound. Though bloody and messy, it does not seem to be life-threatening. It appears that the bullet must have passed right through the flesh of her arm, just below her shoulder. She has lost quite a lot of blood, and the bullet may have nicked the bone, but it could have been a lot worse.

  I use Rada's own knife to cut away her shirt sleeve, then tear the material into strips for bandages with which to bind the wound tightly, to stem the flow of blood. When I am sure she is stable, I leave her in Max's care while I go to help Olgha.

  Stefan's condition is much worse; he is badly injured and unconscious. Hit in the chest and abdomen by two bullets, he is bleeding heavily. We did not dare try to move him, so we dress his wounds as best we can where he lies on the floor, then cover him with blankets to keep him warm. Though I can see tears running down her cheeks, Olgha's face is frozen into an expression of determination, her lips tightly pressed together, all emotion suppressed so that she can concentrate on treating her husband.

  "He needs a doctor," I say, gently.

  "I know," she replies, shaking her head, "but I cannot leave him to bring one."

  "This has all happened because of me," I comment. "I am so sorry for bringing it upon you."

  She shrugs, but says nothing.

  "Who is your nearest neighbour?" I ask.

  She points to the east. "Cherenkov, about half an hour's walk."

  I feel guilty, and need to redeem myself. "I will go and tell them," I say.

  She nods. "Thank you."

  * * *

  It is still raining hard, so I take a waterproof coat down from the row of hooks beside the door. But as I am putting it on, there is the sound of horses hooves clattering into the cobbled yard outside. I run to peep carefully out of the broken window, in time to see the shadowy shapes of three armed men dismounting in the wet gloom of the driving rain.

  "More of Avadeyev's men?" I moan incredulously to Rada, who also heard the horses and has struggled to her feet to stand beside me. "Is this how it is to be forever, pursued day and night?"

  She already has her rifle in her hand, a grim expression on her face, and passes me her spare pistol, for mine is at the bottom of the stairs, still empty.

  But Olgha joins us and places a hand on my arm.

  "Wait!" she says. "These are our neighbours. Don't shoot!"

  She opens the door to admit them, calling out their names. Rada and I put our guns down and join her. The men come into the kitchen, water dripping from their coats, and look at the scene of carnage around the kitchen with amazement.

  "This is Boris," Olgha informs me, “and his sons Georgy and Nikolay.”

  The elder of the three men looks at me and inclines his head once in response.

  "We heard gunshots, and came to help," he explains to Olgha. "What has been happening?"

  "We think they came for me," I tell him. "Stefan is badly hurt." I point to where Olgha has returned to kneel at her husband's side, arranging the blanket around him.

  Boris turns to one of his sons. "Nikolay, ride like the wind and bring the doctor."

  The man nods, and departs at once.

  "Who are you?" Boris asks me, gruffly.

  His caution is understandable; he has never seen me before, and here I have brought disaster to his friends.

  I point to Max. "The man that Stefan and Olgha saved is my fiancé. His name is Max, and I am Natalie, his wife-to-be." Then I point to the corpses. "We were on the run from those men, but they followed me here and attacked us."

  He looks around the room. "Georgy and I will help you to clean up in here," he says.

  Rada is also keen to help, but she is pale and unsteady from the loss of blood. Olgha instructs her to go upstairs and rest in one of the spare bedrooms. I ask Max to take her, as someone to lean on, and to make sure that she obeys.

  Boris and Georgy begin to drag the bodies of our two attackers outside and across the yard. They lay them on some straw in a clear part of the barn, adding those that lay scattered around the yard, and the one from the back of the house ~ seven, in all. I carry out the body of poor Malchik, who died bravely trying to save his family, and lay it beside them. They will all have to be buried tomorrow. We stack their weapons in a corner of the barn.

  Max returns to the kitchen after escorting Rada to bed, and stands by the stairs looking lost. I can see that he longs to help, but he is slow to move. Eventually, Boris asks him to help him to nail some boards over the broken window, while I mop and dry the kitchen floor and Olgha takes a moment away from her husband to put some soup on the stove to heat.

  * * *

  Now we are done with the tidying up, and outside the rain has eased to a drizzle. Night has fallen, and as the clouds roll away to the east, the moon and stars have appeared ~ the world has eased itself, exhausted, out of its tantrum. We have closed up the barn and are now congregating in the kitchen. As the men enter, I take their wet coats from them and hang them on the rail near the fire to dry, and Olgha starts to serve the soup that she has prepared for us.

  We have scarcely sat at the table, however, when I am amazed to hear Nikolay return, less than an hour after leaving. Puzzled, I join his father and brother in the yard as they greet him. "Surely you have not ridden all the way to Nizhny and back in such a short time," I exclaim as he dismounts.

  Boris laughs. "Doctor Losev works one of the farms a little way to the south," he informs me. "The city doctors will not come out here, to this barbarous countryside. And even if they did we could not afford their fancy prices. Losev knows how hard our lives are, because he shares it. He cares for us all, humans and animals, and accepts payment in produce or whatever we can give for his services. It is how we farmers survive."

  "He is on his way," Nikolay advises us. "He should be here within an hour."

  It is a huge relief that help will soon arrive for Stefan and Rada. "Thank you all for what you are doing," I say to the three men as we turn to head back into the kitchen. "This is what I thought the revolution was supposed to be delivering to all citizens, co-operation and an end to privilege, but instead it is just a continuation of the old ways under different rulers."

  Boris nods. "City people with city ways," he grunts.

  And that is the truth; he has summed it up in one simple phrase. The city way is to
try to make everyone the same, to fit into the system, whereas these country people have discovered how to live with their differences and to turn them to the advantage of all.

  Back indoors, we return to the kitchen table to resume our soup and bread.

  * * *

  An hour has passed. Boris and his sons have left, promising to return tomorrow morning to help dig and fill the graves. As they disappear through the opening in the wall, the doctor arrives, driving a buggy. Max takes his horse and begins to unharness it from the shafts of the cart, and the doctor hurries indoors, carrying a large leather Gladstone bag.

  He kneels on the hard stone floor and examines Stefan, removing the pads with which Olgha has stemmed the flow of blood, and cutting away some of Stefan's clothes. I bring him a cushion to kneel on, for which he thanks me, absently, as he contemplates Stefan's injuries.

  After five minutes he pronounces that the wound in Stefan's abdomen, though it looks bad, is not serious in itself. The bullet has sliced across his belly at an angle, damaging a lot of surface flesh, but without striking any of his internal organs. He cleans it and stitches it closed.

  Stefan's chest wound, however, is a greater test of the doctor's skills. In a process similar to that which I saw when I watched Max's bullet being removed, Losev carefully plucks out the offending missile from where it has lodged against one of Stefan's ribs, and the pieces of material carried in with the projectile, then cleans out the hole with disinfectant. Finally, he stitches it up and applies a dressing.

  "His rib prevented the bullet from penetrating to his lung," he declares as he stands up and stretches. "There are no internal organs damaged. But it is the shock caused by the sudden loss of blood that concerns me most. Fortunately, he is strong, and there is a good chance of recovery. It is likely that he will regain consciousness before the night is through. Give him some water to drink, and a little soup if he can manage it. Keep him warm."

  "Can we make him more comfortable, Losev?" Olgha asks. "It does not seem good that he is laying on a cold, hard floor."

  The doctor purses his lips. "Really, we should not try to move him. But you are right, and we could shift him with care. Do you have something we could put under him?"

  "Yes," Olgha replies. "A thin mattress." She looks to Max. "You know the one?"

  He nods, and I follow him up the stairs to help. When we return, we bring Rada with us for the doctor to check. Losev examines her shoulder, redresses it, and pronounces that he sees no cause for concern there.

  We lay the mattress beside Stefan, and the doctor supervises while the rest of us carefully work a blanket under him. Then, with all of us gripping the corners and sides of the blanket, we lift it and ease him onto the mattress, finally rearranging his blankets over him again.

  The doctor is pleased. "Good, now do not allow him to get up for anything. If he needs to pass water or empty his bowel, he must do it here, and you will have to help him." He fixes Olgha with a stare and raised eyebrows, to make sure she understands his meaning.

  She manages a tight smile. "He will do as I tell him, doctor."

  Losev also smiles, reassuringly. "I am confident he will soon be on his feet and back to his normal, grumpy self." He fumbles in his bag and withdraws a small brown bottle, which he hands to Olgha. "This is morphine. If the pain is bad, put a drop on his tongue. I will return tomorrow afternoon to check on him."

  At this cue, Max goes ahead of Losev into the yard and leads the doctor's horse from the stable, where it has enjoyed a brief rest and some hay, and begins to harness it to the buggy. In moments, Losev is ready to leave, and we have all gathered at the kitchen door to watch and wave as he turns the corner of the buildings and vanishes from our sight.

  It is near to midnight when we close and lock the kitchen door, and though I suspect that none of us will be able to sleep, we agree that we should at least try. I have instructed Rada to go back to bed, and she is so exhausted that she has amazed me by agreeing without argument.

  As she wearily climbs the stairs, Max and I move two armchairs across the room ~ one so that Olgha can sit beside Stefan, and another one for me. I will stay with them, my pistol in my lap, to keep guard.

  Max kisses me and holds me tight, then makes his way back upstairs. I push some more logs into the fire in the big cooking stove and close its door, before settling down next to Olgha for the night.

  Chapter 32

  ~ Tuesday 3rd September 1918 ~

  A fine sentry I have proved to be! A hand on my shoulder gently shakes me awake in the darkness, and for a few seconds I am confused as to where I am. Rada's voice comes from the figure that is standing beside me:

  "It's only me, Nata," she whispers. "It's six o'clock. Go and join Max, I'll take over here."

  I push myself out of the soft chair and carefully hug her, then she takes the gun from my hand and settles into the armchair, while I carefully climb the shadowy stairs.

  I find the room with Max in, and quietly undress. But as I slip into bed beside him he senses my arrival, and curls his big arm around me, pulling me close. I nestle into the warmth of his body, remembering the first night we spent together at his sister's café in Yekaterinberg. I hear in my head again the song he sang to me, a Ukranian love song. I do not know the words, properly, so I just quietly hum the tune.

  Then an amazing thing happens ~ he joins in, singing the words I recognise: "Oy u Hayu, Pry Dunayu."

  Tears spring to my eyes. He remembers! His mind is not permanently damaged. He will recover, and I will help him.

  We belong together, and together we will build our new future.

  * * *

  To my joy and relief, Stefan is awake and cogent when we come downstairs to join the others soon after sunrise. Though weak, he is enquiring about the events after he was shot. As we recount everything to him, he sips some soup, and soon afterwards, falls asleep again.

  As soon as possible, Rada and I leave the others and go out to the barn. Before Boris and his sons arrive, I am anxious to learn more about the men sent to attack the farmhouse. So we begin searching through the pockets of the gunmen.

  We find very little, but what we find is significant; Rada has come up with something, a letter. Her eyebrows rise as she read it.

  "Well, this is a surprise," she says, passing it to me.

  It reads, simply:

  The traitor Tereshchenko will be in Nizhny Novgorod on 1st September. She must not live.

  It carries no names, only a cryptic symbol at its head, a representation of a shining sun with the words 'Pure' above it, and 'White' beneath.

  "Pure White?" I say, wrinkling my face in puzzlement. "So they were Whites, nothing to do with Avadeyev."

  "Apparently."

  But who are the 'Pure Whites'?"

  "I have heard of them," she replies. "They are an extremist resistance group, hostile to the Bolsheviks, supported by the royal families of foreign monarchies. There are said to be still a few Romanovs alive in hiding, and the Pure Whites plan to put one back in control of Russia."

  We take the letter indoors and show it to Olgha, who is still keeping vigil beside her sleeping husband. After she has read it, Rada repeats what she just told me.

  "There are rumours that a member of the royal family survived the massacre," Olgha comments. "Some say it is the princess Anastasia."

  I shake my head; it is time for me to disclose my own little bomb-shell; there are to be no secrets from my new family. "No, it was me, Olgha. Very few people know this, and I wish it was otherwise, but I am half royal ~ a bastard. I never knew my father, but I have learnt that he was one of the Tsar's brothers. When he was killed in a naval battle in the war against Japan, the Empress took me in. It was never admitted that I shared their royal blood, and I only found out last year. It's the reason I was with them when they were murdered, and why Max and I have been on the run from Avadeyev ever since. What I don't understand is how this 'Pure White' organisation knows about me, and why they want me dead
so badly."

  "Could they have been the ones who were trying to kill you in Moscow, when you joined Aleksandra?" Rada suggests.

  "Why yes, of course!" I exclaim. "That explains a lot. I have been assuming that Avadeyev was behind all the attempts on my life, but some, or perhaps even most, of them must have been these 'Pure Whites'. And now I think of it, I suspect that the woman who claimed to be my mother was actually working for them. Yes! They probably had Sacha's mother in on it, too. I mean, it was bad enough that I refused to become their figure-head, but to then compound it by going to work for the Bolsheviks must have seemed like a betrayal. No wonder they want to kill me."

  * * *

  Mid-morning and, true to their word, Boris and his sons have arrived and laboured in the field beside the farmhouse, digging eight graves, including a small one for Malchik, the brave little dog who died trying to protect us.

  Now we are gathered around the row of graves, each with its unknown occupant, to show respect for the dead. Misguided though they were, and murderously fanatical about their cause, we agree that their souls are now in the care of whatever deity they may have believed in. For my part, although I do not have a god to pray to, I respect their passion and bravery, and I stand in respectful silence as Boris chants a burial dirge.

  It has started to rain again. Not the deluge of yesterday, but a steady drizzle that shrouds the world in a kind of grey mist. We return to the farmhouse for some warm food before the men leave to return to their own farm. We have given them the weapons of our dead attackers, by way of thanks for their help. They can keep them or sell them; we have no need of any more guns ~ we have a veritable arsenal of our own ~ and we want to give them something to show our gratitude.

  * * *

  Olgha and I are feeding and cleaning out the animals when the doctor returns. After examining the two patients, he declares that he is pleased with both of them, though he warns us to be scrupulous in cleaning the wounds. With much argument, he finally consents to let Stefan climb the stairs to sleep in his own bed, supported by Olgha and Max, but is insistent that he must not do any physical work for at least a week.

  Rada and I have talked privately, and offered to stay to help Stefan and Olgha for as long as they need us. We will work, doing what Stefan is unable to do for a while, helping with the harvest and the animals and around the house.