Granny Dan (14 page)

“I understand, my darling, it's all right,” Danina said calmly, holding fast to his hand. She only wished she could go back to Tsarskoe Selo with him, to see them all again. She wrote the Grand Duchesses and Alexei a quick letter, sending them her love, and promising that they would meet again, and Nikolai folded it carefully and put it in his pocket, to take it back with him.

He had explained all the circumstances to her, and what the house arrest entailed. They were allowed to walk in the gardens, or anywhere on the grounds. And he told her that people stood at the gates and stared at them, talking to them sometimes, telling them they loved them, or criticizing them for what they had or hadn't done. Just listening to him talk about it was painful to Danina, and she wished more than ever that she could be in Tsarskoe Selo with them, to lend them her support as well, and just be there for them.

She hated to see Nikolai leave again that night, but knew he had to go back. And this time, she exchanged their tickets for a boat leaving on the first of August. Nikolai had promised to be back in St. Petersburg by then. It was incredible to her to realize that they had already waited three months to leave, since the Revolution began. It seemed an eternity to her now as she continued to wait for him.

By then, some of the dancers had gone home to other countries, other towns, but most of them had stayed. All their performances had been canceled months before, but once she was well again, Madame Markova insisted that classes continue as usual. She invited Danina to watch with her, and little by little, Danina's limp had begun to fade, but there was no question of her ever dancing again. But for the moment, she no longer cared. All she could think of, as the days crawled by, was Nikolai, and their friends. And it was the end of July when Nikolai returned. And this time, he said, the plans for the Imperial family were certain. The trip to Livadia had been vetoed by the provisional government as too dangerous for them to undertake, as they would have to pass through what were deemed hostile towns, and they were leaving for Tobolsk in Siberia on August fourteenth. But as he said it, Nikolai looked cautiously at her. There was more he had to say, and he wasn't sure how Danina would react to the decision he had made.

“I'm going with them,” he said, so softly that at first she felt sure she hadn't understood him.

“To Siberia?” She looked shocked. What was he saying? What did it mean?

“I have gotten permission to go with them on the train, and return here immediately afterward. Danina, I cannot leave them now. I must see this through to the end, and see them to safety. Until they hear from their cousins in England, they will stay in exile in Tobolsk. Livadia would have been far more pleasant for them, but the government wants them as remote as possible, for their own safety, they claim. The family is terribly distressed over it, and it only seems fair to go with them. You must understand. They've been like family to me.”

“I do understand,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I am just so sorry for them. Are the guards decent to them?”

“Very much so. Many of the servants have gone, but other than that, inside the palace at Tsarskoe Selo, very little has changed.” But they both knew Siberia would be different, and like Nikolai, Danina was worried about Alexei. “That's why I want to go,” he said quietly, and she nodded again. “Botkin is going too, and he will stay with them. That was his choice, and in a way, it frees me to leave and come back here.” But as she nodded again, gratefully, he still had more to say. “Danina,” he began, and she sensed something ominous in his tone, before he even said the words to her. She could almost guess what he was going to say. “I don't want you to exchange our passage again. I want you to go this time. It is too dangerous for you here. Something can happen, particularly right here in town. And I can't come to you, or protect you, when I'm that far away.” On his way to Siberia, there was no way he could help her. Even now, getting from Tsarskoe Selo into St. Petersburg had become an endless ordeal. “I want you to leave for America on August first, as we planned, and I will go to Siberia with them in a few weeks, and sail on my own as soon as I can get back to St. Petersburg. I will feel much better knowing you are there, and Viktor will take care of you. I don't want any arguments, I want you to do as I say,” he said, looking almost stern, anticipating the resistance she would offer him, but she surprised him this time, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, nodded at him.

“I understand. It is dangerous here. I will go … and you will come as soon as you can.” She knew there was no point arguing with him. She knew he was right this time, although it pained her terribly to leave without him. But if he was going to Siberia with the Czar, perhaps it was best that she leave before that. “When do you think you will come?”

“No later than September, I'm sure of it this time. And I will be much happier knowing that you are safe and far from here.” He put his arms around her then and held her as she cried, longing for the time when they would be together again. He already knew that Marie and the boys were safe, and happy to be in England. Now he wanted to know that Danina was safe too. He knew that his cousin would take good care of her. Viktor had already promised to do whatever he could for them. And Nikolai trusted him completely. He knew that Danina would be in good hands with him. It would relieve Nikolai's mind as he accompanied the Imperial family to Tobolsk, and then returned to St. Petersburg. And then he would sail to America to be with her, and their new life would begin.

He had told Marie his plans before she left, and she had been surprisingly understanding about it, and promised he could visit the boys anytime. But Nikolai knew, as did she, that it might be years before he could come back to Europe. But the farce that was their marriage had gone on for long enough, and in his heart, he was more married to Danina than to Marie. The legalities, and the papers, no longer meant anything to him. Marie had wished him well when she left, and the boys had cried, as had he. Marie had been dry-eyed, relieved to leave Russia at last, and in her heart she had long since relinquished him. He felt free to move on now, as soon as he had fulfilled his obligations to the Imperial family.

“I will come back here in a day or two,” he said to Danina, before he left her, “and we can stay in a hotel until you leave.” He wanted to be with her again, to lie with her, to hold her in his arms, to see her safely on the ship. It would only be a month or so before they were together again after that. But before she sailed, he needed to be with her. It had been five months since she had left Tsarskoe Selo and returned to St. Petersburg when Madame Markova fell ill, and it felt like a lifetime to both of them. Their entire world had changed totally in those five months, and would again when they met in Vermont. Nothing would ever be the same for them again, but perhaps better now, he prayed. He would have preferred to leave with her, but his conscience would never have allowed it. He had to see the Imperial family to safety first. He owed them at least that much after all their kindness to him, and the many years he had served them.

He left, as planned, that night, and returned to St. Petersburg three days before Danina was to sail. She was watching a class with Madame Mar-kova when he arrived, and one of the students came in on silent feet to find her. Danina looked up instinctively and saw Nikolai watching her from the doorway. She knew then that the goodbyes she dreaded were about to begin, and that it was time for her to leave. And she felt Madame Markova stiffen as she sat beside her. Danina looked at her for a long moment, and then walked slowly to him, with no trace of her limp. Her bags were packed, in the room where she slept, and she was ready. And as she put away the last of her things, while he waited in the hall, Madame Markova came to join her, and stood looking down at her valises. Everything Danina owned had fitted easily into two old battered cases, and as she stood to look at her mentor, neither of them spoke for a long moment. Danina did not trust herself to speak, and the woman who had been like a mother to her for fifteen years looked stricken.

“I thought this day would never come,” the older woman said in a voice that quavered. “And I never thought I would let you go, if it ever happened…. Now I am happy for you. I want you to be well and happy, Danina. You must leave here.”

“I will miss you so,” Danina said, taking two long strides to her, and putting her arms around her. “I will come back to see you.” But in her heart, Madame Markova knew she wouldn't. She could not believe, as she looked at the child she loved, a woman now, that she would ever come back here. And she knew to the very depths of her soul that this was their final moment.

“You must never forget all you have learned here, what it meant to you, who you were when you were here … and who you always will be. In your heart, Danina, take it all with you. You cannot leave this behind you. It is part of you now.”

“I don't want to leave you,” Danina said, sounding anguished.

“You must. He will come to you when he can, in America, and you will have a good life with him. I believe that. I wish it for you.”

“I wish I could take you with me,” Danina whispered, clinging to her, wanting to stay forever.

“You will take me with you … and a part of you will always be here with me. Here.” She pointed to her heart with a graceful finger. “It is time now, Danina,” she said, pulling away from her, and picking up one of the valises, as Danina took the other, and followed her slowly from the room into the hallway where Nikolai waited. He could see instantly how difficult the moment was for them, and went to relieve them both of the valises.

“Are you ready?” he asked Danina gently, as she nodded, and walked to the front door, as Madame Markova followed slowly, watching her, savoring each final second.

And just as they reached it, the front door opened, and a child walked through it. She was eight or nine, and she was carrying a suitcase, as her mother stood proudly beside her. She was a pretty child with straight blond braids, and she looked expectantly at Danina.

“Are you a dancer?” she asked boldly.

“I was. I'm not anymore.” It cost Danina a great deal to say it, as Nikolai and Madame Markova watched her.

“I'm going to be a ballerina, and I'm going to live here forever,” the child said with a smile.

Danina nodded, remembering the day she had come. But she had been so much more frightened than this child, so much less sure, and also considerably younger. But she had had no mother to accompany her.

“I think you'll be very happy here,” Danina said, smiling at her through her tears, as Madame Mark ova watched her. “You have to work very, very hard. All the time. Every day. You have to love it more than anything else in the whole world, and be willing to give up all the things you love to do, and want, and have and think … this has to be your whole life now.” How did you explain that to a nine-year-old? How did you make them want it more than anything else in life? How did you teach them to sacrifice and give until they nearly died? Or did you even teach it? Did they have to be born to it? Danina didn't have the answer. She simply touched the child's head as she walked past, and looked up at Madame Markova with tears in her eyes. She knew even less how to say good-bye, after the years of sacrifice, the years of giving and loving. How did you give it all back when it was over? But for her, it was the end of the story. The dance was over. For this child, it was just beginning.

“Take good care of her,” Madame Markova said softly to Nikolai, as the child and her mother walked past them. And then with a last touch of Danina's hand, Madame Markova turned and walked solemnly away, so they wouldn't see her cry. Danina stood and watched her for a long moment, and then walked slowly out the door for the last time, one foot after the other, until she stood outside, like everyone else in the world. She was no longer part of the ballet, she no longer belonged there, and never would again. This was the moment she had dreaded all her life, and it had come now. She was no longer part of their world, she was leaving them forever. There was no changing that, no turning back, as the door closed silently behind her.

Chapter 10

T
hey spent their last day in St. Petersburg walking the streets, going to places they had both been fond of. It was a litany of memory and torment, and suddenly Danina could no longer remember why she was going. They both loved it here so much, why would they want to leave? But they could not delude themselves anymore. It was dangerous here. Their time in Russia was over. There was no way they could ever have had a life here. Even less so now, with the Revolution in full progress. But without it, Marie would have stayed, and held on to him. Danina would have had nowhere to go without the ballet. They had to go thousands of miles away, to a new world, to have a life together. And they both knew it was worth it. It was just excruciatingly painful leaving. But in another day, she'd be on the ship, in a month he would come too, and they could begin their life together. In some ways, it seemed like a great adventure. But she was still desperately sad to leave him in Russia.

For the moment, they were staying at a hotel, under his name, and on their way back, they bought a newspaper, and read with dismay of the war news. And all of it was distressing. It was impossible to ignore.

They had dinner in their room that night, clinging to each other for the last moments they could share, wanting to be alone for their final hours. They had so much to say to each other, so much to dream of, and promise. The days and nights they shared went all too quickly. They barely slept those last three days, not wanting to miss an instant with each other. Her bags were all packed, her few treasures and souvenirs ready to go with her. And he was sending two bags of his with her too, as though to prove to her that he was coming later. She was even bringing the gowns the Czarina had given her, although she knew they were part of the past now, as it all was.

Danina wondered at times how they would ever explain to their children, if they had any, what their lives had been. It would all seem like fairy tales to them, as it did to her now. Perhaps all one could do, in the end, was forget it, put the souvenirs away, the programs from the ballet, the photographs, the gowns, the toe shoes, and dust them off now and then to look at them. Or perhaps even that would be too painful. She knew that when they left St. Petersburg she would have to close the door on the past forever.

They went to bed early the last night, and lay in each other's arms all night, barely sleeping. But the sun rose all too quickly, and they left their bed for the last time with a look of sorrow. Danina was already anticipating the loneliness of his absence.

The porter carried her bags downstairs for her, and the two trunks she was taking for him as well, and she felt like a child leaving home forever, as the door closed softly behind her.

“I promise you, Danina, I'll come soon, no matter what the situation here. Nothing will stop me.” He read her mind and reassured her in the car on the way to the ship. It made her feel sick with worry to leave him, especially knowing he'd be traveling to Siberia with the Czar and Czarina and their children, and then back to St. Petersburg again.

He helped her board the ship, and settled her into the cabin. She was to share it with another woman, but she hadn't arrived yet, and Danina chose the bunk she wanted. But she barely left Nikolai's side and was suddenly dreading the crossing, and said so. Without him, she would be desperately lonely, and constantly afraid for him.

“I'll miss you too,” he said, smiling lovingly at her. “Every moment. Take good care of yourself, my darling. I'll be there in no time.” She walked back up to the deck with him when the boat horn sounded to warn visitors to go ashore, and he stood holding her for a long moment. It no longer mattered to either of them who saw them. In their own eyes, they were man and wife. “I love you. Remember that. I'll come as soon as I can. Give my love to our cousin. He's a bit dull, but very kind. You'll like him.”

“I'm going to miss you dreadfully,” Danina said, with tears in her eyes, unable to hold them back.

“I know,” he said softly, “so will I.” He kissed her long and hard then as the boat horn sounded for the last time, and they began to remove the gangplanks.

“Let me stay with you,” she said breathlessly in his arms, trying suddenly to convince him. “I don't want to leave you. Perhaps they'd let me come to Siberia with you.” She would have done anything to stay with him.

“They'd never let you, Danina, you know that.” He didn't want to tell her it was dangerous, but that was not a secret to them either. He wanted her safe in Vermont now, no matter how much he wanted to be with her.

“Just remember how much I love you,” he reminded her. “Remember that until I join you. I love you more than anything in life, Danina Petroskova….”It was the last time he would ever call her that. They had already agreed that in Vermont she would use his name, Obrajensky, so no one would ever know they weren't married.

“I love you so much, Nikolai.” And as she said it, instinctively she touched her locket. It was there, safely at her neck, beneath her sweater.

“I'll see you soon,” he promised for a last time, kissed her quickly, and then hurried down the last gangplank, as she went to the rail and watched him leap to the dock and stand there, watching her.

“I love you!” she shouted. “Be careful!!” She waved at him and he waved back, mouthing “I love you” at her. And moments later, the big ship began to move slowly from the dock as she felt her heart pound, and wondered why she had been stupid enough to let him convince her to leave without him. Everything about it felt wrong to her, but she knew she had to be brave now, for his sake. They had been through so much together, she could do just a little more, let him finish his work here, give his last to the Imperial family, and then join her in Vermont, to begin their life together as man and wife.

She waved to him until she could barely see him anymore. He was still standing there, waving at her, tall and proud and strong, the man who had won her heart two years before, and whom she knew she would love forever.

“I love you, Nikolai,” she whispered into the wind, and then stood there for a long time, with tears running down her cheeks, thinking of him and holding her locket. She wasn't even sure why she was crying. He was right. They had so much to look forward to, so much to be thankful for, so much waiting for them in Vermont. It was all beginning. She had no reason to cry, except that in a place in her heart she was desperately afraid that she had just seen him for the last time. But there was no reason to think that. It was foolish, she told herself, as she looked up at the sky and saw the last gulls flying past. She could not lose him now. It could not happen. And with a sigh, and a last glance at her homeland, thinking of him, she walked slowly down to her cabin. She could not lose Nikolai, she told herself. No matter what happened to them, she would always love him, there was no way they could lose each other now.