Her eyes shimmer. They might as well be broken glass, the way they reflected the hurt and fear slicing me open. I put my brow to her innocent, pain-free countenance. “You have my blood, my sickness. We have to fight every day, no matter what. But you’ve made me think. I’ll write something extra for each Saturday. You can read that one at every week’s end.”
She hugs me tightly. I don’t want ever to let go, but I must. We all must.
Her head tilts to the side. “You sure you’re not going anywhere?”
A long hair falls over her eye, and I brush the thick, soft tresses, so like Katherine’s, behind Lydia’s ear. “Not trying to. I don’t plan on going anywhere without you. Lydia Jahleelovna Charles, you are my heart.”
The knock on my door sounds imperial.
“Jasha?”
“Yes, Mamen’ka,” I say. “You may enter.”
A footman opens the door, one of her servants adorned in a mantle and light blue-and-silver pantaloons.
“There you are. Lady Lydia, I thought you’d be reading in the library with Lady Hampton.”
My daughter’s shoulders lift. “She didn’t come.”
“Odd. She begged for that time.”
My mother gazes at me like I know the unpredictable woman’s schedule. I only know where Katherine is at night.
“Spending time is important to her,” I say with a grin. Then I look at my mother again. Her dark eyes and tight frown suggest danger. “Is there something I should know?”
“Jasha doesn’t know something going on in his household? Are you sure you are feeling well? Or are you too comfortable hiding in here?”
She knows my routine, my exercises to bring my limbs under control, and how I save up my strength to take the stairs. Until I feel confident, I don’t.
Katherine and I get along. It’s comfortable, and I don’t believe in change. I smile at Mamen’ka. “Problems come to me.”
“Nyet. Not if they are as scared of the future as you. You might be surprised brave women—or brazen ones—might be frightened little girls when no one’s watching.”
“I get scared, Papa Duke. Katherine and Princess Grama tell me everything is going to be fine.”
I grab my cane. “Itwillbe fine. Lidochka, go with your grandmother. I may need to do a little work in the household.”
Looking confused, she nods. “Will you write me a letter about what’s going on so I can read it when I’m older?”
“Most certainly. It will be quite entertaining. Your mother and grandmother are full of surprises.”
“Katherine is a proud oddity. I’m told a diamond is nothing more than coal under pressure.” My mother waves Lydia toward the door, but my child hesitates.
She turns back to me. “I will write you on Saturdays, too. And you don’t have to wait to read them. That way you can keep them safe with your papen’ka’s and Aunt Anya’s.”
I hadn’t mentioned my sister’s letters. I have a few. Then I look at my mother. She has been telling Lydia about our St. Petersburg life. “Thank you, Mamen’ka.”
My mother’s frown lessens. Her sharp grayish-brown eyes tell no lies. Her encouragement to get me moving is for Lydia. This little girl faces the same challenges, but without knowing if she’ll live as long as I have. The lump in my throat grows so large it hurts. I power my way to stand as tall and as straight as I can.
Lydia sails to me, hugging my legs.
My hands sink into her hair, her fine braids. “I can’t wait for Saturday. We’ll read together.” I bend and kiss the top of her head, whispering blessings that I trust the saints and my mother to honor—to keep my child safe and healthy and fearless.
“Jasha, leave your quarters,” Mamen’ka says. “Go control your domain. A diamond in the rough needs you, too.”
My mother is an honest but protective Russian bear. I nod and brace for this new problem—something I must solve: a purely Katherine-inspired situation.
Mother and granddaughter head down the corridor. Their chatter disappears by the time I step outside my bedchamber. Maids leave Katherine’s new quarters. She stays in the room next to mine and visits through the connecting closet.
