be better to have Germany overtake us. Teach us a lesson.”
“Be that it happens quickly,” Cook said. “And saves us from ourselves.”
* * *
—
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT AFTER DINNER, while Agnessa let the count win a game of mahjong, Father waved Luba and me into his study with great urgency. We hurried into that wood-paneled room, our fortress, cool and dark even on the hottest summer days, more the den of a college professor than finance minister.
Luba and I took our seats in the worn leather chairs as Father lit a kerosene lamp and rushed about the room, pulling papers from a cabinet under the watchful eye of a red clay bust of Benjamin Franklin, who wore Father’s Cambridge University mortarboard. How many nights had Mother sat with us in this room, as Father read aloud, her gazing at him in the lamplight, so in love.
We spoke in Russian, as Father always did when Agnessa was not with us.
Father walked behind his desk, his face serious “I must be quick—there is much to do for the Ministry before we go. You know I don’t like to worry you with these things, but…”
He stopped. Tears shone in his eyes. Through the closed door came the muffled sound of the count and Agnessa talking and the distant clack of mahjong tiles.
Father crying? I’d only seen that twice. First, the happy day Luba was born. And second, the morning Mother died.
He reached into another drawer and pulled out the worn, chestnut leather holster for the revolver issued him by the Ministry and a paper box of bullet shells. He slid an ordinary-looking gun from the holster, one of his many Nagant pistols, standard military issue with a wooden handle.
“You two are smart girls. If anything happens—”
I sat up straighter. “We can put more guards at the gate.”
Father kept his gaze on his work. “It may be too late for that.” His hand shook as he reached into the box and removed one shell. Light grabbed the brass casing as he opened the loading gate and slipped the bullet into the chamber.
“You can tell us, Father,” Luba said. “I’ve read the Ministry letters.”
He turned to Luba with a weary look. “Is nothing private, Luba?”
I stepped to his desk and set my fingertips on his paper desk blotter. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” My gaze went to Father’s paneled gun closet, his hunting rifles locked in there.
He replaced the gun in the drawer. “We are still safer here than in any of the big cities. I’ve moved up our timetable. You need to be prepared.”
“And Agnessa?” Luba asked.
He looked down at his hands. “She’ll be fine. But I want you two to have a plan in case we’re separated.”
Luba listened, her face looked drained of color but for two red spots on her cheekbones.
Father unlocked his desk drawer and lifted out his green metal box. “In my Ministry position I have great responsibility.” He opened the lid and, like a priest handling a holy chalice, removed a deep blue ledger. “On a single page in here you will find the bank account numbers and passwords for the entities whose money I am entrusted with.”
I swallowed hard. “What banks?”
“It is all noted here,” Father said, two fingers on the leather volume. “Swiss. Italian. All over Europe.”
Luba reached for the ledger. “I know the perfect hiding spot.”
Father looked at her with a wan smile and handed her the book. “I have kept a copy hidden, as well. My colleagues in Petrograd have been instructed to destroy theirs if the Ministry is threatened. If anything happens to me, take it to Paris. There will be people there who need it, though bad people will want it, too.”
“Who?” I asked.
“This growing unrest among the underclasses is not a new thing, but they are gaining traction. Bolsheviks. Mensheviks. Left-wingers. Their talk is increasingly negative about the ruling class, calling us the Whites and themselves the Reds. Referring to us as parasites.”
“But that’s not true,” Luba said. “You built Fena’s House for them, the linen factory—”
“Sadly, today authority, not truth, makes law,” Father said. “They want to erase any trace of the tsar’s bloodline—which includes us, of course. This list is the only access to the fortunes we’ll need to fight the forces that want us gone. Guard it well.”
“Should we gather personal things, too?” I asked.
“Only essentials for the trip to Paris. I’m working on details now. Travel documents are coming from the city. These days it’s infinitely easier to get into