ROMANOV AUTUMN
Chapter Fifty-Two
Mac remained bedridden for a
week, kept constant company by Raisa. Both girls noticed how much weaker Jack
grew by the day, to the point that he would merely collapse into bed and sleep
until morning. At one point, his cough became so bad due to the smoke and fumes
from the factory that Mac thought she would have to send for the physician.
When the town taxes went up, so did rent for the tiny shack. Unfortunately, the
money Mr. Rockefeller had provided for the Dawsons did not last long, and food
was scarce on a regular basis.
Raisa took to showing Mac how to
hunt for food throughout the city, especially during the crowded parts of the
day when the market crowds were at their height. Mac was getting quite good at
snatching food from unsuspecting vendors, while Raisa distracted them with
innocent conversation. She never informed her father of how the icebox remained
full enough for comfort after a while, even if the food was not of the best
possible quality.
"Papa has to get out of the
factory," Mac pondered as the girls strolled along one of the main city
streets. She skipped along the sidewalk, occasionally kicking at a loose stone,
and watched as it rolled several feet ahead of her.
"How?" Raisa asked, and
Mac shrugged. "You know my father is always keeping an eye open for better
work, but there is never any! Too bad the strike didn't work four years
ago."
Mac raised an eyebrow, confused.
"What strike?" she asked, still amazed by Raisa's almost fluent
English. She did have trouble stringing certain phrases together without
thinking about them first, but Mac found it hard to believe she could barely
understand her friend in the beginning.
"I was only a baby,"
Raisa explained. "Papa said...the factory workers went on strike, and
marched in hundreds to the palace. A line of guards started shooting at them!
Lots of people here hate the Tsar, because he didn't do anything."
Mac frowned, shuddering at the
thought of bullets whizzing past the heads of innocent people. She sighed and
leaned against the stone wall of a building, folding her arms. It was a
beautiful day; the sky was deep sapphire, with hardly a cloud visible. Bright
rays of golden sunshine caused the golden dome rooftops to shimmer magically,
and Mac could not imagine living anywhere else. Russia felt like home despite
the hard life she and her father were forced to live, and she wondered if it
was because her mother had been born here.
"Oh, look!" Raisa
suddenly pointed, and Mac followed her friend's finger to a particular set of
double gates. "It's the winter palace!"
They darted across the street and
peered through, trying to catch a glimpse of a royal family member. "Have
you ever seen the king?" Mac asked, glancing at her friend, and Raisa
rolled her eyes.
"He's not a king," she
spat. "He's the Tsar."
"Oh." Mac blushed,
feeling stupid, and realized she could easily fit her head through the space in
the bars.
"And no," Raisa
continued. "We have a saying here...God is too high, and the Tsar is too
far away. It is nearly impossible to get a meeting with him!"
Mac could hear laughter in the
distance, and her heart nearly stopped in mid-beat. "Someone's coming!"
she exclaimed, and Raisa grinned.
"Would you dare to slip
through the bars, touch that bush, and come back?" she asked in a whisper.
Mac stared at her.
"You want me to go in
there?" she hissed. "I'll be in such trouble if I'm caught!"
"You wouldn't get caught if
you were fast enough," Raisa insisted. "Go on, unless you're
scared!" She made a face, and Mac narrowed her eyes, folding her arms
across her chest.
"I'm not scared of
nothing!" she argued, and took a deep breath, peering through the bars
again. She felt butterflies dancing in her stomach, and prayed her feet would
cooperate. If someone caught her on the palace grounds, Mac was quite certain
her father would never speak to her again. She wondered if he would even try to
get her out of prison!
Cautiously, Mac stepped onto the
grass between the bars and felt a strange power wash over her. She was probably
closer to the palace than any peasant in St. Petersburg!
Glancing over her shoulder with a
confident grin to Raisa, Mac dashed across the wide, sloping lawn to the hedge
that separated her from Tsarskoe Selo. The laughter she heard from behind the
gate grew louder with each step, and she attempted to break apart the branches
so she could see through them.
"Look 'round the
hedge!" Raisa hissed, cupping her hand over her mouth for emphasis, and
Mac swallowed, grateful she hadn't eaten much that day.
She leaned sideways and caught
sight of two girls playing badminton. They wore matching white gowns and large,
frilly hats, and Mac had a horrible realization that they must be the Tsar's
daughters! She didn't know how many children he had; these two appeared to be
at several years older than herself.
"I challenge you to another
round," the black-haired princess demanded, and the blonde gave a huff,
putting her hands on her hips.
"We've played quite enough,
don't you think? Mama is going to wonder what has happened to us!"
"Just one more hit, Olga. I
do not think Mama would object!"
Mac held her breath as Olga
prepared to strike at the ball she held, and before she knew what was
happening, it flew over the hedge and landed at Mac's feet.
She froze in place, knowing at
once she should run for her life.
"Mac!" Raisa called
anxiously, and began waving her hands in the air. "Come on! Get out!"
Mac looked up just in time to see
Olga come around the side of the hedge, and both girls stood gaping at one
another.
Mac begged her feet to move, but
they wouldn't, and she saw Raisa running at top speed away from the palace
gates. No doubt she's gone to warn my father, Mac thought, her cheeks
growing hot with humiliation, wishing Olga would say something.
"How did you get in
here?" the blonde girl demanded, her deep blue eyes narrowing. The
badminton ball lay forgotten on the grass, and Mac swallowed, quite sure she
would be sick at any moment.
"I..." she began,
realizing at once that any explanation she gave would sound ridiculous. Mac was
in deep trouble, and she knew it.
"Where have you gotten to,
Olga? Oh, dear..." The girl with black hair stopped beside her sister, and
the two stood towering over the strange child, confusion written all over their
faces.
"Why won't you answer
me?" Olga demanded.
"Don't frighten her,"
the other girl warned, and Olga rolled her eyes. "Are you lost?"
"Clearly not," Olga
snapped. "Everyone knows how to get here. How convenient that she's small
enough to fit through the bars!"
Mac looked from one sister to the
other, quite close to fainting. She was furious with Raisa for not backing her
up, though Mac knew she should not have agreed to the dare, but she didn't want
to look like a coward, either.
"Perhaps we should bring her
to Papa, and he will know what to do," the other girl suggested, and Mac's
eyes widened.
"Oh, please don't," she
begged, and Olga stared.
"So, you do know how to
speak!" she spat. "You do realize you are trespassing on private
property, and had any of our guards seen you, they would have taken you
straight to jail!"
"I'm sorry," Mac
whimpered. "I was just..."
"Tatiana, you know Father would
want to see her. We can't risk anyone sneaking in here without permission. She
could be trying to find a weak spot for worker revolt!"
Tatiana nodded at last, and each
took Mac by the hand, dragging her towards the front entrance of the Alexander
Palace.