“A few, here and there, but I hate to part with any of them.”
“What if you made a false wall in your car and hid your rifles behind it? I’ve seen dozens of broken boxcars around the station. You could use pieces of them to form your wall.”
Filip’s jaw shifted as he thought. “Nadia, I think that’s an excellent idea.”
Her step felt lighter at his compliment. “I can’t take credit for it. It’s how we hid our best paintings at the manor. Our footman’s idea. We wrapped them and hung them all on the same wall, then put a fake wall in front of it. I don’t suppose we’ll ever go back to retrieve them now.” Perhaps the footman would return and give her favorite Rembrandt a good home. Her father had predicted the Bolsheviks would lose power. If time proved him right, and if it was safe in a few years, would she return? Come back to reclaim her family’s lands even though her family was all gone?
“Would you mind if we postponed the laundry? I’d like to hide our weapons as soon as possible.”
“I don’t mind. You’re a soldier. Weapons should take priority.” Perhaps that was her dismissal. It would be a lonely day without Filip. She didn’t even have a book to read, just memories to haunt her. But he’d already done so much for her. He didn’t owe her entertainment.
“Come on.” Filip’s words were more invitation than order.
She hesitated only a moment before curiosity over what he would do and a desire to keep her mind occupied pushed her to follow him.
Filip asked Dalek and Emil to help. Dalek gave her an appraising look when Filip explained her idea. Had she done something wrong? Or had she actually managed to do something right?
The men gathered saws, hammers, and pry bars. While they took apart the end of a discarded boxcar, breaking it into a few easier-to-transport pieces, Nadia did her best to remove nails from another part of the car. Half of what she recovered were too bent to be useful again, and her skin burned where she’d held the hammer, but she had gathered a small pile of useful nails in the time they’d disassembled one of the sides.
As Dalek and Filip lowered the last section, Dalek whispered, “Did you tell her?”
Did Dalek mean her? She glanced up and caught Filip’s eye. He gave her an embarrassed smile. “Dalek found out the name of the agent we saw yesterday. Do you want to hear it?”
Icy footsteps of fear crept along her shoulders. Was it better to know the danger or to leave it unnamed? Papa wouldn’t hesitate. He believed in knowledge. “I’d like to know.”
Filip kept his gaze on her. “His name is Vlad Orlov.”
Orlov. An eagle. Was that why Filip planned to spend the day with her, to protect her? “Is he still in Penza?”
Filip looked to Dalek, who answered. “He’s one of the commissars assigned to escort us east.”
“You didn’t tell me that.” Filip looked as surprised as Nadia felt. Would she have to hide from Orlov all the way to Vladivostok?
“I just found out this morning. You were gone when I came back to the car.” Dalek studied Nadia, but his gaze wasn’t uncomfortable. “Can we make her look less . . . less like an aristocrat?”
Nadia looked at her dress, one Filip had bought her yesterday. It fit her poorly, and the cloth was rough and faded, hardly something an aristocrat would wear. She looked from Dalek to Filip. What on earth did they mean?
“It’s in how you carry yourself, I think.” Filip eyed her from head to toe.
“Should I walk differently?” She’d stopped paying attention to how she walked when her governess ceased harassing her about posture. Maybe she needed some type of reverse instructions.
Filip glanced at Dalek. “Has Orlov been assigned yet?”
“Sixth Regiment.”
Filip said something under his breath. It sounded like a curse, but it wasn’t Russian.
“I suppose you’re part of the Sixth Regiment?” It sounded as though Nadia had married the wrong man. It would have been better to stay in the Ukraine, begging if necessary. Instead, she’d taken the same path as her enemy.
“Yes.” Filip stepped nearer, not touching her, not even crowding her the way the people in the marketplace had the day before. Yet she was extremely aware of his presence before her. “Her clothes are different. Her hair is different too.”
She’d braided it that morning and pinned it the way Veronika had taught her. It wasn’t the neatest of braids, but it kept her hair out of her face.
“Still glossy and black.” Dalek crossed his arms and joined in Filip’s scrutiny.
Nadia fingered her braid. “Should I cut it?” She’d always worn it long, but some women cut their hair. They usually did it because of illness, but a disguise was an equally worthy reason.
Filip frowned. Dalek laughed, and Filip’s frown turned to a scowl. “She can wear a scarf over her hair. It’s not as if he knows she’s here. He won’t be looking for her.” Filip looked away. “I’ll talk to Kral as soon as we finish our weapons cache. See if our commissar can’t be reassigned.”