A.N: Finally, a jump forward to OTMA's teenage years! This and the next chapter will set the stage for their visit to Imperial Russia, which is still ruled by Tsar Alexander III. Happy reading.

Feb 13, 1912

Espe Manorhouse, Denmark

(Olga Romanova's POV)

Not long before lunchtime, I rested on my single mattress bed, looking at the turquoise blue ceiling. Watching the dragonflies soar in still motion against the turquoise sky, I allow my thoughts to wander again to the bigger view of my life...

I was a young lady of noble blood coming of age. I had almost reached eighteen. All throughout my years, I had lived a life of moderate prestige as a Duchess of Russia abroad. Though I often did not heed my royal descent of the Romanov Dynasty of Imperial Russia and Hessian royalty. As much as I would wonder how my life would have gone as royalty, I would often remember what Papa reminded me a few times…

"Those royals? They seem to be living a grandiose, wonderful life at first sight, but under the ceremonies, luxuries, and protocols lie heavy burdens. That life is nothing but a golden cage, and we are fortunate to be non-royalty. As a former Grand Duke of Russia, take my word, my little Olishka."

The thought touched my heart in ways I struggled to describe. Perhaps gratitude to God was the best description of what I had felt. Just my three other sisters with I, living with our parents in a former royal residence in the Danish countryside. Ironic, but God had given us it all. Not riches or fame, but the blessing of a normal, close-knit life with family.

I was the firstborn daughter. The trailblazer child with a sharp tongue, mind, and a deep care for the less fortunate. Yes, I sometimes clashed with Mama, but we had learned to reconcile our deeply differing personas.

I remembered the rest of us by heart. To others, they were mere ex-royalty. To me, they were my dear family.

Mama, once Alix of Hesse. The conservative, pious woman of royal blood, who had given up much to be with my father. She had the sternness and sharpness of her manners and mind, but she harbored a deep love for us all. Tatiana was her favorite, as much as she tried to conceal that.

Papa, once Tsarevitch Nicholas of Imperial Russia. The kind, often collected, intelligent man who not only gave me life, but taught me how to live it. The Bible studies. The hunting sprees in the Danish forests. The chores I had been taught from Papa. Out of both parents, I felt closest to Papa.

Tatiana. Much like Mama, but gentle and reserved. Obedient to the virtues of Mama and Papa. Refined in manners and gait, walking upright, head high, and with confidence. Had we been a royal family on the Russian throne, she would have been a model Grand Duchess of Russia. But she also paid no heed to such speculations. To us, she was known as Tatya.

Maria. The romantic with a big heart and big dreams. Our bundle of love. The ambidextrous artist of our family. Need I say more about Mashka?

Anastasia. The troublesome, playful, and vivacious little sister of us four girls, holding a wit that rivaled mine. However, she often used it to cause mischief with Mashka. But she had this gift for acting and a prodigious sense of humor. If she could make our serious, stubborn Mama laugh, she could make anyone laugh. A force of nature, and a brilliant young girl trying to find our place in creation.

Like the rest of us young women.

But this simple life with my beloved family was just enough for now.

And as if by coincidence, my half read copy of Little Women rested beside my bed on the nightstand. I snorted in a mediocre attempt to keep in my laughter, shutting my cornflower blue eyes. The irony!

Another curious question popped into my mind.

Does God laugh?

I shrugged. I did not know.

Still smiling, I got off my bed, glancing around the turquoise painted walls and dark brown wooden floor. My eyes wander around, drifting again on the nightstand. Behind the book lay multiple photograph frames. Each photo froze my most cherished moments forever in shades of black, gray, and white.

I sat on the chair on my study desk, another wooden thing with curved legs. A bookshelf laid beside it, sorted by subjects. Theology books rested on top. Philosophy and math textbooks laid just below that. A couple of science textbooks laid in a pair below amongst my favorite literature books. Of course I enjoyed Sense and Sensibility and Little Women! Although, Les Misérables still held a special place in my heart.

I glanced at my almost finished homework from Mister Gilliard, our hired tutor. He had taught me more of the rules of reason… modus ponens and whatnot. Mister Gilliard often said that those rules were the bones of mathematical theory.

I yawned at the thought of validating logical arguments again. I felt lazy. I only wanted to go outside and enjoy the forest breezes and the serenity of nature. Or perhaps chat with the handsome Danish soldiers at the local bar. I giggled.

My homework could wait another hour or so.

I left my desk after a few minutes. I would ask my father to take me outside for a walk around town.

(After Lunch)

We decided to pay a visit to Nielsen's Bar, a family-owned drinking bar where we would chat with various persons from within and outside the town. Of course, none of us two would drink before eating…

Papa spoke in Danish to the bartender, Mister Helsen, an older, stout man with graying blonde hair and big eyes. Papa gave a single half-krone coin to the bartender, who thanked him. Dressed in that same old white apron, he reached for a beer bottle.

He poured us small portions of beer into smaller mugs. They would be a small drink to refresh us, nothing more.

"Thank you, Mister Nicholas. And enjoy your drinks, you two."

"Wonderful, Mister Helsen, and once my second eldest daughter comes of age, I will bring her here to have some of your beer."

The bartender chuckled. "Good. Sometimes, a little drink is good for the weary soul."

He left us to serve another patron who was some other farmer. We then enjoyed a few minutes of peace and quiet amongst the commotion within the bar. The people chatting under dim lights, picking their cups and mugs from the old wooden tables. The clinking of cups for a toast. The trapped sounds of a female ragtime singer emanating from the gramophone…

Papa looked at me, and I knew that an interesting, deep conversation was coming…

"Olishka?"

"Yes, Papa?"

"How have your studies been? Do you have a new favorite subject?"

I sipped down a bit of the cool, sweet-tasting beer. Bittersweet, just like life.

"They are going well, I often understand the ideas much faster than, well, Nastya. But I do not know how they will be of use, Papa."

"How so?"

"Because… because I was born a girl."

I felt terribly saddened. I wanted to change the world for the better, and alleviate the sufferings of the less fortunate. To please and honor my Heavenly Father would bring me true satisfaction in life. But the old ways of women being mere childbearers were working against young ladies like me. Royal or not, I would be forced to? The thought left a bitterness behind, like bad beer.

I sighed, frowning at my half-empty mug of beer.

Papa sighed, and he took a larger gulp of beer. "Certainly, I am aware of that, and it is very disappointing to me. But I assure you that as a non-royal woman, you have more freedom than any princesses or duchesses of the world. You will become someone special someday, my little, wise Olishka."

"Papa?"

"Yes?"

"If I do find some young bachelor that I love, how do I balance my wifely duties with my endeavors?"

"I would say that finding someone who respects your aspirations and loves you very much is the best option. Do that first."

"Thank you for the advice."

Another half hour passed. And so did our worries, under the soothing effects of our drinks. Papa and I continued to talk about life and many other things. First, my future as a normal woman of royal blood, and then our relatives and how they were…

"...and just to close the topic, I still write to my brother George, a Grand Duke of Russia, once every month. He truly is the most humorous man! Perhaps your sister Nastya would enjoy a visit with him someday."

"I see. Will I get to meet my cousins and other relatives?"

"I will send a request to my brother George to see if he will make arrangements to allow us to visit Russia. Hopefully, my father, Tsar Alexander III, will agree."

"What happened with Grandpapa?"

Papa frowned, and he went silent. He stared at his finished beer drink.

"Are you alright? Did something terrible happen?"

"That is another topic for another time, my daughter. Follow me, we must return home."

I did not ask Papa after that, as he left a tip of another half krone coin on the counter. Very generous, considering that the tip equaled our pay to Mister Helsen!

"See you two later, and come back whenever!" Mister Helsen called out after us, as we waved back.

The bar doors closed behind us, shutting the musical sounds within. We were left on the weathered, stone brick sidewalks, glancing around at the colorful wooden houses along the same old street. Nielsen Street, named after the great-great-grandfather of our favorite bartender, Mister Nielsen.

Among us, dozens of people were walking to and from various places. The occasional Rolls Royce automobile drove by, careful not to hit another horse carriage. Another one stopped before us, with Mister Gilliard at the wheel.

"Ah, you two finished your drinks earlier than I thought! Come in!"

And so we did. Not long after, our automobile drove off. The town businesses, shops, and apartments soon gave way to scattered houses upon open fields of green grass. Green everywhere, from the trees, grass, and moss on the occasional rock.

As we drove closer to our family home, Mister Gilliard conversed with Papa as if he were a lifelong friend. Actually, he had only known us since I was six years old! Not quite his entire life, but long enough to be very familiar to us.

They chattered a great deal, and even told jokes!

One was quite funny, and I laughed with Papa, as the breezes rustled my dark blonde hair.

Wonderful moments in time. The perfect life of my youthful years. I knew that they would not last forever, so I wanted to cherish them during and afterward.

"Here we are, home again!"

"We are thankful for your service, Mister Gilliard," I said, smiling at my tutor.

"Of course, Olga. And, did you do your homework?"

"Almost done."

"Good. Try to finish whatever you have left of the propositional logic exercise, and ask me questions."

"Yes, I will not forget to do so."

We returned to our home foyer, where Tatya, dressed in a light purple dress and wearing a silver hairband, strode over to me. Her almond-shaped, gray eyes shone with joy. Us two, the Big Pair, together!

"How was the trip out to town?"

I took off my shoes. "Oh, it went without any incident, and Papa gave me some wise life advice."

"Glad to hear that."

A crash sounded from the kitchen.

"Sorry, Mama! I'll do the chores better, I swear!" Nastya yelled from within the house.

"Aw, come on!" Mashka replied, her voice somewhat muffled from afar.

Mama shook her head, muttering complaints about her new vase being broken again. Papa followed her into the inner halls of our home…

"After homework, would you like to play chess with me after dinnertime?"

I nodded. "Alright, allow me thirty minutes to finish those last three problems."

"Very well."