Washington, D.C.,
March 5, 1917
Rocky Glick, former United States ambassador to Russia and now an influential lobbyist, reread the latest letter from his friend Mikhail Borinskya and smiled. He swiped a big hand across his sweaty brow and through his hair. While he loved the money and power of his position, he detested living in Washington. The humidity may not kill you, but it would definitely saturate your brain. Which would explain why half the politicians in D.C were idiots, he thought.
Closing his eyes and leaning back in the leather-upholstered chair, he drummed his fingers on the high-polished mahogany desk and counted the potential profits in his head. The money he would make from the contents of the package recently received and sitting open on the floor would definitely cover that little piece of property along coastal Maine he wanted. It would certainly be a hell of a lot cooler there. He thanked God for Fate, or what-ever it was, that had brought him and Mikhail together. It never ceased to amaze him what a truly beautiful thing a very lucrative relationship was.
Chapter One
Moscow, Russia
March 12, 1917
Depending on one's social stature and political beliefs, living in Russia in 1917 could be very hazardous to your health, Mikhail thought. He was in his cramped office inside the Kremlin packing what few personal things he wanted and more importantly, taking the documents and files related to his personal smuggling business. He wondered if Rocky had received his latest shipment and pondered how, with the political climate as unstable as it was, he would ever get another shipment let alone his pregnant wife and two small children out of the country safely.
Finished, he poked his head out the door and informed his secretary that he would have to leave for the rest of the day. She stared at him uncomprehendingly with her mouth open before finally stammering, "Yes, sir, but what about the Cabinet meeting scheduled for this afternoon? Minister Protopopov is insists that the Ministry present a viable plan for dealing with the Duma to the Tsar upon his arrival from Mogilev," she reminded him.
Mikhail cursed under his breath. Another useless attempt by the Tsar and his Cabinet Ministers- of which he was one- to find an acceptable solution to the escalating crisis in Russia. He couldn't stand the other Ministers and knew all too well that the meetings were a complete waste of time. Only this morning Rodzianko, the president of the Duma, had telegraphed the Tsar urging him to abdicate. The Tsar refused and immediately set out for Petrograd.
The Duma, or State Council, was created during in 1905 to appease the peasants and prevent a revolution. Personally, Mikhail thought it had only forestalled the inevitable. Its officials were elected by electoral colleges chosen from landowners, townsmen and peasants. Its purported purpose was to study and discuss legislative proposals and then, by vote, certain proposals would be submitted to the Tsar and his Ministers for their approval. Of course, like most things, intention was usurped by reality. "Please pass on to the Minister my humblest apologies but inform him that my wife is frightened as my youngest son has yet to return home from school," he lied.
Immediately contrite, she nodded her head emphatically and assured him she would explain his absence to Protopopov and the other Ministers. "I do hope he is okay," she said sympathetically. "It's a shame to have to worry about the safety of our children because of them," she said disapprovingly. By them, he assumed she was referring to the striking workers protesting outside the Kremlin walls. He’d heard that over 200,000 people had marched today protesting everything from the food shortages, to long lines, to the recent loss of soldiers on the front lines. The last skirmish had resulted in over 500,000 Russians dead, with twice that many wounded or dying.
He didn't bother to remind her that she'd probably have been out there marching too if she hadn't possessed such a pretty face, mediocre typing skills and a complete willingness to spread her legs for a majority of the Cabinet, himself included.
"Yes, well, it is a shame it has come to this," he proclaimed sadly, shaking his head. "Now, you’ll have to excuse me. I need to see to my wife."
He stepped back into his office and closed the door firmly. He grabbed his leather satchel and the box and ducked into the opposite hallway leading to the underground tunnel. When he resurfaced, he was near the rail station and a thousand yards from the Kremlin. Before leaving his office he had changed his shoes and put on a ragged, torn coat. Able to blend in with the poor working masses milling about on the street, he quickly made his way to his private apartment. The doorman attempted to block his entrance until Mikhail lowered his scarf and was recognized.
He jogged up the rickety stairs and used the three sets of keys to open the door, laying his coat, satchel and the box on the small table nearest the door. Hearing the sound of running water, he slipped his pistol out of its holster and crossed the hallway to the bedroom door. It suddenly flew open and he was startled to see Catherine Negyev, who uttered a scream before collapsing into his arms. He had forgotten that he had told her to meet him this early.
“Oh, Mikhail,” she sobbed, “I am so frightened. All those angry people out there!"
"You will be okay my little one," he murmured. "Do you have anything for me?” he asked. She smiled up at him and winked before going into the living room. He licked his lips at the sight of her bending over to pick up a bag off the floor. Without a word, she turned around and dumped the entire contents of the bag onto the coffee table. The jewels twinkled and glittered as Mikhail attempted to find his voice. Never had he imagined getting his hands on as many fine jewels as this. He grinned at her.
“How the hell did you manage to smuggle that many out at one time? These are amazing!” he said, picking up a ruby as big as his eye.
“There was another demonstration in front of the palace and some people actually broke in. While the guards were busy with that, I helped myself to the Tsarina’s private vault and loaded up my garment bag. Too bad I didn’t have access to her vault in the Winter Palace in Petrograd; can you imagine the jewels I would have gotten? Anyway, I figured it was okay since you said I’d never have to go back, right?”
“No, my sweet, you will never have to go back. You will never have to listen to someone tell you what to do, where to clean, when to eat or anything else, I promise,” he said, taking her in his arms. “Your days as a Royal chambermaid are over,” he whispered in her ear. “Have you packed everything as I requested?" he asked, looking around.
"Of course, darling. I have all of your things and mine as well." He said nothing and she stepped back and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You are taking me with you, are you not?"
He looked at her and smiled. Stroking her face, he drew her to him. As usual, the feel of her body on his made him grow hard instantly. He began to unbutton her blouse and she eagerly responded by loosening his belt and unzipping his pants. In a passionate frenzy they hurriedly removed each other’s clothes.
He roughly pushed her to her knees, forcing himself into her open mouth. God, he would miss this, he thought. After a moment, he pulled her up to him and carried her to the small bed where he laid her on her back and quickly moved between her legs, thrusting into her. She wrapped her legs around him in an effort to bring him ever deeper into her. She shrieked her pleasure right before he released his own groan of ecstasy.
Still panting, he stood beside the bed, already getting dressed. She went to stand in front of him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He brushed her hair away from her face as she smiled up at him. He softly stroked her long neck, letting his fingers rest lightly around her throat. “I cannot wait to go to America, Mikhail, we will be so happy there. I’m glad you are taking me,” she whispered softly.
“Yes, my love," he whispered. "I will take you with me wherever I go, in my heart." She looked up to ask him what he meant when he slowly began to squeeze her throat, tighter and tighter. Her eyes widened in shock and fear and she began to claw at his hands and push him away. Finally, she became still and he released his grip, letting her fall back onto the bed.
Looking at her for a moment longer, he thought it a waste. It really was too bad he couldn't have made some type of arrangement for her to accompany him. She had been so willing to do his bidding and was insatiable in bed. Mikhail didn't regret what he'd had to do though, for he had realized a long time ago that life was too short to have regrets.
Although he would occasionally miss her, she knew too much and was a potential liability. Through the years he had seduced many chambermaids, parlor maids and other servants to wealthy Russians. Within weeks he had convinced the women to begin stealing valuables from their employers with the promise that he was stashing it so they could run away together. The arrangements usually only lasted a couple of months or so before he was forced to kill his latest conquest.
Mikhail had managed to get his hands on everything from jewelry, art and religious icons, to silver and gold pieces. Using his diplomatic contacts, he had been smuggling the items out of Russia to Rocky where they were being kept in storage until his arrival. Pulling his thoughts back to the present, he looked down once again at Catherine. She had been his favorite and, as it turned out, most profitable little mistress. Unfortunately for her, she was a tie to certain clandestine activities that he knew he must sever if he was to make it out of Russia alive and get to the United States.
Russia was his past but America, the land of opportunity, was his future. Looking down at Catherine he smiled bemusedly and thought, out with the old, in with the new.
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Mikhail finished loading the carriage and closed the apartment. He had wrapped Catherine's naked body in a rug and put it in the closet. He knew eventually the smell would lead the other tenants to the apartment and that she would be discovered. It wouldn't take long to trace the apartment to him, but hopefully by that time he would be long gone. And if he weren’t, he thought grimly, it would likely be because he was dead or in the Lubyanka being interrogated.
Then again, if the peasants continued their revolt, there wouldn’t be anyone left to throw him in prison. Only the day before, guards from the Petrograd Garrison, supposedly loyal to the Tsar, had thrown down their arms and marched down Nevsky Prospekt with over 300,000 factory workers shouting ‘Down with autocracy!’ What few police and soldiers still loyal to the Tsar were left were greatly outnumbered. Just this afternoon they were unable to prevent the burning of the Law Courts. Everywhere in Russia it was complete anarchy.
Pulling up in front of his apartment, the excited shouts of his youngest son, André, interrupted his thoughts. Andre came flying down the driveway towards his father. "Papa, papa!" he shouted. "I have been waiting for you. Come see what I did in school today," he said, tugging on Mikhail's sleeve.
"All right, my son, I am coming. Help me take these packages into the house first," he said, laughing.
André picked up a small crate and lugged it towards the house, asking, "What are all these? Are they presents?"
"Well, I guess you could call them presents for the future. Now hurry along. The sooner everything is inside, the sooner I can see what your surprise is!"
Just then Josef, Mikhail's oldest son, came outside to help as well. "I'm glad you're finally home, papa," he said, smiling. "He's been driving us crazy!"
Mikhail clapped the boy on the back and smiled. "Didn't you know that little boys live to drive their parents and older brothers crazy?"
"I certainly believe it," Josef replied. "Mother had to threaten him with the belt just to get him settled down long enough to give him his bath!"
At that moment, Mikhail's wife Danica came down the steps, smiling. As he gazed up at her, Mikhail thought again how beautiful she was and how lucky he had been to discover her at the ballet fifteen years ago. Despite her independent streak, she had made him a good wife and had given him two sons. She was quite obviously pregnant yet still moved with the lithe grace of a practiced ballerina.
"Good evening, my husband, so good of you to join us," she said, reaching the bottom of the steps and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Your son has been out of control!"
"My son?" Mikhail laughed. "I could have sworn, my lovely wife, that at one time he was our son."
"Not when he is acting out like this!" she retorted. "He gets his willfulness from you," she stated, moving into the kitchen.
He followed her, muttering, "I think he gets it from you, my dear," but wasn't certain she heard him.
After the family had eaten and the boys had gone to bed, Mikhail asked Danica to bring him a shot of vodka in the family room. She handed him the drink and sat down, frowning. "You hardly ever drink at home, Mikhail. What is troubling you? Is it the riots?"
He took a quick drink and swallowed, feeling the harsh liquor burning its way down his throat and into his stomach. He looked up and smiled ruefully at his wife. "You know me too well. Yes, these riots are a problem, a bigger one than Tsar Nicholas realizes."
"What
are we supposed to do?"
He took a moment before answering
her. “The Tsar continues to lose power. The war is unpopular and
the dissenters’ voices grow louder each day. Lenin is supposedly
on his way here from his exiled home in New York City, and he is
calling for an end to the autocracy. If he has his way, Russia will
essentially become what he refers to as a Soviet or Communist State.
However, Aleksandr Kerensky is attempting to form his own Provisional
Government, with the backing of many of the Bolsheviks. Either way,
I fear the situation is untenable for anyone closely related to the
Tsar, and that includes me. The Tsar, the other Cabinet members and
those loyal to the Romanov’s will likely be ousted and probably
executed."
"No!" she cried. She looked down at her hands, furiously blinking back tears. In barely a whisper she asked, "What will we do? Surely you have a plan, Mikhail, for we cannot stay here. Perhaps we could go to my parents in Smolensk?"
"That is not an option," he replied, looking at his glass. "For one thing, your parents can neither accommodate nor support us. More importantly, Smolensk will not be far enough away for us to be truly safe." He looked up to find her staring at him.
"Then where do you plan to take us, and when?" she asked.
"I have had some idea this was coming and so have made some plans. Unfortunately, we will have to leave Russia. A bit sooner than I had initially anticipated, I might add."
"So, where are we going Mikhail?"
"America, Danica. We are going to America, where we will have more opportunities than you can imagine and we will live like royalty. The United States is a great place to start over and to raise a family."
"But the United States is a democracy. Isn't that what you and your own party so vehemently oppose?"
"It's different over there, Danica. It doesn't matter," he said sternly, shaking his head. "All that matters is that we can go there and not worry about anyone looking for us. We will be rich, safe and free."
"Is there any reason someone would be looking for us, Mikhail?" she asked him suspiciously.
He leaned forward, placing his fingers under her chin and tilting her head up. "We are going to the United States, and that's that. Start packing, as we will leave tomorrow night," he said, getting up. "I’m going to bed and I strongly suggest you do the same. It's going to be a long, hectic couple of days and we have much to do. Call the school tomorrow and make some excuse for the boys' absence. For now, we will just tell them we are going on an extended holiday."
She opened her mouth to protest when he pointed his finger at her and said, "Make sure that you tell no one what we are doing or where we are going. It's better if they don't know. We can contact them after we have safely arrived, if you wish." With that, he turned around and climbed the stairs to go to bed.
She shook her head and murmured, "America, what will we do in America?"
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God, she couldn’t breathe! Something was on her, a blanket? Where was she? As she slowly regained consciousness, the horrifying events from earlier came back to her. Mikhail had tried to kill her! She frantically tried to remove the heavy material surrounding her. Tears came to her eyes as she thought of the man she loved and of the unborn child within her. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her and the pounding in her head increased before darkness closed in.
Chapter Two
Danica stared listlessly out the train window at the passing countryside. She wasn't feeling well and the boys were restless. Mikhail himself was rather withdrawn and uncommunicative and he alternated between ignoring his family and snapping at them. She’d never seen him so jumpy and nervous.
She turned to face him on the seat across from her. “I feel so dirty and I'd like a bath. When are we supposed to arrive? We’ve been traveling for days!" she complained.
"As I have already told you, we’ll be there sometime in the morning. From there we’ll make our way to Reval, then across the Baltic to Helsinki. Eventually we’ll arrive in Edinburgh, Scotland, where we'll board a ship to America."
"I do hope there’s more space on the ship than here," she said morosely. "I can't believe that this is considered a deluxe compartment."
"Danica, your life of luxury has obviously inured you to the goings on in the rest of the world, which is at war. Ensuring your comfort and catering to your every whim is probably not exactly a high priority!" he retorted hotly. "Besides, we’ve only been on the train four days. One of those days was spent going to Pskov to avoid the hostile troops guarding the tracks into Petrograd and one of those days was spent in Smolensk visiting your family. A stop," he reminded her, "I hadn't planned on taking. It would have been better for them if they didn't know we were leaving or where we were going."
She leaned back against the seat and prayed she had not put her parents' lives in danger. Knowing that she would probably never see them again had nearly broken her heart. Her father had taken her aside and tried to give her some money but she had kissed him through her tears and told him they would need it much more than she would.
"You know money has never been a problem since I married Mikhail," she told him. He looked at her with the same eyes she saw reflected in the mirror.
"I know that he has money, but you don't. This is just for you and the children, just in case…." his voice trailed off.
"Papa, you know I can't leave him, he would find me. Even if he didn't there’s no way I would leave the children."
"I know, Dani," he said, using her childhood nickname. "But if ever the chance comes, promise me you will try to escape. He cannot blackmail you with threats to us once you leave."
"I know that papa, but I am afraid.”
He took her small, pale hands in his own big ones. They were as rough as sandpaper, a testament to his years of manual labor. "Hope is the only thing that cannot be taken away unless you allow it to leave. Never give up on hope, it's what has kept your mother and me alive so long."
Sobbing, she threw her arms around him. "Papa, I love you so! I’ve never even said thank you for all that you and mama did for me, all the sacrifices you made. I will miss you and think of you every day!" she promised.
"We will miss you, too. There is something I must ask of you," he said, looking at her questioningly.
She took a step back and swallowed, the lump in her throat nearly causing her to gag. "You want me to find Maggie, papa?"
"Please, Dani, it would mean so much to us." He thought she was about to object and rushed on, "You don't know what it was like Danica, you were too young when she left. I don't blame her for what she did. She didn't have your talent, your opportunities. There was no chance of a decent life for her here!"
"But she left you! She just left in the middle of the night with some strange man!"
"She had to!" her father replied. "It was her only way out and your mother and I recognized that. Please Dani, just try. Promise me you'll try?"
Looking at her father’s haggard face, she realized he had never asked her for anything in her entire life. Her parents had always tried to do their best for all their children. She owed it to them to at least try to locate her sister, Magda. Cupping her hands around her father’s face, she looked at him and said, "I will find Maggie, papa, I will. And when I do I'll send you word to you as soon as possible, I promise."
They went back into the kitchen where her mother was making polite conversation with Mikhail while he slowly drank his coffee. The boys were outside playing in the small yard. When he saw her emerge from the shabby bedroom, Mikhail stood up. "Danica, we must go. It’s imperative that we get out of Russia as soon as possible."
"Yes, Mikhail," she answered dutifully. She turned to her mother and hugged her. "I love you so," she whispered.
"There, there, Dani, everything will be okay. You are so young and you have your whole life ahead of you. Just think of this as a new chapter in your life, a great adventure!” Eva said. Danica squeezed her eyes firmly shut, trying to quell the sudden spring of tears.
Mikhail cleared his throat and turned to Yuri. "We must be going. Be careful who you talk to and what you say." Then he turned and went outside to call the boys without so much as a handshake or a good-bye.
Danica studied her parents as they watched their grandchildren. She had inherited her father's dark blue eyes and his height and her mother’s jet-black hair, which was now streaked with gray. Both were slender, although it was so much genetics as the food shortages that caused that.
When she was a child she remembered thinking how handsome her father was, how tall and proud he had been. She looked at him now, more skin and bones than anything else, and thought he looked gaunt and withdrawn. Her mother's once rosy complexion and smooth skin were now heavily lined and had the look of dried leather. The result of so many years outside suffering the blasting heat and sun of the summer and the icy winds and bitter cold of the winters.
She put her arms around both and held them tightly until she heard Mikhail call her impatiently. "Come, Danica, it's time to go. Now."
"Find Magda," her father said.
"We love you, please take care," said her mother, crying softly. Danica nodded her head, not trusting her voice, and backed out of the small cottage where she, her older sister and two older brothers had been born.
"Good-bye, I love you," she whispered.
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"Danica? Danica!" Mikhail said louder. Shaken out of her reverie, she turned to face her husband.
"What? I'm sorry, I guess I must have dozed," she stammered.
He frowned at her and said, "We are almost to Minsk and we won't have much time to unload our belongings before the train moves on."
"Will there be a carriage waiting for us at the station when we arrive?"
He shook his head. "No, we will have to arrange for a carriage at the station to take us out of town to a small inn where we can all rest for a few hours. In the evening, after everyone has gone to bed, we will depart and make our way north to Reval, on the Baltic coast."
"Won't we be close to Petrograd?" she asked worriedly. Although things in Moscow were bad, it was in Petrograd that the riots were really escalating. Only a few days ago, the captain of the Russian cruiser Aurora was murdered by his own sailors. Forty more officers had been executed by their own crew just days later at the nearby naval base of Kronstadt.
"We will be far enough away," he assured her. "Besides, this is the quickest way out of the country. Once we get to Reval I will hire a boat to take us into Finland."
"Will Finland allow us to come into their country so easily?"
He patted her hand and smiled smugly. "You have nothing to worry about; the arrangements have already been made. Haven't I always taken care of you, Danica?"
She smiled weakly at him. "Yes, of course, Mikhail. I guess I’m just a trifle nervous."
He leaned back against the uncomfortable chair and closed his eyes. He was nervous too but he'd never tell her that. The rumor on the train was that Nicholas had at last abdicated to his brother, who had declined the chance to become the next Tsar. Apparently, the constitutional forces of the Duma had ordered the arrest of all the Tsarist Ministers and had since formed a Provisional Government, led by Prince Lvov. This was supposedly the first step in establishing a democracy in Russia. Mikhail suspected that the democracy would fail, however. It was his experience that peasants needed to be told what to do because they were not able to make decisions on their own.
Right now, though, he was more focused on his own family’s plight. Everything counted on Rocky keeping his end of the deal. Not for the first time he found himself questioning the former ambassador's willingness to help. Was it possible that Rocky would double-cross him?
As soon as the thought occurred to him he dismissed it. Mikhail had come to know the wily politician quite well in his years serving as ambassador and actually rather liked him. He was certain the feeling was mutual. But even more than that, he had let Rocky know exactly what it was he would be bringing out of Russia on this trip, and it was five times more valuable than anything he had sent before. He knew Rocky's weakness was his insatiable hunger for money and power. It was this knowledge that assured Mikhail that he did not have to worry about the arrangements Rocky had made for him and his family's safe passage to America.
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They rested fitfully at the inn and when darkness fell, Mikhail gathered up his family and they made their way by carriage out of Minsk. They traveled only at night, resting at small inns during the day. Around midnight on the fourth night, they arrived at the port city of Reval. Mikhail left his family in the carriage and went into a small office located near the pier. He came out smiling a short while later and soon had his family and their things loaded into a small boat.
He told the boys that silence was imperative. "We are going on a very dangerous adventure," he whispered to them. "The enemy is out there looking for us so we must be very quiet and very careful. Don't speak unless you must and try not to make any noise. If you must use the rest room, do it now, because you won’t be able to on the journey across." Danica assumed that he thought the boys would be excited by the intrigue but she thought instead that he had scared them half out of their wits and said as much. He turned on her angrily and grasped her arm.
"Listen to me Danica, I don't have time for this. This is not a game. If we are spotted or caught, I can assure you we will be killed. All of us. Do you understand?" he asked, letting go of her arm. She looked at him wide-eyed and nodded, rubbing her arm where he had held it so tightly. It crossed her mind that she would likely bruise, but then, it wasn’t the first bruise she had received because of him and probably wouldn't be the last. Unbidden into her mind came her father’s words, "You must escape if you can, Dani."
After taking care of her toiletries, she found a place on the hard wooden bench and sat down, arranging her cape underneath and around her, trying to make it more comfortable, or at least bearable. They finally set sail and the sound of the waves and the gentle rocking of the boat lulled her into a dream-filled sleep.
She thought of her parents and of Maggie, whom she hadn't seen for over twenty years. What would she look like, was she even alive? How could Danica possibly hope to find her? She vaguely remembered hearing a few years ago that both of her brothers had also headed to the United States.
Boris, her youngest brother, had gotten a village girl pregnant and had fled when the girl’s father tried to force him to marry her. At one time it would have humiliated her parents, but they had long since ceased being scandalized by the actions of their sons. Her brothers had caused them nothing but trouble from the time they were old enough to walk and she was glad she hadn't known them all that well. They had always teased and bullied her until she went away to the dance troupe. On the few times she visited home and they were there, they pointedly ignored her or spent their time taunting her about how easy her life was.
She remembered the last time she had seen them. She had managed to save some money and had given it to her parents so that they could buy a decent goat for some milk. When Dmitri, her older brother, discovered how her parents had paid for the goat, he had whirled on her angrily, shouting, "Whore! You spread your legs for anyone and everyone so that you can eat like a pig and wear expensive clothes and we’re supposed to be grateful for the few rubles you give us?"
Her father had stood up so suddenly he had knocked his chair over. With one hand he grabbed Dmitri by the throat and with his other he smashed his fist into his son's face. Dmitri had crumpled to the floor crying and holding his broken nose, while Boris trembled with fear. Danica had sat openmouthed, staring at this stranger who was her father. He abhorred violence and often preached against it. She had never heard him raise his voice, let alone his fist.
Eva had walked over and put her arm around her husband’s waist. She stood with him looking down at Dmitri. "Get out," she said, softly. "Leave at once. You are not my son and you are no longer welcome in this house."
Dmitri had scrambled to his room, followed by Boris. After collecting a few belongings, the two had slinked to the door. Dmitri told his parents that he had no desire to live in their house anyway and left. Boris, ever his brother’s shadow, announced that he was also leaving and followed Dmitri out the door. It was the last Danica had ever seen of them.
A long moment had passed before Eva had righted the fallen chair, guiding her husband to his seat where he had cradled his face in his hands and cried softly. While her mother made them some tea, Danica placed her hand on her father's shoulder and squeezed. Her brothers’ names were never mentioned again.
Remembering the incident brought fresh tears to Danica's face, waking her. She angrily wiped them away and looked out over the water. How ironic that all of the children of Russian farmers Yuri Cherloff and Eva Kubrinsk were going to end up in the United States, she thought.
Chapter Three
Edinburgh, Scotland
March 23, 1917
Danica felt the cool wind on her face as she stood at the rail of the ship. Although Mikhail assured here the dangerous part of their journey was over, it seemed their flight to America would never end. Josef and André were leaning over the rail waving at those who had come to see the ship off. She smiled and asked, "Who are you waving to? Do you know someone I don't?"
Josef smiled as André laughed and said, "We don't know anyone, mama, it's just fun to wave and watch everyone waving back."
The sound of her son's laughter reminded her of her own childhood. It seemed so long ago that she had chased her sister around their family's small yard, trying to catch her. She remembered the first time Maggie had put on the new ballet tights and tutu their mother had painstakingly sewn for her.
Maggie had been a good dancer but didn't possess the inborn grace necessary of a true ballerina. A few years later, during a school recital, scouts from the Moscow Ballet Children's Theatre had decided that Danica had that grace. She truly had a gift and was taken from her family at age eight to begin her "serious" studies in the art of dance.
Pulling her thoughts from the past, Danica noticed the ship was pulling away from the pier. She looked around for her husband and spotted him talking animatedly to another passenger. The older man was nodding his head emphatically and Danica knew Mikhail must have found a sympathetic ear for whatever it was he was discussing.
Not for the first time, she thought how handsome he was. If only what was inside were nearly so attractive. She looked back out at the receding coastline of Scotland and let her mind wander back to the past.
Mikhail had come into her life when she was at the pinnacle of her career as a dancer in Russia. She was on the verge of acquiring real fame and had been offered the chance to tour with the Russian Ballet Company outside of Russia. She remembered the night she had met Mikhail as if it was yesterday. She had just finished a difficult piece called The Swan's Song when her manager burst backstage and told her to finish dressing, as she was wanted out front.
Looking back, Danica sometimes wondered what would have happened had she refused, but knew that had not been an option. Considering that their performance had been exclusively for the enjoyment of the Tsar, his closest advisors and the Cabinet Ministers, whoever had summoned her obviously held no small degree of power. This particular performance, which had not been open to the public, had been one of her best yet, she thought.
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Danica finally emerged from her dressing room and her manager quickly ushered her to a large table out front where numerous government officials sat. They all stood up as her chair was pulled out and after resuming their seats, all complimented her on her excellent performance. The group made small talk for a while until one of the men, a military officer of some sort, asked her if he could speak privately with her for a moment. It was not so much a question as an order and she nodded her head and dutifully followed him to another table where he held out his hand and introduced himself.
"Excuse my manners, Miss Cherloff," he said. "I am Major Mikhail Yvgenny Borinskya. My previous post was as assistant counsel to our representatives in Tokyo. Upon my advice, we broke diplomatic relations with the Japanese and since then I have been helping to oversee our military effort in our war with them.”
"Pleased to meet you," she murmured, shaking his hand.
"Miss Cherloff," he began, "I am now going to be assuming the post of Minister Petr Chenko, who is stepping down in light of his dismal failure to assure the defeat of the Japanese. I will be living in the city from now on and will report only to the other Ministers and the Tsar himself. Although at thirty-one years old I am to be the youngest Minister, I have all the requirements of my position except for one thing.”
She looked at him quizzically and said, "My congratulations on your recent promotion, sir, but I fail to see what this 'one thing' you are missing is or how you think I may be able to help?"
He looked at her then with a gaze that made her blood run cold. "I am in need of a wife," he announced, "and I have decided that it is you I will marry."
She stared at him in surprise and then stood up abruptly. "Major Borinskya, while I assume you think I would be flattered by your dismal proposal, let me assure you I am not. I have no desire to marry you, or anyone else for that matter, at this time. My only priority is to continue dancing and performing on stage, not on the arm of some ambitious young government official!" That said, she turned around to leave.
She started walking when she felt the breath of air on her neck seconds before she heard his voice in her ear. "Let me explain something to you, my dear," he said. "I am not asking for your hand in marriage, I am telling you that you will marry me. Unless, of course, you wish harm to come to your parents. Eva and Yuri, is it?" he asked maliciously.
Taking a moment to compose herself, she whirled around and narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you threatening to harm my parents if I choose not to heed this ridiculous order of yours?" she sniffed derisively. "You cannot threaten me, I will tell your superiors!"
“They are already aware of my decision and fully supportive,” he said. Then he pulled out a notebook and rapidly flipped the pages before smiling at her. "Ah, here it is," he said triumphantly. "Number eight Volgendas, near the city of Smolensk. Am I correct?" he asked.
She felt the blood drain from her face. "Why? Why are you doing this to me?" she asked. "Have I or my family done something to you? If I marry now, I will lose my place with the Troupe and my career will be finished!" she sobbed.
He handed her his handkerchief and guided her back to her seat. "No Miss Cherloff, you do not know me and your family has not angered me in any way. As for your dancing, well, all good things must come to an end and suffice to say this is the end of your career. Now, about the wedding," he said, looking pointedly at her.
This is a nightmare, she thought. Surely this was not happening to her! Only an hour ago she had been on stage performing, doing what she loved! She stared at him in silence.
He frowned and said, "You can make this as easy or as difficult as you wish, it will not change the outcome. Now, I am willing to allow you to make the proper announcements and you may make all of the wedding plans so long as you keep me apprised. Money is not a problem." He waited a moment and asked, "Well, what do you want it to be? Difficult or easy?"
She looked at him with tears in her eyes. "Can't you at least give me another month?" she pleaded.
"Unfortunately, no. This is the way it has to be. And while you are planning the wedding, please keep in mind that we must be married before the end of the month."
"But, that only gives me two weeks!" she gasped.
He stared at her coldly. "Go inform your manager that tonight was your final performance. I will pick you up at your apartment tomorrow at noon and we can discuss the wedding plans in detail. Good night."
He stood up then and left, never looking back. Perhaps if he had he would have seen the devastation on her face, but even so, she knew he wouldn’t change his mind. For whatever the reason this man had decided that she would be his wife. She realized dejectedly that unless she was willing to risk his wrath on her family, she had no choice but to honor his wishes.
She stood unsteadily and made her way to the manager's office. When she attempted to explain what had happened, she broke down sobbing. He patted her shoulder sympathetically and told her he already knew. He said he would regret losing her, that she was one of the best he had ever had the pleasure of working with, but this is how these things went. As he guided her to the door, he told her he would send her last paycheck as soon as possible, but she would have to vacate her apartment immediately after her marriage so that her replacement could have it.
She walked along the streets to her building thinking that finding a place to stay wouldn't be a problem. In two weeks she would be a married woman and would live in his apartment. Initially, sleep wouldn't come to her, but when it did her dreams were filled of Russian soldiers marching on the stage. When she awoke she bounded out of bed, thinking she was late for rehearsal. It was only as she headed out the door that she realized she no longer had to rehearse. There would be no more ballets to learn, no more performances to attend. No more cheering audiences and no more chance to escape Russia.
She sat down heavily on the sofa and cried. She tried to write her parents but the words would not come. Eventually she managed a short note informing them that she had quit the ballet because she would soon be getting married. She promised to visit as soon as possible.