“They are fine and healthy,” I said, though the panic was increasing. I didn’t know how to make any other plans to get supplies.
“Good, good. Where is Yermak? I thought he’d be here to help unload.”
“He took my stepfather somewhere. I’ll help.”
We had a whole system worked out where Ivan would place the wagon so that he could unload the wood he’d brought for the house, and then slide out the crates of food to be carried into the carriage house without any neighbors seeing what we were doing. I didn’t trust some of those people. I wasn’t even sure I trusted Archer not to report us if he saw.
Yermak had made a special cupboard for the food inside the carriage house so I could take it into the hospital bit by bit as if I’d bought it at a shop along my way. The cook at the hospital knew where the food came from and wouldn’t report us, but since there were others in and out of the building all day, it was better to be cautious.
When we had finished, Ivan climbed back up in the sleigh and jerked his head toward the house. “Old Archer is watching us out the window. I see his face is still as sour as vinegar.”
“Yes, he doesn’t change.” I reached up and put my hand on Ivan’s sleeve. It would give Archer even more to grumble about. “Thank you,” I said. “Stay safe.”
“I will. God watches over those who are careful.” He flicked the reins. “Wake up, old boy.”
As I walked back to the house, I glanced up at the schoolroom windows, wondering how everyone was doing. Dmitri stood at one, looking down at me.
I forced myself to smile and give a quick wave. Even as I scolded myself for being so paranoid about the informants for the Okhrana, a shiver still ran through me. Just exactly who was Dmitri Antonovich, and why was he in our house?
Chapter Six
ARCHER WAS GONE by the time I went back inside, and Zarja jumped at the chance to talk about Dmitri.
“I only caught a glimpse of him, but he’s a fine-looking young man,” Zarja said. “Those eyes! I’m sure many young girls have gotten lost in them.”
She was right—that is, if a girl wanted to let herself get lost in them and had time to think about that sort of thing.
“Lottie, did you hear me? You don’t look like you are listening.”
“What?” I asked.
“I said he doesn’t look much like a tutor. The ones who have been here before couldn’t withstand a strong gust of wind, much less your brothers’ antics. Maybe this one will stay.”
“I love your optimism,” I said. “But I don’t share it.” I wanted to chat, but I was already late. “I’m sorry; I have to go. I have to pick up a few things at some shops, and then they are expecting me at the hospital.” I got a basket and then went back outside to load it up with some food from Ivan’s delivery.
I decided I wouldn’t go the back way. I’d let the man in front of the house see me. Better to act as if everything were normal.
When I went out the front door, I pretended to ignore him as I walked away, though I did look back when I turned a corner. I breathed a little easier to see he hadn’t followed me.
My errands and the walk to the hospital took longer than I had planned. The basket was filled with a cabbage, some flour, and some eggs, so it was heavy, and I had to avoid some streets I normally took because so many troops were out practicing.
I stopped into the pharmacy that supplied us with some of our medicines. I’d made an arrangement with the pharmacist to give him English lessons in exchange for putting us at the top of the list for new deliveries. He wasn’t in, so I left a message with a young man stocking the shelves.
“Could you tell him Charlotte from the hospital stopped in? We’re running short on hydrogen peroxide.” We were about to run out, and I’d hoped to hear that a new supply would be arriving shortly.
“I’ll tell him,” the man said.
I continued on, trying to walk faster, thinking I was going to be late. I passed one bakery with a huge line of women standing patiently out in front. It seemed that every day the lines for bread grew longer, and our ration cards only allowed a small amount at a time. We were lucky Ivan brought us enough flour that the cook at the hospital could make bread for the patients. We couldn’t ask to use the patients’ own ration cards. They wanted their families to have them.
When I was almost at the hospital, I heard shouts and saw a crowd gathered in front of a bookstore, one I’d been at before. Rivkin’s was owned by the parents of one of Raisa’s friends. It was full of books in several different languages and very popular with university students. I pushed my way forward to get a better view. A policeman was trying to keep people back from the entrance. I held the basket to my chest, dreading to find out what was happening.
Two other policemen dragged a boy out the door while a woman followed after them, begging for them to let him go. The boy was struggling, though he was so slender they had no trouble holding on to him. He had blood running out of his nose and his face was all swollen. I couldn’t see his features very well, but I thought I knew him. My legs began to tremble.
“I told his mother last week they’d come for him eventually,” I heard a woman say.
“What did he do?” a boy asked.
“He spoke out against the czar, and I’m sure he’s been associating with radicals. He comes and goes at all hours of the day and night. He should have just stayed with his studies. Now his mother may never see him again.”
A third policeman raised his truncheon and hit the young man. The prisoner screamed out in pain and raised his head. I did know him, Samuel Rivkin. He’d been part of our group that had met to go on picnics on the Summer Islands in the Neva. I hadn’t seen him since I’d stopped going to school.
“Samuel!” I yelled, trying to get through the crowd. They couldn’t be taking Samuel away. He wouldn’t harm anyone, and he was younger than me. He was Miles’s age.
“Be quiet! Don’t draw attention to yourself!” a man near me said. He and the other people close by drew away from me as if I had suddenly developed a contagious disease.
Samuel turned his head in my direction, his eyes searching the crowd. When he saw me, he called out, “Charlotte! Charlotte! Help!” The policeman clubbed him again, and he sagged down between the two holding him up.
I took another step forward without thinking. An old woman grabbed my arm and held on to it with a tight grip. “You can’t help. Stay here or they will arrest you, too.”
Before I could decide what to do, the two policemen shoved him in an automobile, then got in after him and drove away. The third policeman said something to the woman who had come out of the store. It had to be Samuel’s mother. She stuck out her chin and replied to him, but I couldn’t make out the words. He hit her then, so hard she fell down against the side of the door frame. It all happened so fast. I hadn’t thought he would hit her.
The crowd surged forward, shouting angry words, no longer so afraid. I found myself moving with them, shouting too. The policeman turned to face us, raising his truncheon and yelling for us to move aside. He pushed through the crowd and then hurried down the street, looking back over his shoulder.