Marie laughed. She had heard it before, the dreams of her beloved friend. “Lake what? Be discovered by Diaghilev?”
The two girls laughed, but there was an intense light in Zoya's eyes as she spoke. Everything about Zoya was intense, her eyes, her hair, the way she moved her hands or darted across the room, or threw her arms around her friend. She was tiny but filled with power and life and excitement. Her very name meant life, and it seemed the perfect choice for the girl she had been and the woman she was slowly becoming. “I mean it … and Madame Nastova says I'm very good.” Marie laughed again, and the girls’ eyes met, both of them thinking the same thing … about Mathilde Kschessinska, the ballerina who had been the Tsar's mistress before he married Alexandra … an entirely forbidden subject, to be spoken of only in whispers on dark summer nights and never within earshot of adults. Zoya had said something about it to her mother one day, and the Countess had been outraged and forbidden Zoya to mention it again. It was most emphatically not a suitable subject for young ladies. But her grandmother had been less austere when she'd brought it up again, and said only in amused tones that the woman was a very talented dancer.
“Do you still dream about running away to the Maryinsky?” She hadn't mentioned it in years, but Marie knew her well, well enough to know when she was teasing and when she was not, and how serious she was about her private dreams. She also knew that for Zoya it was an impossible dream. One day she would marry and have children, and be as elegant as her mother, and she would not be living in the famous ballet school. But it was fun to talk about things like that, and dream on a February afternoon as they sipped the hot tea and watched the dog gambol about the room. Life seemed very comfortable just then, in spite of the current imperial epidemic of measles. With Zoya, Marie could forget her problems for a little while, and her responsibilities. She wished that one day, she would be as free as Zoya was. She knew full well that one day her parents would choose for her the man that she was to marry. But they had her two older sisters to think about first … as she stored into the fire, she wondered if she would really love him.
“What were you thinking just then?” Zoya's voice was soft as the fire crackled and the snow fell outside. It was already dark and Zoya had forgotten all about rushing home for dinner. “Mashka? … you looked so serious.” She often did when she wasn't laughing. Her eyes were so intense and so blue and so warm and kind, unlike her mother's.
“I don't know … silly things, I suppose….” She smiled gently at her friend. They were both almost eighteen, and marriage was beginning to come to mind …perhaps after the war … “I was wondering who we'll marry one day.” She was always honest with Zoya.
“I think about that sometimes too. Grandmama says it's almost time to think about it. She thinks Prince Orlov would be a nice man for me….” And then suddenly she laughed and tossed her head, her hair flying free of the loose braid Mashka had made for her. “Do you ever see someone and think it ought to be him?”
“Not very often. Olga and Tatiana should marry first. And Tatiana is so serious, I can't even imagine her wanting to get married.” Of all of them, she was the closest to their mother and Marie could easily imagine her wanting to stay within the bosom of her family forever. “It would be nice to have children though.”
“How many?” Zoya teased.
“Five at least.” It was the size of her own family, and to her it had always seemed perfect.
“I want six,” Zoya said with absolute certainty. “Three boys and three girls.”
“All of them with bright red hair!” Marie laughed as she teased her friend, and leaned across the table to gently touch her cheek. “You are truly my dearest friend.” Their eyes met and Zoya took her hand and kissed it with childlike warmth.
“I always wish you were my very own sister.” She had an older brother instead and he teased her mercilessly, particularly about her bright red hair. His was dark, like their father's, although his eyes were also green. And he had the quiet strength and dignity of their father. He was twenty-three, five and a half years older than his sister.
“How is Nicolai these days?”
“Awful as usual. But Mama is terribly glad he's with the Preobrajensky Guard here and not off at the front somewhere. Crandmama says he stayed here so he wouldn't miss any parties.” They both laughed and the serious moment passed, as the door opened quietly and a tall woman silently entered the room, watching them for a moment before they became aware of her presence. A large gray cat had followed her into the room and also stood watching beside her. It was the Empress Alexandra, fresh from the sickroom where she had been ministering to her three other daughters.
“Good afternoon, girls.” She smiled as Zoya turned, and both girls immediately stood up, and Zoya ran to kiss her. The Tsarina herself had had the measles years before, and she knew there was no danger of infection.
“Auntie! How is everyone?”
She gave Zoya a fond hug and sighed with a tired smile. “Well, they're certainly not well. Poor Anna seems to be the worst of all.” She was speaking of her own dearest friend, Anna Vyrubova. She and Lili Dehn were her closest companions. “And you, little one? Are you well?”
“I am, thank you very much.” She blushed as she often did. It was what she hated most of all about having a redhead's complexion, that and the fact that she was always getting sunburned on the royal yacht, or when they went to Livadia.
“I'm surprised your mother let you visit us today.” She knew how desperately afraid the Countess was of infection. But Zoya's even deeper blush told her what Zoya had done, even without a confession, and the Tsarina laughed and wagged a finger at her. “So! Is that what you've done? And what will you tell her? Where have you been today?”
Zoya laughed guiltily, and then admitted to Marie's mother what she planned to tell her own. “I have been hours and hours at ballet class, working very hard with Madame Nastova.”
“I see. It's shocking for girls your age to tell such lies, but I should have known we couldn't keep you two apart.” And then she turned her attention to her daughter. “Have you given Zoya her gift yet, my love?” The Empress smiled at them both. She was usually restrained, but her fatigue seemed to make her both more vulnerable and warmer.
“Yes!” Zoya spoke up instantly with delight, waving toward the bottle of “Lilas” on the table. “It's my very favorite!” The Tsarina's eyes sought Marie's with a question, and her daughter giggled and left the room swiftly, while Zoya chatted with her mother. “Is Uncle Nicholas well?”
“He is, although I have barely seen him. The poor man came home from the front for a rest, and instead he finds himself here in the midst of a siege of measles.” They both laughed as Marie returned again, carrying something wrapped in a wisp of blanket. There was a strange little peep, almost as though it were a bird, and a moment later, a brown and white face appeared, with long silky ears, and shining onyx eyes. It was one of their own dog's puppies.
“Oh, he's so sweet! I haven't seen any of them in weeks!” Zoya held out a hand and he let out a series of squeaks and licked her fingers.
“It's a she, and her name is Sava,” Marie said proudly, looking at Zoya with excited eyes. “Mama and I want you to have her.” She held the puppy out to her as Zoya stared at her.
“For me? Oh my … what will …” She had been about to say, “What will I tell my mother?” but she didn't want them to take back the gift so she stopped instantly, but the Empress had understood all too clearly.
“Oh, dear … your mother's not fond of dogs, is she, Zoya? I had forgotten. Will she be very cross at me?”
“No! … no … not at all.” She fibbed happily, taking the puppy in her own hands and holding her close, as Sava licked her nose and her cheeks and her eyes, and Zoya tried to duck her head before the little spaniel could gobble at her hair. “Oh, she's so lovely! Is she really mine?”
“You would be doing me a great service, my dear, if you took her.” The Empress smiled and sa
nk down in one of the two chairs with a sigh. She looked extremely tired, and Zoya noticed then that she was wearing her Red Cross uniform. She wondered if she'd worn it to take care of the sick children and her friend, or if she'd worked at the hospital that day as well. She felt strongly about her hospital work, and always insisted that her daughters do it too.
“Mama, would you like some tea?”
“Very much, thank you, Mashka.” Marie rang for the maid, who came quickly, knowing that the Tsarina was there with them, and a cup and fresh pot of tea arrived almost at once. Marie poured, and the two women joined her. “Thank you, darling.” And then she turned to her husband's distant cousin. “So, is your grandmother well these days, Zoya? I haven't seen her in months. I've been so busy here. I never seem to get into St. Petersburg anymore.”
“She's very well, thank you, Aunt Alix.”
“And your parents?”
“Fine. Mother's always worried that Nicolai will be sent to the front. Papa says it makes her terribly nervous.” Everything made Natalya Ossupov nervous, she was terribly frail, and her husband catered to her every whim and turn. The Tsarina had often said to Marie in private that she thought it was unhealthy for him to indulge her so constantly, but at least Zoya had never put on languid airs. She was full of life and fire, and there was nothing of the shrinking violet about her. Alexandra always had an image of Zoya's mother, reclining on a chair, dressed all in white silk, with her pale skin and blond hair, with her incredible pearls, and a look of terror in her eyes, as though life was simply too much for her. At the beginning of the war, she had asked her to help with her Red Cross work, and Natalya had simply said that she couldn't bear it. She was not one of life's sturdier specimens, but the Tsarina refrained from comment now and only nodded.
“You must give her my love when you go home.” And as she said it, Zoya glanced outside and saw how dark it had gotten. She leapt to her feet and looked at her watch in horror.
“Oh! I must go home! Mama will be furious!”
“As well she should!” The Tsarina laughed and wagged a finger at her as she rose to her feet, towering over the young girl. “You mustn't lie to your mother about where you are! And I know she'd be most upset about your being exposed to our measles. Have you had them?”
Zoya laughed. “No, I have not, but I won't catch them now, and if I do …” She shrugged with another burst of laughter as Mashka grinned. It was one of the things Marie loved about her, her courage and sense of devil-may-care. They had gotten into considerable mischief together over the years, but nothing dangerous or truly harmful.
“I shall send you home now. And I must go back to the children, and poor Anna….” She kissed them both and left the room, as Marie swept up the puppy from where she was hiding and wrapped her in the blanket again, and handed her to Zoya.
“Don't forget Sava!”
Their eyes met again and Zoya's were filled with love for her. “Can I really have her?”
“She's yours. She was always meant to be, but I wanted to surprise you. Keep her in your coat on the way home. You'll keep her warm that way.” She was only seven weeks old, born on Russian Christmas. Zoya had been wildly excited when she saw her on Christmas Day for the first time, when their family came to visit the Tsar and his family for dinner. “Your mother will be furious, won't she?” Marie laughed, and Zoya laughed with her.
“Yes, but I'll tell her your mother will be frightfully put out if we send her back. Mama will be too afraid to offend her.”
The girls both laughed as Marie followed her downstairs and helped her on with her coat, as she held the puppy in the blanket in place. She pulled the sable hat back over her red hair, and the two girls embraced.
“Take care of yourself, and don't get sick!”
“I have no intention of it!” She handed her the bottle of perfume as well, and Zoya took it in a gloved hand, as the maid told her that Feodor was ready.
“I'll come back in a day or two … I promise … and thank you!” Zoya gave her a quick hug and hurried back outside to the troika where Feodor was waiting. His cheeks and nose were bright red and she knew he had been drinking with his friends in the stables, but it didn't matter. He would need it to keep warm as they sped home to St. Petersburg. He helped her into her seat and she was relieved to see that it had stopped snowing.
“We must hurry, Feodor … Mama is going to be very cross at me if I'm late.” But she already knew that there was no way she would arrive in time for dinner. They would already be sitting down when she arrived … and the dog! … she laughed out loud to herself, as the whip cracked in the chill night air, and the troika leapt to life behind the three prancing black horses. It was only an instant later when they sped through the gates, and the Cossacks on their horses were a blur behind them, as they sped through the village of Tsarskoe Selo.
CHAPTER
2
As Feodor raced the troika down the Nevsky Prospekt, Zoya sat clutching the tiny puppy to her, trying to compose herself and desperately inventing excuses to tender her mother. She knew that with Feodor driving her, they would not be afraid for her safety, but her mother would surely be outraged at her coming home so late, and bringing the tiny puppy with her. But the puppy would have to be introduced later. At Fontanka, they turned sharply left, and the horses plunged ahead, knowing full well that they were almost home, and anxious to return to their own stable. But knowing the terrain well, Feodor gave them their head, and within moments, he was handing her down, and in sudden inspiration, she pulled the blanket-wrapped puppy from her coat and thrust her into his hands with an imploring look.
“Please, Feodor … the Empress gave her to me … her name is Sava. Take her to the kitchen and give her to Gallina. I will come downstairs for her later.” Her eyes were those of a terrified child as he laughed out loud at her and shook his head.
“The Countess will have my head for this, mademoiselle! And perhaps yours as well”
“I know … perhaps Papa …” Papa, who always interceded for her, who was always so kind, and so gentle to her mother. He was a wonderful man and his only daughter adored him. “Quickly, Feodor … I must hurry.” It was after seven o'clock, and she still had to change her dress before she could appear in the dining room. He took the puppy from her, and she hurried up the marble steps of their small but very beautiful palace. It seemed to be both Russian and French, and had been built by her grandfather for his bride. Her grandmother lived in a pavilion across the garden now, with a little park of its own, but Zoya had no time to think of her now. She was in a great hurry. She slipped quickly inside, pulled off her hat, and handed her coat to a maid standing nearby, and flew up the main staircase toward her bedroom, but as she did so, she heard a familiar voice boom out behind her.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“Be quiet!” She turned toward her brother standing at the foot of the stairs with a furious whisper. “What are you doing here?” He was tall and handsome in his uniform and she knew that most of her friends at the Smolny swooned at the sight of him. He wore the insignia of the famed Preobrajensky Guard, but she was not impressed by it now.
“Where's Mama?” But she already knew without asking.
“In the dining room, where would you expect? Where have you been?”
“Out I have to hurry….” She still had to change, and he was delaying her even more. “I'm late.”
He laughed and the green eyes so like her own flashed in amusement. “You'd best go in like that. Mama will be furious if you're any later.”
Zoya hesitated for an instant as she looked down at him. “Did she say anything? … Have you seen her?”
“Not yet. I just arrived. I wanted to see Papa after dinner. Go and change. I'll distract them.” He was fonder of her than she knew, she was the little sister he bragged about to all his friends, all of whom had had an eye on her for years. But he would have killed them if they'd touched her. She was a little beauty, but she didn't know it yet, and she was fa
r too young to dally with his cronies. She would marry a prince one day, or at least someone as important as their father. He was a count and a colonel, and a man who inspired the respect and admiration of all who knew him. “Go on, you little beast,” he called after her. “Hurry!”
She flew on toward her room, and ten minutes later she was downstairs in a navy blue silk dress with a lace collar. It was a dress she detested, but she knew her mother always liked her in it. It was very proper and very young, and she didn't want to upset her even further. It was impossible to appear in the doorway of the dining room without attracting attention, and as she walked sedately into the room looking subdued and chaste, her brother grinned at her mischievously from where he sat between their grandmother and their mother. The Countess was looking unusually pale in a gray satin dress with a beautiful necklace of black pearls and diamonds. Her eyes seemed almost the same color as the dress as she lifted her face slowly and looked unhappily at her only daughter.
“Zoya!” Her voice was never raised, but her displeasure was easy to read as she looked at her. Zoya's eyes met hers honestly, and she hurried to kiss her cool cheek, and then glanced nervously at her father and grandmother.
“I'm terribly sorry, Mama … I was delayed … at ballet class today … had to stop and see a friend … I'm terribly sorry … I'm …”
Her mother's voice was chill as the rest of the family watched. “Just exactly where were you?”
“I … I had to go … I'm …”
Natalya looked her straight in the eye, as Zoya tried to smooth her hair into place. It still looked as though she had combed it in great haste, which of course she had. “I want to know the truth. Did you go to Tsarskoe Selo?”
“I …” It was no use. Her mother was too cool, too beautiful, too frightening, and too much in control. “Yes, Mama,” she said, feeling seven years old again instead of a decade older. “I'm sorry.”
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