it was Saturday before she could bring herself to face the children. She had been taking her meals with them, but she had been moving like a machine, moving from room to room, and speaking only when she had to. But she could hardly think. There was so much to do, so much to pack, so much to sell, and nowhere to go once they sold it. She knew she had to get a job but she couldn't even think of that yet. She couldn't think at all as she looked at them with anguished eyes. She knew Sasha was still too young to understand, but she had to tell Nicholas and she could hardly face the pain in his eyes as she tried. In the end all she could do was hold him close to her as they both cried for the husband and father they had loved. But she knew she had to be strong, as strong as her grandmother had been for her, their circumstances had been even worse. She even thought of going back to Paris with them, life might have been cheaper there, but people had their own troubles there too, and Serge Obolensky had told her that there were now four thousand Russians driving taxis in Paris. And it would all be too foreign to them. They had to stay in New York, Zoya decided.
“Nicholas … my love … we're going to have to move.” The words seemed wooden and strange as he looked up at her with confused eyes.
“Because Papa died?”
“Yes … no … well, actually, because …” Because now we're poor … because we can't afford to live here anymore … because … “because these are going to be difficult times for us. We can't stay here anymore.” He looked at her seriously, trying to be brave, as Sasha played with the dog, and the nurse quietly left the room in tears. She knew she would have to leave them now too, and it broke her heart to leave the children she had cared for since they were born. But Zoya had told her the day before. There was no hiding from it now.
“Mama, are we going to be poor?”
“Yes,” she was always honest with him, “in the way I think you mean. We're not going to have a big house or lots of cars. But we're going to have the important things … except Papa …” She felt a lump rise in her throat,“… but we have each other, sweetheart. And we always will. Do you remember what I told you about Uncle Nicholas and Aunt Alix and the children when they took them to Siberia? They were very brave and they made kind of a game of it. They always knew that the important thing was to be together, and to love each other, and to be strong … and that's what we have to do now,” the tears were running down her cheeks as she spoke, but Nicholas was looking at her solemnly, trying desperately to understand.
“Are we going to Siberia?” He looked intrigued for the first time and she smiled.
“No, darling, we're not. We're going to stay here in New York.”
“Where will we live?” Like all children, he was interested in the simpler realities.
“In an apartment. I'll have to find a place for us to live.”
“Will it be nice?”
She thought instantly of Mashka's letters from Tobolsk and Ekaterinburg, “We'll make it nice, I promise you.”
And then with sad eyes, he looked at her again, “Can we take the dog?”
Her eyes filled with tears again as she looked at Sava playing with Sasha on the floor, and then back at him. “Of course we can. She came all the way from St Petersburg with me” She choked on the words but she looked into his eyes reassuringly, “we're not going to leave her now.”
“May I take my toys?”
“Some of them … as many as we can fit into the apartment. I promise.”
He smiled, a little mollified, “Good.” And then his eyes grew sad again, thinking of his father and the fact that he would never see him again. “Will we go soon?”
“I think so, Nicholas.” He nodded, and with a last hug for her, he took Sasha and the dog and they left the room, as Zoya sat on the floor, watching them go, praying that she would be as strong as Evgenia had been for her, and as she thought of her, Nicholas tiptoed slowly back into the