Interlude
Tatiana: Cutting firewood
Colonel Kobylinsky’s kindness manifested in the strangest of ways. Papa had been increasingly anxious, being locked up in the house, while having nothing to do. Alexei was well, too, and whenever he could manage it he took advantage of doing as much as he could.
He did this despite knowing that a slip, a fall, a cut, would result in weeks of pain. Mama and Papa not only allowed it, but encouraged it, because they knew he could not live his life otherwise. But I feared that their decision to give Alexei this freedom had come too late because here in Tobolsk, there were fewer opportunities for him to do all the boyish things he’d not been allowed to do all his life.
That’s why when beech trunks arrived, Papa asked for saws and axes to cut the wood down to size and Colonel Kobylinsky agreed.
I pulled on my coat, hat, and gloves, and followed them into the side yard, eager for some fresh air and sunshine.
Flexing muscles that had once been too weak to lift him off his pillow, Alexei worked the saws and axes with Papa, cutting the trunks down to size for use in the kitchen and the stoves. Even with four of us girls huddled together, our bedroom was an ice-house.
The scent of sawdust mixed in with the crisp, cold air. As the pieces fell off the saw horse I picked them up and stacked them and kept thinking how nice it would be to have the rooms warm once again.
Papa and Alexei’s cheeks were red from the cold and the effort, but they both had smiles on their faces.
Back and forth the saw went, singing its way into the wood, accompanied by labored breaths. Joy, our little liver-colored spaniel, ran about sniffing and barking. Her long, silky ears almost touched the ground as her nose worked.
Meanwhile, Ortipo, our French bulldog, was running back and forth, playing fetch with a couple of the guards. They had found an old lawn tennis ball—a ratty thing with a wool cloth covering the rubber—and used it to entice Ortipo into playing.
He was such a mischievous little thing, with his too-big ears that stood up atop his head like antennae, that one could not help but love him.
The soldiers would fake throwing the ball and he’d scold them, stocky body jumping up and down like he had springs in those little legs. The soldiers would laugh, then throw the ball, and Ortipo would be off like a shot.
He’d pick up the ball, strut it back, and exchange it for a pat on the head and then wait expectantly, tiny little tail vibrating with anticipation, until it was thrown again.
As Papa placed a fresh log on the saw horse, Alexei wiped his nose and said, “I miss Vanka.”
Of all of us, I knew that Alexei missed Vanka—his donkey—the most. The former circus donkey, loved pulling the sledge and doing tricks. He was also an expert pick-pocket. No matter how hard anyone tried to hide treats, Vanka would figure out how to get them out, usually to much giggling and wonder.
Back at Tsarskoe Selo the soldiers had first shot Alexei’s pet goat. Then the deer and swans. That’s why I dared not think of what had happened to our pets. We dared not ask. Instead, we locked the memory of them in our hearts, for that’s all we could do.
That’s all that was left to us. And enjoying the ones that were still with us.
I noticed an oddity among the soldiers who guard us. Mama and Papa seemed completely oblivious to it, but Olga and I, the “big pair,” have always been too close for me to have missed it. There’s a new soldier among our guards—I didn’t quite catch the name, Dostov-something or other—and my dear sister, Olga, is decidedly interested. Indeed, watching them dance around each other, it was all I could do not to laugh, they’re both so obviously interested.
I can understand it, I think. He may be from a peasant background, and I’m not even sure he’s literate, or much so. He’s a big one, too, this Dostov-person, from his height to his corded muscles to the gleam of latent ferocity in his eyes. There’s still no doubt; looking at him you know that here is a man, one who can protect what is his. And, God knows, we all need a protector now, and Olga more than the rest of us.