today who were talking about the coup d'otat in Russia last month. It was an endless discussion about Trotsky and Lenin and the Bolsheviks with two pacifists who got so mad, they threatened to punch the other two.” He grinned impishly. “It was pacifism at its best. I actually enjoyed the discussion.” There was a great deal of hostile feeling against the Bolsheviks at the time, and Antoine shared the pacifist view like so many others.
“I wonder what effect that will have on the Romanovs,” Zoya voiced quietly. “I haven't had a letter from Siberia in a long time.” It worried her, but perhaps Dr. Botkin hadn't been able to get her letters to Mashka. One had to consider that, and be patient in waiting for an answer. Everything seemed to require patience these days. Everyone was waiting for better times. She only hoped that they all lived to see them. There was even talk of the possibility of Paris being attacked, which seemed hard to believe with English and American troops swarming all over France. But after what she'd seen in Russia only nine months before, she knew that anything was possible.
She stood up then, and took the remaining bowl of stew to her grandmother's room, but she came back with it a few minutes later, and spoke softly to Antoine in the kitchen. “She's asleep. Maybe we should just let her sleep. I put a blanket over her to keep her warm.” It was one of the blankets Clayton had given them the previous summer. “Don't forget to give me that doctor's name tomorrow before you go to school.”
He nodded and then looked at her questioningly. “Do you want me to go with you?” But she only shook her head, she still had a strong streak of independence. She hadn't come this far, almost on her own, in order to depend on anyone now, even someone as unassuming as their boarder.
She finished the dishes and sat down in the living room, as close to the fire as she could, and warmed her hands as he quietly watched her. The fire shot gold lights into her hair, and her green eyes seemed to dance. And unable to resist the lure of her, he found himself standing nearby, partially to keep warm, and partially just to be near her.
“You've got such pretty hair….” He said it without thinking, and then blushed as she looked up at him in surprise.
“So do you” she teased, thinking of the insulting exchanges with Nicolai they had so loved. “I'm sorry … I didn't mean to be rude … I was thinking of my brother.” She stared into the fire pensively, as Antoine watched her.
“What was he like?” His voice was gentle, and he thought his heart would break in half, he was so hungry to reach out and touch her.
“He was wonderful … thoughtful and funny and daring and brave, and very, very handsome. He had dark hair like my father, and green eyes.” And then suddenly she laughed, remembering. “He had a great fondness for dancers.” Most of the imperial family had and Nicholas among them. “But he'd be so angry at me now.” She looked up at Antoine with a sad smile. “He'd be furious at my dancing now …” Her thoughts drifted off again as Antoine watched her.
“I'm sure he'd understand. We all have to do what we must to survive. There aren't many choices. You must have been very close.”
“We were.” And then, out of nowhere, “My mother went mad when they killed him.” Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of him bleeding to death in the front hall, and her grandmother tying her petticoats over his wounds to no avail to try and save him. It was almost more than she could bear thinking about it, as Sava came quietly to her chair and licked her hand, and forced her mind back to the present.
They sat quietly for a long time. He had pulled up the room's only other chair, and they sat by the fire, lost in their own thoughts, until Antoine dared to be a little braver. “What do you want to do with your life? Have you ever thought about it?”
She looked surprised at the question. “Dance, I suppose.”
“And after that?” He was curious about her, and it was a rare opportunity to find her alone without Evgenia.