Page 31 of The Unseen (Echoes from the Past #5)

“And that makes you special, does it?” the blond youth exclaimed.

“My family is also made up of women and children, who nearly starved to death this past winter because I was at the front, fighting a losing war while my elderly father tried to eke out enough to feed his family. He died trying. One of these trinkets would have kept them fed and warm for a year or more.”

“Stop explaining yourself, Evgeni,” the swarthy man rumbled. “Just get on with it. There are several more houses we can hit on this street before they try to rein us in. Take what you can and let’s go. ”

The men continued to plunder, turning their backs on the terrified family.

Valentina grabbed her mother, who’d come to, around the waist and tried to maneuver her into the back room where she’d be out of harm’s way, but her eyes were glued to the body of her husband as an animal-like wail filled the foyer.

“Mama, come away. There’s nothing you can do for him now.”

“Vanya!” Elena cried. “Not my Vanya.”

Tanya pulled Kolya away from Valentina and wrapped him in her arms. “Let’s go, Kolya.

Let’s get away from here.” She pushed him into the room, leaving Valentina with her mother, who knelt at her husband’s side, refusing to be led away.

The skirt of her dress was soaked with blood, and her eyes were wild, as if she didn’t quite understand what had happened.

“Vanya, it will be all right,” Elena kept repeating. “I’ll have Petr summon the doctor.”

It was too late for a doctor, but the reality hadn’t yet penetrated Elena’s befuddled brain.

“Mama, please,” Valentina pleaded. “Come away.”

“Your father needs me,” Elena protested. “Get Petr.”

Valentina sighed in exasperation. She had no idea where Petr was, nor would finding him make any difference.

Her father was gone, and her only concern was keeping the rest of them out of harm’s way.

The men were now trooping down the staircase, their arms laden with loot.

She saw her silver-backed hairbrush sticking out of the blond youth’s pocket, and her mother’s pearls around one man’s neck.

They’d emptied the jewelry box and discarded it, having no need for the bulky container.

Her mother’s valuables had been distributed between pockets, which were now bulging with gold and gems.

Another few moments and the men would have left, but the front door, which was hanging off its hinges, swung open as Alexei and a fellow officer rushed in, sabers drawn. Alexei froze with shock when he saw Ivan’s body, his head reminiscent of a crushed watermelon.

“Valya, are you all right?” Alexei cried.

“Alyosha, go, get out!” Valentina screamed, but it was too late. The men had reached the foyer and were advancing on Alexei, weapons drawn.

“Don’t you look smart in your uniform,” the blond youth remarked. “And that saber looks mighty sharp. It’s no match against a rifle, though, is it?”

Alexei swung his sword at the man closest to him, who wielded an axe. There was a momentary clash of steel, and then the elegant weapon went sailing overhead, landing with a clatter on the foyer tiles. Alexei backed away, disarmed and helpless.

“Give me your sword,” he cried to his friend, but the other man was already engaged in a fight with a red-haired man brandishing a cutlass. The blond youth leaned against the banister, watching with interest. He seemed in no rush to fire his rifle and waste bullets.

Valentina watched in horror as the redheaded peasant slashed at the officer, cutting him nearly in half. His innards spilled through the hole in his coat, his face going gray and his eyes glazing in death as he fell to the floor. Alexei backed away, but there was no escape. He was surrounded.

“Valya, get away. Go to France,” he cried. “Save yourself.”

The bayonet pierced Alexei through, the tip emerging on the other side, dripping blood. His eyes grew round with pain and shock. He fell to his knees, his gaze on the man who’d speared him like a fish. The man looked momentarily stunned, but then his lips drew back in a satisfied smile.

“Nighty night,” he said with a vicious laugh as he pulled out the bloodied bayonet and Alexei fell forward, sprawling on the floor .

“Alyosha!” Valentina screamed, but he couldn’t have heard her.

He’d never hear her again. He was gone, just like her father.

The two men she loved and trusted most in the world were gone, their blood obscenely red against the shiny tiles.

She was now on her own, with no one to help her through the worst hour of her life.

It was much later, after the men had left and after Nyanushka and Petr had removed Ivan’s and Alexei’s bodies from the foyer, that Valentina was finally able to cajole her mother into having a shot of vodka and lying down in the back parlor.

She couldn’t sleep, but at least she’d stopped screaming and lay quietly like a corpse.

Tanya and Kolya huddled in the corner, mute with horror.

They left in the morning, shrouded in the thick mist of an autumn dawn.

Tanya and Kolya carried their valises. Valentina supported her mother as they ambled silently toward the station.

Valentina had no idea where they were going or how they’d get there, but they had to get out, today.

Many others had the same idea. A crowd of grim-faced, frightened people gathered at the station.

Most had only a small bag with them, just large enough to carry a change of clothes and some food.

Valentina had invited Olga Alexandrovna and Nyanushka to come with them, but the women had refused.

They were members of the working class, so they had nothing to fear from the rebels.

There was nothing for them in exile, and they had no desire to look after a family who could no longer pay their wages.

Even Petr had declined to help when Valentina asked him to drive them to the station.

“You’d best go on foot,” he’d replied. He hadn’t bothered to give a reason for his refusal, and Valentina hadn’t asked. What did it matter? They were on their own.

Valentina had intended to go to France. Alexei was gone, but perhaps his family would meet them in Paris, and there was the aunt, who might help, but Elena dug in her heels, refusing to go to France.

“We must go to London,” she insisted. “I have a cousin in London—Dmitri Pavlovich Ostrov. We grew up together. He lives in London and he will help us. I know he will. We were like brother and sister when we were small.”

“Mama, you haven’t seen him in years,” Valentina protested. She’d never heard of this Dmitri Pavlovich before, but her mother was adamant.

“And I have never seen Alexei’s aunt. What makes you think she’ll help us? And the Petrovs will not flee, not with Alexei dead. They’ll wish to bury him.”

Like we buried Papa , Valentina thought bitterly.

She’d extracted a promise from Olga Alexandrovna that Ivan Kalinin would get a proper burial.

There’d be no service, given the circumstances, but at least he’d be interred at Volkovskoe Cemetery next to his parents.

Elena wished to remain until after the funeral, but Valentina wouldn’t hear of it.

“Mama, we have to go now. Today. Papa and Alexei are dead. We could be next. You have your children to think of.”

“My children?” Elena asked, confused. “Who’d want to hurt my children?”

Valentina didn’t bother to reply. She had no idea what would happen in the days to come, but she couldn’t see anything worth staying for.

Their house was no longer safe. The people they’d known all their lives were in danger, and the future of Russia was uncertain.

There was no reason to remain and risk their lives.

She was right, of course. Elena retreated into a shell of her own misery once they left Petrograd, but Valentina talked to other refugees as they spent countless hours waiting for connections and traveling on overcrowded trains.

People’s homes had been broken into, their possessions stolen, their lives threatened.

Some were wise enough not to resist, but many had chosen to fight back, and now their bereft families recalled their bravery and prayed for the eternal souls of their loved ones.

The journey to London took nearly a month.

With the war still raging and many others like them trying to escape, everything took twice as long.

There was no direct route, so they traveled through Finland, into Sweden and Norway, and then by boat to Great Britain.

London had seemed grim and gray when they arrived, a city scarred by war.

There were mounds of rubble where bombs had fallen and numerous ambulances racing toward hospitals with their precious cargo.

But the people seemed surprisingly cheerful, and defiant.

They hadn’t been brought to their knees, and Valentina found their bravery inspiring.

She wouldn’t be brought to her knees either, she had vowed.

And now, two months after the fateful events that changed all their lives, they were installed in Whitechapel, a slum if ever there was one.

Valentina had sold off some of her mother’s jewelry to finance their journey and rented the mean little room on the first floor of a crumbling building that smelled of urine and decay.

She could have found something better, but she was terrified to spend their money too fast, and positive that she’d been grossly cheated by the pawn broker who purchased the jewels.

Surely it was worth more, but she knew nothing of the value of the British pound, nor did she have an inkling of what one pound could buy versus one ruble.

They still had some money, but if they didn’t find a way to support themselves soon, the money would run out, and they would be destitute.

“Oh, Dmitri Palvovich, where are you?” Valentina whispered into the frigid air. “Why have you not replied to Mama’s letters?”

“Valya, are you talking to yourself?” Tanya asked as she woke.

“God, I need to pee.” She slid out of bed and pulled the chamber pot from beneath the bed.

“Ah,” Tanya said as she squatted over it, completely unashamed.

They’d let go of all their pretensions, living like the lowest orders of society .

“Tanya, today is Christmas Eve,” Valentina whispered.

“Don’t remind me. It’s too painful to even contemplate.”

“I think we should do something special,” Valentina suggested.

“Really, like what? Should we dress the tree, have a magnificent meal, and sing around the piano? Oh, and then we should open presents,” Tanya added sarcastically.

“We don’t have money for decorations or presents, but we should get something nice for supper. A little treat. What do you say?”

“I don’t know, Valya. It’s up to you. Sure, I’d love something besides boiled potatoes, cabbage soup, and brown bread with butter, but I’d rather eat that than find myself homeless next month.”

“You have a point there. We must find employment.”

“What kind of employment?” Tanya moaned.

“Any kind. Mama refuses to leave the room, so it’s up to you and me to find a way to support us.”

“Mama is in shock. I don’t think she’ll ever recover. Just look at her.”

Valentina didn’t need to look at her mother to know what Tanya was referring to.

Elena had grown skeletally thin and her skin, which had been supple and creamy, was now gray and papery.

Her eyes were often unfocused and she seemed to forget what happened for long stretches of time, forcing her daughters to repeatedly explain to her what they were doing in the dingy room and how they had come to be there.

Her cousin’s ongoing silence did nothing to aid their mother’s mental state, and the girls were growing desperate with worry.

They couldn’t remain in this room forever, nor could they neglect Kolya’s education.

He’d turned eight in November but hadn’t had any formal lessons since October, when he’d last studied with Olga Alexandrovna.

This was their new reality and they had to find a way to move forward, rather than survive from day to day and wait for a miracle.