“Was there not a governor by that name?” I asked. “I remembered meeting him and his daughter.”
“The very same,” my host agreed, and I felt a common bond with him.
Just then Marushka came in and announced everything was ready for me. I thanked my host and followed her.
The house contained two rooms besides the kitchen. The host slept in the room in which we had tea. Marushka and I occupied the other room. I slept on a cot, Marushka on a narrow wooden bed next to the wall. On a stand stood a basin, a pitcher with water, soap and towel, and a lantern. I discovered this house, like many others, did not have inside conveniences.
Next morning outside the window I saw a vegetable garden. A small dog completed the friendliness of the house. He would sniff around every time I bathed the wound on my leg. When I shed a tear, as I washed, he would look at me soulfully as if to sympathize. He licked my hands. I was drawn to him right away and could not entertain the thought that I might have to leave him some day. He followed me everywhere in the day time and slept by my cot at night, as if to protect me from danger. You might have thought he had always belonged to me.
In the morning my host said, “We will not hurry. You need the rest and time for your wound to heal better. We will remain here a week or so.”
I was glad to hear this for he had already made me feel so comfortable in mind and body that I was glad to wait. He seemed to want to talk. After weeks of silence it was a treat to converse.
He said his name was Alexander, that he was an officer during the war. He had received the St. George’s Cross for his distinguished service in the Russian Army. He had also been decorated with the medal of St. Vladimir, 3rd class, usually given to commandants of large units. He knew my Father’s mother, and on one occasion had met us children at G.H.Q. when he had come to see Father.
During the war he was wounded in the abdomen and was nursed at the hospital in Kiev or Rovno where he had met my Aunt Olga. One evening he talked of my Father, saying His Majesty was kind, really too kind. He was so patient and understanding through his banishment. Only Christ could understand his suffering. Their Majesties suffered a long time. He bent his head and tears rolled down his cheeks. “It is all finished for all of us and for Russia.”
I remembered my Father’s tears on that final night of July 16th-17th after his talk with Yurovsky.