Page 26 of The Unseen
FOURTEEN
APRIL 1917
Petrograd, Russia
Valentina’s eighteenth birthday came and went without much fanfare. As Tanya had predicted, they ate well that week, and the one after that, but no one particularly enjoyed the food. Elena and Ivan presented Valentina with an exquisite choker crafted of three strands of pearls and adorned at the front with a diamond-encrusted lily. Tiny diamonds were evenly spaced throughout the necklace, their shine bringing out the luminescence of the pearls. On any other birthday, Valentina would have been speechless with awe. The choker was a present for a woman, not a girl, and her parents’ acknowledgement that she was now an adult, a woman about to be married, but Valentina felt nothing but sadness. The weeks since the Revolution had been tense and frightening. No one really knew what to expect, and as the days wore on, they tried to regain some sort of normalcy.
Petr went out every morning and brought back every newspaper he could find for the master. As soon as he returned, Ivan locked himself in his study for the remainder of the morning, reading every word until he finally emerged in time for luncheon. He assured everyone daily that the situation was under control and all would be well, but Valentina expected nothing less of her father. He was surrounded by women, and like most men of his time, believed the womenfolk should be spared any unpleasantness. Elena rarely asked, preferring to focus on domestic issues and her sparse social calendar. People were slowly beginning to resume their lives, going about their business and even holding small gatherings to bolster their spirits. Elena insisted on attending a musical evening and a small dinner party, but Ivan drew the line at going to the theater.
“Elena, it’s out of the question,” he said, his tone firm, as if speaking to a wayward child.
“But why? The performances have resumed and I see no reason we have to hide here and give those beasts the satisfaction of knowing we’re scared.”
“Darling, think about it,” Ivan reasoned with her, softening his tone. “Should anything happen, we’ll be trapped in a building with hundreds of other people and few exits. There will be panic and a stampede, with everyone trying to get out. It’s not safe.”
“Princess Kuragina attended an opera at the Mariinsky Theater last Saturday. She is not afraid of a stampede,” Elena argued.
“Princess Kuragina is eighty-six years old. Her children are grown and her husband’s been in the ground these past thirty years. She doesn’t have much left to lose. You, on the other hand, have our children to think about. An evening at the opera is not worth the risk.”
Elena scoffed, but didn’t argue further. Instead, she took a different tack. “How about we host a small supper then? We were forced to cancel Valya’s birthday party, but we could make up for that. Perhaps I can convince Angelika Mironova to come and sing for us. She has the voice of an angel, and her brother might make a good match for Tanya one day.”
Ivan sighed. “Lena, please. I know you’re anxious and want nothing more than for normal life to resume, but these are uncertain times. We can’t continue as if nothing’s happened.”
“You really are becoming quite stodgy, Vanya.”
“If that’s the worst you can say about me, I can live with that,” Ivan grumbled.
The morning after her parents’ argument, Valentina knocked on the door of her father’s study. Not knowing what was really happening was much more frightening than knowing thetruth, no matter how dire, and she meant to talk her father into explaining things to her. If he believed that going to the theater wasn’t safe, then clearly, he wasn’t telling them the whole truth of the situation.
“Come,” Ivan called.
She entered and shut the door behind her. “I’d like to talk to you, Papa.”
“Are you going to demand an outing to the theater as well? I already told your mother it’s out of the question.”
“That’s not why I’m here. I need to understand what’s happening. You burn the newspapers after you read them, and I’ve hardly been anywhere since the uprising. I haven’t even seen Alexei, and his notes are about as informative as your daily reports. Please, Papa, I’m a grown woman now, and I deserve to know what’s happening.”
Ivan leaned back in his chair and studied Valentina, as if seeing her for the first time. His brown eyes softened as he looked at her and he nodded, decision made. “I suppose you’re right, Valya. You are a grown woman, and you’re different from your mother. I tend to forget that.”
“In what way am I different?” Valentina asked as she took a seat across from her father.
“Your mother was hardly more than a girl when I met her. I was charmed. She was beautiful, vivacious, and childlike, in a most endearing sort of way. Trouble is, she never really grew up. I saw to everything from the day we were married, and shielded her from anything that might distress her. I only wanted her to be happy, you see, but she’s not strong or decisive. She never had to be. You will make a good wife to Alexei. You’ll be a true partner to him.”
“Are you saying Mama is not a true partner?” Valentina asked. Her father had never said a negative word about Elena inthe presence of the children, and the revelation that he had doubts about her ability to handle hardship came as a shock.
“She’s my partner in all the ways that count, Valya, but she’s not strong-willed like you. She’s happy to let someone else make the important decisions, which has worked well for us over the years.”
“Papa, tell me what’s happening. I want to know the truth.”
Ivan sighed and leaned back in his chair. He suddenly looked older than his forty-five years. Valentina hadn’t noticed the strands of gray at his temples or the deepening lines bracketing his mouth. To her, he was still her handsome Papa, but the past few weeks had taken their toll and the cracks were beginning to show.
“The truth is that no one really knows, dochenka.”
Valentina almost teared up at the endearment. Her father rarely used the diminutive version of “daughter” to address her, not since she was little. He still called Kolyasinok, but Kolya was seven, not really old enough to be called “son,” as an older boy would. Her father was feeling more emotional than she’d realized.
“There are several factions vying for power, and I really don’t think the provisional government will last long.”
“Do you think it will be replaced by a new tsar?”
