The following day, Viktor walks me back to the motel, and I am reunited with the tour group. Several days later, we depart for the flight back to the United States, and he meets me at the airport to say goodbye.

"Maybe you can visit me in California someday, or I can come to St. Petersburg again," I tell him, dreading the moment we have to part. The thought that I may never see him again fills me with deep sadness.

"Maybe." He doesn't smile, but the next second, I feel a small, hard object pressed into my hand.

"Deda Boris and I both feel you should have this," he tells me.

I look into my hand to see a small ring made of gold. It has decorative swirls all around it, and the head is flattened and adorned with the initial 'T'. It's obviously antique and of inestimable value. I try to give it back to him.

"Oh, I couldn't - "

"Please." He presses it back into my hand. "Someone very special gave it to my grandfather for safekeeping many years ago. At the time, she didn't know she'd never see him again."

I try the ring on. It's too small for my ring finger, but it fits my pinky perfectly.

"Thank you." My voice is barely a whisper as I hug his neck, feeling the moisture of the tears on my cheeks. "I'll never let it go."

He smiles at last. "Goodbye, Tanya." His thumbs wipe the tears from my cheeks as he places a soft kiss on my lips.

As I board the airplane and find my seat, I feel hollow inside, as if I'm leaving part of myself behind. I hold the hand with the ring on it out and admire it. For all the years our two countries had nuclear missiles pointed at each other and everyone wondered when someone would push the button, this ring lay hidden away in a chest or drawer, waiting for the return of an owner who would never come back. Was she the original Tatiana, possible older sister of my grandfather, Nicholas Borovsky? I can't help but imagine she must have been.

Arriving in the airport in San Francisco many hours later, I see my parents waiting for me and rush to meet them. It feels like about a hundred years since the last time I saw them.

"Did you have a nice trip?" Mom asks as she hugs me.

"It was fantastic!" I reply.

"My mother called a few days ago. She said she was very happy to see you again, that you've grown up to be a lovely young woman," Dad tells me. I look closely at his face, at the fine zigzag lines around his eyes.

"I was glad to see her and Uncle Wolfgang and Aunt Sabine again too, and to meet my cousins, especially Florian." The incident in the Frankfurt airport now seems long ago and far away, a dream I had once.

"Where did you get the ring?" asks Dad, which gives me pause. How can I tell my parents about Viktor?

"A friend gave it to me as a souvenir." I hope that answer will suffice.

"Someone from the tour group?" asks Mom.

"Yes," I lie, feeling the relief flood through me.


The spring term starts several days later, and I am soon once again immersed in my studies. I think of Viktor every once in awhile and feel a sharp stab of pain in my heart. In what little spare time I have, I contemplate the mystery of Nicholas Borovsky and wonder how it can be solved. One Saturday afternoon, I get an idea.

"Didn't you say you have an Aunt Alisa who lives in Australia?" I ask Dad as he sorts through old sheet music in the piano bench.

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I've been thinking about Nicholas Borovsky lately," I reply. "I remember Grandma saying he came from Russia, but she didn't know anything about his family there. If his sister Alisa is still alive, she might be the person to ask."

"You know, I've thought of contacting her again many times over the years," he tells me. "Every time I make up my mind to do it, I tell myself I should just leave the past alone, that I shouldn't go dredging up painful memories for her. She's made a new life for herself, and I shouldn't intrude any more than I already have."

"But don't you ever wonder about Nicholas and Alisa's real parents?" I debate for just a moment whether to continue, then take the plunge. "When I was in St. Petersburg, I met a guy named Viktor Olegovich. He introduced me to the rest of his family. His grandfather's name is Deda Boris, and he's ninety-four years old. He was a servant in the Alexander Palace, and he knew the Tsar and his family personally. He said he got to be friends with a lady in waiting named Lizonka. He said there was a rumor she married a guard named Isaak Borovsky and escaped with him and the two youngest Imperial children to America."

Dad frowns. "You're jumping to conclusions, Tanya. Many people have the surname Borovsky."

"But what if it is the same Borovsky, Dad? Wouldn't you want to know?"

"Of course I would, but I doubt it is."

"Do you have your Aunt Alisa's address?"

"I have the one from twenty-seven years ago, but I have no idea whether or not it's current." He goes to the master bedroom and returns a few minutes later with a slightly yellowed, folded sheet of paper. "Why don't you write to her? I'm sure she'd be thrilled to hear from you."

"I will!" I fetch a pen and paper pad and begin my letter.

Dear Great Aunt Alisa,

My name is Tanya Schneider, and I'm Christian Schneider's daughter. I'm writing to you because I need information about my grandfather, Nicholas Borovsky. I suspect there might be a connection between him and Tsar Nicholas II. Since you're his older sister, I know you could tell me if I'm right. Please tell me all you know about my grandfather's childhood and his biological parents.

Sincerely,

Tanya Schneider

I seal the letter in an envelope and address it, and Monday afternoon after class, I take it to the post office and mail it to Australia.