Granny Dan

He came again in November, and Madame Mark ova almost didn't let him see her, but he was so insistent that she finally ran out of excuses. But she only allowed Danina half an hour with him, due to rehearsals. Their only comfort then was knowing that they would be together for three weeks over Christmas and New Year's. For now, it was all they lived for.

He came to all her performances after that, or as many as he was able to attend. And her father came to one as well, as he did each year, but unfortunately they were never at the same performance, so she couldn't introduce Nikolai to her father.

But tragedy struck her family the week before Christmas. Her youngest and favorite brother was killed in Molodechno on the Eastern Front during a battle, and she was in deep mourning for him during her last performance, and still in a somber mood when Nikolai came to take her back to her little guest cottage at Tsarskoe Selo, and he was deeply solicitous of her loss. Knowing her brother was gone now pained her deeply, and even Alexei thought she looked very sad, and much quieter than usual, as he reported to his parents, after he visited Danina just after she arrived.

But Christmas with them was magical, and her spirits rose as she spent time with Nikolai, talking quietly, exchanging books as they had before. He stayed with her openly, as he had at Livadia that summer. They talked about how much they loved each other, and the good times they had shared, but there was little they could say now about their future. Marie had remained entrenched in her unreasonable and immobile position. But he had nonetheless begun to look at small houses for Danina, and was determined to save up enough money to buy one so she could give up dancing, and come to live with him. But they both knew that it would take time, perhaps even a great deal of it, before either of them could afford it. She had promised herself, and him, that she would dance through the spring now, and perhaps until the end of the year.

But as soon as she returned to the ballet this time, she began feeling ill. She ate even less than before, and when he saw her at the end of January, he was seriously dismayed by the way she looked, and how pale she was.

“You're working too hard,” he complained, as usual, but more stridently this time. “Danina, they're going to kill you, if you don't stop.”

“You can't die of dancing.” She smiled, hating to admit to him how ill she felt. She didn't want to worry him, with Marie being so difficult, and the Czarevitch sick again. Nikolai had enough problems to concern him, without adding her health to the rest. But she was growing dizzier by the day, and had nearly fainted twice in class, though she said nothing to anyone, and no one seemed to notice how miserable she felt. By February, she felt so ill that she was actually unable to get out of bed one morning.

She forced herself to dance that afternoon anyway, but when Madame Markova saw her, Danina was sitting on a bench with her eyes closed, and she was looking gray.

“Are you ill again?” Madame Markova asked in an accusing tone, still unwilling and unable to forgive her for her continuing affair with the Czar's young doctor. She made no attempt to hide the fact that she thought it a disgrace, and had distanced herself from Danina.

“No, I'm fine,” Danina said weakly. But Madame Markova followed her with worried eyes all through the next days, and this time when Danina nearly fainted in a rehearsal late one night, Madame Markova saw it instantly and came to her aid.

“Shall I call a doctor for you?” She asked more gently this time. In truth, Danina was giving them all she ever had and more, but it was no longer enough to satisfy the debt Madame Markova felt she owed them. She had been merciless with her, but seeing how ill Danina was, even she relented. “Do you want me to send for Dr. Obrajensky?” she asked, much to Danina's dismay.

Danina would have liked nothing better than to have an excuse to see him, but she didn't want to frighten him, and she felt sure that she was very ill. It was more than a year since she had had influenza. But in the ten months since she had returned to the ballet she had pushed herself so relentlessly that she began to think she had destroyed her health, just as Nikolai had warned. Her head swam constantly, she could no longer eat anything without becoming violently ill, and she was exhausted. She could barely put one foot in front of the other, yet she was dancing sixteen and eighteen hours a day, and every night when she went to bed, she felt as though she would die in her bed. Perhaps Nikolai had been right after all, she thought one night as she lay in bed, wanting to vomit and not having the strength to get up again to do it. Perhaps the ballet was going to kill her after all.

Five days later, she was unable to get out of bed, and she felt so ghastly, she didn't care what Madame Markova did to her, or who she called. All Danina wanted to do was lie there and die. She was only sorry she wouldn't see Nikolai again, and wondered who would tell him when she was gone.

She was lying with her eyes closed, drifting out of consciousness, as the room spun slowly around each time she opened her eyes, when she dreamed that she saw him, standing beside her bed. She knew he couldn't be there, and wondered if she was delirious again, as she had been with the influenza. She even heard him speaking to her, and calling her name, and then she saw him turn and say something to Madame Markova, asking her why he hadn't been called sooner.

“She did not want me to call you,” she heard a vision of Madame Markova say, and then she opened her eyes again to see him. Even if the vision wasn't real, she thought, it looked just like Nikolai. She felt his hand on hers then, as he took her pulse, and he bent very near her and asked her if she could hear him. All she could do was nod, she felt too ill to speak anymore.

“We must get her to a hospital,” the vision said very clearly. But she had no fever this time.

He did not yet know what was wrong with her, except that she had been so ill, and hadn't been able to hold anything down, not water or food, in so many days that she actually appeared to be dying. As he looked at her, his eyes filled with tears.

“You have literally worked her to death, Madame,” he said in barely controlled fury, “and you will answer to me if she dies, and to the Czar,” he added for good measure. And as Danina listened to him speak, she realized that he was real, and this time she wasn't dreaming. It really was Nikolai.

“Nikolai?” she said weakly, as he took her hand in his again, and whispered as he bent close to her.

“Don't talk, my love, try to rest. I'm here now.” He was standing next to her and they were talking about hospitals and an ambulance, and she was trying to tell him that she didn't need one. It all seemed like too much trouble. She just wanted to lie in her bed and die, with Nikolai there near her, holding her hand.

He sent everyone away, and examined her quietly, remembering the graceful body with longing. He hadn't been with her for two months now, and nothing had changed. He was as much in love with her as ever, but for the moment the ballet still owned her, as Marie did him. He was beginning to wonder, as was Danina, if they'd ever be together, or if it would always be this way.

“What has been happening to you? Can you tell me, Danina?”

“I don't know … sick all the time …” she mumbled, drifting off to sleep as she talked to him, and then waking again, feeling desperately ill and retching. But her stomach was long since empty. She was beyond bile now. All she had were the dry heaves, as she had had for days. It was easier not to eat or drink at all, so she wouldn't be vomiting every moment. And she was still dancing sixteen hours a day, forcing herself to go on, until she could do no more.

“Danina, talk to me,” he insisted, waking her again. He was beginning to worry that she was going to slip into a coma, from starvation, dehydration, and sheer exhaustion. They were working her to death, literally, and her body seemed to be giving up from the constant pressure, and lack of anything to sustain it. “What are you feeling? How long have you been this way?” He was growing frantic, and they were still waiting to hear if he wanted to take her to the hospital or needed an ambulance. He still wasn't sure, but he was growing more frightened by the way she looked.

“How long have you felt this way?” he asked again. She hadn't been this bad when he last saw her, although she hadn't looked well, and she had admitted to him even then that she hadn't been feeling well lately.

“A month … two months …” she said, sounding groggy.

“Have you been vomiting for that long?” He looked horrified. How long had it been since she'd had proper nourishment? And how long could she survive it? He thanked God that Madame Markova had finally called him. In the end, she was afraid not to, given Danina's indirect connection to the Czar. Besides, despite her rage at her for the past year, in truth, Madame Markova loved her, and even she was terrified by what she saw. “Danina … talk to me…. When did this start? Exactly. Try and remember.” Nikolai pressed her, as Danina opened her eyes, and tried to remember how long she had been ill. It seemed like forever to her.

“January. When I came back from Christmas vacation.” It was nearly two months now. But all she wanted to do was sleep, and she wanted him to stop talking to her.

“Do you have pain anywhere?” He was gently feeling all over her body, but she complained of nothing. She was just desperately weak, and malnourished. She had been literally starving. He thought of her appendix, but there was no sign of infection to show for it, or a bleeding ulcer, but she insisted she had not been vomiting blood or anything dark and ominous, when he asked her. There were no symptoms except that she had vomited endlessly and was now barely conscious, and too weak to move. He didn't even dare take her to the hospital until he knew more about it. He didn't think she had either tuberculosis or typhoid, although the former was not impossible, in which case she would already be in the final stages. But he didn't think so.

He listened to her lungs, her heart. Her pulse was weak, but he could not understand what he was seeing. And then he asked her a question he knew she would think indelicate, but he was not only her lover, he was a doctor, and he needed to know. But her answer to that did not surprise him either. Her system was so entirely depleted, and she danced so much, so long, and so hard, it was not unusual to have a cessation of all female functions, and then suddenly he thought of something else. They had always been careful … always … except after Christmas. Only once. Or twice.

He looked her over carefully again, and then he knew with a sinking heart, and with a gentle hand he felt low on her abdomen and touched a small, barely palpable lump, but it was just big enough to tell him what he hadn't even suspected. She was almost certainly two months pregnant, and she had so brutalized herself, and been so ill, and worked so hard, that she might well have died from it. And if she was pregnant, in the condition she was in, it was a miracle she hadn't lost the baby.

“Danina,” he whispered to her when she woke up again, and looked at him questioningly, “I think you're pregnant.” He said it so softly that he knew no one would hear him, but her eyes widened instantly in surprise. She had thought of it once or twice and then dismissed it from her mind entirely. It could not be. She could not let herself think of it. But as he said it, she knew it, and closed her eyes again, as a tear trickled from the corner of her eyes.

“What will we do now?” she whispered back, looking at him in despair. This truly would destroy both their lives, and Marie would never release him, if only out of vengeance.

“You must come back with me. You can live in the cottage until you're feeling stronger.” But it was only a temporary solution, and they both knew it. They had far bigger problems now.

“And then what?” Danina said sadly. “I cannot go to live with you … you can't marry me … the Czar will take your position away … we can't afford a house yet … and I can't dance for much longer if you're right.” But she knew he was. Some girls had danced for as long as they could, and they were always found out after a month or two, and banished. Some lost their babies from the long hours and grueling rehearsals. She knew that. There was no easy answer for her now.

“We'll work it out together,” he said, desperately worried about her. He couldn't even give her a place to live, let alone a place to bring their baby. But he couldn't think of anything sweeter than a child born of their love. Yet there seemed to be no place and no way to have it. And how would they support it once she stopped dancing? Their savings were pitifully small, and she earned more praise than money. And Marie and the boys used every penny he made. “We'll think of something,” he said gently. But she only shook her head and cried softly as he held her. She seemed overwhelmed with despair. “Let me take you back with me,” he said, looking anxious. “No one need know why you're ill. We have to talk about it.” But she knew better than anyone that there was nothing to talk about and nothing to hope for. All their dreams were still far in the future, with no way to attain them.

“I have to stay here,” she said, and the thought of going anywhere made her feel even sicker. This time she could not go with him. But he hated to leave her, especially knowing what he did now.

He stayed with her until late that night, and told Madame Markova he feared a serious ulcer, and he said that he thought that she should return to the cottage at the palace until she was better. But it was Danina who fought him, and told Madame Markova that she didn't want to leave, she felt too ill, and she could get well here just as quickly as at the cottage, which wasn't true, they all knew. But Madame Markova was pleased that she didn't want to go with him. She thought it a hopeful sign that the affair with Nikolai might be ending. It was the first time Danina had resisted anything he said.

“We are perfectly capable of caring for her here, Doctor, though perhaps not as elegantly as at Tsarskoe Selo,” she said with an edge of sarcasm, and Nikolai was distraught that Danina would not agree to go with him. He argued with her endlessly after Madame Markova left them.

“I want you with me. I want to take care of you, Danina. You must come.”

“For how long? Another month? Two? And then what?” she said miserably. She knew there was only one solution, but she did not mention it to him. She knew other girls in the ballet who had done it and survived it. She wanted nothing more than his baby too, but they had no hope of having it. Maybe later, but not in the circumstances they were still in. They had to face that, and she wasn't sure Nikolai was ready to admit it. In fact, she was sure he wasn't. He was far too worried about her. “You must leave me, Nikolai,” she said. “You can come back in a few days.”

“I'll come back tomorrow,” he said, and left feeling desperately worried about her, and panicked about her situation. They had only been careless once or twice, but it was the last thing he had expected to happen. And now he had to help her find a solution. This was his fault, he knew, more than hers. And he was agonized that Danina was paying the price more than he was.

But when he returned the next day, neither of them had any simple answers. They could not afford, or take care of, a baby. They couldn't even afford a place to live. It simply wasn't possible, she knew, though he insisted it was, but Danina didn't argue with him. She just lay there miserably, crying silently, and continuing to retch and vomit. He was forcing her to eat now, and drink what she could, and she seemed a little stronger to him, but she was so violently ill, she felt worse rather than better. He was in tears too, as he sat helplessly by and watched her. He knew she'd feel better in a month or two. But in the meantime, she was going through torture.

And when he left again, she went to talk to one of the other dancers. Danina knew for certain that the girl she spoke to, Valeria, had done it, twice, from what she had heard. Valeria told her where to go and who to talk to, and even offered to go with her, and Danina gratefully accepted her assistance.

The two girls left the next morning, as quietly as they could, when the others went to church. It was Sunday, and Madame Markova was at church, as she was every Sunday. Danina was obviously too ill to go, and Valeria had feigned a migraine headache. They left hurriedly, with Danina getting sick every five minutes on the way. They had to walk halfway across town, but eventually they got to the address in a poor neighborhood with filth everywhere around them.

It was a small, dark house, with dirty curtains in the window, and the look of the woman who opened the door made Danina shudder, but Valeria promised it would be over quickly and done well. Danina had brought all her savings with her, and hoped she had enough money. She had been horrified when she heard how much it would cost her.

The woman who called herself a “nurse” asked Danina a series of questions. She wanted to be sure it hadn't gone too far, but two months didn't seem to worry her. And after taking half her money from her, she led Danina into a bedroom in the back. The sheets and blankets looked dirty, and there were bloodstains on the floor, which no one had bothered to clean up after the last visitor had come to see “the nurse.”

The old woman washed her hands in a bowl of water standing in a corner, and she took out a tray of instruments that she said had been washed, but they looked terrifying to Danina, as she turned away from the sight of the old woman.

“My father was a doctor,” the nurse explained, but Danina didn't want to hear about it, she just wanted to get it over with, and she knew that if Nikolai knew what she was doing, he would have done anything to stop her, and once he found out, might never forgive her. But she couldn't let herself think of that now. The worst of it was that they both wanted this baby, but she knew they couldn't have it. There was no way they could even think about it, she had to do this for both their sakes, no matter how terrible it was, or even if it killed her in the end. And as she thought about it, and wondered if it would, the nurse told her to take her clothes off, and Danina's hands trembled mercilessly as she did so. And finally she lay on the filthy bed wearing only her sweater, as the woman examined her and nodded her head. Just as Nikolai had, she felt the small, round, tight lump low in her belly.

Nothing that had ever happened to Danina in her life had prepared her for this humiliation and horror. Nothing she had ever known with Nikolai bore any relation to this, and as she thought of it, she began to vomit. But it didn't seem to stop the woman who called herself a nurse, and she assured Danina it would be over soon. The “nurse” told Danina she could stay for a little while until she was strong enough to walk again, and then she had to leave. If there were problems, she was to call a doctor, and not return here. The nurse said she did not handle problems afterward. After her job was done, the rest was on Danina's shoulders. She would not be allowed in if she tried to come back, the woman said to her somewhat darkly.

“Let's get started,” the nurse said firmly. She liked getting her patients in and out quickly, before they caused her too much trouble. And the fact that Danina was still vomiting didn't stop her, but Danina asked her to wait for just a minute, and then signaled that she was ready. She was too frightened to speak.

Danina braced herself as the woman told her to, and with one strong arm, she held Danina's leg down, and told her in a stern voice not to move. But Danina's legs were shaking too violently to obey her. And nothing anyone had said had prepared her for the sharp pain she felt as the woman plunged into her with the tool she used. Danina tried not to scream as she looked at the ceiling, or choke on her own vomit as she did. The pain seemed to go on endlessly, and the room began to spin around her almost instantly, as she finally slipped into merciful blackness. And then suddenly the woman was shaking her, and there was a cold cloth on her head, as the nurse told her she could get up. It was over.

“I don't think I can stand yet,” Danina said weakly. The smell of vomit was heavy in the room, and the sight of a pan of blood near the bed nearly made her faint again, as the woman pulled her to her feet and helped her to dress without waiting any longer. Danina was reeling with dizziness and pain and terror as the nurse put rags between her legs. It was all too unbearable to think of as Danina walked slowly into the next room to find her friend, barely able to see her through the dizziness that engulfed her, and she was stunned to realize they had been there less than an hour. Valeria looked worried but relieved. She knew better than anyone how bad it was, having been through it herself.

“Take her home and put her to bed,” the nurse said, holding the door open for them, and they were lucky to find a taxi driving past. Later, Danina remembered nothing of the trip back to the ballet. All she remembered was climbing back into her bed, and feeling the rags between her legs, and the searing pain the woman had left inside her. Danina could think of nothing now, not of Nikolai, or their baby, or any part of what had just happened. She simply rolled over in bed with a soft moan, and within seconds, was unconscious.

Chapter 7

When Nikolai came to see her that afternoon, he found her fast asleep in her bed with her clothes on. He had no idea where she'd been, or what she'd done, so he was relieved at least that she was sleeping, until he looked at her a little closer. Her face was gray, and he noticed her lips were faintly blue, and when he took her pulse, he panicked, and then tried to wake her, and found he couldn't. She was not sleeping, he realized, she was deeply unconscious. And when, out of instinct, if nothing more medical, he pulled her covers back, he saw that she was lying in a pool of blood that had spread all around her. She had been hemorrhaging for hours.

And this time, he did not hesitate for an instant. He sent one of the dancers for an ambulance, and in terror he began taking her clothes off. She was very nearly dead, and he had no idea how much blood she'd already lost but what he saw around her looked tremendous. And the rags he found between her legs told him the whole story of what had happened.

“Oh my God … oh … Danina …” There was nothing he could do to staunch the flow of blood. She needed surgery, and perhaps even that would not save her. And as soon as she heard, Madame Markova came running to Da-nina's room. The scene that met her in Danina's small dormitory told her all she needed to know. Nikolai was sitting beside her, holding her hand as tears rolled down his face. And the look of despair he wore touched even Madame Markova. But as the ballet mistress entered the room, Nikolai's sorrow and sense of helplessness turned rapidly to anger. “Who let her do this?” he asked the ballet mistress sharply. “Did you know about it?” His tone was one of accusation, grief, and fury.

“I knew nothing,” she said angrily, “probably even less than you did. She must have gone out when we went to church,” she said miserably, afraid for Danina's life.

“How long ago was that?”

“Four or five hours.”

“My God … don't you understand that this could kill her?”

“Of course I understand that.” They wanted to throttle each other in their respective terror for the girl they both loved. But fortunately, the ambulance came quickly, and took her to a hospital Nikolai knew well, and he told them what little he knew of what had happened. She never regained consciousness before surgery, and it was two hours before the surgeon came to see him and Madame Markova, sitting in silence in the barren waiting room, staring at each other.

“How is she?” Nikolai asked quickly, as Madame Markova listened, but the surgeon looked less than pleased. It had very nearly been a disaster, and they were giving her her fourth transfusion.

“If she lives,” he said solemnly, “I believe she will still be able to have children. But the outcome is still not certain. She has lost a vast quantity of blood, and whoever did it must have been a butcher.” He described the situation medically to Nikolai, and other than the hemorrhaging that refused to stop despite everything they did, they were deathly afraid of infection. “This will not be easy for her,” the surgeon explained to Madame Markova. “She must stay here for several weeks, perhaps longer, if she even survives it. We will know more by tomorrow morning, if she lives through the night. For now, we've done all we can for her.” Madame Markova was crying softly when the surgeon finished.

“May I see her?” Nikolai asked respectfully, terrified by what the surgeon had said. He would give them no reassurance she would survive.

“You can't do anything for her now,” the surgeon explained. “She's still not conscious, and may not be for a while.”

“I'd like to be there when she wakes up,” Nikolai said quietly, aghast at what had happened, and that he had known nothing about it, and been unable to stop her. They would have worked it out somehow. He had thought about it all night, and turned assorted solutions over in his mind. She didn't have to risk her life to solve the problem. It could all have been worked out, or so he thought.

They let Nikolai into the surgery, where she was still recovering, and she still looked gray to him, in spite of the transfusions she'd been given. He sat down quietly beside her, and took her free hand in his. He held it gently in his own as tears coursed down his cheeks, as he thought of the time they had spent together, and how much he loved her. He would have liked to kill whoever had done this to her. And in the waiting room, Madame Markova was looking devastated and suffering from all the same emotions as he, but they were of no use to each other. Her mentor and her lover were lost in their own thoughts and their own worlds, as Danina struggled for survival.

It was nearly midnight when Danina finally stirred, with a pitiful moan. Her lips were dry, and she could barely open her eyes, but as she turned her head, she saw him, and a sob instantly caught in her throat as she vaguely remembered what had happened, and what she had done to their baby.

“Oh, Danina … I'm so sorry….” He cried like a child as he held her in his arms, and begged her to forgive him for putting her in this situation. He didn't even scold her for what she had done. It was too late for that, and she had paid a high price for it. “How could this happen? Why didn't you talk to me before you did it … ?”

“I knew … you'd never … let me … do it…. I'm so sorry,” she cried too. They both did, for each other and their unborn baby. But now all he wanted was for her to get well. He knew, just from looking at her, that it was going to take a long time for her to recover from all that had just happened. But by morning, the surgeon said she was going to make it, and Nikolai had to fight back tears of relief. And out of respect for her, Nikolai went and told Madame Markova, but after she cried, she left without seeing Danina. The surgeon said she was still too ill to see anyone, and Nikolai agreed with him.

He didn't leave her side until that evening, and only then went home to change his clothes and check on Alexei, and make sure that Dr. Botkin was still able to relieve him. He explained that a friend was gravely ill in the hospital, and he needed to be with her. And although his colleague didn't ask, he was certain who it was.

“Will she be all right?” Dr. Botkin asked gently, startled by Nikolai's ravaged face and look of anguish. It had been an agonizing night for him as well, worrying about her.

“I hope so,” Nikolai said quietly.

He was back at her side late that night, and sat next to her all night without sleeping, yet again. She drifted in and out of consciousness, muttering, talking to people he couldn't see, and she cried out his name more than once, and begged him to help her. It tore his heart out watching her, but through it all he sat silently, holding her hand, and thinking of their future, and the other children he hoped they would have.

It was two days before the bleeding fully stopped, and the transfusions seemed to begin to help her. She was still too weak to sit up, but he spoon-fed soup and gruel into her, like any nurse, and slept on a cot beside her bed. After seeing her a little better, he finally dared to sleep himself. He was utterly exhausted, but deeply grateful Danina had survived it.

“How do you feel today?” he asked gently, looking at the dark circles beneath her eyes. She still looked ashen to him.

“A little better,” she lied. She couldn't remember any of the other girls being so ill in similar situations, although one often heard of women who died from it, but she had had no clear understanding of the risk she was taking. And even if she had, she would have done it anyway. She had absolutely no choice, she felt, and even now, with Nikolai at her side, she knew they could never have had the baby. It would have destroyed everything, his life, her career. There was no room for a child in their lives. They barely had room for each other, no matter how much she loved him. Theirs was a life of stolen moments and borrowed time and only the hope and promise of a future. It was not yet a life in which they could include a child.

“I want you to come back to Tsarskoe Selo with me,” he said as she closed her eyes again, but he knew that this time she could hear him. And her eyes fluttered open again as she listened to what he said. “You can stay at the cottage again. No one has to know why you're ill, or what happened.” But even he knew that for a long time she would be too weak to go anywhere, and there was still the risk of infection, which could easily be fatal. He was still deeply concerned about her, as was her surgeon.

“I can't do that again. I can't impose on the Czarina,” she said weakly, although she would have liked nothing better than to be with him, as they had been in the cottage before. She loved the sweetness of their living together. But she could not abandon the ballet again to recuperate. She knew that this time Madame Markova would not take her back, or ever forgive her for deserting them, sick or not. Danina had paid a high price with her for her last recuperation, and she needed the ballet. Nikolai could not help her, he was not free to marry her, or care for her, or even able to support her. She had to rely on herself.

“You can't go back to dancing for a while,” he said carefully, and then he decided to tell her what he'd been thinking. “I want you to think about something. I have thought of a thousand ways to solve our problem, while you were lying here. We cannot go on this way. Marie will never relent. It will take me years to buy a house for you, and Madame Markova will never release you from the ballet. I want to be with you, Danina. I want us to have a life together, away from all of this, and all the people who want to keep us apart. I want a real life with you, far from here, where we can begin again. We cannot be married, but no one need ever know.” And then he added gently, “In another place, we could even have children.” A look of sorrow crossed her face as he said the words, and he squeezed her hand. They both felt the loss of what had just happened between them.

“There is no place where we can do that. Where would we go? How would we support ourselves? If Madame Markova wishes to discredit me, no other ballet will have me.” She was thinking of Moscow, and other cities in Russia, but he wasn't. His plan was far more daring than that.

“I have a cousin in America. In a place called Vermont. It is in the Northeast, and he says it looks a great deal like Russia. I have enough money saved to pay for our passage there. We can live with him at first. I will find ajob, and you can teach ballet somewhere, to little children.” She knew Nikolai spoke English perfectly, because of his wife, but she did not. She couldn't imagine a life in a world so far from theirs, and the very thought of it was frightening and foreign to her.

“How could we do that, Nikolai? Could you be a doctor there?” she asked, stunned by the suggestion that she follow him halfway around the world.

“Eventually,” he answered carefully. “I would have to go back to school in America. It would take time. I could do other things in the meantime.” But what? she asked herself as she listened to him. Shovel snow? Clean stables? Curry horses? To her, the situation seemed hopeless. Surely there was no ballet in Vermont, wherever that was, and that was all she knew. Who would she teach? Who would hire either of them? How would they get there? “You must let me work this out for us. It's our only hope, Danina. We cannot stay here.” But to leave required a series of betrayals, abandoning his children and wife, the Czar and his family, who had been so kind to him, and Madame Markova and the Maryinsky Ballet, which was the only home she had known since she was a child. She had given everything to them, her life, her soul, her spirit, her body, and in turn they had given her a life, which was the only one she knew. What would she do in this place called Vermont, and what if he should tire of her and abandon her there? It was the first time she had thought that, but she was frightened, and she looked it, as she met his eyes. And he could easily read all her fears there.

“I don't know…. It is so far away…. And what if your cousin doesn't want us?”

“He will. He is a kind man. He is older than I, widowed, and he has no children. He has invited me to visit him for years. If I tell him we need his help, he will do it. He has a big house, and some money. He owns a bank, and he lives alone. He would welcome us there. Danina, it is the only hope we have for a future together. We must begin again somewhere, and forget everything we have known here.” But as much as she wanted to be with him, she wasn't sure she could do it. “You mustn't think about it now. Get healthy and strong, and we will talk about it again. I will write to him in the meantime, and see what he says.”

“Nikolai, no one would ever forgive us.” The mere thought of it filled her with terror, and grief.

“And if we stay here? What will we have? Stolen moments, a few weeks a year when the Czarina invites you to Livadia or Tsarskoe Selo? I want a life with you. I want to wake up beside you every morning, to be with you when you're ill. … I never want something like this to happen to you again…. Danina, I want our children.” She also wanted the life he described to her, but they each had to hurt everyone they had ever loved in order to be free.

“What about my father and brothers?” She had a family here, a history, a life. She could not turn her back on all of it because she loved him. And yet he was willing to do that for her, and he had as much to lose as she did. He had to abandon his children, his wife, and his career in order to be with her.

“You told me yourself you never see your family,” he reminded her. And for nearly the past two years, her brothers and father had been at the front. “They would be happy for you.” Nikolai did everything he could to convince her. “You cannot dance forever, Danina.” But as he said the words to her, she remembered everything Madame Markova had ever said.

“I can teach afterward, like Madame Markova. “

“You can teach in Vermont. Perhaps even start a school of your own. I will help you.” He seemed so sure, and so strong.

“I must think about it,” she said, exhausted by the prospect of such an enormous decision, and all that it entailed.

“Rest now. We will talk about it later.” She nodded, and drifted off to sleep again, but she had nightmares of terrifying, unknown places. She kept dreaming of losing Nikolai there, of wandering the streets, looking for him, and never finding him, and when she awoke in the hospital, he was gone, and she was crying and alone. He had left her a note that he had gone to check on Alexei, and would return to see her in the morning. And as she read it, she was lost in thought.

She stayed in the hospital for two weeks, and when she left, the doctor ordered her to stay in bed for two more. Nikolai wanted her to stay at the Czar's cottage with him, at Tsarskoe Selo, but Madame Markova was violently opposed to it. She wanted Danina back at the ballet, and said the trip to Tsarskoe Selo was too far. This time, Danina didn't have the energy to fight her. The mistress of the ballet was too determined, and unwilling, to let Danina slip out of her hands again. She didn't want her to spend another four months “recuperating” in the cottage with her lover. She was intransigent this time, and in the face of the ferocity of her objections, Danina returned to the ballet.

And as Nikolai had when she was ill when they first met, he came to see her every day, and stayed for as long as he could, a few hours at least, before he went back to his own duties. He sat in her dormitory room with her while she rested in bed. And while she walked slowly around the small garden at the ballet with him, he talked to her of Vermont, and his cousin there. He was convinced it was the only way, and he wanted to go with her as soon as they could both get away. He suggested early summer, which was only a few months away.

“Your season will be over then. You can complete what you are doing. We must pick a time, and then go through with it. There will never be a perfect moment to leave, we must seize the moment while we can.” She would be twenty-two by then, and he would be forty-one that year, time enough for both of them to start a new life in America, as countless others had done before them, some for reasons as complicated as theirs.

She promised to think about it, and she did, constantly. All she could think about now was the terror of moving to Vermont. Madame Mar-kova sensed easily that something was happening to her. Danina was still tired and pale, and she looked deeply unhappy at times after Nikolai's visits. He was asking her to cast her lot with him, follow him to the end of the world, and trust him completely. And in spite of her love for him, it was a great deal to ask.

“You are troubled, Danina,” Madame Mar-kova said cautiously one afternoon, when she came to visit her, and sat beside Danina's bed while she rested. Nikolai had just left her, and as always they had spoken of the same things. Their future. Vermont. His cousin. Leaving Russia. And the ballet. “He is asking you to leave us, isn't he?” she asked wisely, and Danina didn't answer her. She didn't want to lie, or tell her the truth either. “It always happens that way. They fall in love with who you are, and then want to take it away from you,” she persisted. “I promise you, Danina, if you leave us, it will kill you. You will be nothing. And when he casts you aside one day for someone more fascinating, or perhaps even younger, you will regret all your life the part of your heart you left here.” She made it sound like a death sentence, and it was, in a way. But it was also an exchange for something Danina wanted desperately. It would be the end of her life as a ballerina, but the beginning of her life with Nikolai, a real life with him, which she also wanted. But to have it, she had to sacrifice everything she had now, just as he did. “If he truly loved you, Danina, he would not ask you to leave us.”

“And when I am old, what will I have without him, if I stay here?”

‘ ? life you can be proud of in remembering. No one can ever take that from you. Instead of a life of shame, which is all that he can give you. He is a married man, and his wife will not leave him. You will always be his mistress, the little ballet dancer he sleeps with, nothing more.”

But there was so much more between them, even now, and Danina knew that. “You make it sound so tawdry, and it isn't,” Danina said sadly.

“It is precisely what these things always are. Extremely romantic in the beginning. A dream you think you will have. And when you wake up from it one day, you will find it is a nightmare. This is the only life you will ever have that means something to you, this is the life you have worked hard for and trained for. Can you throw it all away for a man who cannot even marry you? Look what has just happened to you. How beautiful was that? How romantic?” It was a cruel thing to say and it unnerved Danina just listening to her. What if she was right? If Nikolai threw her away one day, if she regretted giving up the ballet all her life, and hated Vermont, if they were not happy together? Who could know the answers to those questions? There was no certainty to his plans, only promises, and hopes and dreams, and wishes. Hers as much as his own. Yet he was willing to give up medicine for her, the security he had, the life he had known for over fifteen years with his family. He was willing to sacrifice all for her. Why couldn't she do the same for him?

“You must think about it very carefully,” Madame Markova reminded her, “and come to the right decision.” The right decision to her, of course, was staying at the ballet and forgetting Nikolai, but Danina also knew she couldn't do that. Leaving the ballet now might destroy her life, but losing him would kill her. Just thinking about it, she felt under the blouse she wore for her locket, and was comforted to feel it there. She was deeply in love with him. Perhaps even enough to risk everything and follow him. Now all she could do was think about it, and look into her heart.

Madame Markova left her alone after that, to her own thoughts. She had planted the seeds she wanted to, and hoped that they would grow and take hold. She wanted Danina to feel the loss and terror of leaving the ballet, of perhaps a lifetime of regret and sorrow. It was certainly something to ponder. It was the only life Madame Markova knew, the only one she ever wanted, it was the legacy she wanted to give Danina now, the sacred bond, the holy grail, the wand passed from hand to hand, from teacher to student to teacher and back again, endlessly, the almost holy vow they took when they came, the love too deep to escape in the end, the sacrifices endless. To stay here now meant giving up all hope of a future with him. In a sense, it meant giving up hope. But to leave Russia with him meant giving up who she was forever. It was an agonizing choice, and whichever road she chose would require sacrifices almost too agonizing to think of. And all Danina could do now was pray that the right answer would come.

Chapter 8

Danina did not dance for a month, and began taking class again on the first of April. There was still snow on the ground outside, and once again she had to work harder than before to regain what she had lost, but this time the return to full strength was swifter. She was stronger now, and in better health.

She was back in rehearsals within a week, and performing again in early May. It was over a year since she had left Nikolai after their long, idyllic stay in the Czar's guest cottage during her convalescence from influenza. And in a year, little had changed between them. They were still deeply in love with each other, he was still married and living with his wife and children, and she was still at the ballet. But they were no closer than they had been a year before to a solution to their problems. If anything, Marie Obrajensky was more firmly entrenched than she had ever been in not leaving him. And in the past year, the two lovers had been able to save very little money for their future together. All they knew for sure was that a life together was still what they wanted. How to achieve it was the obstacle they constantly struggled to overcome. And Danina could not bring herself to agree to join him in Vermont. It was too big a change, she felt, too far away, too unknown, too foreign to her. And Nikolai continued to try and convince her, as gently as he could.

One of the Grand Duchesses fell ill in June, and kept both Imperial physicians busy. Nikolai had little time to visit Danina. He wanted to, but he couldn't get away, and she understood. And in early July, she had another tragedy when her oldest brother was killed in Czernoivitz. She had lost two now, and she knew from his letter that her father was beside himself over the death of his son. He had been with him when they were shelled, and miraculously he had been spared, but his firstborn was killed instantly. Danina took the news hard, and for weeks afterward she felt drained and lifeless. The war was taking a toll on all of them, even at the ballet. Dancers had lost brothers, friends, fathers, and one of their teachers had lost both her sons in April. Even in their cloistered world, it was impossible to ignore the war anymore.

The only thing she had to look forward to that year was another vacation with Nikolai and the Imperial family in Livadia. And this time Madame Markova made no attempt to oppose it. She had come to an uneasy truce with Nikolai after Danina's last illness. She knew that he would have gladly stolen Danina from her, but the young prima showed no sign of going anywhere, or giving up the ballet for him. And Madame Markova felt secure now in her belief that Danina would never be able to bring herself to leave. Just as it was, and always had been to Madame Markova, the ballet was Danina's life.

The Czar was not in Livadia that year, he was with his troops in Mogilev, and felt obliged to stay with them. So it was only the women and children and both physicians who were there, and Danina. The Czarina and her daughters had allowed themselves to take a brief time off from nursing the soldiers, and were happy to be in Livadia again. They were all old friends now, and she and Nikolai were happier than they had ever been. It seemed a perfect time to both of them, a magical moment suspended in time, protected from a dangerous world seemingly far from them. In the safety of Livadia, they were shielded from the realities that had already engulfed everything else.

They had picnics every afternoon, went on long walks, rowed boats and swam, and Danina felt like a child again, as she played the old familiar games with Alexei. His health had been frail that year, and he didn't look well, but surrounded by his family and the people he loved, he seemed happy to be with them.

Nikolai tried to speak to her of Vermont, but she was vague when she answered now. She had been given important roles in every ballet they were doing that year. Madame Markova knew exactly how to keep her in St. Petersburg. And Danina and Nikolai had finally agreed not to discuss Vermont again until Christmas, at least until the end of the first part of her season. It was an agreement that pained Nikolai to make, but he did so for her sake.

It turned out to be a blessing that he never left, when his youngest son came down with typhoid in September, and nearly died. And it took all of Nikolai's expertise, and that of Dr. Botkin, to save him. Danina was terrified for the boy, and sent Nikolai letters daily, worrying about the child, and aching for Nikolai's terror as a father, knowing how much he loved his children. It would have been disastrous, she told herself, if they'd been in Vermont and the boy had been ill, or worse. Nikolai would never have forgiven himself, or her, for the tragedy, and would always have blamed himself. And it only made her more certain than she had ever been that it would have been wrong for them to run away to America. There were too many people they loved here, and too many obligations that could not be ignored or abandoned.

Despite her illness of the past year, her dancing had improved even beyond where it had been before. Whenever she danced, people talked about her for days, and her name was known now all over Russia. She was in fact the greatest young ballerina of her day. Nikolai was desperately proud of her, and more in love with her than ever. He came to her performances whenever he could, and in November met her father and one of her brothers. There were only two left now, and the other had been recently injured, but was in Moscow, recovering well.

Her father and brother had no idea who Nikolai was to her or how much she loved him, but the three men seemed to enjoy meeting each other. Nikolai wished them luck when they left, and congratulated the colonel on his very talented and remarkable daughter, and the elderly colonel beamed proudly at her. It was easy to see how much he loved her, and he had always known that bringing her to the ballet as a child had been the perfect answer for her. He fully anticipated her being there forever, and it never dawned on him that she was considering leaving it one day.

And when at last Christmas came, Danina couldn't wait to go to Tsarskoe Selo to stay with Nikolai in the little cottage that had begun to seem like their own. It would have been so simple for them if living there could have been a possible solution for them, but it wasn't. They could only be together, on borrowed time, for a few days, or weeks, now and then.

She attended the Czar's Christmas Dance with him. They did not give the grand balls they had before the war, but nonetheless managed to invite over a hundred friends.

Danina shone like a bright star in a gown the Czarina had given her as a gift. It was red velvet trimmed in white ermine, and she looked every bit as regal in it as the Czarina did in hers. Guests all over the room were commenting on how beautiful she was, how elegant, how talented, how gracious, and Nikolai beamed like a handsome prince as he stood beside her, holding her hand.

“I had fun tonight, didn't you?” She smiled as they rode back to the cottage after the party in his sled. They were to have lunch at the palace again the next day. It was a life she loved sharing with him, and she felt almost married to him, standing at his side at the dance. They had been together for nearly two years.

The only thing that had marred the evening at all were the small groups here and there, talking quietly about the echoed rumors of revolution. It seemed absurd, yet the unrest among the populace was exploding regularly now in the cities, and the Czar was still refusing to control it. He said that people had a right to express themselves, and it was good for them to let off steam. But there had been several riots in Moscow recently, and the army was growing increasingly worried. Her father and brother had mentioned it the last time they met.

Danina and Nikolai were talking about it as they walked into the cottage, and this time he admitted to her that he was slowly getting worried about the state of their world.

“I think it's a much greater problem than most of us realize,” he said with a worried frown. “And I think the Czar is being naive in refusing to stop them.” Or perhaps he couldn't. He had so many other things to worry about with the war, and the tremendous losses they had sustained in Poland and Galicia, riots in Moscow seemed insignificant compared to the war and what it had already cost them in men.

“The idea of a revolution seems so extreme,” Danina said quietly. “I can't even imagine something like that here. What would it mean?”

“Who knows? Maybe not much. Probably nothing. It's a few malcontents making noise. They may burn some houses, steal some horses and jewels, give the rich a spanking, and go back to the way things were. Probably nothing more serious than that. Russia is too big and too powerful to ever change. Although it could make life unpleasant for a while, and dangerous for the Czar and his family. Fortunately they're well protected.”

“If anything happens,” she admonished him, as he helped her take off her gown in their bedroom, “I want you to be careful.” She realized full well that it could be dangerous for him here.

“There is a simple solution to that problem,” he said, broaching the subject of Vermont again. He had promised not to ask her about it again until Christmas, and now the time had come again. And he had given it even more thought since they'd last discussed it in September. It was a recurring theme with Nikolai, and he still hoped to convince her of the wisdom of his plan.

“What solution?” she asked innocently, as she took off her earrings. He had just given them to her, and she loved them. They were pearls with tiny rubies hanging just beneath them, and they looked lovely on her.

“Vermont,” he reminded her. “There are no revolutions in America. They don't have a war on their doorstep. We could be happy there, Danina, and you know it.” She was running out of excuses not to discuss it with him, and she wanted to be with him, but there never seemed to be a time when she felt ready to leave the ballet, and do something quite so drastic as all that. They were comfortable with the life they shared, and perhaps one day his wife would agree to a divorce.

“Maybe one day,” she said wistfully. She wanted to be brave enough to go with him, and yet at the same time she still couldn't imagine abandoning their familiar world. She had an equal amount of elements pulling at her from both directions. Madame Markova and the ballet, and Nikolai and all he promised her. A shared life together in a new land, and the ballet, which was her obligation, her duty, her life.

“You told me you would talk to me about it again at Christmas,” he said sadly. He was beginning to fear she would never leave the ballet, and they would never be able to have more than they had now, unless his wife died, or changed her mind, or he inherited a great deal of money, none of which was likely. All she could be here was his mistress, and they could only live together a few weeks a year, unless she left the ballet. But even then, he couldn't have housed her, and they both knew that. Vermont was the only hope they had of being together and starting a new life. But the sacrifices required of each of them still made her shy away from any decision.

“I start rehearsals again after Epiphany …” she said vaguely.

“And then you will dance constantly, and it will be summer again … and then the fall season, and you will do Swan Lake again … and then another Christmas. We will grow old together like this,” he said, looking at her with loving eyes filled with sorrow and longing. “We will never be together, if we stay here.”

“I cannot just walk away, Nikolai,” she said gently, just as in love with him as he was with her, possibly even more so, but she understood only too well what he was asking and what it would cost her. “I owe them something.”

“You owe yourself more, my love. And me. They won't be there for you when you're old and can't dance anymore. No one will be there for you. Madame Markova will be gone. We must be there for each other.”

“I will be,” she promised him, and meant it. And with that, he scooped her into his arms, in her elegant silk underwear trimmed in lace, and carried her to the bed where they had first made love, and still took such insatiable pleasure in it. Theirs was a wonderful life, in the brief time they shared, nothing like any other life he had ever known, or any she had dreamed of.

“Perhaps you will tire of me one day,” she said sleepily, curled into his arms after they made love, “if we're together all the time.”

“Don't worry about that.” He smiled, moving so he could kiss her shoulder. Her body was even more beautiful than it ever had been. “I will never tire of you, Danina. Come with me,” he whispered again, and she nodded as she drifted off to sleep.

“I will one day,” she whispered.

“Don't wait too long, my love,” he warned, frightened of a world that was beginning to seem menacing to him. He wanted to leave Russia with her before something happened to all of them. It seemed hard to imagine, but it was possible. There were people in high places now who said so, even if the Czar himself would not admit it. But others that he knew were as afraid as he was, and he didn't want to terrify Danina. But he wanted to take her away from it. Before it was too late, before disaster struck. But he was afraid to say too much to her. His fears sounded so foolish, and all Danina knew was the ballet. She knew nothing of the world beyond it, a world that was becoming more frightening every day.

They ate with the family the next day as planned, and she taught Alexei a magic trick she'd learned from a young dancer who had visited them from Paris. And he was enchanted when she showed it to him. It was a long happy afternoon, a blissful interlude in their lives. She stayed for more than two weeks this time, and didn't go back until the day before rehearsals. She had kept up her daily exercise, but before the season there were always long days of rehearsal that she had to go back for.

“I should go back, to exercise and warm up,” she explained as she packed her bags on her last day with him. She hated to leave him, and was pushing her stay with him in the cottage to its outer limits. But she had also been dancing so well before their break that she thought she could shave off a few days of practice and rehearsal for the second part of their season. “I hate to leave you,” she admitted. They spent the rest of the afternoon in bed after that, making love, and promises, and sharing secrets. She had never been happier with him, and they had never loved each other more than they did at that moment. It was a magical time for them.

And when she left the next day, he promised to come to her next performance.

“We have to rehearse first,” she reminded him as she kissed him good-bye at the train.

“I'll come to see you in a few days.”

“I'll be waiting for you,” she promised. It was one of the happiest times they had ever spent, and she was going to ask Madame Markova if she could have another week away with him in the spring. She was sure that Madame Markova would be furious over it, but if Danina danced well enough in the next three months, she might just agree to it. She was pleased, thus far, that Danina hadn't done anything drastic or foolish, and she was virtually certain now she never would.

The time for that seemed to have gone past them, and Madame Markova was just as sure that eventually they would tire of each other. Letting Danina see him now and then seemed to satisfy them, and in time they would grow bored of an affair that could go nowhere. Madame Markova knew that in Danina's heart, the ballet would win in the end. She was certain of it.

Danina began exercising that afternoon as soon as she got back, and again at four o'clock the next morning, before rehearsal began at seven. She was well warmed up by then, and in good form, and she knew the role well that she was going to rehearse, so much so that she seemed not to pay much attention. In fact, she allowed herself to play a little bit with some of the other dancers, and they clowned around behind the teacher's back, and did some funny kicks and new steps. She did a leap that took their breath away, and then a very pretty pas de deux with one of her partners. And it was late afternoon before they stopped for something to eat. They had been dancing for nearly ten hours by then, which wasn't unusual for them, and Danina was tired, but not excessively. She gave a last leap on her way out, and someone gasped as she slipped and sailed across the floor with one foot at a shocking angle. There was a long silence in the room as everyone waited to see her get up, but she was very white and very still, as she simply lay there and held her ankle in silence. And then everyone ran to her, and the teacher came briskly across the floor to see what had happened. She was hoping to see a bad sprain, or a ballerina who would be very sore the next morning at rehearsal.

But what she saw instead was Danina's foot almost at an impossible angle to her leg, and Danina clearly in shock and barely conscious.

“Carry her to her bed at once,” the woman said sharply. Danina's teeth were clenched, her face deadly white, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind what had happened. She had broken, not sprained, her ankle. A death knell, if it were true, for a prima, or virtually any dancer. There was not a sound, not a word, only the occasional gasp from Danina, as they moved her, and a moment later she lay on her bed, in her leotard and the warm sweater and leg warmers she had been wearing. Without a word, the teacher cut her leotard off, using a small sharp knife she carried for purposes such as that, and the ankle was already swelling to the size of a balloon, the foot still at the same hideous angle, as Danina stared at it in silent horror, the reality too terrible to imagine.

“Get a doctor. At once,” a voice said from the doorway. It was Madame Markova. There was a man they used for such things. He was extremely good with feet and legs and bones and he had helped them before, with good results. But what Madame Markova saw as she entered the room nearly broke her heart. In a single instant, with one swift leap, it was over for Danina.

The doctor came within the hour, and confirmed the worst to them. The ankle was badly broken, and she had to be taken to the hospital. They would have to operate in order to set it. There was no argument, nothing anyone could say. A dozen hands touched hers as they carried her away. Everyone cried, but no one harder than Danina. She had seen it happen too often before. She knew exactly what had just occurred. After fifteen years in these sacred halls, for her, at twenty-two, it was over.

They operated on her that night, and the entire leg was set in a huge cast. For anyone else, it would have been considered a success. The leg would be straight again, and if she had a limp from it, it would only be a small one. In her case, that was not good enough. The ankle had been shattered, and even if she walked normally, she would never be able to dance as she had before. It would not carry her weight sufficiently to do what she would have to do. There was simply no way of repairing it to give her the flexibility or the strength she needed. And there were no words to console her. Her career had ended with that one small, foolish leap. Not only her ankle, but her life shattered in a single instant.

She lay in her bed and cried that night, almost as hard as she had when she lost Nikolai's baby. The life she had lost this time was her own. It was the death of a dream, a tragic finish in counterpoint to a brilliant beginning. And this time Madame Markova sat beside her, holding back her own tears. Danina had made the sacrifices, the vow, the commitment, but the fates had not been kind to her. Her life as a ballerina, the life she had lived and breathed and been willing to die for, for fifteen years, was gone.

She was sent back to the ballet the next day, to lie in the room she shared with the others, and they came to visit her, alone and in pairs, with flowers, with words, with kindness, with sorrow, almost as though to mourn her. She felt as though she had died, and in a way she had. The life she had known, and been an integral part of, had died for her. She already felt as though she didn't belong here. And it was only a matter of time before she had to gather up her things and leave them. She was even too young to teach, and she knew she couldn't anyway. It was not in her. For her, it was simply over. The death of a dream.

It took her two days to write to Nikolai, and when her letter reached him, he came at once, unable to believe what had happened, although everyone explained it to him in detail once he arrived. All the other dancers knew him and liked him. And they told him again and again how she had fallen and how she looked as she lay on the floor.

But seeing her, lying there, with her huge cast, and the look of sorrow in her eyes, said it all to him when he first saw her. But to Nikolai, as ghastly as it was for her, it seemed almost like a ray of hope. It was her only chance for a new life. Without this, she would never have left. But he knew he could say none of that to her. She was in deep mourning over her career.

And this time, when he insisted on taking her away with him, Madame Markova offered no objections. She knew it would be kinder for her not to be at the ballet, for a while at least, listening to the familiar bells and sounds and voices going to class or rehearsals. Danina no longer belonged here. She could return eventually, in some other way, but for now, it was more compassionate not to have her there at all. As quickly as possible for her sake, the past had to be buried. Two thirds of her life, and the only part she had ever cared about until Nikolai, had just ended. Her life as a ballerina was over and gone.

Chapter 9

Danina was immensely relieved to return to their cottage to recuperate, and the Czarina was pleased to see her. Danina's recuperation was slow this time, and painful. And when they finally took off the cast after more than a month, the ankle looked weak and shrunken. She could barely stand on her left leg, and she cried the first time she walked across the room to Nikolai. Her limp was so severe, her entire body seemed distorted. The graceful bird she had once been seemed completely broken.

“It will get better, Danina, I promise,” Nikolai tried to reassure her. “You must believe me. You will have to work hard on it.” He measured both her legs and found that they were still the same length, the limp was due only to weakness. She would never dance again, but she would walk normally. And no one was more solicitous than the Czarina and her children.

It was several weeks before Danina could walk across the room without a cane, and she was still limping when she received a letter at the end of February that Madame Markova was ill. She had a mild case of pneumonia, but she had had it before, and Danina knew full well how dangerous it could be. In spite of still being unsteady on her legs, she insisted that she had to go to her. She still used the cane to cover distances, and could not walk far, but she felt that she should go back to stay at the ballet, at least until Madame Markova regained her health after the pneumonia. The older woman was frailer than she looked, and Danina feared for her life.

“It's the least I can do,” she insisted to Nikolai, but although he sympathized, he still objected. There had been riots in St. Petersburg, and in Moscow, and he was uneasy having her go back alone. And Alexei hadn't been well, so he didn't feel able to go to St. Petersburg with her. “Don't be silly, I'll be fine,” she insisted, and after a day of arguing back and forth, he finally agreed to let her go without him. “I'll come back in a week or two,” she promised him, “as soon as I see she's better. She would do, and has done, as much for me.” He understood all too well the power of the relationship between them, and he knew that Danina would have been agonized over not going to her.

He took her to the train the next day, warned her to be careful and not overtax herself, handed her her cane with a kiss, and put his arms around her. He hated to see her go but understood it, and made her promise to take a taxi directly to the ballet from the station. He was sorry not to go with her. And after all their time together recently, it felt odd to him not to do so. But Danina had promised him she would be fine alone.

But much to her surprise, when she reached St. Petersburg, she saw people milling about in the streets, shouting and demonstrating against the Czar, and there were soldiers everywhere around them. She had heard nothing of it in Tsarskoe Selo, and was amazed to find the atmosphere in the city unusually tense. But she forced it from her mind as she made her way to the ballet. Her thoughts were on Madame Markova, and she hoped her mentor and old friend was not desperately ill. And she was dismayed to find that in fact she had been, and as had happened once before, she had grown very weak and very frail from her illness.

Danina sat beside her every day, fed her soup and gruel, and begged her to eat it. And within a week, she was relieved to see some slight improvement, but the older woman seemed to have aged years in a few brief weeks, and she looked intolerably fragile as Danina looked at her lovingly and held her hand.

Nursing her, the days seemed to fly past her, and Danina fell into bed at night feeling utterly exhausted. And moving around as much as she had, had caused her ankle to swell painfully again. She was sleeping on a cot in Madame Mar-kova's office, her old bed having long since been assigned to another dancer. She was fast asleep on the morning of March eleventh, when crowds gathered in the street not far from the ballet. The shouting and the first gunshots woke her, and she rose quickly and went downstairs to see what had happened. Dancers in the long hallway had already left the classrooms where they'd been warming up, and a few of the bravest ones were peeking from the windows, but they could see nothing but a few soldiers galloping past on horseback. No one had any idea what had happened until later that day when they learned that the Czar had finally ordered the army to quell the revolution, and more than two hundred people had been killed in the city. The law courts, the arsenal, the Ministry of the Interior, and a score of police stations had been burned, and the prisons had been forced open by the people.

The gunshots had stopped by late afternoon, and in spite of the alarming news of the day, that night seemed relatively peaceful. But in the morning, they heard that the soldiers had refused to follow orders and shoot into the crowds. They had retreated, in fact, and returned to their barracks. The Revolution had started in earnest.

A few of the male dancers ventured out into the street later that afternoon, but they returned very quickly, and barricaded the doors of the ballet. They were safe there, but there was shocking news from beyond their little world, and it grew more horrifying day by day. On March fifteenth, they learned that the Czar had abdicated on behalf of himself and the Czarevitch, in favor of his brother, Grand Duke Michael, and was on his way back to Tsarskoe Selo, from the front, by train, to be arrested. It was impossible to understand, much less absorb, what was happening all around them. Like the others, Danina was unable to understand all that they heard. The information was conflicting and confusing.

It was fully a week later, on March twenty-second, when Danina finally got a hastily scribbled note from Nikolai, brought to her in the hands of one of the guards who had been allowed to leave Tsarskoe Selo. “We are under house arrest,” it said simply. “I am able to come and go, but cannot leave them. All of the Grand Duchesses have the measles, and the Czarina is desperately worried about them, and Alexei. Stay where you are, stay safe, my darling, I will come to you when I can. And I pray that we will be together very soon again. Know always that I love you, more than life itself. Don't venture out in the midst of this danger. Above all, stay safe until I come. With all my love, N.”

She read the letter again and again, and held it in trembling hands. It was beyond belief. The Czar had abdicated, and they were under house arrest. It was impossible to believe it. And she was desperately sorry she had left them. If they were to be in any danger, she would have preferred to be with him. To die with him, if need be.

It was late March when Nikolai finally came to her, looking exhausted and disheveled. He had come on horseback all the way from Tsarskoe Selo, but it had been the only way he could travel. The soldiers guarding the Imperial family had allowed him to leave, and promised he could return. But he had a look of desperation as he sat with her in the corridor outside Madame Markova's office, and told her in no uncertain terms that, as soon as they could arrange it, they would have to leave Russia.

“Terrible times are coming. We have no idea what will happen here now. I have convinced Marie she must take the boys and go home. They will leave next week. She is still English, and they will allow her safe passage, but they may not be as kind to us, if we stay here. I want to wait until the girls are well over the measles, and make sure that the family is safe. And then we'll arrange to go to America, to my cousin Viktor.”

“I can't believe this.” Danina was horrified as she listened. It seemed as though in a matter of weeks, their whole world had come to an end. “How are they? Are they very frightened?” She was so worried about them. They had been through so much in the past month, and Nikolai said, with a look of concern, “No, they are all remarkably brave. And once the Czar returned, everyone became very calm. The guards are quite reasonable, but the family cannot leave the grounds now.”

“What will they do to them?” Her eyes were full of fear for her friends.

“Nothing, certainly. But it has been a great shock, and a sad end. There is talk of their going to England, to their cousins there, but there is a great deal of negotiation to do before that. They may go to Livadia, while they wait. If so, I will accompany them, and then come back to you. I will arrange passage to America as soon as possible. You must prepare yourself, Danina.” This time there was no argument, no discussion, no weighing the decision. Danina knew with utter certainty now that she would go with him. Before he left her that night, he pressed a roll of bills into her hand. He told her to pay for their passage, and arrange it in the next few weeks. He was sure that by then, the Imperial family would be comfortably settled, and he would be able to leave them and go with her.

But she watched him go that night with a feeling of terror. What if something happened to him? As he mounted his horse, he turned and smiled at her, and told her not to worry, and assured her that, staying with the Imperial family, he would be even safer than she was. He rode off again at a gallop, and clutching the money he had left her, she hurried back into the safety of the ballet.

It was a long, anxious month waiting to hear from him again, and trying to glean what they could from the rumors they all heard in the streets, from citizens and soldiers. The Czar's fate still seemed unsure, and there was talk of their staying at Tsarskoe Selo, going to Livadia or going to England to stay with their royal cousins. There were constant rumors, and the two letters she had from Nikolai told her nothing more than she already knew. Even in Tsarskoe Selo nothing was definite or certain. No one knew where or how it would all end.

Danina was careful with her funds while she waited to hear further from Nikolai, and with a terrible pang of guilt she sold the little nephrite frog Alexei had given her, knowing that once they were in Vermont, they would need the money.

She managed to contact her father through his regiment, and in a brief letter, told him what she planned to do. But once again the letter she received from him held bitter news. The third of her four brothers had been killed. And he urged her to do as Nikolai suggested. He remembered meeting him, though he still had no idea that he was married, and told her to go to Vermont, and he would contact her there. She and Nikolai could come back to Russia again when the war was over. And in the meantime, he told her to pray for Russia, wished her godspeed, and told her he loved her.

She was in shock as she read his letter, unable to believe that yet another of her brothers had been lost. And suddenly she began to feel that she would never see any of them again. Every day was an agony, worrying about her family, and Nikolai. She bought their tickets on a ship due to sail at the end of May, but it was the first of May before she heard from Nikolai again. And his letter was once more painfully brief, as he hastened to send it as quickly as he could.

“All is well here,” he wrote reassuringly, and she prayed that he was telling her the truth. “We continue to wait for news. Every day they tell us something different, and there is still no definite word from England. It's rather awkward for all of them. But everyone is in good spirits. It looks as though they will be leaving for Livadia in June. I must stay with them until then. I cannot desert them now, as I'm sure you understand. Marie and the boys left last week. I will join you in St. Petersburg, I promise, by the end of June. And until then, my darling, stay safe in our love, and think only of Vermont, and our future there. I will come to see you for a few hours, if I can.”

Her hand trembled as she read the letter, and as she thought of him, the tears coursed down her cheeks. For him, for them, for her lost brothers, for all the men who had been lost, and all of their lost dreams. So much had happened, an entire world had ended all around them. It was impossible to think of anything but that.

She exchanged their tickets the next day, for a ship sailing for New York at the end of June. And she explained to Madame Markova what she was doing. Her teacher had regained her strength by then, and like everyone else now, she was deeply concerned about the future. And she no longer objected to Danina's plans to leave with Nikolai. She could not dance with them anymore, and the danger in St. Petersburg, and everywhere in Russia, was considerable these days. Madame Markova was relieved for her, and she finally admitted that she believed Nikolai would be good to her, whether or not they were married, although she hoped that one day they would be.

But even in the comfort of knowing she was leaving with him for safety in a month, Danina was constantly haunted by all that she was leaving behind. Her family, her friends, her homeland, and the only world she knew at the ballet.

Nikolai had already told her that his cousin had offered him a job in his bank. They were going to live with him in his house, for as long as they had to, until they could afford to live somewhere else. It was at least comforting to know that. And Nikolai was planning to take the classes he had to, so that eventually he could practice medicine in Vermont. It all seemed carefully planned, although Danina knew that it would take a long time to achieve their goals. But just then, getting out of Russia was the only thought occupying her mind. Vermont itself seemed so distant, it might as well have been on another planet, it was so far removed from their world.

It was a week before they were due to sail, when Nikolai came to see her again, once again with bad news. The Czarina had fallen ill a few days before, she was exhausted, and under a great deal of strain. And although Dr. Botkin was still with them, Nikolai didn't feel able to leave, as planned. Their trip to Livadia had once again been delayed. It was scheduled now for July, as they continued to wait for their English cousins to agree to let them go to England. But thus far, their English cousins had made no commitment at all.

“I just want to get them settled,” Nikolai explained, and it sounded reasonable to her. They sat together for an hour, embracing each other, and kissing, and just feeling the comfort of being close. And while Danina sat with him, Madame Markova made him something to eat, which he gratefully devoured. It had been a long, dusty ride from Tsarskoe Selo.

“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

They 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.

Epilogue

The answers, as they always are, were right in my backyard. I had the letters translated, and they were all love letters from Nikolai Obrajen-sky to my grandmother. They covered a span of time, and told a story that touched my heart, almost as much as it had touched hers for a lifetime. The letters explained it all very clearly.

The rest I learned from two of her friends, neighbors, when I went back to Vermont the following summer to see the house, and spend a week there with my children and my husband.

I found the Czarina's gowns in a trunk in the attic, and never knew they had been there. They were still in the same trunk she had brought them in, they were all faded, and the ermine was yellow, and more than sixty years past their time, they looked like costumes. I was surprised I had never found them in my childhood forays, but the trunk was old and battered, and hidden in a corner of the attic. His trunks were there as well still, two of them, neatly labeled DR. NIKOLAI OBRAJENSKY. She had never had the heart to unpack them once she arrived in Vermont.

The programs from the ballet had new meaning for me now, the photographs of her with the other dancers. And the toe shoes seemed somehow sacred. I had never realized how important they were to her. I knew she had danced, but had somehow never understood what she had given of herself to do that. I tried to explain it to my children, and their eyes grew wide when I told them the story. And when I showed Katie the toe shoes, and told her they'd been Granny Dan's, she leaned over and kissed them. It would have made my grandmother smile to see that.

And just as she had feared when she set sail in September 1917, she never saw Nikolai again. He went to Tobolsk, in Siberia, with the Imperial family, as he'd promised to, and got trapped there. After that, he was no longer allowed to leave, and remained under house arrest with them. His devotion to them had ultimately cost him his freedom, and in July 1 g 18, he was executed with them. A brief letter from a name I didn't recognize informed her of it four weeks later. I can only imagine what reading that letter must have done to her. And I sobbed all these years later, when I read the translation. She must have felt as though she would die without him.

But before he had died, his last letter had warned her that there was talk of an execution. Cruel as it may have seemed at the time, he had tried to prepare her. He sounded surprisingly cheerful actually, and strong, and had told her that she must go on, that she must find happiness in her new life, and remember him, and their love, with joy and not sorrow. He told her he had been married to her in his heart since they'd met, and she had given him the happiest years of his life, and his only regret was not leaving with her. She must have known that day, that she would never see him again. And yet, destiny could not be altered. Neither his, nor hers. She was destined for another life, with all of us, in a place so far from the life she had shared with him. And he was not destined to be with her.

Her father and remaining brother were killed at the end of the war. And Madame Markova died of pneumonia two years after my grandmother last saw her. She lost them all, one by one, irrevocably, lost everything, a life, a country, a career, a handful of precious people … the man she loved, her family, and the dancing she had loved so much before that.

Yet there had never been anything tragic about her, nothing sad, or sorrowing, or mournful. She must have missed them terribly, especially Nikolai. Her heart must have ached from time to time, and yet she never told me. She was simply Granny Dan, with her funny hats, and roller skates, her sparkling eyes, and delicious cookies. How could we have been so foolish? How could we have thought that that was all of her, when there was so much more? How could I have believed that the little woman in the frayed black dresses was the same person she once had been? Why do we think that old people have always been old? Why could I not imagine her in the red velvet gown trimmed with ermine, or dancing Swan Lake for the Czar in her toe shoes? And why did she never tell me? She had kept all her secrets to herself.

She lived with Nikolai's cousin for eleven months, waiting for Nikolai, and another month until she knew he had been executed. As Nikolai had promised, his cousin was kind to her. A quiet man, with his own memories, his own regrets, his own losses. She must have been like a ray of sunshine to him. He was twenty-five years older than she. Forty-seven when she arrived at twenty-two. She must have seemed like a child to him. And he must have always known how much Nikolai meant to her. Five months after Nikolai died, sixteen months after she had come to Vermont, she married Nikolai's cousin, my grandfather, Viktor Obrajensky. And to this day, I don't really know if she ever loved him. I assume she did. They must have been friends. He was always kind to her, although he said very little, and she spoke of him with tenderness and admiration. But I couldn't help wondering now if she had loved my grandfather as she had loved his cousin. I somehow doubt it, though in her own way, I think she loved him. Nikolai had been the passion in her life, the dreams of her youth, so soon ended.

So much I never knew … so many dreams I never could have imagined. She was indeed a mystery. I have the pieces now … the trunk … the shoes … the locket … and the letters … but she kept the rest with her, the memories, the victories, the people she loved so much. My only regret is how little I knew about her when I was with her, how ignorant of her past.

Granny Dan, the woman she was to me, will live on in my heart forever. The woman she was before that belonged to other people. They took her with them, and she kept them close to her, in her heart, in her spirit, in letters and a locket. She must have loved him still to take the letters to the nursing home with her, and the locket with his picture. She must have read the letters even then, or perhaps after so many years of reading them, she knew them by heart.

And now, when I close my eyes, she is not old … her dresses are not black or frayed … she is no longer baking cookies … she is smiling at me, as young and beautiful as she once was … and she is dancing in her toe shoes, as Nikolai Obrajensky smiles, and watches. And I believe that somewhere now, they are together at last.

DANIELLE STEEL has been hailed as one of the world's most popular authors, with over 420 million copies of her novels sold. Her many international bestsellers include The Wedding, Irresistible Forces, Bittersweet, Mirror Image, The Klone and I, The Long Road Home, The Ghost, Special Delivery, The Ranch, and other highly acclaimed novels. She is also the author of His Bright Light, the story of her son Nick Traina's life and death.

a cognizant original v5 release october 14 2010

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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1999 by Danielle Steel

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, New York.

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eISBN: 978-0-307-56647-8

v3.0

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue