Sweet Love, Survive (11 page)

Apollo, leaning on his pommel, the short fur blowing on his hat, stirred, then glanced back to Peotr. He regarded his unshaven, tired friend, and noticed the skin drawn tightly against his cheekbones. No one had had much food or sleep the last two months. “Of course, Peotr, I understand,” Apollo said in a quiet, steady voice. Who was he to pass judgment? Peotr had fought tirelessly for the cause, bravely willing to give his life. He had honorably performed his duty and had upheld his commitment, as he saw it, to country, wife, and mistress, but now time was running out. Choices had to be made … and Kitty was the least dear of his obligations. Peotr was only human, like the rest of them; no paragon of virtue—and after four years of villainy, what possible capacity did any man have for judging right and wrong? Years of filthy habits, slaughter, blood, and death had changed them all. Their finer sensibilities had been forsaken long ago.

“Apollo?” Peotr’s query was one of entreaty, and it brought
Apollo’s unpalatable musing to a halt. Peotr’s large, dark eyes anxiously searched the clear, golden depths of his companion’s.

Apollo, who in the chaotic last few weeks had mentally made numerous and what he considered highly practical plans to avoid seeing Kitty again, changed his mind. “You don’t have to ask. I would have done it anyway.” Apollo’s softly spoken words were reasonable, casual; a friend helping a friend.

A deep sigh signaled Peotr’s relief. Quickly reaching over, he grabbed Apollo’s hand and pumped it vigorously. “You don’t know what a comfort that is. A thousand thanks. Sincerely, a thousand!” Still gripping Apollo’s hand, Peotr said, “I hope you don’t think me too coldhearted. Christ, I even prayed last night for the first time in years for some solution to the problem—but logistically it wouldn’t work out, no matter what I tried.”

“Lord, Peotr, don’t agonize. Suata and the children need you. I’ll take care of Kitty.” And with that simple statement Apollo’s spirits soared. Even in the midst of an absolute, bloody defeat, his mood altered felicitously, unbelievably. He’d see Kitty soon!

Peotr managed a small smile now, only a thin reminder of his usual buoyant
joie de vivre
. He released Apollo’s hand. “It may not be as bad as it appears. There’s a possibility Kitty emigrated already. I left instructions with her to leave when conditions became dangerous. We’re so out of touch with the eastern front, I’m not sure how far the Red advance has progressed. Communication has been erratic for the last month.”

“Kitty gone?” Apollo found it difficult to restrain the despondent feeling that overcame him. Immediately he took himself to task for the utter selfishness of that response. Good God, the best thing would be for Kitty to be halfway to Constantinople right now. He was an unfeeling monster to want her still in the midst of this war simply so he could see her again.

“She could be. I’ve no way of knowing.”

“I’ll check,” Apollo said in a quiet, determined voice. “Rest
assured, if Kitty’s there, I’ll see she embarks for Constantinople.”

“How can I ever repay you?” Tears shone in Peotr’s eyes.

“No need.” Apollo swallowed hard. In all the years of their friendship he had never seen Peotr cry. “Now,” he said with bluff briskness, “we’d better get going or neither of us will outdistance the scouts. I see a patrol starting to move south out of Ekaterinodar already. Is Tolia going with you?” Peotr’s orderly was originally from Petrograd, and many soldiers were attempting to return home.

Peotr nodded. “Between the Cheka and starvation, his family’s all gone. He’s alone now.”

Apollo raised his hand and laid it, gloved and familiar, on Peotr’s broad shoulder. “Better go. See to Suata and the children, and leave Kitty to me.
Bonne chance
.”

“
Au revoir
,” Peotr replied. “I won’t wish you luck. You don’t need it. I only pity any enemy crossing your path.”

Leda stirred a bit and was quiet. Apollo flashed a warm smile and saluted Peotr casually. “See you in Paris this summer.”

Peotr’s face broke into a wide grin. “It’s a date. Stay in happiness, Apollo Alexandrovich,” he said in the old way, then, snapping a salute, he wheeled his mount and struck off to the southeast, Tolia following.

Apollo, Karaim, and Sahin wasted no time in leaving the rise. The Red patrol had spotted them through their field glasses and were breaking cross-country toward the low foothills. The Dagestani thoroughbreds broke into the easy lope they could sustain for hours at a time, and by late afternoon the three men had traveled sufficiently east to be out of the area of Red Army movement. That night they wrapped themselves in their
burkhas
, tethered their mounts in the lee side of a haystack, and burrowed into the sweet-smelling hay to sleep. The poignant promise of possibly seeing Kitty soon lulled Apollo into a peaceful slumber. Two more days to Aladino, he thought pleasantly just before dozing off.

Unconcerned with the personal daydreams of Captain Prince Apollo Kuzan, General Beriozov’s Sixth Division had advanced eastward and, in an unexpected offensive three weeks earlier, had launched a rapid flanking drive into Astrakhan. General Erdeli’s inadequate defenses had been badly mauled, and the Whites had retreated south in disorder. Several flying units were spearheading the Red drive, outdistancing the main army by twenty miles a day, pillaging, burning, and raping as they overran the district.

    After Christmas the number of refugees streaming through Astrakhan, pushed down after Kolchak’s defeat on the eastern front, increased steadily. At first Kitty helped with food and clothing on a haphazard basis, but by February the teeming influx of refugees stopping by the estate had reached such proportions that the gatehouse and two large stables had been transformed into a kitchen, infirmary, and barracks. Several hundred émigrés a week stopped to rest, eat, and warm their chilled bodies for a brief time. They stayed a few hours or overnight, occasionally a day or so, but no one tarried long with the Red Army pressing ever closer. The refugees were headed for the Black Sea ports, and Kitty knew she, too, must depart for the safety of those ports. But she kept putting off the decision.

Every cavalry officer coming down the road caused a sudden lurch in her heart, until, her eyes straining, the image at closer range became clear. Not Apollo this time either, she would quietly sigh. Maybe tomorrow. And she waited.

Occasionally an optimistic report would be passed along. Erdeli had won a major battle; he was holding the Reds back; there was even talk of a counterattack.

One evening in February after a long, tiring day at the infirmary, Kitty ate two bites of supper and immediately had to dash upstairs to throw up. She had been feeling strangely languid in the morning, not inclined to touch food until near midday, but had dismissed the odd new symptoms as the result of her heavy schedule at the refugee barracks.

Minutes later, lying pale and exhausted on her bed, a memory spread poignantly along the corridors of her mind, and with hope and apprehension she knew. It wasn’t hard work and long hours that accounted for the absence of her monthly cycles. She was going to have a child.

Kitty tried to conjure up some feelings of shame and remorse as she lay curled in the pillows, but inexplicably she couldn’t. With a curious sense of elation she now knew quite conclusively that she was carrying Apollo’s child. Placing her hands on her flat stomach, she visualized the new life growing inside her, imagined the young child who had sprung from the joyous passion of those three days in December, and she whispered softly, “I will love you … as I love your father.”

It was the worst of times in the eye of a hurricane devastating her only known world, but for a brief moment it was the best of times for her, and nothing mattered but the love child she carried.

Two days later the stream of refugees diminished to a trickle, then abruptly ceased. Pavel, sent into the nearby town with a note to Kitty’s grain dealer, had returned with no reply. Eschlov and Sons was closed. They had left for Constantinople.

Kitty should have realized then that the Red troops were near, and in the back of her mind she did know. But if she acknowledged that fact she would have to leave, and that meant coming face to face with the very real possibility of never seeing Apollo again. It was unsafe to stay, but she was ruled by her heart and by the life growing within her. It was a silly romantic dream, but she desperately hoped it would come true, hoped that Apollo would return to her and to his
child. Just a few more days, she told herself, holding on to a scrap of a dream in the face of logic, only a few more days … then she’d leave.

In retrospect, it was a very foolish thing to do, and after years of being practical, dutiful, and reasonable, it was a very bad time to become foolish.

    Late that night Kitty’s frantic maid wakened her. Anna was hysterical and Kitty felt a flash of panic at the first stir of disaster. In the space of a heartbeat Kitty knew the worst had finally befallen them.

“The Bolotokov and Nikitin estates are afire!!!”

Kitty ran to the window, hoping the young girl was somehow mistaken. No mistake. The flames of both properties blazed blood red on the horizon.

“Mistress, what will we do? Everyone has fled!”

Kitty’s mind was rapidly gauging the time and distance from the Bolotokov estate, which was nearest, as she threw off her nightgown and tossed a woolen gown over her head. “Anna, don’t panic,” she said as calmly as her own frantically pulsing heart would allow. “We’ve still about fifteen minutes at least. Put on your coat and boots and run home to your grandmother. The Bolsheviks are friends of the peasants. They shouldn’t hurt you.” Kitty knew the Reds were no champions of any person or class who stood in their way, but it wouldn’t serve to alarm the girl further. “Now, run. Go! And God go with you.”

The young maid hesitated for a fraction of a second, but fear overcame her sense of loyalty even as Kitty said, “Don’t die because of me, Anna. Think of your grandmother. She needs you.”

The girl stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle a sob, then turned abruptly and vanished down the long hallway. Kitty followed closely behind, only taking time to gather her jewels into a leather vanity case and pull a warm fur from the armoire. Running down the long curved stairway, she dashed into Peotr’s study. With trembling fingers she unlocked the safe, snatched his directions from the strongbox, and—hear
ing rifle shots terrifyingly close—fled through the ominously empty house out the terrace door to the stable.

The first armored cars were screaming up the long driveway when Kitty exited Aladino for the last time.

With only moments to spare, the young groom who had always cared personally for Peotr’s mount tossed Kitty up onto her favorite mare and whipped her on her way. She rocketed out the wide wooden doorway, her horse breaking across the frozen fields behind the stable just as the first members of the Red patrol broke down the front door of Aladino.

The cold stinging her face, her body trembling in nervous reaction to the narrowness of her escape, Kitty bent low over the mare’s neck, alternately shivering and inhaling long, calming breaths. She had to remain sensible. The countryside was alive with marauding Bolsheviks. How to find the safest way south to Batum, Sochi, Novorossiisk? Lord, give her courage! Angling west through the fields, staying well away from the manor house and buildings, Kitty reached the concealing shadows of the willows lining the river. She clung to the dim anonymity of the gray murkiness, following the river’s course for several versts, heading in a rough southwesterly direction toward Stavropol. If she could reach the city, perhaps it would be possible to purchase a rail ticket south. Moving slowly through the snow-covered landscape, careful not to leave the protective darkness of the drooping willows, Kitty gained a minor byway which eventually widened into one of the country roads to Stavropol. She was several versts from Aladino and the fires glowing well east of her were now only a minor radiance on the horizon. She allowed herself a brief prayer of thanksgiving, profound relief coursing through her ravaged nerves as she gazed at the distant fires. Striking out for Stavropol, she congratulated herself on her hairbreadth escape.

Riding down the deserted road, Kitty straightened her shoulders, drew in a deep draught of the frosty night air, and crooned encouragement to her mare. With a bit of good fortune, she speculated optimistically, she’d be in Stavropol tomorrow.

As it was, her current streak of luck was scheduled to run out.

Scarcely ten minutes later, just as Kitty’s mount settled into a comfortable canter, the tranquil darkness of the star-strewn sky was broken by twin beams of vivid yellow light. Seemingly out of nowhere, double streaks from incandescent mercury lamps shone heavenward, ahead of the rider on the empty road. A startling second later a large touring car followed, hurtling out of one of the ravines that cut through the steppe and roared down the road directly toward Kitty.

The mare reared in terror at the sudden light and noise. Kitty lost the stirrups and felt herself falling. There was only time to breathe one soft, exasperated curse, before Lady Luck deserted Countess Radachek and her head struck the ground.

The Russo-Baltic motor car, flying the fanion of the Sixth Division, quietly slid to a halt. From the backseat, a strongly built, well-preserved officer stepped out. Dressed by the best Petrograd tailor, his greatcoat thrown over his shoulders in a manner copied from the old imperial generals, the officer walked slowly over to the crumpled form in the middle of the snow-packed road. With the toe of one splendid riding boot, he rolled the unconscious female over. Snapping his fingers, he barked, “A torch!” A beam of light immediately shone on Kitty’s body. A slow smile creased the general’s
⁹
tanned, leathery face. “Put the, ah …”—he glanced at Kitty’s rich sable and expensive gown—“lady into the backseat.” Aristocratic ladies were much to his taste, and such a pretty piece, he decided, should amuse him for quite some time. To the victor, et cetera … The Revolution had pleasantly expanded the circle of women available to the son of a poor Siberian peasant.