A Waltz with Traitors

She had to be sensible. Long strides, steady pace. Like someone rushing to get out of the cold. She’d escaped the night before; she could do it again. They weren’t looking for someone in a groom’s well-worn jacket, nor someone with such untidy hair. It had been dark in the courtyard. She doubted they’d remember if her skirt was black or gray or navy.

She prayed for divine aid. Prayers hadn’t helped her the day before, but she was desperate, and Mama said God was always there, even when it was too dark to see Him. Nadia turned one corner, then another. When she looked back, she didn’t recognize anyone. She kept up her pace for another block, and before her lay the train depot.

Swarms of soldiers moved about. Civilians too, but they were the minority. A group of armed men marched past. Those ribbons on their caps—they were part of the Czechoslovak Legion.

The women in the bakery had said the Czechs and Slovaks were withdrawing. If Nadia could somehow get a ride with them . . .

It was so strange to be a beggar. No money, no family. She was completely dependent on the generosity of others, and so far that day, she’d seen little kindness. But the soldiers she’d met when she’d fallen off Konstantin had been decent men. Probably low-born, ill-educated, and poor, but willing to help. Would they offer help again? Passage out of the Ukraine was a significantly larger favor than help back onto a horse.

She pushed into the crowd. Even if she couldn’t find help, it would be hard for the Bolsheviks to see her among the commotion of the train depot. The Czechs and Slovaks had discipline, making the tumult orderly. They reminded her of a guards unit, but elite Russian units like that had all but disappeared, destroyed by a war, a pair of revolutions, and a series of mass desertions.

Luck was with her—Dalek Pokorný stood before a short, powerfully built man with dark eyes and dark hair. Dalek nodded and then marched off. He hadn’t saluted, but something about the motion suggested he was following orders. She peered more closely at the man with the dark features: strong jaw, upright bearing, and a no-nonsense appearance. A typical gymnastyorka-style tunic with a Sam Browne belt. Polished boots. An officer, unless the silver chevrons on his sleeve were lying.

She ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it so she’d be more presentable. The officer called to another man, who came to him, listened, nodded, and also walked off. Then another man spoke with him.

Nadia glanced around, scanning faces, hoping she wouldn’t see the Cheka agents. While in Piryatin, she would live in terror. She needed to get out. She waited while the officer spoke with yet another man, then she stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir.”

“Yes?” His dark eyes turned on her.

“How might one secure passage with your army to Russia? I’m anxious to leave, and though my skills are modest, I am willing to do whatever is asked.” That wasn’t entirely true. There were some things she wouldn’t do, but she was desperate enough to offer menial labor. And she had useful abilities. “I’m a trained nurse.” As a volunteer, she’d received a shortened course of instruction, but she’d proven herself valuable in a Petrograd hospital for wounded officers.

The man looked past her, annoyance on his face. “I have an entire army to evacuate, part of which is still engaged with the enemy, and I have very few trains with which to do it. I also have a very large, very formidable German Army bearing down on me. I barely have space for members of the Czechoslovak Legion and their families. I don’t have room for anyone else.”

“But you don’t understand. The Bolsheviks killed my parents. They almost killed me. They will if they catch me. And I’ve done nothing wrong.” Nadia hated to beg, but more than that, she dreaded falling into the Cheka’s hands again. “Please.”

The officer’s stern look softened, then another man ran up to him, and the officer’s attention shifted away from her.

“Excuse me, miss.”

Nadia turned to the new voice. The man seemed familiar—one of the soldiers who’d been shaving when she’d been thrown from her horse. “Yes?”

He motioned her away from the thickest part of the crowd and pulled at the brim of his cap. “Corporal Jakub Zeman, at your service. I don’t suppose you remember, but—”

“I do remember you, Corporal.” She hadn’t remembered his name among all the others thrown at her that day, but he didn’t need to know that. She would remember it now.

“I overheard your conversation with Lieutenant Kral. And I have a proposal.”

She waited. Would Corporal Zeman show her mercy? Hide her in one of the trains?

“Kral will only take members of the legion and their families. So marry me. Become my family.”

Had she heard him right? “But I don’t know you.”

He shrugged. “You can stay here, then. I don’t suppose the Bolsheviks will offer you a better deal, but perhaps the German Army will show mercy. Doubtful, but it’s your choice. You want a ticket out of here. I want someone to wash my clothes and cook my food and warm my bed. Seems to me like it’s a match.”

Nadia took a step back. He wanted her to marry him? To sleep with him? She didn’t mind the idea of cooking and washing in exchange for passage—she didn’t know how to cook or clean, but she was willing to learn—but the rest? He wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t particularly refined either. Nadia Ilyinichna Linskaya, married to a lowly enlisted man? Her father would turn in his grave, if he were buried. But that was the problem: Papa was dead, and that left her with nothing. Which was worse: marrying a stranger or falling into the hands of the Cheka? There was another option: she could set off on foot. But with no money and few skills, she doubted she’d get far.

If the Bolsheviks caught her, she could expect death. If she set out on her own, the result would likely be the same. Zeman offered an alternative, but he didn’t offer her a chance to be a wife. He offered her a chance to be a slave. And yet, if the choice was between death and slavery, was slavery so bad? Her father and her mother had been willing to leave Russia to save her life, to preserve a future for their family line. She owed it to them to honor their wishes and live, even if it involved a distasteful marriage.

Corporal Zeman narrowed his eyes at something behind her. “What are you looking at, Sedlák? She wants out of the Ukraine, and Kral doesn’t have room for anyone but family. I’m giving her a way out.”

Nadia turned and recognized the man who’d found Konstantin for her. Apparently, that day hadn’t been the only time something had prevented Filip Sedlák from shaving, because his cheeks were again covered in stubble.

Zeman continued. “You’re just jealous because I thought of it first. I remember that day. We all agreed she’s pleasant on the eyes.”

“I remember commenting that she rode a fine horse. I don’t recall saying anything about the physical appearance of our grand duchess.”

Grand duchess? She’d told them quite clearly she was not a grand duchess. Yet the playful tone suggested Filip wasn’t serious, nor did it sound as if he were mocking her.

Zeman rolled his eyes. “For a sharpshooter, you have extremely poor vision. Or extremely poor taste.”

Filip stared down Zeman and motioned toward the officer. “Kral wants you. A problem with one of the engines.”

Zeman frowned, then took Nadia by the shoulders. His grasp was firm and possessive, and it reminded her of the man who’d attacked her. “Think it over. I doubt you’ll get a better offer. If I were you, I’d not let me out of your sight.” He left then, weaving his way among the crowd.

Nadia watched him go. He would be better than the men who’d killed her parents. But she could never love someone who would race into marriage with so little forethought and so much greed. Marrying him would get her out of the Ukraine, but then she’d be his wife until one of them died. It would save her life and doom it, all with one ceremony.

“He’s not always as bad as he seems,” Filip said. “He’s a skilled mechanic. We have 6,000 miles ahead of us, so he’ll be in high demand.”

In so much demand that he’d never bed his wife? No, that was too much to hope for. “So you suggest I marry him?” She turned to face Filip. He wasn’t any handsomer than Corporal Zeman, but something about him made him seem less intimidating, like a falcon instead of a vulture.

“No.” Filip hesitated, then spoke softly. “If you need a husband to escape, you could marry me instead.”

“And why should I choose you instead of him?” He didn’t make her as nervous as Zeman did, but that was hardly grounds for marriage.

“Well, I won’t make you my slave. I’ll expect you to pull your own weight, but if you need out, we can marry, and when we get to Vladivostok or Paris or wherever it is you want to go, we can get an annulment. You’ll have your escape, and then you’ll have your life.”

A temporary marriage. “Would we be able to get an annulment?”

“I imagine so. Are you Christian?”

“Yes.” Her Tatar ancestors had converted centuries ago.

“Orthodox, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Catholic. If we never consummate the marriage, then I imagine the annulment will be a simple matter.”

He wouldn’t expect her to—how had Zeman put it?—warm his bed? She wasn’t experienced when it came to marital relations, and the attack last night had left her wary in the extreme. Filip Sedlák suddenly sounded like a far better choice than Jakub Zeman.

“Why would you help me?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes looked past her, not focused on the here and now. “Because Corporal Zeman reminds me of my sister’s husband, and he’s brought her very little happiness. No woman deserves a marriage like that.”

He seemed sincere, and she was desperate. “If I agreed, what would be expected of me?”

“What are your skills?”

“Well, I’m not an accomplished cook. And I don’t have much experience with laundry or cleaning.” She’d never even tried. “But I speak several languages: Russian, French, English, and German. I can read and write in all of them, of course. And I was a volunteer Sister of Mercy most of the war.”

“That could be useful.” His thumb rubbed against the muzzle of the rifle he carried. “Are you willing to learn the rest? The cooking and the cleaning?”

“I am.”

“I imagine you’re accustomed to others serving you. You’ll have to give that up. I won’t expect you to do my work for me, but I can’t do yours for you either.”

Her former life was gone; she knew that down to her bones. “If you will be patient with me, I will strive to do my share.”

He nodded. “That’s good enough for me.”

“And . . .” Dare she bring it up? Better to make it clear than to leave it vague. “You won’t expect me to warm your bed?”

“No. It will be a perfect sham marriage. Lasting only as long as you want it to. There aren’t enough train carriages for couples to have their own space, so you’ll sleep in a car full of women, and I’ll sleep in a car full of men.”

She studied his face. It was pleasant enough. He seemed honest, but could she trust her instincts and rely on him? He’d followed her home . . . to protect her? He claimed his current offer was one of kindness. Surely he would expect something in return. But if he kept his word, she would scrub his shirts and learn to cook his favorite meals and do everything she could to ensure he didn’t regret his charity. “Then I will accept your offer, with gratitude.”

His lips relaxed into a smile. “My unit is marching out soon, so I suggest we find a priest and a few witnesses.”

That nervous worry returned. Was he manipulating her? But the depot had gone crazy with men rushing here and there, moving equipment and organizing themselves into ranks. Of course he would have duties—he was a soldier, a corporal. As much as she would have preferred time to prepare, speed was necessary.

For years, she had planned to marry Oleg Petrov, an officer in the Imperial Russian Army, with an established family, a thorough education, and a promising future. Instead, she would marry a corporal from Bohemia or Moravia or some other faraway, insignificant place. She knew nothing about his past or the prospects for his future. She certainly hadn’t expected to wear a blouse torn by an attacking lowlife to the ceremony. Nor had she expected to marry a scruffy man she’d seen only twice.

“My name is Nadia.” She almost gave her full name, but Dima’s warning stopped her. She couldn’t use Linskaya anymore, so she gave him the first surname she thought of. “Nadia Petrova.”

“I’m Filip Sedlák.”

“So my name will be Nadia Sedláková.”

“For as long as you like.”

It wasn’t ideal. But it seemed the best of her options.

Chapter Six

“He just met her. It’s insane!” Veronika stood with Anton outside the church where Filip and his new wife had just been married. “How can you support something that makes a mockery of marriage?”

“He’s my friend, and I trust his judgment.” Anton had married a woman he adored, so he understood Veronika’s sentiment, but he’d never seen Filip do something without good reason. Surely this was no exception.

The hard lines of Veronika’s face softened. “I feel like we’ve been witnesses to something blasphemous.”

“Give them time.”

Veronika shook her head. Her indignation seemed to have disappeared, but that didn’t mean she agreed. “You don’t have to fall in line with him on everything, especially not when he goes and does something like this. He tells you to join the legion, so you do. He tells you to witness his marriage to a stranger, so you do. Where will it end, Anton?”

“He also told me to marry you, so I did.”

Veronika’s beautifully curved eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “He told you to marry me?”

“When he came to Taganrog, I told him I wasn’t sure I wanted to join the legion. I wasn’t eager to jump into the war again, and besides, I had a decent job in a munitions factory that paid three rubles a month, and I was seeing a pretty little Czech girl who I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave. So he told me to ‘marry the girl and bring her with us.’ I doubt I would’ve worked up the courage to ask you otherwise.”

Veronika put her dainty hand on his elbow. “Well, I suppose if Filip’s responsible for that, I can overlook his unusual choice for matrimony.”

“Do you think you could also help the new Mrs. Sedláková get settled into the women’s train?”

Veronika nibbled her bottom lip, and her eyes told him she didn’t want to.

“She’ll need a friend, Veronika.”

“She won’t want me. Look at her. She may be penniless, but she’s still an aristocrat. What will she think of me—the daughter of poor Czech immigrants? My Russian is clumsy, and I know nothing of high society. She’ll think me a backward peasant.”

Ire rose in Anton’s chest. How dare anyone insult his sweet, beautiful Veronika. But Filip’s wife hadn’t insulted her; Veronika was just worried that she might. “These are new times. Birth doesn’t matter as much now. And you are as fine a woman as any I’ve ever seen.”

Her lips softened.

Anton led her farther down the street, toward the train station. “If she gives you anything other than courtesy, you’re under no obligation to help her. But will you give it a try, for Filip’s sake?”

She squeezed his hand. “No. But I’ll give it a try for your sake.”

He kissed her cheek. He wanted to kiss her lips, too, but that would make a scene, and neither of them would like the attention. “Thank you.”

“Be careful, wherever Kral is sending you. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

“And I’ll keep you in mine.” He watched her walk to the women’s car. He’d had six months as her husband and was beginning to think he’d need six lifetimes.

Anton waited until Filip had shown his bride to the train coach. He couldn’t hear the words, but he saw Veronika greet the former aristocrat. She was brave, his Veronika, willing to risk ridicule to help the friend of a friend.

“Felicitations on your wedding day,” Anton said when Filip joined him and the women disappeared from view.

Filip’s lips moved into something like a frown. “I hope I haven’t made a mistake.”

“I’ve heard of people falling in love instantly. Some might scoff, but I believe it’s possible. My father claims he felt that for my mother, fell in love with her the day their parents arranged the marriage.”

“In my case, I wouldn’t call it love. More an insane urge to help someone.”

Anton looked back at the train. “Why exactly did you just get married?”

“Her father was part of the tsar’s regime. Some of his enemies attacked, killed both her parents, tried to kill her. She needed an escape. Kral said he only had room for the legion and its families, so Zeman offered to marry her. His idea of marriage sounded a lot like slavery. I couldn’t let him take advantage of her like that.”

“So you offered to marry her yourself?”

“Yes. With promise of an annulment when she wants one.”

Veronika’s talk of blasphemy was more on point than Anton had realized. “So it’s not a real marriage?”

“No.”

“You’re just helping her get away from the Bolsheviks? That’s the only reason you married her?”

Filip shrugged. “Kral said the Germans are trying to encircle Bakhmach. If they cut off the First Division’s escape route, they’ll slaughter them. Those are the men I fought with in the Družina. I’d still be with them if I hadn’t been wounded at Zborov.”

Anton let his friend change the subject. He’d never been part of the Družina, a Czech reconnaissance unit in the Russian army, but their exploits had earned his respect. “I doubt I know more than a handful of men in the First Division. But they’re my brothers. We all feel that way. We’ll fight to save them.”

Filip clapped Anton on the shoulder. “Off to Bakhmach, then. We’ve got to keep that train depot open.”

***

“You dirty thief.”

Filip hadn’t expected Jakub Zeman to welcome news of his marriage, but he’d been hoping to delay any confrontation. He didn’t want an argument. Especially not while approaching Bakhmach in an open-top ore car. “She wasn’t yours, so I wasn’t really stealing her, was I?”

Zeman cursed. “It was my idea. You distracted me and ruined my plan. Had she been some pretty peasant, I might forgive you. But a woman like that—goodness, I’ve never seen a woman so exquisite. It’s like she’s from a different world. And I almost had her for my own. Don’t think I’ll forget this.”