Page 51 of The Unseen
“Uha?” Kolya asked. “What’s that?”
“What’s that? Have you seriously never had uha? It’s a fish soup that fishermen make with fresh catch. It has fish, potatoes, onions, and is flavored with bay leaf. Delicious.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Kolya replied rudely.
“Do you know what else Mrs. Stern makes?” Dmitri asked Kolya. “She makes raisin cake that’s rich and sweet and dusted with confectioner’s sugar, and homemade poppy seed roll. Do you like that?”
“I like pryaniki.”
“She doesn’t make those from scratch, but I know a place that sells them, believe it or not. I will make sure to buy some tomorrow, and we can have them with our tea.”
“Can we have our tea with lemon?” Tanya asked. “We haven’t had lemon since leaving home. And I don’t like milk in my tea. It tastes strange.”
“We can have lemon, if that’s what you’d like. I must admit I’ve become accustomed to taking my tea the English way.”
Mrs. Stern came in bearing a tray with a lovely porcelain pot, several cups, and a plate of peculiar biscuits that looked like elongated yellow bricks.
“Shall I pour, Dima?” Elena asked, taking on the role of hostess.
“By all means.”
“What are those?” Kolya asked.
“Those biscuits are called shortbread. They are buttery and delicious. Have one.”
Kolya reached for a biscuit and took an experimental bite. “Not bad,” he said, “but I like sugar cookies better.”
“Maybe Mrs. Stern came bake some for you.” Dmitri accepted a cup of chocolate and turned to the housekeeper, who stood awaiting instructions. “Mrs. Stern, kindly prepare rooms for my honored guests. I think the yellow bedroom for the countess. It’s the loveliest.”
“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Stern departed, leaving them to enjoy their hot chocolate.
“Dmitri, I will pray for you today and every day,” Elena said tearfully. “You truly are our savior.”
“There’s only one Savior, Elena, but I’m happy to help.”
TWENTY-SIX
APRIL 1918
London, England
Valentina closed her eyes and allowed the soothing notes of the sung prayer to wash over her. It felt good to be in a church again. She’d questioned her faith and the very existence of God during the dark days of their winter in exile, but spring had come eventually and renewed her spirits. Cousin Dmitri was indeed a godsend. He’d taken them in and made them his family. Even Elena had blossomed under his tender care. The first week had been awkward for all of them, but once they’d settled into a routine, it was as if they’d always lived in the house in Belgravia. Dmitri had been true to his word and saw to all the little details that made the transition easier. Now, a month later, they looked much as they had before the revolution, a well-turned-out, prosperous family, except that instead of Ivan Kalinin, her mother’s arm rested on that of Dmitri Ostrov.
Tanya and Kolya stood next to their mother, Tanya in a high-necked pale blue dress with a lace collar and Kolya in a tweed suit and crisp white shirt. Elena wore a new dress in a muted shade of purple. Cousin Dmitri had talked her out of widow’s black and assured her that purple and lavender were acceptable mourning colors in England. She’d gained a little weight over the past month, and her skin had lost that papery quality, partially due to better nutrition and partially with the help of the creams Cousin Dmitri had ordered for her. Elena’s hair was beautifully dressed beneath her black lace headscarf, which she wore to church.
The service came to an end and everyone began to collect their belongings and make their way toward the door. The church wasn’t as large as the one they had attended in Petrograd, but it was beautiful, in a cozy sort of way, and nearly full. Valentina was surprised to see so many Russian expats in London. There weremany families with young children and several young women her age. There were also a number of young men, and Valentina noted shy looks and coy smiles between some of the young ladies and the eligible bachelors. She caught a few curious stares but didn’t acknowledge them. She’d meet other people in time, but today, she wasn’t ready to talk of her experiences and share her pain.
Once outside, Valentina was surprised to see that a folding table had been erected to the left of the door. A young man dressed in a shabby tweed suit and flat cap stood by the table, his gaze watchful. Newspapers were piled on one side of the table with a tin cup next to them. Nearly every man who exited the church helped himself to a paper and dropped payment into the cup. The opposite side of the table was covered with books. Several ladies drifted over and examined the offerings, while several more seemed to be selling their books to the young man. Valentina walked over to the table, eager to look at the books. There was no rush, as Cousin Dmitri seemed to be introducing Elena to some of his acquaintances and Tanya was chatting happily to a girl she’d just met.
“I didn’t realize there was a Russian language newspaper in London,” Valentina remarked to the young man. He reminded her of some of the Gypsies she’d seen back in Russia, with his dark coloring and coal-black eyes, but his pallor revealed that he didn’t spend much time outdoors.
“There isn’t. My brother and I print the paper ourselves.”
“Really? You have a printing press?”
“We work for a printer. He allows us to use the press to print the paper as long as we reimburse him for the cost of paper and ink. We had to invest in Cyrillic typeset, of course,” the young man added.
“Where do you get your news?”
