“Zivon! Wait!” She sucked in a breath and ran for him.
He turned. Hesitated, eyes going wide. Then he smiled, but it wasn’t quite right. Wasn’t the smile he usually gave her.
He wasn’t happy to see her.
She stumbled on a rock, arms flailing out, but pointlessly. There was nothing to grab on to, and when she stepped to the side to regain her balance, she found a puddle rather than solid ground.
“Lily!” At a speed she wouldn’t have thought possible had it been anyone else, he was at her side, steadying her. And he didn’t let go of her once she was back on her feet either. Which seemed a contradiction to the false smile he’d given her.
“Hello.” Her own smile felt fluttery and uncertain. She searched his eyes, looking for some answer to his hesitation. Had he changed his mind about her? It certainly didn’t seem so, from the letters he’d sent. But . . .
“What are you doing here?” He softened the harsh words by lifting her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles. “Your father would not approve.”
And yet she didn’t think that was the cause of his reaction. “I’ve come with an invitation. But . . .”
Another flash of something in his eyes, partially hidden behind the glare on his eyeglasses. “Forgive me, milaya, if my joy at seeing you has been eclipsed by alarm at your finding me at this particular moment.” His words were so quiet she could barely hear them. “I am out here on covert business.”
She may have laughed it off, had he not looked entirely serious. And if it didn’t seem entirely possible, given recent events.
Doubt flashed through her. What sort of covert business? Should she be concerned?
But he smiled. “Someone has been following me lately. Hall has men in place to apprehend him even now. My task is to lead him to them.”
“Oh.” She smiled back, though she suspected his had been more for show than because he felt happy. “I had better walk with you, then. It would look odd if I took off in the other direction, wouldn’t it?”
“Lily—”
“Don’t make me leave, Zivon. I have missed you so terribly.”
He sighed. Kissed her hand again. And then tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Your father will not be pleased. And I doubt Hall will be either.”
“If they didn’t want me chasing you down today to issue the invitation for dinner they said I could give you, someone should have warned me against it. So, it’s their own fault.” She shouldn’t feel so happy about the chance to indulge in a small rebellion, but there it was.
He chuckled. The fingers that he rested on hers were warm and caressing too, soothing the uncertainty his greeting had sparked. “You look beautiful today.”
She laughed at the obvious exaggeration. She was in her VAD uniform, after all, and hadn’t even taken the kerchief from her hair. “Fairer than the lilies of the field, I’m sure.”
“Exactly my thinking.” He let his arm brush hers. “I have missed you more than words can say, milaya.”
“How fortunate, then, that we have the chance for something more than written words now. Although”—she bumped his arm back—“I admit that I do quite like your letters. I can read them over and over again when I miss you.”
“I have had this same thought.”
She drew in a long breath and looked about them. She didn’t see anyone out of the ordinary, but she also didn’t want to look obvious as she searched for them. Pitching her voice low, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“A bench. It is not much farther.”
“Well, that’s a shame. I was hoping it was on the opposite end of the park.”
His fingers squeezed hers. “I wish the same. But you mentioned an invitation?”
“Dinner. Sunday. If the weather’s fair, we’ll be playing croquet beforehand, and you’re welcome to join us for that too.” She gave him her cheekiest grin. “Mama said so, and Daddy grows tired of disagreeing with her, I think.”
“And you and your mother? You have smoothed things over?”
Her grin faded. “It isn’t how it used to be. I’ve been missing her too.”
“Sweet Lily.” He nodded toward a path that forked off from theirs and the bench within sight alongside it. “Perhaps you should tell her so.”
“Perhaps.” Would it help? Ease some of the hurt Mama must be feeling?
“You will not regret it if—”
A loud crack cut him off. Before Lily could even process what it was, Zivon had pushed her to the ground, covering her body with his own. Shouts sounded, and footsteps, and another crack that she realized with horror must be gunfire. “Zivon?”
“Stay down.” Somehow, he sounded both frantic and controlled. “I will not have you injured.”
But he eased off her, his attention on the path behind them where the sounds of a struggle continued. She could tell from the breath he exhaled when Hall’s men must have succeeded in getting their suspect under control.
“All right. He will not escape them now. Have I hurt you, milaya?”
She shook her head and got to her knees, accepting the hand he offered to rise the rest of the way. “A bit muddy, but that hardly matters.” Her hands, however, were shaking. “Was it him who shot first?”
“I believe so. He must have spotted them closing in.”
That did nothing to calm her. If this fellow had been following Zivon, if he had no reason to think today was out of the ordinary, did that mean he always carried a weapon? And was so willing to use it?
Perhaps Zivon read her thoughts. Or just had matching ones. He touched a hand to her cheek. “They have him now. All the other ‘what ifs’ are now moot, yes?”
“Yes. Of course.” But she gripped his hand and was ready to argue if he tried to tug it free.
Her gaze was pulled toward the group of navy men, the prisoner still struggling—though in vain—to break free of them. The man had twisted enough that he faced them now, and he spat in their direction, though he was far too distant to even hope to reach them.
“Blighted capitalist!” he screamed. “They should have done you in when they had the chance!”
A socialist. A Bolshevik? She glanced up at Zivon’s face.
It was blank. Still. But only for a moment. His nostrils flared, a million thoughts flashing through his eyes. His mouth twisted. He held her fingers so tightly it hurt, though she’d never say so.
The officers dragged the man away while he was still shouting about the evils of capitalism and imperialism. Zivon didn’t relax any when he was out of sight. “How am I to do it, Lily? How am I to stop hating them?”
She leaned close to his side. “I don’t know, my love. But perhaps you should start by asking that of the Lord.”
19
Ask that of the Lord. For a long moment, Zivon stood in the doorway of the church, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light within. More, waiting for his spirit to adjust. The church looked nothing like the grand cathedrals where he’d attended Mass all his life in Russia, though it was set up in a familiar way, with no pews to hinder the supplicants from kneeling or pacing in their prayers.