On the carriage ride home, there is chaos in the streets—more so than normal—so I am sure word has gotten out about the war. People are shouting and chanting, while others are throwing things and fighting in the streets. The Russian Imperial Guard is trying to police the situation, but it is absolute pandemonium.
I close my eyes and try to remove myself from it all when something hits the side of the carriage. I open my eyes and find two men trying to stop the carriage. One man tries to reach inside but then I hear gunfire. The man releases the carriage, and it suddenly speeds up, and we are taken away toward safety. Did the driver kill that man? I look out the back to see if I can tell, but we sped away so fast, all I see is a mob of people who have gathered round. My heart is racing, and when the carriage pulls up to my home, I expel a breath of relief. I try to regain my composure. You are home safe. Now be brave your family.
I rush into the house and remove my coat, hat, and gloves and give them to Leonid. “Where is Mama and Papa?” I ask him in a rush.
“They are in the drawing room. They received news—”
“I know,” I say as I run off to find them. Just as Leonid said, my parents, along with my older brother, Mikhail, and my grandmother, are in the drawing room talking of the war. “Yekaterina! You are finally home,” my mother exclaims. “I was beginning to worry for you, my child.”
“Yes, Mama, I am safe at home. There are more important things to worry about than me.” I decide not to tell them about what happened on the way home. If I did, they would lock me in a cage, and I wouldn’t get to go anywhere. I turn toward my father and say sadly, “I heard the horrible news, Papa.” I rest my hand on his arm. “Is it true?”
He looks over at me, and his face is somber as if he is holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I’m afraid, my darling daughter, it is,” he says sadly. He’s worried. I can see it in his eyes. My father is the kindest of men and has always advised my uncle against war. My uncle believed war would solve Russia’s problems, and although it was something he would not initiate, he made it clear he would welcome it if it ever came. My father looks at my mother. “Our armies are strong. I pray that it will not last long,” he says, trying to reassure us all.
But we all know he believes differently. We’ve talked about it many times.
For the next several days, my father spends a lot of time away from home—much more than any of us like. I worry for him all the time now. I know he is with my uncle and his advisors, working on military strategy.
I also know there is a good chance my father and my brother will be sent to the front. My mother is beside herself at this prospect and has been seen by the doctor. There was not much he could do, but he did give her something to calm her nerves. She now spends most of her time in bed. When Father is home, he does not talk of the war or what he has been doing, despite the many questions. It’s only been a few days, and everything is already changing.
Mikhail is all I have now, and he tries his best to ease my worry. I know he means well, but it does not help. He told me our uncle is planning to go to the front, and we have to make preparations. “What kind of preparations? Preparations for what?” I ask. I do not understand what he means.
“We need to be prepared for what is to come, Yekaterina. We need to pack some of our belongings, clothes and jewels—anything we can bring that may fetch a price, and no more than two bags, love. We must keep it light.”
“Are we leaving, Mikhail?”
“Not yet, but there may come a day when we must and quickly. We need to be ready.” He caresses my cheek. “Please, no more questions. Just do as I say.”
I nod. I know now something bad is about to happen, and my fear of what is to come heightens. I do as Mikhail asked, keeping my two allotted bags light.
A few days later, as we are sitting at dinner, Leonid comes into the dining room and announces there are men in the foyer who would like to see my father. It is clear my father was not expecting anyone, as he curiously looks up to Leonid and asks, “Who are these men?”
“Officers, sir,” he replies.
My mother shrieks, “Alexi, do not go!” She pleads with my father, but he stands, straightens his dinner jacket, and proceeds to leave the dining room. Stopping at the entrance, he turns back and addresses my brother. “Mikhail, remember what I told you. Now is the time you must attend to your sister.”
Mikhail nods, knowing exactly what he means. The whole interaction leaves me confused, but I have a good feeling it has something to do with the two bags I have packed sitting on the floor in my room.
“Mikhail?” I question.
“Yekaterina, we must go. Go to your room. Grab your packed bags. Make it quick, and meet me at the back entrance of the house.” Mikhail is my older brother by three years, and I have always looked up to him. When he tells me to do something, I usually do not question, but this time, I want to understand. Before I can protest, he demands, “Now!”
I look over at my mother and she nods, agreeing with my brother. I give my mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I whisper in her ear, “I love you, Mama.”
“And I you,” she says. “Now run along.”
My heart sinks, for I know without a doubt this is the last time I will ever see my mother and father.
I do as Mikhail says, and in no time, I am at the back entrance of the house, also known as the servants’ entrance. Carrying my bags outside, I see an old troika, not the usual troika carrying our family crest but one that looks almost broken down and old. Leonid is driving.
Mikhail jumps out and grabs my bags. “Hurry, get in,” he says, placing my bags inside. He then follows me into the carriage, and we are off.
“Mikhail, where are we going, and what about Mama and Papa?”
“Yekaterina, let us get out of Saint Petersburg, and once we are safe, I will explain everything.”
“Safe?” I question. “Why would we need to escape to be safe?” I grab his hand. “Mikhail, I am scared.”
He doesn’t answer but reaches in one of the bags and says, “Here, you need to change your clothes.” This is not helping my fear. I wish he would tell me why we are leaving.
I look at the clothes he gives me. They are not my clothes but are tattered and torn. I question to myself, Why I am to wear these godforsaken clothes? But again, I do not question him and do as he says. I change my clothes, and he throws my dress out of the carriage. The clothes he gave me are something peasants would wear, and I believe I am beginning to understand. We can’t be recognized as members of the imperial family, and we are leaving Russia.
We travel back roads for more than seven hours when we finally reach the Finnish border. When we are stopped there, the guard asks Mikhail a few questions, which seems to satisfy him even though I know they were all lies. He hands the guard papers, which the guard quickly reads. He hands them back to Mikhail and gestures for us to continue across the border.
We travel to Turku, then to Stockholm. There, we sell the troika and catch a train to Malmo, then a railroad ferry to Copenhagen. And we finally leave Copenhagen for France. We found places to stay along the way, pleading upon the good graces of people we encountered. Some required no payment and helped us out of the kindness of their hearts, but others required payment. It is a good thing Mikhail instructed me to grab things that could fetch a price. People will help in any way they can when you flash some jewels at them for payment. After a month of traveling, we finally arrive in Paris.