The Longest Winter

by Daphne Wright

  ‘Yes, Evelyn. It is I.’ He took her hands in a clumsy clasp and almost pushed her back into the kitchen.

  ‘Georgii! What are you doing here?’ he demanded, his tired, white face severe.

  ‘What do you expect? Waiting on my father and my uncle.’

  ‘That’s absurd at a time like this. We’re fighting for our very survival. We need all able-bodied men.’ Then he turned away from his young cousin, almost as though he had dismissed him as a nonentity or a coward, stripped off his gloves and took Evelyn’s hands again, raising first one and then the other to his lips. ‘My dear, I rejoice to find you here, safely out of Petrograd.’

  ‘But what have you been doing? Where have you been? We thought you were … had been killed. Are you really all right? Sergei, tell me everything.’

  ‘All right. But will you let me sit? I am really very tired.’

  ‘And hungry, too, I expect,’ she said, full of compunction. ‘Here, take this chair and I will find you some food. There is not quite so much as I thought there would be when I saw our first meal here, but it is far better than we had in Petrograd. Is pork all right for you? It’s a stew of pork and dried beans. The first fresh vegetables won’t be ready for a few more weeks Uncle Nikki says.’

  She knew she was babbling like a fool, but she was quite unable to control the force that sent words gushing out of her. She noticed that Georgii was sitting the other side of the table in resentful silence, smarting under the reprimand that was so unjust – he would have done anything to escape from Shenkursk and fight for his country instead of working like a peasant. Evelyn felt sorry for him, in spite of her earlier irritation, but his problems seemed so trivial in comparison with Sergei’s reappearance that she ignored him completely.

  Sergei’s return was in itself miraculous, but there was more to her upwelling happiness than a recognition of that. In his survival she had instantly seen John’s. If this man could live despite not only the Germans and the horrors of trenches, but also the treacherous assaults of his own men, then perhaps John too might really be alive. Tony was dead and she would ache forever with the loss, but if Sergei Voroshilov could turn up months and months after he had been posted ‘Missing believed killed’, then John might do the same, might even have returned to Yorkshire already. No letters had got through to Shenkursk since she had arrived. Perhaps there was one waiting somewhere with the news of John’s escape. Her sense of hope renewed brought a light into her face and a smile to her lips.

  As she bustled about the spotless kitchen finding a spoon and a bowl and ladling the thick stew into it, she was happy, unaware for the moment that Sergei was disgusted that she should be doing such things, appalled to see that she had given up the battle with her hair and had bundled it back in a simple plait and that she was wearing peasant dress. If he had not been almost dropping with exhaustion he would have been lecturing both Georgii and herself on the importance of keeping up the old standards and not compromising for one second with the levelling ambitions of the Bolsheviki.

  When she put the wooden bowl of stew in front of him at the kitchen table, he ate ravenously and asked her for more. Evelyn would have done anything for him then and hurried to refill the bowl, asking anxiously when he had last eaten and then without waiting for his answer, begging him to tell them how he had escaped the murderous deserters and where he had been and what his plans were.

  His hand gripped the spoon as though it was a weapon and an expression of near cruelty distorted his handsome face. For an instant Evelyn was afraid of him and wished she had not asked. Then he put the spoon down, looked at her and Georgii with narrowed eyes and an expression of suspicion, and at last said:

  ‘I got out just in time and went to England.’

  Despite her delight in his survival, Evelyn was filled with a sudden, violent resentment that dismayed her. If she, English and a bystander in this country, were trapped in it, why should he have been able to get out? She managed to say nothing more than:

  ‘But how?’

  ‘You ought not to ask things like that. It’s not safe.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, gulping a little. Before she could say anything else, he turned to Georgii.

  ‘Who else is here in this house? I know that Piotr has joined them, and is – thank God – out of the way. But who is here?’

  ‘Uncle Nikki, of course, and Mischa and his wife. My parents, and then Dindin and the children.’

  ‘And Nikolai Alexandrovitch? Will he let me stay here, or is he still in favour of the Revolution?’

  Evelyn could not let that pass. More angrily than she had ever spoken to Sergei, she said:

  ‘As far as I know he is in favour of Russia and peace and the betterment of everyone who lives here. I am sure he will let you stay.’

  ‘And not betray me to the Soviet?’

  ‘He would never betray anyone.’

  ‘You sound very sure, Evelyn. How can you know?’

  ‘If I ever had to trust one person in this world, I think it would be him. He would never willingly hurt anyone and he would never betray a confidence.’

  ‘Well I’ll have to believe you for I need a base in the town, and it’s easier to rely on family than strangers, although with traitors like your brother, Georgii, it pays to tread warily. Who comes to this house and whom do you all visit?’

  Evelyn looked very surprised, but it was Georgii who answered the question.

  ‘No one, of course. There are other respectable families here from Petrograd and some from Moscow, but we are all too busy to visit or receive any of them here.’

  ‘It’s that damned idealist, Nikolai Alexandrovitch, isn’t it? Well, don’t worry Evelyn, things are going to change around here now. It need be no secret that some of your countrymen are in Murmansk already and if we can start to rouse the countryside, we can rely on their help. Georgii, whatever you’ve been doing until today, you must join us now. It’s no time for idealistic pacifists. You are either with us or a Bolshevik.’

  Evelyn’s face drained of colour as she understood at last why he had come.

  ‘But that means civil war, Sergei. There has been no trouble here. The Soviets leave us alone. What are you going to do?’

  ‘Everything I can to restore my country and protect its people from those fiends.’

  She looked sideways at Georgii and was amazed to see him smiling. He realised that here at last was someone who would get him out of his uncle’s house.

  ‘Of course, Seriosha,’ he said. ‘I have been wanting to help, but Father … I’ll do whatever I can. You can count on me.’

  His cousin stood up. ‘I do, Georgii Andreivitch. I must sleep now, but wake me in three hours’time and you can brief me about the town. Evelyn, will you show me where I can sleep?’

  ‘Well, Sergei, of course. But … I mean, I shall have to ask Uncle Nikki first. It is his house.’

  ‘Then Sergei will have to wait until tonight,’ commented Georgii. ‘Don’t you remember? He’s out all today.’

  ‘Oh, dear, yes. Of course. Well, you’ve obviously got to sleep. Come on upstairs, then. We’ll talk to Nikolai Alexandrovitch tonight.’

  As he watched her fill a can with water from the kettle and fetch linen for his bed, Sergei burned inside with rage at what had been done to the immaculate, elegant Evelyn he had known before the world broke up.

  Chapter Eight

  During the afternoon, Evelyn crept into Sergei’s room several times to make sure that he was all right. He had been so tired that when she showed him the room, he had almost collapsed on to the bed in all his clothes and had barely been able to thank her before he fell asleep. He looked very fragile as he lay on top of the bedclothes, one hand curled up under his cheek and his usually faultless hair tumbled about on the pillow. She wanted to stroke the untidy hair back from his face and smooth away the dark purple bruises from under his eyes and her hand had even moved towards him before she realised what she was doing and controlled herself. The
brief moment of resentment that had flamed in the kitchen had died out completely. Now all she felt for him was protectiveness. When Georgii tried to wake him after the stipulated three hours, she refused even to let him through the door.

  ‘He’s far too exhausted, Georgii. Let him sleep. There’s nothing he can do now. Give him until tomorrow morning. Look at him.’ She stood aside. Georgii looked obediently into the room and said:

  ‘All right. But if he’s angry when he wakes …’

  Evelyn looked very straight at Georgii and said in a clearly contemptuous tone:

  ‘Don’t worry, Georgii. I shall take the blame if he is cross.’

  The young man blushed.

  ‘You don’t know him. He can be violently angry. We were all afraid of him as children. Just because he’s taken a fancy to you doesn’t mean that he’ll treat the rest of us any more kindly. He has a frightful temper.’

  Evelyn shrugged and went back to her tasks, waiting for Nikolai. When he came back at last, she made herself wait until he had taken off his shuba and hat and lit a pipe before saying:

  ‘Uncle Nikki?’ He looked up in surprise at the almost wheedling tone she used.

  ‘Yes, Evelyn. Is there something you want?’

  ‘Not really me. I mean …’ She found it very hard to phrase her request. ‘Look, Natalia Petrovna’s nephew, Sergei Voroshilov, did survive after all. He’s been all over the place, and he arrived here this morning in a state of terrible exhaustion. I’m not quite sure how he got here, but he did and I’ve put him to sleep in one of the empty rooms upstairs. Will you let him stay? Uncle Nikki, please?’

  Finding it hard to meet his eyes, Evelyn felt extraordinarily uneasy and waited tensely for his answer. When it came it surprised her.

  ‘Why do you think I would not?’ At that she did look at him, her eyebrows raised.

  ‘Well, because he’s on the other side. He’d reverse the Revolution if he could. And you …’

  ‘So long as he does not try to do any such thing in Shenkursk, he’s welcome to stay.’

  Her eyelids dropped over her eyes again and she discovered that she could not repeat what Sergei had said to Georgii. She did not see Nikolai’s expression of understanding, but she did hear the comfort in his voice as he said:

  ‘Evelyn, it is not something you need to worry about. I shall talk to the young man myself and find out his plans. You can forget about it.’ At that she shot him a small, grateful, apologetic smile and went away to the kitchen.

  Evelyn never discovered exactly what the two men said to each other, but Sasha and Natalie had overheard the conversation, and reported most of it at the end of their lesson with Evelyn. She knew that she ought to stop them repeating things they should not have overheard, but she cared too much about Sergei’s future to do it. Sasha started it.

  ‘Sergei Ivanovitch is going to stay with us now. Did you know that, Evie? Tallie and me were doing our sums for Uncle Nikki when Sergei Ivanovitch came to talk to him.’

  ‘What happened, Sashenka? What did they say?’

  ‘I didn’t understand it all, but Uncle Nikki was quite cold and sounded nearly cross when he was talking. He said, “Sergei Ivanovitch, you are welcome to shelter here if you will give me your word that you are here for shelter only.”’

  ‘And then Sergei said, “Oh yes, Nikolai Alexandrovitch, I can promise you that. I’d not have come to a revolutionary household if I could have been sure of any other,”’ contributed Natalie. ‘And Uncle Nikki was very cross. He is always so gentle but then he was more angry even than Father.’

  ‘But what did he say?’

  The young girl flushed as she gave Evelyn a verbatim report.

  ‘He said he was damned if he was going to take something like that from a young puppy. And then before he could say anything else, Sergei said: “Do you know what the swine have done on the Don?” And Uncle Nikki stopped shouting and sounded like he always does. “I’d heard a bit, and if it’s happened to your home, I’m sorry. But, please give me your word.”’

  ‘Then Sergei said quite crossly that he already had and Uncle Nikki said he would have to trust him. There. So now there will be someone else to help chop up the logs and silly old Georgii won’t have to hurt his back again,’ ended Sasha triumphantly.

  Evelyn smiled even as she delivered a gentle reproof for speaking so cheekily about his elder brother, and then sent both children off for a walk in the fresh air with Dindin and herself went in search of Sergei.

  She could not find him in any of the downstairs rooms and so she went rather timidly to knock on the door of his bedroom. His voice, sounding rather harsh, called:

  ‘Yes, who is it?’

  ‘Evelyn.’

  She heard footsteps and then he opened the door, smiling charmingly at her and said:

  ‘Come in, Evelyn. Here, sit down and tell me what I can do for you.’

  ‘Thank you, Sergei Ivanovitch, but I don’t want anything. And I don’t want to disturb you.’

  ‘You could never do that, my dear. It is always the greatest pleasure to see you. Now, tell me.’

  She could not help smiling back at him, but when she spoke there was no pleasure in her voice.

  ‘Sergei, what happened to your home?’ She was distressed to see his face transformed by a grimace in which she thought she could see pain and cruelty horribly married.

  ‘I didn’t want you to have to know anything about it, Evelyn. Our war is not fit for you.’

  ‘Please tell me. I hate to think that something has happened to that lovely house you told me about. Sergei, tell me.’

  He looked down at her and in a voice whose very coolness seemed dramatic he told her.

  ‘The Bolsheviki threw back the Cossacks who were trying to restore order to the province and in their advance they came to my home. They burned the house and shot my father. And then they raped my mother and Ekaterina Nikolaievna, one after another until every man there had had a turn. My mother died. Ekaterina Nikolaievna lived, but she was terribly mutilated. She is being cared for by the Red Cross now.’

  Evelyn sat silent, feeling sick and cold. There was nothing at all she could say. No words of sympathy or horror could possibly have expressed her feelings and, she felt, could only have insulted him by their inadequacy. She could not even look at him.

  At last she felt his hand on her shoulder and heard his voice, quiet and nearly gentle again:

  ‘Evelyn, perhaps I ought not to have told you, but I care for you so much that I could not keep something like that hidden from you, and I want you to understand why I have to do what I have to do.’

  Trying to keep her voice from shaking, she asked:

  ‘What is it that you must do, Sergei?’

  ‘Ah, that’s better, Evelyn. I love you looking up at me like that. I have to do everything I can to help your countrymen at Murmansk. If they move south into the country, as I hope they will, I shall be here to co-ordinate the local forces.’

  ‘But Sergei,’ she protested, ‘the children told me that you had promised Nikolai that you would do nothing like that.’

  ‘No, I gave him my word that I had only come to his house for shelter. And that is true. I have no home now.’

  After what she had heard, she could not bring herself to protest any further, although she knew that Nikolai would be furious to hear of Sergei’s plans. All she could do was to hope that he had guessed.

  The next time he saw her, he looked at her with careful eyes and said:

  ‘Child, what’s the matter?’

  She took a deep breath and said:

  ‘Did Sergei tell you what the Bolsheviki did at his home – to his mother, I mean, and to Ekaterina Nikolaievna?’

  ‘Yes, but I wish he had not told you. You must not think about it, Evelyn. It …’

  ‘How could I not think about it? Something like that. How could any human being do something like that? Uncle Nikki, why do people do such horrible things? Isn’t there enough horror
at the Front without that?’

  ‘Yes, child. Far too much. But there had been provocation.’

  ‘By Sergei’s parents and that pathetic spinster cousin of theirs? Surely not.’

  ‘No, not them specifically. But the Cossacks had behaved as badly and as cruelly when they were winning.’ When he saw her face beginning to close up against him, he went on: ‘Neither side in this struggle has a monopoly on cruelty – or on justification. Try not to think about it, Evelyn.’

  But she could not help it. Her mind returned to it again and again and even the pictures of Tony’s body on the wire, or John’s gassed or blown up or buried in a shell hole, began to give way to those created by what Sergei had told her. It was too easy to build up her memories of the man in the Vyborg and the louts in the train to Vologda into a scene that reflected what Sergei had told her.

  He never referred to it again, but she could see the wounds it had made in his mind, and she could only admire the courage with which he joined in the ordinary life of Nikolai’s house. Accepting his share of the tasks that had to be done, he nevertheless brought to them all a new lightness, almost an air of frivolity. Instead of a quick walk for fresh air whenever the weather was bearable, he made Evelyn and the children wrap up warmly and go skating with him on the river, or made Mischa harness the one tired pony to the sleigh and take his cousins for a drive over the icy roads out of the town. Life seemed to move faster when Sergei was a part of it, and the slow, tiring, somehow gentle days turned into something more exciting.

  There was one early afternoon in April when he decreed that they should all go skating. When Evelyn protested, he overrode her and urged her into sharing his pleasure in the day. The few hours of daylight were real light by then and the sky was a glorious, blazing blue, against which the leafless birches really looked as though they were made out of silver. The snow had not yet begun to thaw and made a pristine background for the little churches with their bulbous domes and painted walls. Evelyn had hardly noticed Shenkursk itself until that afternoon, but looking about her as they walked down to the river, carrying their skate blades, she thought how pretty it was and how sad that for six or seven months of every year there should be so little light by which to see it.