It was late March when Nikolai finally came to her, looking exhausted and disheveled. He had come on horseback all the way from Tsarskoe Selo, but it had been the only way he could travel. The soldiers guarding the Imperial family had allowed him to leave, and promised he could return. But he had a look of desperation as he sat with her in the corridor outside Madame Markova's office, and told her in no uncertain terms that, as soon as they could arrange it, they would have to leave Russia.
“Terrible times are coming. We have no idea what will happen here now. I have convinced Marie she must take the boys and go home. They will leave next week. She is still English, and they will allow her safe passage, but they may not be as kind to us, if we stay here. I want to wait until the girls are well over the measles, and make sure that the family is safe. And then we'll arrange to go to America, to my cousin Viktor.”
“I can't believe this.” Danina was horrified as she listened. It seemed as though in a matter of weeks, their whole world had come to an end. “How are they? Are they very frightened?” She was so worried about them. They had been through so much in the past month, and Nikolai said, with a look of concern, “No, they are all remarkably brave. And once the Czar returned, everyone became very calm. The guards are quite reasonable, but the family cannot leave the grounds now.”
“What will they do to them?” Her eyes were full of fear for her friends.
“Nothing, certainly. But it has been a great shock, and a sad end. There is talk of their going to England, to their cousins there, but there is a great deal of negotiation to do before that. They may go to Livadia, while they wait. If so, I will accompany them, and then come back to you. I will arrange passage to America as soon as possible. You must prepare yourself, Danina.” This time there was no argument, no discussion, no weighing the decision. Danina knew with utter certainty now that she would go with him. Before he left her that night, he pressed a roll of bills into her hand. He told her to pay for their passage, and arrange it in the next few weeks. He was sure that by then, the Imperial family would be comfortably settled, and he would be able to leave them and go with her.
But she watched him go that night with a feeling of terror. What if something happened to him? As he mounted his horse, he turned and smiled at her, and told her not to worry, and assured her that, staying with the Imperial family, he would be even safer than she was. He rode off again at a gallop, and clutching the money he had left her, she hurried back into the safety of the ballet.
It was a long, anxious month waiting to hear from him again, and trying to glean what they could from the rumors they all heard in the streets, from citizens and soldiers. The Czar's fate still seemed unsure, and there was talk of their staying at Tsarskoe Selo, going to Livadia or going to England to stay with their royal cousins. There were constant rumors, and the two letters she had from Nikolai told her nothing more than she already knew. Even in Tsarskoe Selo nothing was definite or certain. No one knew where or how it would all end.
Danina was careful with her funds while she waited to hear further from Nikolai, and with a terrible pang of guilt she sold the little nephrite frog Alexei had given her, knowing that once they were in Vermont, they would need the money.
She managed to contact her father through his regiment, and in a brief letter, told him what she planned to do. But once again the letter she received from him held bitter news. The third of her four brothers had been killed. And he urged her to do as Nikolai suggested. He remembered meeting him, though he still had no idea that he was married, and told her to go to Vermont, and he would contact her there. She and Nikolai could come back to Russia again when the war was over. And in the meantime, he told her to pray for Russia, wished her godspeed, and told her he loved her.
She was in shock as she read his letter, unable to believe that yet another of her brothers had been lost. And suddenly she began to feel that she would never see any of them again. Every day was an agony, worrying about her family, and Nikolai. She bought their tickets on a ship due to sail at the end of May, but it was the first of May before she heard from Nikolai again. And his letter was once more painfully brief, as he hastened to send it as quickly as he could.
“All is well here,” he wrote reassuringly, and she prayed that he was telling her the truth. “We continue to wait for news. Every day they tell us something different, and there is still no definite word from England. It's rather awkward for all of them. But everyone is in good spirits. It looks as though they will be leaving for Livadia in June. I must stay with them until then. I cannot desert them now, as I'm sure you understand. Marie and the boys left last week. I will join you in St. Petersburg, I promise, by the end of June. And until then, my darling, stay safe in our love, and think only of Vermont, and our future there. I will come to see you for a few hours, if I can.”
Her hand trembled as she read the letter, and as she thought of him, the tears coursed down her cheeks. For him, for them, for her lost brothers, for all the men who had been lost, and all of their lost dreams. So much had happened, an entire world had ended all around them. It was impossible to think of anything but that.
She exchanged their tickets the next day, for a ship sailing for New York at the end of June. And she explained to Madame Markova what she was doing. Her teacher had regained her strength by then, and like everyone else now, she was deeply concerned about the future. And she no longer objected to Danina's plans to leave with Nikolai. She could not dance with them anymore, and the danger in St. Petersburg, and everywhere in Russia, was considerable these days. Madame Markova was relieved for her, and she finally admitted that she believed Nikolai would be good to her, whether or not they were married, although she hoped that one day they would be.
But even in the comfort of knowing she was leaving with him for safety in a month, Danina was constantly haunted by all that she was leaving behind. Her family, her friends, her homeland, and the only world she knew at the ballet.
Nikolai had already told her that his cousin had offered him a job in his bank. They were going to live with him in his house, for as long as they had to, until they could afford to live somewhere else. It was at least comforting to know that. And Nikolai was planning to take the classes he had to, so that eventually he could practice medicine in Vermont. It all seemed carefully planned, although Danina knew that it would take a long time to achieve their goals. But just then, getting out of Russia was the only thought occupying her mind. Vermont itself seemed so distant, it might as well have been on another planet, it was so far removed from their world.
It was a week before they were due to sail, when Nikolai came to see her again, once again with bad news. The Czarina had fallen ill a few days before, she was exhausted, and under a great deal of strain. And although Dr. Botkin was still with them, Nikolai didn't feel able to leave, as planned. Their trip to Livadia had once again been delayed. It was scheduled now for July, as they continued to wait for their English cousins to agree to let them go to England. But thus far, their English cousins had made no commitment at all.
“I just want to get them settled,” Nikolai explained, and it sounded reasonable to her. They sat together for an hour, embracing each other, and kissing, and just feeling the comfort of being close. And while Danina sat with him, Madame Markova made him something to eat, which he gratefully devoured. It had been a long, dusty ride from Tsarskoe Selo.
“I understand, my darling, it's all right,” Danina said calmly, holding fast to his hand. She only wished she could go back to Tsarskoe Selo with him, to see them all again. She wrote the Grand Duchesses and Alexei a quick letter, sending them her love, and promising that they would meet again, and Nikolai folded it carefully and put it in his pocket, to take it back with him.
He had explained all the circumstances to her, and what the house arrest entailed. They were allowed to walk in the gardens, or anywhere on the grounds. And he told her that people stood at the gates and stared at them, talking to them sometimes, telling them they lo
ved them, or criticizing them for what they had or hadn't done. Just listening to him talk about it was painful to Danina, and she wished more than ever that she could be in Tsarskoe Selo with them, to lend them her support as well, and just be there for them.
She hated to see Nikolai leave again that night, but knew he had to go back. And this time, she exchanged their tickets for a boat leaving on the first of August. Nikolai had promised to be back in St. Petersburg by then. It was incredible to her to realize that they had already waited three months to leave, since the Revolution began. It seemed an eternity to her now as she continued to wait for him.
By then, some of the dancers had gone home to other countries, other towns, but most of them had stayed. All their performances had been canceled months before, but once she was well again, Madame Markova insisted that classes continue as usual. She invited Danina to watch with her, and little by little, Danina's limp had begun to fade, but there was no question of her ever dancing again. But for the moment, she no longer cared. All she could think of, as the days crawled by, was Nikolai, and their friends. And it was the end of July when Nikolai returned. And this time, he said, the plans for the Imperial family were certain. The trip to Livadia had been vetoed by the provisional government as too dangerous for them to undertake, as they would have to pass through what were deemed hostile towns, and they were leaving for Tobolsk in Siberia on August fourteenth. But as he said it, Nikolai looked cautiously at her. There was more he had to say, and he wasn't sure how Danina would react to the decision he had made.
“I'm going with them,” he said, so softly that at first she felt sure she hadn't understood him.
“To Siberia?” She looked shocked. What was he saying? What did it mean?
“I have gotten permission to go with them on the train, and return here immediately afterward. Danina, I cannot leave them now. I must see this through to the end, and see them to safety. Until they hear from their cousins in England, they will stay in exile in Tobolsk. Livadia would have been far more pleasant for them, but the government wants them as remote as possible, for their own safety, they claim. The family is terribly distressed over it, and it only seems fair to go with them. You must understand. They've been like family to me.”
“I do understand,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I am just so sorry for them. Are the guards decent to them?”
“Very much so. Many of the servants have gone, but other than that, inside the palace at Tsarskoe Selo, very little has changed.” But they both knew Siberia would be different, and like Nikolai, Danina was worried about Alexei. “That's why I want to go,” he said quietly, and she nodded again. “Botkin is going too, and he will stay with them. That was his choice, and in a way, it frees me to leave and come back here.” But as she nodded again, gratefully, he still had more to say. “Danina,” he began, and she sensed something ominous in his tone, before he even said the words to her. She could almost guess what he was going to say. “I don't want you to exchange our passage again. I want you to go this time. It is too dangerous for you here. Something can happen, particularly right here in town. And I can't come to you, or protect you, when I'm that far away.” On his way to Siberia, there was no way he could help her. Even now, getting from Tsarskoe Selo into St. Petersburg had become an endless ordeal. “I want you to leave for America on August first, as we planned, and I will go to Siberia with them in a few weeks, and sail on my own as soon as I can get back to St. Petersburg. I will feel much better knowing you are there, and Viktor will take care of you. I don't want any arguments, I want you to do as I say,” he said, looking almost stern, anticipating the resistance she would offer him, but she surprised him this time, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, nodded at him.
“I understand. It is dangerous here. I will go … and you will come as soon as you can.” She knew there was no point arguing with him. She knew he was right this time, although it pained her terribly to leave without him. But if he was going to Siberia with the Czar, perhaps it was best that she leave before that. “When do you think you will come?”
“No later than September, I'm sure of it this time. And I will be much happier knowing that you are safe and far from here.” He put his arms around her then and held her as she cried, longing for the time when they would be together again. He already knew that Marie and the boys were safe, and happy to be in England. Now he wanted to know that Danina was safe too. He knew that his cousin would take good care of her. Viktor had already promised to do whatever he could for them. And Nikolai trusted him completely. He knew that Danina would be in good hands with him. It would relieve Nikolai's mind as he accompanied the Imperial family to Tobolsk, and then returned to St. Petersburg. And then he would sail to America to be with her, and their new life would begin.
He had told Marie his plans before she left, and she had been surprisingly understanding about it, and promised he could visit the boys anytime. But Nikolai knew, as did she, that it might be years before he could come back to Europe. But the farce that was their marriage had gone on for long enough, and in his heart, he was more married to Danina than to Marie. The legalities, and the papers, no longer meant anything to him. Marie had wished him well when she left, and the boys had cried, as had he. Marie had been dry-eyed, relieved to leave Russia at last, and in her heart she had long since relinquished him. He felt free to move on now, as soon as he had fulfilled his obligations to the Imperial family.
“I will come back here in a day or two,” he said to Danina, before he left her, “and we can stay in a hotel until you leave.” He wanted to be with her again, to lie with her, to hold her in his arms, to see her safely on the ship. It would only be a month or so before they were together again after that. But before she sailed, he needed to be with her. It had been five months since she had left Tsarskoe Selo and returned to St. Petersburg when Madame Markova fell ill, and it felt like a lifetime to both of them. Their entire world had changed totally in those five months, and would again when they met in Vermont. Nothing would ever be the same for them again, but perhaps better now, he prayed. He would have preferred to leave with her, but his conscience would never have allowed it. He had to see the Imperial family to safety first. He owed them at least that much after all their kindness to him, and the many years he had served them.
He left, as planned, that night, and returned to St. Petersburg three days before Danina was to sail. She was watching a class with Madame Mar-kova when he arrived, and one of the students came in on silent feet to find her. Danina looked up instinctively and saw Nikolai watching her from the doorway. She knew then that the goodbyes she dreaded were about to begin, and that it was time for her to leave. And she felt Madame Markova stiffen as she sat beside her. Danina looked at her for a long moment, and then walked slowly to him, with no trace of her limp. Her bags were packed, in the room where she slept, and she was ready. And as she put away the last of her things, while he waited in the hall, Madame Markova came to join her, and stood looking down at her valises. Everything Danina owned had fitted easily into two old battered cases, and as she stood to look at her mentor, neither of them spoke for a long moment. Danina did not trust herself to speak, and the woman who had been like a mother to her for fifteen years looked stricken.
“I thought this day would never come,” the older woman said in a voice that quavered. “And I never thought I would let you go, if it ever happened…. Now I am happy for you. I want you to be well and happy, Danina. You must leave here.”
“I will miss you so,” Danina said, taking two long strides to her, and putting her arms around her. “I will come back to see you.” But in her heart, Madame Markova knew she wouldn't. She could not believe, as she looked at the child she loved, a woman now, that she would ever come back here. And she knew to the very depths of her soul that this was their final moment.
“You must never forget all you have learned here, what it meant to you, who you were when you were here … and who you always will be. In your heart
, Danina, take it all with you. You cannot leave this behind you. It is part of you now.”
“I don't want to leave you,” Danina said, sounding anguished.
“You must. He will come to you when he can, in America, and you will have a good life with him. I believe that. I wish it for you.”
“I wish I could take you with me,” Danina whispered, clinging to her, wanting to stay forever.
“You will take me with you … and a part of you will always be here with me. Here.” She pointed to her heart with a graceful finger. “It is time now, Danina,” she said, pulling away from her, and picking up one of the valises, as Danina took the other, and followed her slowly from the room into the hallway where Nikolai waited. He could see instantly how difficult the moment was for them, and went to relieve them both of the valises.
“Are you ready?” he asked Danina gently, as she nodded, and walked to the front door, as Madame Markova followed slowly, watching her, savoring each final second.
And just as they reached it, the front door opened, and a child walked through it. She was eight or nine, and she was carrying a suitcase, as her mother stood proudly beside her. She was a pretty child with straight blond braids, and she looked expectantly at Danina.
“Are you a dancer?” she asked boldly.
“I was. I'm not anymore.” It cost Danina a great deal to say it, as Nikolai and Madame Markova watched her.
“I'm going to be a ballerina, and I'm going to live here forever,” the child said with a smile.
Danina nodded, remembering the day she had come. But she had been so much more frightened than this child, so much less sure, and also considerably younger. But she had had no mother to accompany her.
“I think you'll be very happy here,” Danina said, smiling at her through her tears, as Madame Mark ova watched her. “You have to work very, very hard. All the time. Every day. You have to love it more than anything else in the whole world, and be willing to give up all the things you love to do, and want, and have and think … this has to be your whole life now.” How did you explain that to a nine-year-old? How did you make them want it more than anything else in life? How did you teach them to sacrifice and give until they nearly died? Or did you even teach it? Did they have to be born to it? Danina didn't have the answer. She simply touched the child's head as she walked past, and looked up at Madame Markova with tears in her eyes. She knew even less how to say good-bye, after the years of sacrifice, the years of giving and loving. How did you give it all back when it was over? But for her, it was the end of the story. The dance was over. For this child, it was just beginning.
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