I slipped the bracelet off and handed it to him, my wrist already feeling empty. “The codes are inside, on a piece of paper.”
The general gazed at it there on his open palm. “Thank you, Mrs. Ferriday. This will help us take back what is ours. I’ll do my best with Madame.”
We stepped toward the door and Sofya turned back. “General, my husband is a White Army officer. Would you by chance know him?”
“Name?”
“Afon Stepanov.”
I stepped to Sofya and wrapped one arm around her shoulders.
The general looked at Sofya for a long moment. “Of course, Ivan’s son-in-law. I didn’t make the connection. Good man. From the military academy.”
“I’ve been hoping for news, as you can imagine….”
“Military wives are strong women.”
“Please, General,” Sofya said. “We don’t have much time.”
“I believe he was with a regiment headed from Ukraine up to Siberia and he split off south of Petrograd to visit his family’s estate. There’d been reports of criminal activity there.”
Sofya faltered and I held her fast. “Coming to help us?”
The general nodded. “Nine of his best volunteered to accompany him, but they were attacked by a Red Army unit as they slept, just south of Tsarskoe Selo.”
“He made it that far? And then what?”
“Well, I’d rather not—” The general walked to the window and stood, hands clasped behind his back, and gazed out onto the street below.
“I need to know, General.”
I held her tighter.
The general kept his gaze on the street. “If you insist. All ten were hung, on telegraph poles just north of there.”
Sofya folded her hands at her waist, her gaze steady on him. “There’s no chance of a mistake?”
He turned his attention back to us. “My most trusted lieutenant and two others witnessed it themselves. They’d been out patrolling the area and came back to find the men murdered. They waited for the Reds to move on and then cut the men down and buried them in the forest just outside Malinov.”
Sofya turned to me, eyes shining. “So he did make it home.”
The general stood taller. “My deepest condolences, madame. This madness has made us all barbarians. But Afon was everything a soldier should be.”
“Thank you, General.”
Sofya took my hand and we started out toward the door.
“And brave to the end,” the general called to us and we walked on to L’Ecole Cygne Royal.
CHAPTER
50
Varinka
1919
I woke, short of breath, Mamka’s plan in my head. How good it would be to travel back to Russia with Radimir. But Taras would track us. How could I leave Max? The worry gave me a headache and made me angry at every little thing.
To make it worse, Max fought me all morning about what to eat for breakfast. We sat in the hot kitchen, the silver radiator near the door hissing a little high-pitched scream, a reminder of Papa’s lost samovar.
I set a bowl of boiled eggs before Max.
“Eggs are slimy,” he said, scowling.
“Get your coat, then,” I said. “We mustn’t be late.”
Max slid off his chair and took his navy blue coat from the peg near the door.
I knelt to help him button his coat. How grown up he looked, his hair straighter, no longer a mass of golden ringlets. In that coat, he looked so much like his father, the soldier.
How warm it was crouching there by the radiator. I loosened the scarf at my neck. “Your grandmother bought you those eggs. They may be the only ones in Paris.”
Max stared coolly at me. “She’s not my grandmother.”
Was aristocratic pride passed through the generations?
“What are you talking about?”
He shrugged. “She told me.”
Hot prickles crawled up the back of my neck. “What did she say?”
Max grew silent.
I shook one finger at him. “You are lucky she loves you so.”
He raised his chin. “Sometimes I remember things. About Russia.”
“Don’t think of it,” I said and gathered his things for school. Certainly he would forget about Sofya someday.
* * *
—
AFTER I DROPPED MAX at school I made my way back to the townhouse, as one thought kept creeping up on me. Maybe Mamka and Radi were right. Maybe Max was better off with his mother. I stuffed that idea down. The rip of leaving him would be too great.
I was almost home when Radimir came toward me on the sidewalk. I stopped and stared, not expecting that. How good it was to see him.
He held his coat up around his neck with one hand. “Varinka. I have been looking for you.”
“Come to say goodbye?” Surely, he had come to have the painful discussion of breaking things off.
Radimir held me by the shoulders. “I’m leaving. Come with me.”
“Leaving this minute?” My heart beat faster.
“Tonight. I’ve already written for permission to bring my wife.”
A hot gush ran into my arms. “Do you mean—”
I could not stop smiling. Married? I could tell everyone in Malinov. What a life it would be. Max. A husband. More children. Would we live in Petrograd? Once we were back in Russia I could work hard on being a better mother. Radimir said he did not welcome Max, but what if I brought him with me tonight? How could he deny me my boy?
“I am going to get the necessary papers now,” he said. “I’ll be at my place until six. Don’t be late.”
* * *
—
I HURRIED BACK TO the townhouse bedroom and stepped into my old sarafan and apron. How good it felt to be back in simple clothes. I slipped Sofya’s mother’s sable coat on over it all.
Into a pillowcase, I threw Max’s things. A box of cereal. His blue blanket, threadbare now. His stuffed owl. I then placed a towel on my bedroom doorknob. Would Mamka be sad to see our signal there?
I crept into Taras’s bedroom and stared down at him, asleep on his bed. My hands shook and I could barely open the handcuff, but I finally unlatched it, took a deep breath, and closed one end around the iron bedpost. What a loud sound it made.
I stood there, heart beating wildly. Would it wake him? I opened the other cuff and struggled it onto his thick wrist. I tried to click it closed but his wrist was so large.
Taras opened his eyes, still half asleep. “What’s this?”
I pressed harder and the cuff clicked shut. I felt the key in my coat pocket.
Taras pulled on the cuff and the steel rattled against the bedpost. “This isn’t funny, Varinka.”
I stepped back. What if he broke the chain? I’d be dead for sure.
“I’m leaving, Taras.”
He squinted at me. “Get over here.”
I took a deep breath. “It’s time for all this sickness to stop.”
“The arrangement? It was you who started it—”
“I was a child, Taras. Even that young I knew it was wrong to do that with my brother.”
“Half brother.”
“Do you know how hard it was for Mamka to have her husband’s love child living in the house?”
Taras tugged at his shackle. “Shut up, Inka. They bought me.”
“Only to keep you safe. You think Mamka liked taking you in? They were kind to you and you paid him back by killing him and terrorizing me.”
“Papa’s death was an accident.”
“Give up that lie, Taras. He scolded you for watching me in the bath. You didn’t have to kill him.”
“I did my time. And I terrorized you? I kept you and Zina alive. Sorry now I did.”
“You should have
protected me, like any good brother. This is sick, Taras. I want a real relationship. Love and children I could never have with you.”
He tried to rise from the bed.
“Give me the key, Inka.” He lunged toward me, pulling the bed by the cuff, moving it an inch.
I took another step back, heart pounding.
He yanked at the handcuff. “Where are you going? Off with your new boyfriend? I’ll find you. I’ll get Max and take care of him like I should have done long ago.”
I stepped out of the bedroom, toward the kitchen door. How good it would feel to walk out, free.
Taras called after me. “I’ll tell that new boyfriend of yours about us.”
“I’ll tell him myself. Goodbye, brother.”
CHAPTER
51
Sofya
1919
Eliza and I left General Yakofnavich and hurried across Place Vendôme toward the school, numb to everything but the horrible words Afon is dead. But he’d come to save us, hadn’t he? Good Afon. As Eliza tried to wave down a taxi, the thought of Afon hanging from a telegraph pole floated up in front of me. My brave husband had come so close to helping us. How happy he’d be we were getting Max back.
Eliza checked her watch. “Almost four, Sofya. This may not work today.”
“We must try,” I said.
I was all Max had now.
* * *
—
WE ARRIVED AT MADAME Fournier’s office just before four o’clock. Would Varinka be there? Would Madame relent?
A young teacher showed us into the headmistress’s office where Madame stood behind her desk.
“You’re back,” she said, as if she’d tasted a bad clam.
“So sorry to burden you, madame,” I said in my best French. “Since I saw you last, we’ve secured help from powerful sources. This is Eliza Ferriday from New York. She has found help from General—”
“I just received a call from the police, thank you. Said they are stationing an officer here. My own needs may be met, but I still must make sure this does not traumatize the child.”
Eliza stepped toward her. “This is his mother.”
“But will he remember you? Feel safe in your care?”
I shook my head. “I have no idea, madame.”
Madame retreated to her desk. “Perhaps a temporary home would be better while he transitions.”
“I’ll not leave here without my son, madame. I am afraid Varinka will take him away once she knows I am in Paris.”
Madame played with her pen and the sound of children’s voices in the hallway rose as parents came to pick them up. “Well, here is what I can do. I’ll have Max brought here and we’ll see how he does.”
“But they’ve been separated since he was two,” Eliza said. “He may not recognize her.”
“A mother and child always know each other, no matter the divide. Like chicks in the henhouse. If not, there are many families willing to take a child in.”
“I assure you, he is her son,” Eliza said.
Madame stood. “My final offer.”
I nodded.
“Very well. I will bring the child and his teacher here. Do not overwhelm him with sudden movement. Stay calm. Let him come to you.”
Madame left the room and Eliza and I exchanged glances as the mantel clock chimed four times, my palms moist. I paced the carpeted room. How long had I waited for this moment? But now it was here and I could barely breathe.
Soon the doorknob turned and the door swung open. Please, God, let him remember me.
Madame ushered Max into the room, followed by a sharp-faced young woman dressed in a flowered apron over her brown dress.
With shaking fingers, I brushed a lock of hair back off my face. Would he recognize me, so thin, with such short hair?
“This is Max’s teacher Mademoiselle Slack, a saint I assure you, who has cared for this child through the most trying circumstances.”
Max stood between the desk and his teacher. My pulse quickened seeing him there. He resembled Afon and looked so grown up, taller and thinner, his baby fat and golden curls gone. A handsome child, but with a certain hardness. Had he been mistreated? It was all I could do not to run to him and gather him up, to tell him how I missed him, how sorry I was I’d left him.
With a guarded look, Max gazed at each one of us in turn, with no change of expression.
I longed to reach out, but held back. “Hello, my little one.”
His eyes met mine and I searched for a spark of recognition.
Max stepped to the desk and laid his cheek against the wood.
Tears flooded my eyes. Of course, he did not remember me. It had been years.
“He’s just tired,” Eliza said.
Madame ran her fingers through her hair. “This child is always tired.”
Eliza turned to me. “Did you have a pet name for him as a baby? One he would remember?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
Madame rubbed Max’s back. “He is not feeling good about this, I’m afraid.”
From the outer office came the sound of the door opening and Eliza glanced toward it.
“They tell me my son is here?” Varinka called.
Varinka stepped into the inner office, an overstuffed valise in one hand and a full pillowcase in the other. She wore my mother’s coat over her peasant clothes and looked ready to run out of there at any minute, her eyes wide.
“Going somewhere?” I asked.
Varinka stared at me. “I came to pick up my boy.” She reached out her hand to Max, but he hid behind his teacher’s skirt.
“He’s just overwhelmed,” Varinka said. “Would you all stop staring at him? This is too much for a young child.”
I stepped toward her. “I will say what’s too much for him. Being stolen from your family certainly is.”
“What do you know?”
“I’m his mother, Varinka.”
Varinka turned to Madame Fournier. “I don’t know this person. I need to take my son and go.”
I stepped closer to her. “Why, Varinka?”
“Come along, Max.” She held out her hand for Max and the boy stepped farther behind his teacher.
“Why did you take him? I was so good to you.”
“Good? That’s not the way I remember it. The countess was a cruel woman.”
“So you stole my child?”
“Shots were flying that night. I saved him. Though you were ready to leave for Paris without me.”
“I—”
Varinka shook her finger at me, a red flush creeping up her neck. “Don’t deny it. You all packed your things. Leaving me behind, never to see him again. Call that kind?”
“Please. Your feelings were hurt so you stole my son from me?”
“You barely cared about him—I could see. You only cared about your husband and your clothes and shoes. I loved him. Taught him things.”
I held out my hand. “Give me my mother’s coat.”
Varinka took a step back. “Who says it’s not mine?”
Eliza stepped forward. “I can attest to the fact.”
“Take it off.”
She paused, and then slid out of the coat and tossed it on a chair next to Eliza.
“He doesn’t want to go with you,” Madame said. “Can’t you see?”
“I took the best care of him.”
“So, it is true you took another woman’s child?” Madame asked.
“You don’t understand.”
Madame turned to Mademoiselle Slack. “Please fetch the officer outside. Tell him we have a criminal here.”
Varinka glanced at me, fear in her eyes.
Everything about me tightened. Why not let the girl suffer for what she’d done to us all? She and Tar
as tried to take everything from me. But life with Taras seemed punishment alone.
“No,” I said. “Let her go. On the condition you leave Paris and don’t return.”
Varinka wiped her eyes with her apron. “I’m leaving today.”
Madame Fournier stepped toward Varinka. “You and your husband must not enter the school grounds again.”
Varinka stepped to the door, arms crossed over her chest. “He’s not my husband, but don’t worry, I won’t be back.” She crouched down to Max’s level. “Goodbye, Max.”
Max pressed himself tighter to Mademoiselle Slack.
Varinka stood and turned to me. “Please don’t tell him I was a terrible person. His owl is in the pillowcase….”
I kept my gaze on the floor. “Just go, Varinka.”
“And he’s not safe in Paris. Taras says he wants to—” She glanced at the boy. “Just take him away from here.” Varinka opened the office door and turned back. “I love you, Max. I hope you remember that, too.”
With one last look at the child, as if memorizing him, Varinka left the office and closed the door behind her.
Max emerged from behind his teacher’s skirt and Eliza let out a deep breath. “Dear God, Sofya.”
Every cell in my body relaxed and brought a new clarity of thought. “If you don’t mind, madame, I do recall something Max might remember.”
Almost at a whisper, I sang: “There was once a little boat….”
I waited for a moment but Max remained behind Mademoiselle Slack, no expression on his face.
I sang on:
“That never on the sea had sailed.
Ahoy.
Ahoy.”
Max stepped out from behind Mademoiselle.
I held out my hand to him. He hesitated.
“After five or six weeks rations began to wane….”
He took a step toward me and then another and placed one hand on my knee. I barely breathed, as if willing a hummingbird to light.
“Ahoy. Ahoy,” he sang.
Lost Roses Page 40