Her steps halted. Not five houses down were two of the men who had shot her parents. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she spun around, gasping as grief and fear tightened her chest. She was walking too fast; she’d attract their attention. But if she didn’t run, they might catch her.
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.”