The Silence of God

by Gale Sears

  Agnes

  “That’s all?” Svetlana asked, disappointment coloring her voice. “She has the chance to write a letter and that’s all she writes?”

  Natasha smiled. “This isn’t a letter. It’s a clue.”

  “A clue about what?”

  Natasha picked up the box. “About the treasure and how to get it back to them.”

  Her mother stared at her. “How did you figure that out already?”

  “Agnes and I have been doing this since we were girls.” She handed her mother the letter. “See how she capitalized ‘Treasure’ in ‘You have always been a Treasure to me’?” She ran her hand over the box. “She knew we wouldn’t be able to just put the bundles inside, because the guards would find them straightaway.”

  “‘Down’ is capitalized also,” her mother said.

  Natasha turned the box over, mumbling to herself. “‘The Pinecones always fall on poor Makar.’”

  “And what of the riddle?” Svetlana asked. “‘I’m weightless, but you can see me. Put me in a bucket and I’ll make it lighter.’”

  “That’s an easy one,” Natasha said, looking up. “The answer is a hole.”

  Her mother read it again silently. “Of course! A hole. But what does that have to do with the box or the treasure?”

  Natasha stood and paced. “A hole . . . a place where animals hide . . . an empty space.” She stopped and turned the box over again, running her fingers over the image of the pinecone. “‘Poor Makar. The Pinecones always fall on his head.’” Natasha applied a slight pressure on the pinecone on the bottom of the box and felt a small movement along the edge. She took a breath, then slid the panel to the side, exposing the hiding place. Another letter was nestled inside.

  Her mother sat with her mouth opened. “How did you do that?”

  Natasha took out the letter, handed her mother the box, and sat back onto the bed. “Years of practice.”

  “Svetlana!” Natasha’s father’s voice came down the hallway.

  Svetlana Karlovna stood. “Oh, dear!” She gave the box back to Natasha. “We’ll talk tomorrow when he’s gone to the university.” She kissed her daughter on the top of her head. “You are a genius!”

  “Svetlana!”

  She moved quickly to the door and opened it. “I’m coming, Ivan Alexseyevitch!” She turned back to Natasha. “When you first told me about these riddles and helping the Lindlofs, I thought it was foolishness.”

  Natasha nodded. “And now?”

  “I think there’s a very good chance of helping them.” She went out the door, and Natasha heard her footsteps padding down the hallway.

  Natasha lit fire to two pieces of wood in the stove, put on her nightgown and socks, and slipped into bed. As she nibbled on the roll, she read the letter from her friend. The real letter.

  My dear Natasha,

  If you are reading this you have figured out the clues in the first letter. I have no doubt you have accomplished this.

  I have been praying that you have found your way to the money we had hidden to aid us in getting to Finland. If not, there are three hiding places: the Rostral Column, the Griffin on the north of the Bank Bridge, and the statue of Peace and Abundance in the Summer Garden by the old Summer Palace. There you will find money, gold coins, and some silver rings hidden in bundles.

  Once you have found the bundles, open one and take out half the money for use in sending back the box, for purchasing the things for inside the box, and for your own use. We insist on this.

  You are to place a couple of two-ruble notes on top of the goods you send. This will ensure that the box is checked and handled by the assistant commandant of the camp. I am not mad in suggesting this. God has sent Andre Andreyevitch Orleansky to be the assistant commandant. He was the man who escaped from the war with Bruno and Arel, and he is willing to help us. I know you don’t believe in such things, dear one, but to us it is a miracle.

  Except for Mother, Father, and Linda Alise, we are all here at camp 206, three or four miles outside Ekaterinburg. I cannot write of my loneliness for Mother and Father, or for you. If I do, I will begin to cry and ruin my paper. Paper is nearly impossible to come by—even though there are trees all around us.

  We eat mostly gruel or soup made with cabbage and potatoes, and sometimes a bit of fish. But we always have bread and it is enough. I long for fruit. Some in the camp have bad teeth and scurvy from lack of fruit. Perhaps you could send us some dried apple slices? We will have to give some to the guards, but that’s just the way of things. Alexandria had an extra sweater and coat when she arrived at camp, but she gave them away. One woman only had an old blanket to wrap herself in, so we are better off than most, but Alexandria could use some warm socks and I could use a pair of gloves.

  Our brothers are with us, which is another miracle, and we see them once in awhile. They are holding up. Remember how they used to pester us? I am sad because the room on the paper is running out and there is so much I want to tell you.

  Send the box to me at the camp number and the name of the town. Also write, “Culture and Education Section.” They handle the post.

  My heart longs to see you and the Griboyedov canal, and the great Neva River. My heart tells me my parents are safe and that is comforting. If you hear from them, please let them know where we are. We have such gratitude for what you are doing for us.

  I love you, dear friend.

  Agnes.

  Natasha read her friend’s words over and over again until the stove grew cold and the candle spluttered out. As she curled beneath her covers, she folded the letter and put it carefully under her pillow, making sure of its placement many times as she drifted off to sleep. In her dreams, she saw a ragged woman wearing a blanket for a coat, a squirrel jumping from the lid of a birch-bark box, and a quiet pine forest where Prince Vladimir walked. She walked in the forest too and calmness enfolded her.

  Hold on, dear Agnes. Your treasure is coming.

  Notes

  1. The Treaty of Brest-Litovsk brought about an end to the war between Russia and Germany. The terms of the treaty were harsh for Russia, but Lenin accepted them so that the Bolsheviks could concentrate on their country’s tenuous condition in the aftermath of the revolution.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Siberia

  April 3, 1918

  “Alexandria, look! You can see through the windows,” Agnes whispered.

  “That’s what windows are for,” Alexandria answered groggily. She curled herself into a tighter ball on the thin mattress and clutched her blanket closer. “It’s dark. You can’t see anything.”

  “Dawn is coming. Besides, I can always see the thick frost on the windows even in the middle of the night.”

  “Shut up, will you?” someone growled. “They’ll be waking us soon enough.”

  Just then the banging on the pipes began, and all the women groaned. “What did I tell you?” The woman sat up. Her short dark hair was smashed down on one side, and her eyes were puffy from sleeping hard. She glared at Agnes. “Next time you wake me up early, I’m throwing you out into the snow.”

  No one paid any attention. They put on coats and boots, and focused on the pattern of the day. Some went to the drying room for the dry socks, some went to get the bread ration, and some shambled off to the latrine. Alexandria walked over and put her hand on the high window. “No frost,” she said. She looked over at Agnes. “You’re right. No frost.”

  They smiled at each other, and Agnes knew that her sister was feeling kindred feelings. Winter’s harsh grip was letting go. In a month there would be warm sun, and meadows filled with flowers, and perhaps fresh fruit. Her thoughts drifted back to the first time she ate peaches. They had been sent to her father from a count who was very impressed with a gold necklace made for his countess. Agnes remember
ed the exquisite workmanship of the necklace, and though the payment was substantial and the peaches were delicious, she figured neither gave sufficient homage to her father’s abilities. The count should have lavished him with honor and a room full of rubles.

  Agnes looked down at her shabby coat tied with a rope. She had been so young.

  Time and experience had a way of teaching what was truly valuable.

  “I’m going to wash my face,” Alexandria said, and Agnes turned to follow.

  * * *

  Little Mother hurried the gang through the morning routine, anxious that they not be late for the morning’s turnout. After two weeks of not being chosen for the mill rotation, they were headed there today, and with the temperatures above freezing, the gang was restless to step out through the gate and into the illusion of freedom.

  Most of the men’s gangs worked at the mill every day so Agnes had high hopes that she and Alexandria would see their brothers.

  The whistle blew and the women pushed their way to the outside. It was still extremely cold in the pale morning light and the prisoners’ breath exhaled in white puffs. The tool wagon was at the head of the line, followed by three guardsmen on horseback; then the men came bumping into place, settling ranks with five men in each line. The women followed suit at the back of the procession.

  The officer of the watch was yelling something at those counting the prisoners and Agnes used the opportunity to speak with her sister. “Did you see them?”

  Alexandria shook her head. “There was too much confusion.”

  Agnes put her gloved hands in her armpits and stamped her feet. “They just have to be at the mill today.”

  A guard walked up and hit her in the upper arm with the butt of his rifle. Agnes yelped. “No talking, and hands behind you.”

  Agnes obeyed and the guard moved away.

  The captain of the watch was speaking the daily sermon and a hush fell over the prisoners. “You will keep strict column order on the line of march. You will not straggle or bunch up. You will not change places from one rank of five to another. You will not talk or look around to either side, and you will keep your arms behind you. A step to the right or left will be considered an attempt at escape, and the escort will open fire without warning. First rank, forward march!”

  The tool wagon led out and the guards and prisoners followed. As Agnes passed under the fortress portico, her heart lifted. Somehow we’ll get through this. She didn’t turn her head, but glanced out the corner of her eye at Alexandria. Their neighbors in Petrograd had seen Alexandria as the weak and pampered Lindlof girl—always attending parties and the theater; always with the prettiest frocks. Oh, if they could see her now—never complaining or whining about her circumstance, never expecting more, and working harder than many of the country women in the gang. A swelling of emotion nearly made Agnes reach out for her sister, but she caught herself and continued the rest of the way concentrating on the frozen, rutted track and her prayers.

  Within a short time of reaching the mill and being assigned to their work details, they found their brothers. The men were put to work sawing logs into planks and the women to bagging sawdust, and although the sawdust made Agnes’s nose and face itch, it was a perfect means for getting close enough to the saws to whisper questions as the men finished one saw cut and reset the saw for the next swipe. Agnes and Alexandria made sure to position themselves near Johannes and Arel’s saw. When there was a lull, they moved in with their shovel and burlap bag to scoop up the sawdust.

  “Where are Oskar and Erland?” Agnes asked at the first pause.

  Neither group stopped moving or working.

  “They’re chopping today,” Johannes answered.

  Agnes’s face lit up. “Erland’s chopping? Is he feeling that much better?”

  Johannes did not look at her. “No. He’s not better, but he needs Oskar to look out for him.” This admission came at a cost, and Agnes stared at Johannes’s stricken face. The screech of the saw blade against the log stopped conversation and made the women step back.

  “What do you mean?” Agnes asked when the next pause came.

  “Oskar’s strong. He does his work and Erland’s work as well . . . so the guards leave them alone.”

  “I see.” Agnes lifted a scoop of sawdust to the bag, but only half made it inside.

  “He’s not doing well then,” Alexandria said.

  Johannes shook his head as the saw bit into the log.

  Alexandria was doing the shoveling now. “Why doesn’t Andre Andreyevitch put him back in the infirmary?”

  “He’s tried. Erland won’t go.”

  Anger washed Alexandria’s face. “What do you mean he won’t go? You force him to go.”

  Johannes’s face became even more anguished. “I can’t, Alexandria. He won’t leave our sides.”

  The saw cut again, but the sisters didn’t move back. They stood resolutely, trying to absorb in a moment what their brothers had known for weeks. They were going to lose Erland.

  “Give him a blessing,” Alexandria insisted as she followed her brothers to the stack of timber.

  “We have,” Arel said gently as he and Johannes hefted a log.

  “Wasn’t he promised he’d get better?”

  “No,” Johannes said. “The blessing talked about how much God loved him and the peace of the gospel.”

  The log was fit into the chute and Arel turned on the power.

  Alexandria started weeping. Agnes dropped the bag and wrapped her sister in her arms. Agnes knew they all felt the knife pain of sorrow, but for Alexandria it was worse. She and Erland were closest in age and shared a special bond. It was Alexandria who understood his swing in temperament, and while the other siblings were often annoyed with Erland, she was always calm and forgiving of his antics.

  A commotion arose outside. The large mill doors were open and Agnes watched as several guards ran past. When the gang boss, Golubev, went past the door, Arel turned off the saw, and he and Johannes ran for the entrance.

  Agnes followed, dragging Alexandria with her.

  “What’s happened?” Alexandria whispered, fear evident in her voice.

  Agnes knew. Something told her that the nightmare they’d just learned about was coming true. Her mind was numb and her legs wooden as she made her way over what seemed like miles to the door of the mill. When they stepped outside, Alexandria broke free of her grip.

  There was news being passed about by the workers outside, and Agnes caught words like “hurt,” “killed,” “collapsed.”

  “What’s happened?” Alexandria cried out again. “Are they talking about Erland?”

  “I don’t know,” Agnes said, unwilling to let the feelings of her heart pass her lips.

  The guards were trying to restore order, but they were caught up in the drama and their efforts were halfhearted. They did manage to keep the curious prisoners in a contained area, but when Arel and Johannes saw Oskar emerge from the forest carrying Erland in his arms, their grief propelled them forward.

  “Stop!” a guard yelled, but the brothers did not obey. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” The guard raised his rifle.

  “No!” Agnes yelled, running to the guard’s side. “No! No, don’t shoot!”

  The guard fired, but the bullet missed.

  “Comrades! Stop!” Agnes screamed in panic.

  Her brothers stopped at the sound of her voice, and Arel fell onto his knees. The guard moved forward to apprehend them.

  “They were just concerned for their comrades,” Agnes called after him.

  Alexandria came to her side. “This isn’t happening.”

  Agnes took her hand.

  Oskar was close enough now that Agnes could see his face filled with loss. He had set his jaw against the flood of emotion, but his body tre
mbled with grief. He walked past his brothers as the guard yanked Arel roughly to his feet. They shared a look of sorrow. Agnes and Alexandria stood silently, wiping tears away and swallowing cries of anguish.

  “Bring him to the mill office!” a voice behind them barked, and they turned to see Andre Andreyevitch motioning Oskar to the office. “You two, help.” He shoved Agnes and Alexandria forward. “And you”—he pointed at the guard—“bring those prisoners in here.”

  There was confusion and scuffling as they maneuvered themselves into the office. Oskar sat down near the stove with his back to the wall, cradling Erland in his arms. Johannes and Arel were shoved through the door, the guard following after.

  “Leave them!” Andre Andreyevitch commanded. “Send someone for the wagon, and then stand guard outside.”

  The guard nodded and went out. As soon as the door was shut, the siblings gathered around Oskar and Erland.

  “He’s not dead. He’s not dead,” Oskar kept repeating.

  Agnes knelt beside them and took Erland’s skeletal hand. “No, he’s not dead.”

  The others knelt around as Andre Andreyevitch stood in front of the door. Alexandria removed Erland’s prison cap and gently brushed back his sparse hair.

  “He said he was just going to sit down for a minute,” Oskar blurted out. “Just sit down for a minute.”

  “Oskar, it’s all right,” Johannes said.

  “There was a stump under this big pine, and . . . and I didn’t worry about it.”

  “Oskar . . .”

  “I thought good . . . good, he’ll get some rest. You know how tired he’s been lately.” Tears streamed down Oskar’s face. “And the guards didn’t care because I do the work of three anyway. They always get their quota. I looked over at him once and he was just sitting there and . . . and then five minutes later the gang boss yells and I look over and he’s . . . he’s lying on the ground. Just slumped over like a broken doll.”

  Johannes gripped Oskar’s shoulder. “Oskar, stop. There was nothing you could have done.”

  Oskar looked up at his brother and Agnes could see his eyes begging for exoneration. “We told him he had to eat,” Oskar said. “We told him.”