The Samovar Girl

by Frederick Ferdinand Moore

Katerin struggled along, the great boots tiring her, for they were heavy and ill-fitting, and where the snow was packed hard at the street crossings, the boots slipped under her and with the heavy bundle she found it hard to walk. But she knew her father could not help her if they were to keep up the pretense that they were peasants. But Michael slowed his pace at times to let Katerin come up with him.

They reached the church, and stopped before it a few minutes to rest. They prayed and crossed themselves and lingered as long as they dared, for though they were both tired and cold, they hoped to get to the hotel before the fog was dispersed by the sun. They were fortunate that so few people were abroad.

“Have good heart,” muttered Michael. “It is not far now to the hotel, and the roads will be better.”

“The boots make me slow,” whispered Katerin. “But do not think of me. Save your strength, for I can walk all day. And we must not appear to be in a hurry.”

“It is plain that no one has suspected us,” said Michael, peering back through the fog to make sure that they were not being trailed.

“The test will come at the hotel,” said Katerin. “There we may encounter spies, so we must be most careful.”

“It is too early for many officers of the Ataman to be about,” said Michael. “But there is safety in boldness.”

They went on. Soon they passed the ruin of the great house which had been their home in the years while Michael was Governor. Only one wall stood, black and charred and penciled with white in crevices of the timbers where the powdered snow had sifted in. The vacant windows yawned upon them, showing a dismal background of drifting fog. In that house they had lived as rulers of the Valley of Despair.

In time they came to the upper end of the Sofistkaya where a road turned off to the prison on the hill. They moved down past the big store which had been looted thoroughly by the Bolsheviki and the exiles who had been freed from the prison after the fall of the throne. The great windows along the street were boarded up, and a pair of Japanese sentries stood by the entrance. From the roof flew a red and white flag which marked the headquarters of the Japanese commander.

Next they passed the wrecked bank. It was there that Michael’s partner had been slain while attempting to save what was left of the bank’s money after the first big raid. The windows were also boarded, so that in case of another uprising by revolutionists the building could not be used as a rifle-nest for snipers.