Anastasia's Secret

by Susanne Dunlap

  I heard steps approaching and went and sat in a chair, taking up a book someone had left on a table nearby. The house was well stocked with things to read in addition to what we had brought with us, which was a blessing, since once the weather changed we were condemned to more inactivity here than at Tsarskoe. The door to the room opened and I saw that it was only Mashka, who had come in with her knitting. We still made socks for the soldiers, knowing that few of them would ever reach those who fought in the war against the Germans. By the time I had greeted Mashka, little Igor had left so quietly he might never have been there.

  CHAPTER 25

  The message I received in return from Sasha came through a very unexpected channel. Perhaps if I had been more aware of what was going on in other parts of Russia, it might not have seemed so surprising. It was one of the guards who never smiled, never spoke, who had not been among the friendly guards on our train. He came over to me after he had escorted Nastinka and Lili into the sitting room. He pretended to glance at the drawing I was doing in pencil of Mama, who leaned on her arm and gazed lovingly at Alexei’s head.

  “Tonight, at eleven, in the alleyway.” He said it so quietly and quickly that I wasn’t certain I had heard him properly. But then he dropped something in my lap that made me believe he could be trusted. It was a tortoiseshell pick for a balalaika. No one else but Sasha would have known to give me that signal.

  The members of the suite left us after dinner, and Papa and Mama finished their game of bezique early, almost as if by some strange signal the world knew I had an important appointment that night.

  It was nearly September, and in Siberia the nights were already cool, the breeze sending a chill down from the distant mountaintops. How different from the balmy evenings at Livadia or the pine-scented nights of Skernevizi—either place one of our habitual dwellings at that time of year. I wrapped myself in a shawl, telling Mashka that I was not tired and would wander through the empty sitting rooms of the house rather than try to sleep. I wondered if I would be able to go down the stairs and walk outdoors without being stopped at that hour of night. I assumed that Sasha, who had always managed to arrange things before, would have known that it was possible or he would not have sent me the message. But practical matters were not at the top of my mind. I thrilled to my secret, a little guilty that I could experience such intense pleasure at a time when everything else was so uncertain for our family. At that time I was still unaware of how much conditions could deteriorate, and I continued to hope that this move to Siberia was the beginning of the end of our captivity, that we would be allowed simply to disappear into the vast wilderness of Russia.

  Although nothing in my parents’ behavior had given me the hope I nurtured then, all of us, OTMA and Alexei, had been feeling similarly cheerful. Mashka had even said she wished we could remain there in Tobolsk forever, she was so happy. Mama was more affectionate with us than she had ever been, and, if anything, we were closer as a family now that the pressure of the monarchy was not upon us.

  In this same fog of false security, I was not surprised to see the guard who had spoken to me earlier standing by the small door that led out to the barricaded road where we were allowed to exercise. He did not say a word to me, turning away as if to imply that if anything happened to me, or Sasha and I were discovered, he had seen nothing and would not come to our defense. But it was mute censure, and easy to ignore.

  I slipped noiselessly into the alleyway. There was no moon that night—perhaps that’s why Sasha had selected it as the time when we should meet. All the lamps in the Governor’s House had been extinguished, and the villagers did not stay up beyond ten. Only the stars above shed the feeblest, illusory light. I had to put my hands out in front of me. The dark was so thick it seemed as if I could touch it, or that it bore down on me and would suffocate me, swallow me into a void so intense I would not be able to climb out again. I felt myself begin to panic, my heart beating fast and my breath coming in short gasps. Then Sasha took hold of my arm and drew me to him, and the dark took on a different quality, one of envelopment and safety, from being enfolded in his arms. His lips, his hands—these I felt rather than saw, and it wasn’t until several minutes had passed that my eyes became enough accustomed to the dark to make out his right eye, and distinguish the still darker patch that covered his left.

  “Where have you been? What happened to you?” I breathed into his ear.

  “I changed my name to Mikhail Alexandrovich. I got false papers, and then reenlisted in the guard. It took some time, but I eventually volunteered to go to Siberia, so they posted me here.”

  I almost couldn’t believe my good fortune. How had he managed it, when so few seemed to have any control over their lives now?

  “I—and those who are friendly to your cause and whom I cannot name—are working to get you out of here.”

  “You mean all of us? I cannot leave without Papa and Mama and my brother and sisters.”

  He paused for the briefest instant before answering. “Yes, yes, of course. All or nothing, eh?”

  “Oh, Sasha! It’s been so horrible.”

  “Are you being mistreated?” he asked, holding me away from him as if he possessed the ability to see in the night.

  “No, no. Things are better, really. It’s just…” I felt a little foolish letting on that what was horrible was not imprisonment or disgrace, but being without him. “It’s just… not knowing what is to come,” I said, deciding against the absolute truth.

  “You must not lose heart,” he said, pulling me to him again and rubbing his cheek against my hair, which had grown another couple of inches since we had last seen each other. “I am afraid that things might get worse. The Bolsheviks are planning another revolt, and this time they may have the strength to pull it off.”

  His remark caught me off guard. How could he know what the Bolsheviks were planning? Perhaps he really was a spy for the monarchists, and they were using the extreme faction to create chaos and overthrow the Provisionals. Or what if… “What will that mean?” I asked.

  “New commanders are coming in September to guard your family.”

  “You mean new jailers!” I said.

  “Ssshhh!” he said, but not in a mean way, and he made me quiet by kissing my lips gently, just as I remembered him doing before the horrible event in the pantry at the Alexander Palace.

  “Oh, Sasha! It’s really you! I can’t believe it.”

  I squeezed him until he said, “Ouch! Any harder and you’ll break my ribs!”

  I loosened my grip on him without letting go. He stroked my head. We stayed like that for several minutes, letting the dark take us over.

  “I wish you could all just walk out of here and disappear into the steppes,” he whispered.

  “Why do they care what becomes of us? Why can they not simply let us go, to live in peace and quiet? What harm would we do anyone?”

  “You would not do harm, but your father … You see how the people here still cross themselves when he passes by to go to the village church. He is a symbol of the old way, the comfortable, safe way. He is the representative of God on earth to these superstitious people.” While Sasha talked, he continued to caress me, but absently, his movements keeping time with and adhering to the shape of his thoughts. Something was on his mind aside from me.

  “Surely you mean religious, not superstitious.” God was a certainty I never questioned. We started every day with prayers and ended it the same way. We had even begun to learn the chanted responses to the Mass.

  “Yes, religious. The Bolsheviks, of course, consider them one and the same.”

  “You seem to have made quite a study of the Bolsheviks,” I said, meaning to tease him, but he stiffened perceptibly.

  “We don’t have long,” he said, abruptly changing the subject and making me aware of where we were.

  “But you are here now, and we can see each other again.” I nuzzled him. I wondered if he would be able to find some private place like that pantry
, where we could forget the whole world and be only us, together.

  “Yes, but it’s more difficult here. There are not so many places to hide in such a small town.”

  If it had been a few months later, I might have heard the discouragement in his voice. But I had no experience of love and its trials. All I knew was that Sasha had returned. “Alexei and I sometimes practice the balalaika together, and there is a piano here that Mama plays often, although it’s not very good. Sometimes some of the officers come and listen in the evening. My sisters and brother and I with the help of Zhilik—M. Gilliard—are thinking we might mount a series of little plays, to pass the time and amuse Papa and Mama and the suite. Perhaps you could—”

  He interrupted me with a fierce kiss. “Nothing is certain. Except that you are here and I am here, and that we will be able to meet again, but it must be secret. I cannot become a part of your daily life.”

  I did not ask why. I did not question anything. I just reached up and ran my fingers through his fair hair, passed them lightly over the patch on his eye, and tenderly kissed his mouth. “I love you,” I breathed.

  “You had better return to your room before you are missed,” he said, turning me around and giving me a gentle push toward the door, which I could see faintly outlined against the glowing white of the outside walls.

  CHAPTER 26

  Sasha was right about the new commanders, Pankratov and Nikolsky: they were civilians. Pankratov was reasonable enough and quite polite, but Nikolsky was crude and nasty. One of the first things he did was insist that we all wear identity cards. We had to have our pictures taken, and had to pin our cards to our clothing or wear them around our neck, even though everyone knew full well who we were. “It’s time they had to live like the rest of us,” he said, referring to us as if we weren’t there to a group of guards who had assembled to watch us be photographed and issued our pasteboard cards. Mine said “Anastasia Nicholaevna Romanova.” It was my name, but it felt odd to use it in that way, written down.

  And then, not long after that we were told that the government would no longer pay the stipend that provided our food, clothing, medicines, and the wages for our servants, but that we would have to live off the interest from our private fortunes.

  “We must decide what to do. I confess, I am at a loss,” Papa said one evening.

  Prince Dolgorukov stood as if he were calling a meeting to order. “Gilliard and I can figure something out, I’m sure. A plan of economy. Like living on rations.”

  Zhilik rose too. I felt as if we were all about to have a lesson. “It may be necessary, you understand, to make some substantial changes. What is the amount we have to live on for the entire household?”

  Papa looked down and pursed his lips. “Six hundred rubles.”

  “Per week? That is not so bad,” the prince said.

  “Per month,” Papa said, and everyone went quiet.

  “Why, that is an absurdly small amount!” Mama looked as if she did not believe it. I had no real idea about how much or little six hundred rubles might buy, and so I could not react.

  Papa went to Mama. “We will have to make changes. But it is not so terrible. We shall manage, as long as we’re all together.”

  “If there is any way at all I can help …” It was Nastinka. “I have some private funds, but I don’t know how to get them.” As a maid of honor, she was a salaried employee of the court. “And of course, there is no question of my own compensation. That goes without saying.”

  She went to Mama and took her hands. I could see the tears well up in Mama’s eyes. I realized then that Mama had always been the one to give to others. She had never been in a position of needing material help. It must have been so upsetting to be in her shoes just then.

  The prince and Zhilik spent several hours working on our family budget. I was intrigued at the idea of having to count what everything cost, having never thought about it before. I don’t think I had ever fully realized that a loaf of bread had a fixed price. When they reported to us later, we discovered exactly what it would mean to have to live on a limited income.

  “I am afraid, Your Majesty,” Prince Dolgorukov said, “We must dismiss nearly all the servants.”

  “How can this be?” Mama said.

  “There simply isn’t the money if you are to continue eating and have money for laundry and heating this house.”

  “Who may stay?” Mama asked.

  “Demidova, Chemodurov, and Volkov, of course. Tegleva may stay to look after the grand duchesses. We can keep one cook, a footman, a maid, and a man to help with the heavy chores. All the others must go.”

  “We can do more chores, Mama,” Mashka said, always the one to try to make things seem better than they were. In this case, though, we all readily agreed.

  “I shall speak to the servants myself,” Mama said. “Call them here.”

  Zhilik pressed the bell that rang in the kitchen. A moment later, one of the underservants arrived. “Yes, Comrade Romanova?” she said, clearly annoyed at having been summoned in the midst of preparing some food.

  “Bring all the servants to this room. I have to speak with them.”

  Without saying a word, she left, and a few minutes later the servants trickled in, until there were about twenty in the great hall.

  “I regret to tell you,” Mama said, “that our finances will no longer support such a large staff here. I have been informed that we can employ only one maid, a handyman, and a cook. Magda and Yeleni, you will stay, with Kharitonov as cook. The rest of you, I regret to say, are dismissed.”

  “Oh! So we are to go just like that! What about our families? What about feeding our own bellies? It’s all right for you lot!” The young kitchen maid, one of the locals who had been hired when another servant became ill and had to return to Petrograd, threw down the rag she had in her hand and stormed out.

  The others looked down at the floor. Several of the servants who had been with us for a long time blushed. One or two wiped tears away from their eyes. Zhilik stepped forward. “There is enough money to give you two months’ wages and your travel expenses back to Petrograd, or wherever else you need to go.”

  At that, eight of those present curtsied or bowed to Mama and Papa and left. There were five or six remaining, aside from the two who had been told they could stay. They looked at each other, coming to a silent agreement before one of them spoke.

  “If it’s all the same to you,” said an older fellow who had been polishing brass and marble and doing other work in our households at Tsarskoe Selo and wherever else we went, “we’d just as soon stay. We need no wages. Our life is with you.”

  At that, Mama lost the control she had maintained until

  that point, and wept into her handkerchief. The servants left quietly.

  A few weeks after our new household arrangements had begun and we were just getting used to our additional chores, we had yet more difficulties to face. We were waiting for the members of the suite to join us after breakfast, and they were late. Papa took out his pocket watch every so often and looked at it. He and Mama exchanged a few glances. Everyone looked up every time there was a sound.

  At last, we heard the guard unlock the front door, and the sound of people approaching. It was not the usual happy sound of guests, however, just footsteps. I don’t think we were entirely surprised when Nastinka, Lili, the prince, and General Tatichev entered accompanied by Pankratov, Nikolsky, and a guard.

  “What is this?” Papa asked.

  “New regulations from the Soviet,” Nikolsky said, unmistakable glee in his voice.

  Pankratov stepped forward, not letting the deputy continue. “I regret to say that the Soviet has found it necessary to require the residents of the Kornilov house to remain in that house unless escorted by guard to this one.”

  So, it was an end to their being able to go into town and post our letters, to buy us provisions and little necessities. I couldn’t help sighing. Things weren’t getting better here in Sib
eria after all. They were getting worse.

  That was the beginning of the time when it “officially” became my task, as it had always been when I was younger, to keep everyone’s spirits up. Fortunately, my own mood was practically ecstatic since Sasha and I managed to meet two or three times a week. This made it relatively easy to play the clown and divert everyone’s thoughts from our imprisonment and the approaching Siberian winter. I think it was that secret, that joy that I had to keep hidden from everyone else, that gave me not only happiness, but strength. I could take small vexations in stride. Ignore the bad manners and disrespect of some of the guards. Not fall into despondency when Alexei’s ankle hurt or some other joint swelled and gave him pain. Play silly songs on the piano and imitate the opera singers we had heard years ago in Petrograd.

  Our life settled into a new pattern that had an element of unpredictability at its core. Although our plan of economy had been carefully worked out by Zhilik and the prince, we found we had less and less money, and by the time the first snows came in late October, it was barely possible to heat the open rooms of the Governor’s House.

  Even my breath didn’t feel warm enough when I blew on my hands. All of us wore furs indoors, and gloves without fingers so that we could mend, knit, play the piano, and play bezique. Now that Sasha’s balalaika had been revealed to everyone, I took great pleasure in bringing it out in the evening. Alexei and I learned some duets. He strummed the chords and I picked out the tune with the pick that had been part of Sasha’s first message to me when we arrived at Tobolsk. I practiced that fast vibrato so typical of the balalaika, and much easier with a pick than with a fingernail. I was happy to note that I became quite good. Our livelier tunes got Olga and Mashka up to dance, and sometimes one or two of the more friendly guards would wander in and take part. They must have been bored themselves, watching over people who were not dangerous or volatile, and who made no attempts to escape or otherwise break the rules of their imprisonment.