Okay, so I know I said I thought I could update quicker than this. And this chapter would have been out sooner, but I ended up hurting my shoulder and it's been in a sling, so typing has been slow. But today I had an unexpected day off, plus it's my birthday, so I made this chapter a little longer to make up for it! Hope you enjoy!
It began with a cough.
Initially it wasn't enough to worry anyone. It was still cold outside and the house was drafty, of course people were going to get colds. Anastasia was surprised no one had gotten sick yet, so when Maria began to cough no one really batted an eye. But then Tatiana began to cough, too, and then Olga. Their mother began to worry that the girls might develop bronchitis due to the relentless cold. She very nearly moved Anastasia out of the girls' room to prevent her from getting sick too.
And then Alexei began to cough, and life inside the house ground to a halt.
Much to their distress, Olga, Tatiana, and Maria were forbidden to see him until their own colds were gone, since no one wanted to risk making Alexei's cough even worse. Anastasia and Dmitry were both enlisted to help try to keep Alexei from coughing. Tea was brewed as often as possible on their rations, and all the spare blankets were brought in and piled on top of Alexei.
None of it did any good. Within days his cough was worse and had provoked yet another hemorrhage in his groin. There was so much blood pooled in his joint that he couldn't straighten his leg. That first night, Anastasia doubted any one of them got more than twenty minutes of sleep, between the worry and Alexei's sobbing. Dr. Botkin was saying it was his worst attack since the time he'd nearly died in Spala, back in 1912. This time, his kidneys were affected.
Privately, Anastasia thought this was worse. In 1912, Alexei had been all but comatose from the pain. It had been scarier for the rest of them, for sure, but Alexei himself had been blissfully unconscious for most of the attack. This time her brother was awake, and had to suffer through every second of pain. During the day she did her best to keep him distracted, holding his hand and telling him stories, though it hardly seemed to do any good. She wished Tatiana would get better quickly- she had always been the best of them to nurse him during these attacks. Every time he coughed, his whole body would seize up from the pain and he would moan as it aggravated his hip even more.
"I would like to die," he whispered to her one day while she kept him company as their mother was resting. "I'm not afraid of death."
"Oh, Alyosha, don't say that," she cried as Dmitry looked up from across the room in alarm. "You'll pull through this, just like you always do. Everything will be fine soon, just you wait and see." Alexei simply closed his eyes and turned his head away, and all Anastasia could do was grip her brother's hand tighter and thank God he'd said it to her and not their mother.
By the time her sisters were feeling better enough to be allowed into Alexei's room, his skin had taken on a sickly yellow tinge and his temperature was not coming down. He often felt too sick to eat even broth, and what little he did eat usually got vomited back up from the pain. Tatiana and Dmitry took turns placing cool cloths on his forehead and on the insides of his wrists, but it didn't seem to be helping much. Alexei moaned constantly, and was entirely unashamed that he cried for his mother like a much younger child.
Anastasia wished with all her heart that, somehow, she could bring Father Grigori back. It was hard to believe that it had only been a little over a year since he had been murdered. It often felt like much longer, especially because Alexei hadn't gotten sick in that long. She supposed it much be some sort of record for him. But that record did nothing for them now that Alexei was suffering once again. Father Grigori had always known what to do to ease her brother's pain. Sometimes it seemed he had simply looked at him and suddenly the bleeding stopped.
What she wouldn't give for that now, she thought. Anastasia would have given up every material thing she owned, her music box included, if that meant Alexei would be healthy.
Dmitry was having horrifying flashbacks to Spala. He wasn't sure which one was worse in his mind, mostly because both were both so terrifying. This time at least Alexei was awake and could tell them how to help him. But on the other hand, there was no one to help them beside Botkin, and they barely had enough medicine to treat him adequately. Almost three weeks passed before Alexei started to show any signs that his body was reabsorbing the blood that had pooled in his joints.
The entire household seemed to release the breath they had been holding as one. Alexandra didn't look nearly as tortured during the day, and Nicholas didn't go through as many cigarettes as he had been. Smiles came easier, and even Tatiana's face looked a little less pinched.
Everyone began catching up on some much needed rest, and often Dmitry was left alone with Alexei in their room. He didn't mind at all; part of him was just glad to have his room back, as he'd practically been kicked out with Alexei so sick. More often than not he'd been forced to crash on the couch in the sitting room, trying hard not to feel like spoiled brat as he pined for his bed.
Alexei seemed glad for him to be back too, if the expression on his face was any indication. Though still slightly yellow and unable to unbend his leg, he looked more at ease than he had for weeks as Dmitry marched in with his pillow and blanket under his arm. Alexei had tried to apologize more than once about "kicking Dmitry out of the room," something that, heartwarming as it was, Dmitry had been quick to put a stop to. It wasn't as if Alexei had gotten sick on purpose, nor could he blame any of the family for wanting to sit with the boy all night.
"I still feel just awful about it," Alexei tried one more time after Dmitry had set up his bed again. "That couch is so hard and lumpy, I can't imagine you slept very well. And for weeks, too!"
"It's not a big deal," Dmitry managed to say with a smile, even as a knot in his back protested. "I probably slept better on the couch than I would have in here."
"But it's your room, too," Alexei said. "They could have moved me into Mama and Papa's room. You should have been able to stay."
"Now you sound like Tatiana." Alexei's nose wrinkled and Dmitry laughed. "Don't look at me like that, you do! I'll never understand it, I think. Both of you think of others first. Besides, no one was going to move you and risk hurting you more."
"Tatya's much bossier than I am," was the only thing Alexei could argue, much to Dmitry's amusement.
"That's debatable."
Dmitry never admitted it to Alexei, but while he was more comfortable back in his bed, he didn't sleep any better that night than he had on the couch. Alexei's labored breathing aside, Dmitry thought he would just about have a heart attack every time Alexei coughed even the tiniest bit. He very nearly got up in the middle of the night to make a hot cup of tea for the boy before he remembered that the guards would never permit it, plus that meant one less cup of tea they'd have for the next day. Instead, he silently piled blanket after blanket on top of Alexei and prayed the hardest he'd ever prayed for his cough to go away.
Anastasia watched from the doorway the next morning as Dmitry got a tongue lashing from her mother the next morning. She stifled her laughter as Dmitry tried to look appropriately ashamed as Alexandra yelled at him, reminding him that if he got sick it could make Alexei worse. She even went as far as to deposit all of the extra blankets on Dmitry's bed with a pointed look that plainly said they'd better stay there.
Anastasia snorted. She could see right through her mother's tirade. She suspected anyone else could, too. It was only when her mother turned and caught her standing in the doorway that Anastasia turned and fled back to the dining room.
Though Alexei was still weak and bedridden from blood loss, a few days later an air of excitement had taken over the household. With Easter approaching, Alexandra had asked Yakovlev if they might be allowed to attend Easter services at the nearby church. It would be a small favor by all accounts, and naturally they would be heavily guarded. It wasn't even a very far walk to the church. Yakovlev had said he would pass the request along to his higher ups, as that matter was out of his hands, but they all remained hopeful. Surely, no one could refuse them. It was the only thing they had asked for since the stoves, and it was far less bothersome to allow than the stoves had been.
All of her sisters were busy planning out what they might wear to the church. All their court dresses had, naturally, been left behind in the Winter Palace, and the clothes they did have with them had become rather threadbare in the months of captivity. Though none of them were vain by any standards, they did not want to show up to church wearing worn skirts and blouses. Anastasia wished they were allowed to at least send a member of their household out to town with some money to pick up new clothes, or even to mend the clothes they had, but there was no doubt in her mind that that request would be denied.
Instead, she and her sisters attempted to mend their clothes on their own. There wasn't much they could do, unfortunately, but it at least gave them something to focus on in the long hours of the day. She had already caught Maria lowering the hem on her shirt an inch or two, and her sister had smirked when she did the same. Their eagle-eyed Mama was bound to notice, but Anastasia was almost seventeen years old, and it was about time she was allowed to wear fashionable longer skirts. She was no longer a little girlie, and she certainly felt much older than the fifteen-year-old girl she had been when their house arrest had begun.
And if she silently hoped that someone might notice how grown up she looked in her longer skirt, well, that was her business.
So busy were they with their sewing that they were startled when Dr. Botkin appeared in their doorway, an uneasy look on his face. He appeared slightly out of breath, and for a moment Anastasia's heart stopped. She leapt to her feet, still clutching the skirt she had been mending, her heart in her throat.
"Is it-?"
Dr. Botkin shook his head. "No, child," he said. "Your brother is fine. But your parents asked me to come get all of you. They're waiting in their room."
Anastasia glanced at her sisters, but none of them seemed to have any idea of what was going on either. Tatiana moved first, as usual, putting her sewing down and walking briskly to the door. The rest of them followed, travelling as a pack down the hallway behind the doctor. One of her sisters slipped their hand into hers on the way to their parents' room, but they were all so intertwined that she couldn't guess whose it was. Instead, she slipped her free hand into someone else's and squeezed them both.
Their parents were waiting for them, and it was clear within seconds that they were anxious and agitated. Their father stood by the window, appearing to stare out though all they could see was the yard, stroking his beard relentlessly. Their mother was seating in the armchair, looking rather ashen and drawn.
"Papa?" Maria murmured. Alexandra looked up sharply.
"Close the door," she ordered, and Dr. Botkin complied as he bowed and backed out from the room. "We'll keep this short, so we don't arouse suspicion."
"What is going on?" Tatiana asked. "What's happened?"
Anastasia's mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios. Nana had died and they finally received word. Auntie Olga or Auntie Xenia had died. The Bolsheviks had killed the rest of their family and were coming for them next. They were being released, but forced to live in exile outside of Russia. Each scenario made the knot in her stomach grow tighter and tighter until she thought she might throw up.
The reality was much worse.
"Your father is being moved," Alexandra said in a monotone, growing even paler as she said the words. She continued speaking as her daughters yelled in shock and protest. "I must go with him. You girlies must stay here with Alexei. Yakovlev has given us his word that you will follow after the river thaws."
"But where are you going?" Maria wailed. Nicholas bowed his head.
"We don't know, yet," he said gravely. "Yakovlev doesn't even know."
"We leave tomorrow at 4 am," Alexandra said, standing suddenly. "We must pack. Someone has to break the news to Baby."
Anastasia slipped from the room and fled back to her own bedroom. She had the strange desire to crawl under her bed and hide, as if the news couldn't follow her there. She quashed the urge, mostly out of knowledge that she would never fit. Instead, she paced the room tugging anxiously at her chin-length hair.
She should be the one to tell Alexei. They all knew she was his favorite sister, he might take the news better if it came from her mouth. Or perhaps Dmitry could be the one to tell him. Somehow, Dmitry always knew what to say and how to say it to soften a blow as much as possible. She should go and find them, she knew. But instead she paced and paced.
Though she was not as affectionate toward her father as Maria was, she wanted to cling to him and beg him not to go just yet as she had when he left for the war. Yakovlev had promised that the children would follow after the river thawed, so she couldn't see why they couldn't wait and move them all together. It would be simpler, logistically, and it would be far less traumatizing for all of them.
And, if she was being honest, it frightened her to think of all of them alone in the house without her parents to protect them. Sure, they would have plenty of the household around to look out for them, but it wasn't the same. Her Papa might not be the Tsar anymore, but people did not forget the power he had once held so easily. He still held himself as an absolute ruler, and people couldn't help but listen to what he said. Without him, Anastasia feared what might become of her and her siblings.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed before Olga and Maria returned, both still looking a bit shell-shocked. Anastasia wished she was still small enough for Olga to hold her and tell her everything would turn out fine. She doubted, though, that even if she was still small enough, that Olga would be able to convince her anymore.
To her shock, upon entering the room Maria pulled her valise from under her bed and began throwing things into it haphazardly. Olga began helping her, mostly by rearranging the things in the suitcase so they were a little neater.
"What are you doing?" Anastasia cried, grabbing a blouse from her sister's hand as it was about to go into the suitcase.
"I'm going with Mama and Papa," Maria said in a wavering voice, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Tatya said it has to be me."
"Where is Tatiana now?" she asked, striding toward the door.
"Don't," Olga said. "It's been decided already."
"Well it can be undecided!" Anastasia yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "Tatiana can go with Mama and Papa instead."
"Tatiana and I have to stay to nurse Alexei, and take care of the household," Olga said gently.
"It's okay," Maria said weakly. "I want to go."
"But I don't want you to go!" Anastasia wailed. She threw her arms around Maria who stumbled a bit under her weight but hugged her back all the same. She cried, unabashed, against her closest sister's shoulder and after a few seconds she felt Maria's own tears wetting her collar.
