ROMANOV AUTUMN
Chapter Fifty-One

The next couple of weeks were the longest Jack ever faced. Neither his body nor his mind took very kindly to factory work, and what made him exceptionally angry was how the manager treated his daughter. Mr. Popov used harsh language on his adult and child employees alike, sending Mac into tears more than once. After the second incident, Jack demanded to speak with his supervisor in private, knowing it would be a very tense situation. Mr. Popov understood some English, but Mac hid with Raisa as the two of them watched the men shouting at each other in English and Russian.

"I am not going to stand here and watch you treat my little girl like a slave!" Jack spat. "She's four years old! You can beat me all you want, but don't you ever lay a hand on her again. Do you understand me?"

Mac held her breath as Mr. Popov gave Jack a belt across the face, causing the younger man to stumble in surprise.

"Oh, no," Raisa breathed as Jack managed to straighten up, the corner of his lip bleeding slightly.

"Papa!" Mac sobbed, and Jack looked at her, his face white as a sheet. Mr. Popov demanded they get back to work, threatening to fire Mac if she made one more error.

Jack encouraged her to follow him back to their bench, shooting a final nasty look in his supervisor's direction. They worked in silence for the remainder of the afternoon, and by the time they returned home, both were too exhausted to worry about a hot meal.

"I'm so sorry, honey," Jack whispered as they lay on top of the covers, listening to the sounds of the peasants talking to one another, laughing or shouting in the distance. "You're a child...you should be outside playing all day in the sun, not cooped up in a stuffy factory for fourteen hours a day."

Mac cuddled up beside him and used his stomach as a pillow. "But I like being with you, Papa," she replied. "I don't care about Mr. Popov. He's just stupid."

Jack chuckled, giving a sniff, and held her close. "I want what's best for you, pumpkin. If I followed my conscience, I'd bring you straight back to your grandparents."

Mac gasped and shook her head dramatically. "No!" she exclaimed. "I won't go...I'd rather work in the factory!"

Jack kissed the top of her head and sighed. "I know you would enjoy yourself a lot more if you were able to run around in the fresh air." He struggled to sit up, his jaw still aching from Mr. Popov's fist, and he flexed it carefully.

"But I wouldn't," Mac insisted. "I'd be sad because I wouldn't have you there. No one else would play pirates with me!"

Jack stared at her, startled...he'd only played pirates with Mac once, and apparently she took it very much to heart. She was a child with a great imagination, who loved to make up stories and attempt to make them come to life.

"Well, I'll pull you straight out of there before Mr. Popov can fire you. I won't have that on my conscience." Jack kissed her forehead. "We really should eat something. Going all day without a meal is not healthy." He stood and went to their icebox, realizing with a start that it was empty. "Blast." He rubbed a hand over his face, and Mac stared.

"No more?" she asked, dashing over, and he sighed.

"Nothing." He looked down and cleared his throat. "We'll have to go to market before going to the factory in the morning."

"I'll go," Mac offered. Jack poured them each a cup of water and she joined him on the mattress again.

"No...it's out of the question. You're much too young." He took a sip from the tin mug, and Mac pouted.

"But I know more Russian than you do," she argued. "Let me go, just this once. Please?" she begged, bouncing up and down, and Jack raised an eyebrow at her enthusiasm. He was more concerned for her safety, not wanting some crazy person to steal her away. "Raisa can go with me! She knows St. Petersburg better than anybody!"

Jack laughed. "I find that hard to believe," he admitted, and Mac gave a pout. "Well, I don't like the idea at all, allowing you to go off on your own. How will you find Raisa in time?"

"She's always out exploring before the sun comes up. She told me," Mac explained, and Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'll give it some thought. I don't want to make a decision at this hour." His stomach growled painfully, and he couldn't help but remember his time with Mr. Rockefeller in New York. Food was always available, whether it was a mealtime or not. Margarita often slipped him a biscuit or a freshly baked cookie in her vain attempts at fattening him up, and he realized now just how much he missed that life.

Mac finished the last of her water quite quickly, her throat having been rather sore over the past few days. After allowing her father to give her a bath, the two of them once again prepared for bed.

That night, Mac experienced a new dream about the woman she swore to be her mother, only this time Mac was onstage in front of thousands of people. She joined hands with the dark-haired woman, and both twirled exceptionally fast, the sound of music filling the air. Mac felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle when she realized with a start that she was dancing alone...her mother's voice was only a distant echo now. She could feel the sweat pouring down her face and her head spun.

"Mama! Mama!" Mac cried, grasping the air, and came up empty. "Mama!"

Jack awoke to Mac's distress and immediately shook her awake. "Honey, it's only a dream...sweetheart, please..." he begged, smoothing her face, and realized with a start she was burning up. "Oh, Mac," he gasped, and immediately lit a candle, encouraging her to sit when she woke, shivering under the covers.

"Papa? I feel funny," she whispered, and Jack immediately felt his stomach churn with anxiety. Mac had seemed fine earlier, tired, but both of them were exhausted from the exceptionally long work days.

"What hurts, sweetheart?" he asked.

"My throat and my stomach," she whimpered, and he immediately pulled the blankets down halfway, not wanting to give her anymore heat than necessary.

"Have they been bothering you for very long?" He eased her into a sitting position, and she shrugged.

"Don’t know," she muttered. He blew out his breath, trying to calm himself down so he could decide what to do next. He didn't know where the nearest doctor resided, and the last thing he wanted was to go into the city with such little understanding of the Russian language.

"All right...well, I'll fetch the doctor as soon as the sun comes up. For now, try to rest, and I'll see if I can't bring your temperature down."

Mac moaned with discomfort as he stood to get a cool cloth and leaned heavily against the doorway. The street seemed so empty at night...even moreso than during the day, and he felt helpless.

The next couple of hours were quite difficult. Mac tossed and turned, coughing, wheezing, and shaking continuously from chills.

At first light, Jack went into the village with Mac bundled in his arms--he did not want to leave her alone in the house.

Several attempts later, he managed to find the town physician, who diagnosed Mac with a case of influenza. He recommended she be kept at home in bed, with someone to care for her at all times.

Jack felt an immense sense of relief that the town doctor could speak fluent English, though his accent was thick and sometimes difficult to understand.

"I have a feeling she's been trying to stay strong for me," Jack admitted when Dr. Miklov asked why he had taken such a long time to bring her in. "We've only just come here from America about a month ago, and are working for Mr. Popov at the shoe factory."

Dr. Miklov shook his head with a frown and gave Mac's cheek a gentle tap. "That would explain quite a bit, Mr. Dawson. In such tight quarters, disease spreads like wildfire. I would highly recommend keeping her home for the next week or two, until her fever breaks. If she worsens, please, do not hesitate to send for me."

Jack nodded in understanding, though he felt even worse than before at the current situation. If he did not appear for work, he would indeed be fired. The money Mr. Rockefeller had given them was not going to last forever, and in fact most of it had gone towards the rent for the shack they lived in.

"All right, doctor...thank you very much." Jack paid the physician, and after accepting the medicine bottles provided, carefully carried Mac home again.

Raisa was waiting for them in the doorway, her dark eyes open wide with surprise. She questioned Jack in Russian, and Mac looked at her wearily.

"I'm sorry, dear...I can't understand you," Jack apologized, putting Mac straight to bed.

"Ill?" Raisa asked, struggling to find the correct word in English.

"I'm afraid so, yes," Jack replied. "She will not be working today."

"Not work?" Raisa cocked her head to one side. "You work?"

"I have no choice," Jack said.

"I stay," Raisa insisted.

"Oh, no...there's no need for you to be sick as well. Please, I will find someone to look after my daughter."

"I do speak little English," Raisa admitted shyly. "Not well, but I do not dare speak it at the factory."

Jack stared at her. "I see!" He raised an eyebrow. "Raisa, I appreciate the offer very much to stay with Mac, but I would rather not risk your health."

"I have been ill already this year," Raisa promised. "And I know what to do for her."

"Well..." Jack cleared his throat. "I suppose I have no other option. Raisa, please do not hesitate to fetch me if she becomes worse. Thank you."

"Da," Raisa replied, nodding respectfully, and watched as Jack went to give his daughter a kiss on the forehead, promising he would be home as soon as he could.

"I love you, Papa," Mac whispered, and he immediately embraced her.

Jack gave Raisa a pat on the head before leaving for the factory, shooting one last wistful glance over his shoulder. When he was gone, Mac watched as Raisa hurried over to the side of the bed, peering closely at her friend.

"You are not well, no?" she asked, and Mac sniffed, rubbing at her nose.

"No," she muttered. "I'm so hot, but cold, too."

"I am sorry I did not tell you I speak English," Raisa apologized, "but Papa made me promise. He is ashamed."

"Why?" Mac asked, and Raisa shrugged.

"I talk to strangers too much." She blushed, and Mac giggled, which only sent her into a fit of coughing. "Oh, dear. Then...you must rest. I have cared for my baby brother before. Measles. I know exactly what to do."

Mac felt her eyelids drooping considerably, and eventually could not hold them open any longer. She listened as Raisa puttered around the shack, gathering the items provided by Dr. Miklov.

"Do you like playing pirates?" Mac asked once the two of them were sitting up that evening after the sun had gone down. Jack still hadn't returned, but Mac didn't mind his absence too much. She still felt awful, but with the medicines Raisa had her take, the symptoms dwindled.

"Oh, yes!" Raisa exclaimed.

"Would you play with me sometime?" Mac asked hopefully, just as the door opened and her father stepped in. He looked exhausted, his face filthy from using the fire to help meld the leather. "Hello, Papa," she announced, and Jack smiled faintly, coming to feel her forehead.

"Well, you are still feverish, but you are looking quite a bit better. Raisa, thank you for taking care of her today. Your father was proud."

"Yes," Raisa replied. "Mac says you play pirates with her!"

Jack sat down for a moment to rest his aching feet and leaned back against the small desk chair.

"I'm afraid I've only played pirates once or twice, honey."

Mac smiled. "What did Mr. Popov say when I did not come with you?" she asked, and Jack cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid you will not be coming back with me," he admitted. "Nor Raisa."

"Oh!" Raisa exclaimed.

"We're not allowed there anymore?" Mac asked, and Jack shook his head.

"I'm afraid not," he replied, and Raisa chewed on her lower lip.

"Papa must be furious with me," she breathed, and Jack ruffled her hair.

"Quite the contrary," he corrected. "Mac, I understand you are feeling a little better, but I do not want you to get out of bed for any reason over the next couple of days. Am I understood? I know it will be tempting."

Mac smiled innocently at him and promised she wouldn't.

"Good." Jack checked the time and encouraged Raisa to run along home before it grew too late.

"Night is my favorite time in the city," Raisa spoke up. "I enjoy wandering the streets when there are not so many people."

"All the same," Jack replied, smiling kindly. "I would rather you be safe than regret it later." He thanked her again for helping with Mac, who watched with sad eyes as her friend hurried through the front door.

"Did Mr. Popov hit you again?" Mac asked, her eyes wide as Jack removed his vest, massaging his shoulders and hands wearily.

"No, he didn't," Jack answered.

"Good." Mac yawned loudly, pulling the covers close to her neck. She still felt uncomfortably chilly, but the fever that had raged through her body the previous night had dwindled considerably after Raisa's ministrations. Jack watched as his daughter rested, a thoughtful, contemplative expression taking over his exhausted face. There did not seem to be a way out of their current situation anytime soon...not with money as tight as it happened to be at the moment. Ship tickets cost a fortune, and Jack had gotten lucky with his previous voyages.

I can only hope God is looking out for us, he thought, sitting down in the desk chair and preparing for another endless night.

Chapter Fifty-Two
Stories