Zoya (10 page)

“So do I.” Marie lay back on her pillow then with a sigh. It was exhausting just to sit up and talk, and then she coughed horribly as Zoya held her.

“Please get well …” She bent one last time to kiss her cheek and felt the soft curls beneath her hand, and then quickly she turned away and walked to the door, turning for a last time with a silent wave, but Marie's eyes were closed again, and Zoya slowly closed the door, her heart tearing from her very soul as she bent her head and cried silently. She had bid the others good-bye half an hour before, and she stopped now for only an instant outside little Alexis's room. Nagorny was there with him, and Pierre Gilliard, and Dr. Fedorov was just leaving him.

“May I go in?” She wiped the tears from her cheeks and he touched her arm in silent sympathy.

“He's asleep.” She only nodded then and hurried down the familiar stairs to her grandmother and the Tsar and Tsarina waiting in the main hall. Feodor was already outside, with two of the Tsar's best horses hitched to the old troika in which they had come. It was all almost more than she could bear as she walked toward them on leaden feet. She wanted everything to stop, wanted to turn back the clock … to run back upstairs to her friend … she felt as though she were deserting all of them, and yet she was being torn from them unwillingly.

“Is she all right?” Alexandra looked worriedly into Zoya's eyes, hoping that Marie hadn't been able to discern the raw agony there.

“I told her we were going back to St. Petersburg.”
Zoya was crying openly now, and even her grandmother had to fight back tears, as Nicholas kissed her on both cheeks and held her hands tightly in his, his eyes brutally sad but his lips still wearing a dignified smile. Although Evgenia had heard his sobs in his wife's rooms the night he returned, there was never any evidence of his grief to the rest of them. He staunchly encouraged everyone and was always charming and calm, as he was as he kissed her goodbye.

“Safe journey, Evgenia Peterovna. We shall look forward to seeing you sometime soon.”

“We shall pray for you all every hour, Nicholas.” The old woman gently kissed his cheek. “Godspeed to all of you.” And then she turned to Alix as Zoya stood by with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Take care of yourself, don't exhaust yourself too much, my dear. I hope the children will all be well soon.”

“Write to us,” Alix said sadly, just as Marie had said to Zoya only moments before. “We will be anxious for news of you.” She turned to Zoya then. She had known her since she was born, her baby and Natalya's born only days apart and such fast friends for all their eighteen years. “Be a good girl, listen to your grandmother, and take great good care of yourself.” And then without a word, she held her close to her, feeling for an instant as though she were losing her own child.

“I love you, Aunt Alix … I love you all so much … I don't want to go …” She could barely speak through her sobs, and then she turned to Nicholas, and he held her close as her own father would have done, if he were still alive.

“We love you too, and we always shall. We shall be together again one day. Be certain of it. And God's blessings on both of you until then, little one.” He pulled her gently away then, with a small smile. “You must go now.” He led her solemnly outside as his wife took her grandmother's arm and they helped them into their sled as Zoya cried. The last of the servants had come to say good-bye to them and they were crying too. They had known Zoya since she was a child, and now she was leaving them, and soon others would be leaving too. And it was frightening to think of never coming back. It was all Zoya could think of now, while Feodor slowly lifted his whip and touched the Tsar's horses for the first time. The troika sprang to life and in the gray gloom they suddenly pulled away from Alexandra and Nicholas, who stood waving at them. Zoya turned, clutching little Sava close to her. The puppy suddenly whined as though she also knew that she was leaving home never to return again, and suddenly Zoya buried her face in her grandmother's arms. She couldn't bear seeing it anymore, those two with their brave faces standing there, waving at them, the Alexander Palace seen for the last time, and suddenly Tsarskoe Selo itself disappearing in a distant haze of snow as Zoya wailed in agony, thinking of Mashka … Mashka … her best and only dearest friend … her brother … her parents … everyone gone … She clung to her grandmother and cried as the old woman sat stoically in the sleigh, her eyes closed as icy tears rolled down her cheeks, a lifetime left behind, all she had ever known, a world they had all loved … gone like the snows, as Feodor drove them on, and Nicholas's horses carried them far, far
from home, and away from everything and everyone they had known and loved.

“
Adieu, chers amis
…” Evgenia whispered into the falling snow … Good-bye, dearest friends … They had only each other now, a very old woman and a very young girl, fleeing from a lost world and the people they had loved there. Nicholas and his family were history now, never to be forgotten, always beloved, and never to be seen again by any of them.

Paris

CHAPTER
8

The journey from Tsarskoe Selo to Beloostrov on the Finnish border took seven hours, although it was not far from St. Petersburg, but Feodor was being careful to travel by all the back roads. Nicholas had warned him that it was safer to travel that way, even if it took them longer. And much to Evgenia's surprise, they crossed the border easily. There were some questions, but suddenly Evgenia seemed to sink into herself and look like a crone, and bundled up and cold, Zoya looked more like a child than she had for a long time. It was Sava who saved them in the end. The soldiers at the border were enchanted with her and after an anxious moment, waved them on, and the three refugees heaved a sigh of relief as the troika moved on behind Nicholas's horses. Feodor had been careful to use the old harness he had brought from St. Petersburg, and had purposely not used any of the equipment from the Tsar's stable with the easily recognizable double-headed eagle.

The trip from Beloostrov across Finland to Turku took two full days, and by the time they arrived in
Turku late at night, Zoya felt as though she would be numb for the rest of her life. Her whole body seemed to be frozen into the position she'd been in, in the troika. Her grandmother could barely walk when they helped her out, and even Feodor seemed exhausted. They found a small inn where they took two rooms, and in the morning Feodor sold the horses for a ridiculously small sum before the three of them boarded an icebreaker to Stockholm. It was another endless day on the ship, moving slowly amidst the ice between Finland and Sweden, and the three companions barely spoke, all were lost in their own thoughts.

They arrived in Stockholm late in the afternoon, just in time to catch the night train to Malmo. And once in Malmo, they took the railroad ferry the next morning to Copenhagen, and there they went to a small hotel, and Evgenia called the Tsar's aunt's friends, but they were away, and the next morning they left Copenhagen for France on a British steamer. Zoya seemed to be almost in a daze by then, and she was desperately seasick the first day on the ship. Her grandmother thought she looked feverish, but it was difficult to tell if she was ill or just exhausted. They were all exhausted after the six-day journey. It had been grueling to travel on day after day, by ship and by train and by troika. Even Feodor looked as though he had aged ten years in the single week, but they were also suffering from the sorrow of leaving their homeland. They spoke little, rarely slept, and none of them ever seemed to be hungry. It was as though their very bodies were filled with grief, and they couldn't have borne any more. They had left everything behind them, a way of life, a thousand
years of history, the people they had loved and lost. It was almost too much to bear, and Zoya found herself hoping the ship would be sunk by German U-boats on the way to France. Far from Russia, it was the Great War and not the revolution people were afraid of. But Zoya found herself thinking that dying at anyone's hands would have been easier than facing a new world she didn't want to know. She thought of how often she and Marie had talked dreamily about going to Paris. It had all sounded so romantic then, so exciting with all the elegant women and the beautiful gowns they would buy. Now there would be none of that. They had only the small amount of money her grandmother had borrowed from the Tsar before they left, and the jewels sewn into their clothing. Evgenia had already made up her mind to sell as many of them as she had to once they reached Paris. And they had to think of Feodor as well. He had promised to look for work as soon as they arrived, he had vowed to do everything he could to help them, but he had refused to let them make the trip alone. He had nothing left in Russia anymore, and he couldn't imagine a life without serving the Ossupovs. It would have killed him if they'd left him. He was as ill as Zoya was on the trip to France, he had never been on a boat before, and he was terrified as he clung miserably to the railing.

“What are we going to do, Grandmama?” Zoya sat watching her grandmother unhappily in the tiny cabin. Gone the grandeur of the imperial yachts, the palaces, the princes, the parties. Gone the warmth and love of family. Gone the people they had known, their way of life, even the security of knowing they would have enough to eat the next day. All they had
were their lives, and Zoya wasn't even sure she wanted hers. All she wanted was to go home to Mashka, and Russia, to turn back the clock and return to a lost world, full of people who no longer existed. Her father, her brother, her mother. And Zoya wondered, as they pressed on, if Marie was getting better.

“We will have to find a small apartment,” her grandmother answered her. She hadn't been to Paris in years. She had traveled very little since the death of her husband. But now she had Zoya to think about. She had to be strong for the girl's sake. She had to see her safely settled. She prayed that she would live long enough to take care of her, but it wasn't Evgenia who seemed in danger now, but Zoya. The girl looked very ill, and her eyes seemed larger than ever in her pale face, and when the old Countess touched her, she knew instantly that she was blazing with fever. She began coughing late that night, and the Countess began to fear pneumonia. By the next morning, her cough was even worse, and as they boarded the train to Paris in Boulogne, it became obvious what she was suffering from. The spots began appearing on her face and hands, and when her grandmother forced her to pull up her wool shirt, it was clear to both of them that Zoya had the measles. Evgenia was less than pleased, and now even more anxious to get the girl to Paris. It was a ten-hour trip to Paris by train, and they arrived just before midnight. There were half a dozen taxis outside the Gare du Nord, and Evgenia sent Feodor in search of one, as she helped Zoya down from the train. She could hardly walk as she leaned heavily against her grandmother, her face suddenly as flushed as her bright
red hair. She was coughing horribly and almost incoherent with fever.

“I want to go home,” she whimpered as she clutched the little dog. Sava was bigger now, and Zoya could hardly carry her as she followed her grandmother out of the station.

“We're going home, my love. Feodor is finding us a taxi.”

But Zoya only began to cry, the woman she had become seeming to melt away, as she looked up at her grandmother like a lost child. “I want to go back to Tsarskoe Selo.”

“Never mind, Zoya … never mind. …” Feodor was signaling frantically as he juggled their bags, and Evgenia gently led Zoya from the station and helped her into the ancient taxi. Everything they still owned was piled in beside Feodor and the driver, as Zoya and her grandmother slid onto the backseat with tired sighs. They had no reservations anywhere, no idea where to go, and the driver was deaf and ancient. All the young men had long since gone to war, only the old and the infirm were still in Paris.

“
Alors?
…
On y va, mesdames?”
He smiled into the backseat and looked surprised when he saw that Zoya was crying.
“Elle est malade?”
Is she sick? Evgenia was quick to reassure him that she was only very tired, as they all were. “Where have you come from?” he chatted amiably as Evgenia tried to remember the hotel where she'd stayed with her husband years before, but suddenly she could remember nothing at all. She was eighty-two years old and utterly and completely exhausted. And they had to get Zoya to a hotel and call a doctor.

“Can you recommend a hotel to us? Something
small and clean and not very expensive.” He pursed his lips for a moment as he thought about it, and Evgenia instinctively pressed her bag close to her. In it she carried her last and most important gift from the Empress. Alix had given her one of her very own imperial Easter eggs, made for her three years before by Carl Fabergo. It was an incredible piece of work in mauve enamel with diamond ribbons, and Evgenia knew it was the most important treasure she had. When all else failed, they could sell it and live on what it brought them.

“Do you care where it is, madame? … the hotel….”

“As long as it's in a decent neighborhood.” They could always look for something better afterward, tonight all she needed were rooms where they could sleep. The niceties, if any were still possible, would come later.

“There's a small hotel off the Champs-Élysées, madame. The night porter is my cousin.”

“Is it expensive?” she asked sharply, and he shrugged. He could see that they were not well off, their clothes were simple, and the old man looked like a peasant. At least the woman spoke French, and he thought the girl did, too, although she cried most of the time, and she had a fearful cough. He only hoped she didn't have tuberculosis, which was currently rampant in Paris.

“It's not too bad. I'll have my cousin speak to the desk clerk.”

“Very well. That will do,” she said imperiously, and sat back in the ancient cab. She was a spunky old thing and he liked her.

The hotel was on the rue Marbeuf, and it was indeed
very small, but it looked decent and clean as they walked into the lobby. There were only a dozen rooms, but the night clerk assured them two of them were vacant. They had to use a common bathroom down the hall, which was something of a shock to Evgenia, but even that didn't matter now. She pulled the sheets back in the bed she and Zoya would share, and they were clean. She pulled Zoya's clothes off, after concealing her bag under the mattress, and Fe-odor had brought in the rest of their things. He had agreed to keep Sava with him. And the Countess went back downstairs as soon as Zoya was in bed, and asked the desk clerk to send for the doctor.