The following day Colonel Kobylinsky brought word that the family was safely on the train. The destination was not mentioned. Then came a short note from Mother addressed to us all. It said the journey had been very difficult but they were on the train. We tried hard to read between the lines but found nothing more there.
Day after day followed monotonously; anxiety made us too tired to think; and we lost interest in our studies. In spite of M. Gilliard’s and Mlle. Bittner’s gentle approach, we could not concentrate on our lessons.
We grieved for those we loved most. Every turn we made, the emptiness reminded us of the former times and we were unable to escape from that feeling. Our hearts beat painfully without refreshing news.
The Holy Week was unbearably sad. Almost four days passed without news. At last on Good Friday, Colonel Kobylinsky received a telegram. It read, “We are safe.”
The only comfort we had was when we noticed an improvement in Alexei’s health. We tried to amuse him, but he too had no thought beyond what was happening to Mother and Father. Now I realized why Mother had taken Marie with her. In case of separation from her husband, she would not be left alone. Marie had the patience of a saint, her presence would be comforting to both.
Olga was frail in nature. Mother had wished to spare her this trip if possible. Tatiana would take the responsibility for Alexei’s care. To alleviate the boredom, I had been given the responsibility of keeping the family accounts and soon assumed the role of family banker and bookkeeper. A special permit was required each day for our food purchases. Every evening, I entered in the ledger all our expenditures; General Tatishchev made me believe I was indispensable in that capacity.
Nagorny was a godsend to Alexei. He slept in Alexei’s room and kept the boy busy, amusing him with tales of his province in the Ukraine; of the great poet Taras Shevchenko, and he recited some pastoral and other poems, including “Naimichka” (The Maid), a beautiful poem. This great poet asked to be buried in the expanse of the golden wheat fields on the broad Dneiper River. Here Alexei used to wade and play in the sand at General Headquarters in Mogilev.
Our days were long, but the nights were even longer. On Easter Eve we were permitted to attend the midnight service in the big drawing room. It was a sad performance. We heard that the guards had completely disrobed the priest and searched him thoroughly. They searched the nuns, too, who came to sing in the service. They insulted them. During the service the guards were disturbing and hurled improper remarks. Had we known what would happen, we would not have requested the service at all.
Outside there was the constant sound of footsteps on the wooden sidewalk. Now that the snow had begun to melt, the garden was full of slush. Soon we were not allowed to go out at all. We waited anxiously for Alexei to get well and for the ice to melt on the river. Then we received a letter, ominously brief. It said the family had halted at Ekaterinburg. They were safe, but there was no detailed explanation. All three of them were accommodated in one room. Marie slept on the floor. We were grateful that Father, in particular, had not been taken to Moscow where he would have met a disastrous end, because he would never have agreed to sign a treaty harmful to his country.
We knew of Ekaterinburg from Father and General Tatishchev. We had passed around the city on the train en route to Tiumen the summer before.