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