Nadia lay on the top tier of the bunks. She looked below to make sure she wouldn’t kick anyone, then climbed down. She didn’t have a rag, but she had Dima’s handkerchief. She fished it from her pocket and glanced at it, but the dim light made it difficult to judge its cleanliness. Regardless, it would have to do.
She slid next to Veronika and held a hand out to the bucket. “May I use some?”
“Of course. We all take turns with the fetch and carry.” Veronika smiled, and Nadia relaxed a bit. The Czech woman had been kind to her the night before, helping her find a bunk and lending her a blanket.
Nadia washed her face and neck. She would normally wash far more than that but not in front of so many others, nor in an unheated boxcar during winter. She wasn’t sure how clean the water was anyway, with so many people sharing it. She felt her hair. Half of it had come loose, so she pulled the few hairpins that remained from the tangles. She tried to fix it with her fingers.
“I don’t suppose the Bolsheviks let you pack a brush?” Veronica asked.
“No.”
“Throw it into a braid, and we’ll go eat.”
Nadia had never done her own hair before. Maids had arranged it, or Mama. If she’d known how to do it herself, she would have braided it before bed, and it wouldn’t have grown so tangled. She fingered the ends, long enough to reach her navel. “How exactly does one braid hair?”
Veronika’s eyes widened. Another woman snickered and turned away. Nadia’s face grew warm at yet another reminder of how woefully unprepared she was for life on her own.
Veronika glanced at the laughing woman and nibbled her lip. “I’ll show you.” Veronika undid her own hair, which had been braided and wrapped around her head like a crown. Then she braided it again.
When Nadia tried to follow her example, it was an utter mess. She couldn’t see what she was doing, and strands kept slipping through her fingers.
“Here.” Veronika undid her hair yet again. “It’s easier to learn on someone else. Practice on me.”
Nadia took a deep breath and divided Veronika’s hair into three parts. “Your husband is a Slovak?”
“Yes.”
Nadia tried to remember all Anton had said that day she’d fallen from her horse. “And he worked with a doctor for a time?”
Veronika moved her head a bit as if to turn and chat, then stopped. “Yes. While he was in a camp for war prisoners. He wants to become a doctor. Before the war, he hadn’t a hope of getting into school as a Slovak. But maybe things will be different once the war ends.”
“A doctor. You must be proud.” Nadia was managing to keep the bits of hair straight, but she hadn’t divided it evenly. The braid wasn’t anywhere near as neat or as tight as Veronika’s previous one.
“I am proud of him, but going to Pressburg is more hope than certainty. He’s not from the city, but that’s where he’d study.”
“Are you from Pressburg?”
“No. I was born in Russia to Czech parents. And you? Where are you from?”
Nadia wove another strand of hair into place. “Well, we usually wintered in Saint Petersburg—Petrograd. I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to calling it that. We stayed there until Easter, then we’d go to our estate in the country, in Tambov Oblast. We had a home in Moscow, too, of course.”
Most of the other women had already left the boxcar. Those who remained suddenly showed less than friendly expressions on their faces. Had she said something wrong? Then she understood. Her simple answer had sounded like bragging. Before the revolution, it had all seemed so normal to her, winters in the city, summers in the country, a townhome here, a manor there. Her family and most of their associates had lived that way. But to the women in the boxcar, who had grown up with far less, it must have sounded grand and wasteful. Her face heated again as she scrambled for something else to say. “Will you follow your husband to France and then to his home?”
“Yes. It’s exciting, isn’t it? We might get to see Paris. A little frightening too. They took the station at Bakhmach yesterday, but the Germans are still all around, trying to cut us off.”
“Are we in danger of capture?” Nadia’s hand trembled for a moment at the thought of the Germans catching them. Would they be any kinder than the Bolsheviks? Nikolai had fallen in battle against the Germans. She feared and hated them.
“No, they sent us ahead, along with the wounded and most of the supplies they’re finding.”
That was a relief. Nadia finished the braid and examined her work. “Mrs. Tothova, I’m afraid I’ve done a horrible job with your hair.”
“You can call me Veronika. And you’ll get better with experience.” Veronika reached back and put her hand on Nadia’s. “I’ll redo it, and then I’ll do yours, and then we’ll have breakfast. We’ll have plenty of time to practice when we start moving again.”
Veronika undid her hair and began braiding it properly. “Have you ever been to France?”