The Silence of God

by Gale Sears

  She moved toward the stairs and her father followed. She had to think of a way to help her family. Her father was convinced they had to keep their plans a secret, but she’d already told Natasha Ivanovna, and she was sure her friend would not betray them.

  Agnes took her father’s arm and helped him climb the stairs. She would think of something—something that would give them extra protection.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Petrograd

  December 31, 1917

  “Eeek!” Alma Lindlof shrieked, as a fox snuck up behind her and grabbed her around the waist. She tried to sound angry, but laughter crept into every word. “Stop, you terrible ugly fox! Get out of my kitchen. How will I ever get these blini cooked for the celebration if you keep scaring me?”

  Erland’s fox-like voice was muffled from behind the mask. “But it’s my job to sneak and steal and scare.” He reached for one of the thin golden pancakes, and his mother swatted his hand with the ladle.

  “Ah! None of that! Go find your brother wolf and brother bear and see if they can keep you out of trouble.”

  “They’ve gone to frighten the Gavrilovs and bring them to the feast.”

  “Well, go and help them.”

  Erland slumped toward the door. “Professor Gavrilov frightens me.”

  Alma Lindlof worked at keeping the mirth out of her voice. “He is no match for fierce Master Fox. Besides, you’ll have your brothers beside you.”

  Erland curled his gloved hands like claws and resumed his fox’s voice. “That’s right! If he growls at us, we’ll just growl back.”

  She heard the front door close as Erland slipped out into the night. She shook her head as she poured a ladle of thin batter into the hot pan. It sputtered and sizzled, and a warm buttery fragrance filled the kitchen.

  “No, no! Now stop that immediately!” came a voice from beyond the kitchen door.

  “Oh, now what?” Mrs. Lindlof said in mock irritation. She deftly flipped the thin pancake as Johan Lindlof stepped grandly into the kitchen. He wore a white fur cap and was dressed in an impressive leather robe with white fur trim all around the edges. He looked so festive that Alma found herself tearing up with the joy of the season.

  “You’re very brave, Ded Moroz, to come into my warm kitchen. Aren’t you afraid you’ll melt?”

  He moved to her. “Well, I had to come and tell you to stop cooking up these little suns or I shall melt for sure.”

  He grabbed the hot pancake she was about to place on the stack and juggled it between his hands. “Oh! Hot! Hot!”

  Alma chuckled. “Yes. That will teach you, Father Frost. And there will be one less pancake for you at the feast.”

  “What two things don’t like to be counted?” he asked, taking a big bite of the pancake.

  “You’re asking your riddles already, Ded Moroz?”

  “Yes, and this one is very important.”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “The two things that don’t like to be counted are pancakes and . . . kisses.”

  He nodded and kissed her on the mouth. “I think I’ll go outside and look for the rest of our company.”

  “Yes, I’d imagine that robe is a bit hot.”

  As Johan moved toward the door, he stopped and turned in a circle. “I never thought I’d wear this again once the children were grown. Yet, there I was last night, rummaging in the trunk for our costumes.”

  Alma Lindlof looked over her husband’s costume with a critical eye. “No worse for the wear, I guess.”

  Johan looked down at his robe. “What do you mean? I think I look splendid.” He moved to his wife and gave her a squeeze. “And you’re not going to be my helper this year?”

  Alma put another pancake onto the stack. “No. Agnes wanted the honor this year. It will be good for her.”

  “She was very insistent on a New Year’s celebration this year.”

  “You know why, don’t you?”

  Johan nodded. “A piece of her sweet childhood remembered?”

  “I think so. It will also be a bit of gaiety in a dark time. And . . .” Alma’s voice trailed off.

  “What?”

  Alma poured a ladle of batter and picked up the pan to swirl it around. “It was her and Bruno’s favorite festival.”

  Johan Lindlof took a deep breath. “Of course . . . I remember.”

  Alma watched the pancake brown around the edges. “And it may be the last one we have for a long time.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Agnes confessed to me that she’d overheard Natasha Ivanovna and Sergey Antonovich talking about how the new Soviet government is going to do away with all the old pagan festivals and holidays.”

  Johan shook his head. “It doesn’t surprise me.” He stood near his wife, breathing in the delicate aroma of the pancakes. “Will there be enough?”

  Alma nodded. “I’ve been saving ration cards and hiding food from Erland for two months.”

  “And he didn’t find it?”

  “I threatened him with his life.”

  They laughed together, then Johan sobered. “Putting this together has been difficult for you.”

  Alma flipped the pancake and smiled. “Who can say no to Agnes’s sweet face?”

  “Who indeed.”

  Just then a racket sounded from the direction of the Gavrilov’s house: animals growling, drums beating, and horns being blown.

  Mr. Lindlof’s face brightened. “I think our company is arriving!” He moved off through the shop and opened the front door. “Welcome! Welcome, friends!” He patted Natasha Ivanovna’s shoulder. “I hope the wild beasts did you no harm, Natasha Ivanovna.”

  Natasha was laughing and beating a drum. “No, of course not, Ded Moroz. They are not frightening at all. I would say they were all as gentle as rabbits.”

  To this comment there were human howls of protest from beneath the masks, and the company laughed.

  “Come in, come in, Svetlana Karlovna,” Johan Lindlof said in his Ded Moroz voice. “Father Frost loves the cold, but doesn’t recommend it for frail humans. We shall go out in the back courtyard later for some games, but until then, come and warm yourselves.”

  Oskar, Arel, and Erland took off their animal masks and gloves and helped the ladies with their coats.

  Before closing the door, Mr. Lindlof looked out into the street. “Ivan Alexseyevitch is not coming?”

  Svetlana Karlovna looked at her mittens as she handed them to Erland. “No . . . he sends his regrets. He’s . . . not feeling well.”

  “Not in the festive mood,” Natasha added with meaning.

  Svetlana Karlovna shrugged. “Oh, well . . . more blinis for the rest of us.”

  It was such an uncharacteristic thing for her to say that everyone was momentarily stunned into silence. Then laughter erupted—first from the boys, then Natasha, and finally Mr. Lindlof and Svetlana.

  “Come into the kitchen,” Alma called. “I’m missing all the fun!”

  The joyful gathering moved through the shop and parlor and into the kitchen. The women joined in making blinis together as the men loaded the sideboard with cold meats and cheese, sour cream, pickled mushrooms and cucumbers, jams, and honey. Mr. Lindlof temporarily set aside his heavy robe so he could help. Just as they were finishing their work and the stacks of pancakes were covered and set in the warm oven, Johannes arrived with Alexandria and Linda Alise. Natasha thought they all carried smug, satisfied looks of having accomplished some secret job.

  Natasha looked around with a slight frown on her face. “You said while we were cooking that all the others had been sent off for special tasks,” she said impatiently. “And now all the others are back . . . except for one.” She looked at the bright faces. “So? Where is my friend, Madam Lindlof ? Where is our Agnes?”


  Alma Lindlof grinned. “She wanted it to be a surprise. Everyone sit down at the table.”

  “What? We’re not eating right away?” Erland complained.

  “Just sit down, son. You’ll like this.”

  “Not more than eating,” he grumbled as he slouched into his chair.

  “Arel, turn off the lights, please.”

  Arel did as his mother asked and then slid into the seat next to Natasha Ivanovna.

  She gave him a look.

  “I know, I know. The seat is reserved for Agnes, but she’s not using it at the moment, right?”

  The two were about to get into a friendly whispered argument, when they noticed everyone else looking toward the hallway. There was a soft glow emanating from the corridor, melting the darkness.

  Agnes came slowly into the room and the effect of her costume was so striking that even Erland was still. She was dressed in a gown of shimmering white with fur collar and cuffs. Ice-blue snowflakes sparkled on the bodice, reflecting the light of the single candle she held. On her head was a sequined headdress in the same ice-blue and white of her dress. Her golden brown hair was unbound and it cascaded over her shoulders and softly framed her face.

  Natasha felt as though she was looking at an angel.

  “I am Snegurochka,” Agnes said solemnly, “granddaughter and traveling companion of Ded Moroz.” She circled the table. “We have traveled far to find warm hearts in this cold world.” She stopped and laid a hand on her father’s shoulder. “And though Ded Moroz is a great wizard and the father of frost, he longs for companionship and the warmth that will melt his cold, cold heart.” She patted her father’s shoulder dramatically and many in the assemblage chuckled.

  Snegurochka continued her sojourn around the table, looking each person earnestly in the eyes. “And so our journey has brought us here. I ask you, friends, is there one among you who can melt the cold, cold, cold heart of Ded Moroz?”

  “Here now!” Mr. Lindlof roared in an offended Ded Moroz voice.

  Erland hooted with laughter, and Agnes moved directly to him and put her hand on his head. “You, young master—do you think you know the secret?”

  Erland’s stomach growled loudly, and chuckles traveled around the table. Erland stood. “Yes, I know the secret! Feed him blini, right now! And the rest of us too!”

  Arel, Oskar, and Johannes clapped and cheered their agreement as Erland bowed.

  Linda Alise squealed with laughter, and Snegurochka moved quickly to her, laying her hand on her head. “You, little pig with her tail caught in the door—you must know a trick or two.”

  Linda Alise looked at her father, got up quickly, and ran over to kiss his cheek. The company applauded the tenderness as Mr. Lindlof put his hand over his heart and sighed.

  “Well, it’s a beginning,” Snegurochka said. “But remember, it’s a very cold heart.”

  “Ah! Be careful what you say!” Ded Moroz warned with a stern look.

  Snegurochka clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, and Natasha watched with amusement as her friend struggled to regain the regal deportment of her character. Finally Agnes was again able to address the group as Snegurochka.

  “Please, dear friends, don’t tell me that Ded Moroz and I will have to go searching again. That we will have to go back out into the bitter night where my little candle light will be swallowed up in the darkness or blown out by a harsh wind.”

  The table was silent. Then, so softly that Natasha wasn’t sure where it was coming from, a voice began singing a charming Russian folk song. As Natasha looked around the table, her eyes found Alexandria. Her head was bowed, but Natasha could see her lips moving. Alma Lindlof joined her daughter, then Svetlana Karlovna began singing, then Agnes and Linda Alise. When the men joined, the song swelled in volume and passion. Natasha found herself trembling and Arel reached over and took her hand. She did not have a voice for singing, but she sang anyway. She made sure her meager efforts hid behind the other, more accomplished, voices, but it lifted her heart to be part of the celebration.

  When the song finished, Natasha clapped and cheered with the others, while Mr. and Mrs. Lindlof dabbed at their eyes with handkerchiefs. She looked over at her own mother and found her staring about in wonder. She leaned toward her. “Mother, are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes. It’s just that . . .”

  “What?”

  Her mother bowed her head and said softly, “I’ve never really known them.”

  “Dear friends,” Agnes said, raising her Snegurochka voice above the din. “I think that Ded Moroz has finished wandering.” She moved over and kissed him on the top of his head. “What do you say, dear Ded Moroz?”

  “I will stay with you always.” His voice was husky with emotion and he dabbed again at his eyes.

  Another cheer went up and Arel turned on the light.

  “Hurrah!” Erland shouted. “Is it time to eat?”

  * * *

  After the superb meal, where for once everyone had had enough to eat, the revelers bundled up and went out to the back courtyard for games and contests. Mr. Lindlof put on his Ded Moroz robe, told silly stories and riddles, and handed out presents. All the gifts were either handmade or simple, but no one cared. A happiness filled the air that Natasha hadn’t felt for months. Her mother had abandoned the party soon after dinner, and for once Natasha was sad not to have her near.

  Agnes had wisely chosen to trade her beautiful, but impractical costume for a country dress, heavy coat, fur hat, and boots. Natasha watched her as she played a balancing game with Arel. They each stood on a patch of ice with one foot held in the air while their siblings either taunted them or cheered them on. After several minutes, Arel’s leg began to shake and he wobbled sideways, putting his foot on the ground just before falling. The girls clapped for Agnes and the boys chided Arel good-naturedly for his weak leg.

  Mr. Lindlof’s voice broke into his children’s revelry. “Your mother and I are off to bed.”

  “So early?” Agnes protested.

  “It is not that early for us,” he returned. “We’re getting old, remember.”

  Agnes hugged him. “Don’t say that.”

  “What about welcoming the New Year?” Linda Alise asked.

  “We will welcome it tucked away in our warm bed,” her mother answered.

  “And do I have to go to bed too?” the youngest Lindlof asked plaintively.

  “Of course not!” her father answered in his booming Ded Moroz voice. “Don’t you and Johannes and Alexandria have a surprise for everyone?”

  Linda Alise brightened. “Yes, we do!”

  “Well then, if I were you, I’d continue your celebrating with all the other young people gathered out front by the canal.”

  Linda Alise squealed with delight and hugged her father and mother. “Thank you. Thank you. This is the best New Year’s I’ve ever had!”

  “I’m glad for you,” her mother said softly. She lifted her voice as she looked around to her other children. “The best New Year’s to all of you!”

  They all returned the good wishes and, one by one, kissed her cheek.

  When Alma Lindlof had finished patting Erland’s face, she stepped forward and took Natasha’s hand. “We loved that you were with us, Natasha Ivanovna.”

  “Thank you for having me . . . me and my mother. It was wonderful.”

  “Agnes’s twin, that’s what you are,” Mr. Lindlof said, smiling at her. “Good night, my children!” he called as he and Mrs. Lindlof moved off to the house. “Remember your prayers.”

  Her parents had barely stepped inside the house when Linda Alise grabbed Alexandria’s and Johannes’s hands. “Come on! Let’s get the surprise! The rest of you go to the front!”

  “Quite bossy, isn’t she?” Oskar sa
id.

  “I don’t mind,” Erland replied, “as long as the surprise is something to eat.”

  “You’re always thinking of eating,” Agnes said.

  “I’m a growing boy.”

  “You’re almost twenty, Erland,” Arel piped in. “I don’t think you’re going to grow anymore.”

  “Unless it’s out,” Oskar teased.

  Erland chased him through the house to the front, while Agnes scolded them.

  The quick pass through the warm house and into the cold again made Natasha’s eyes water. As she searched for her handkerchief, Arel stepped to her side. “Don’t cry for my silly brothers,” he whispered saucily in her ear. “They’re not worth your tears.”

  She giggled and turned her head to smile at him. Arel smiled back and kissed her at the corner of her mouth. Before she could react, he was running after Oskar and Erland.

  “Did my brother just kiss you?” Agnes said indignantly as she came to Natasha’s side.

  “I . . . I believe he did,” Natasha answered, her eyes wide in astonishment.

  Agnes, on the other hand, frowned. “Well, I apologize for him. Just wait until I tell Father of his bad manners.”

  “Oh, please don’t,” Natasha said, laughing. “I’m sure it was just for friendship and from the happiness of the night.” She locked her arm in her friend’s arm and they began strolling toward a group of young people dancing to the music of a balalaika and an accordion.

  “Well, I’m going to scold him anyway,” Agnes insisted. “If Sergey Antonovich had seen that, there would have been trouble.”

  The smile left Natasha’s face and she changed the subject. “I wonder what Johannes and your sisters have planned for us?”

  They didn’t have to wait long for the answer, as the three conspirators came dancing from the house carrying a life-sized straw scarecrow.