Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

By spring, conditions across Siberia had become grim, as the Bolshevik Red Guards swept across Siberia, seizing property from wealthy landlords and factory owners and murdering others as they went. But in May, the Czech Legion defied the Red Army at Chelyabinsk and launched the whirlwind military campaign that swept aside Bolshevik rule from the Urals to the Pacific. The Yushnevsky family’s properties were returned and the new Siberian Provisional Government promised to restore the rule of law for everyone.

“All this might have allowed Vasily to liquidate enough of his holdings to retire to London with capital to revive his trading business,” she explained in a matter-of-fact voice. “But then disaster struck. The influenza epidemic reached Russia in early summer. Vasily was one of the first in Omsk to succumb.” Her eyes were dry, but she lowered them as if gripped by a weariness beyond expression.

“It left me totally alone, far from family, and not knowing whom I could trust or rely upon.”

While Ned had seen more death than most American men of his age, nearly all of it had been in combat, lending death meaning and even honor among his fellow warriors. He had no concept of a woman’s suffering at losing a loved one to a random, faceless menace like disease.

“I cannot imagine what a shock that must have been,” he offered, cringing inside at how callous he must sound. But Yulia showed no reaction, instead resuming her story.

“For a long while, the pressures of managing Vasily’s businesses nearly exhausted me. Yet, I dared not leave Beregovoy until I had put aside enough money to provide a modest income for me and something for my sons’ education.” Now, looking up and making eye contact at last, she added, “And more than that, I felt honor-bound not to leave our employees without work, or the peasants without land to till. If I left Omsk prematurely, I would forfeit everything and be obliged to seek such employment as I might find back in London, since any funds from my own family could not sustain us for long.”

“You are very brave to have stayed on,” Ned affirmed. “It must be extremely demanding.”

“I cannot claim to be brave, only ignorant,” Yulia answered with an ironic curl to her lips. “But now, here I am, stuck in remote Siberia, far from my boys, denied nearly all my former joys in life, and coarsened by endless disputes over money. All that keeps me going is pride, duty, and ties to a country I barely know.”

“Surely it can’t be quite so bad as that,” he sought to assure her, though at the risk of contradicting his last remark. “You seem to be…”

But here she held up a slender porcelain hand to silence him.

“May I count on you to keep a secret?” she demanded.

“Of course,” he answered hastily. “You have my word.”

“The sad truth is that I despise most of my fellow countrymen in Omsk, including many who depend on me. The best Russian men are dead, or gone to the front, or in exile. In my experience, only the British can be counted upon to do what they promise, and sometimes I fear that they promise too much.”

After hearing Yulia bare her soul in this way, Ned felt like an intruder and could not think of anything to say that would not sound trite or condescending. He had never expected Yulia to allow him so close to her, or at least not so soon. As if sensing his discomfort, the widow grew silent, withdrew her napkin from her lap, and placed it on the table in front of her.

“Coffee?” she asked, her spirits suddenly lifting.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” he replied. But then, seeing disappointment in her eyes, as if she felt in need of constant company, he added, “Well, it’s an awfully cold night. Sure, coffee sounds delicious.”

“You aren’t seriously considering sleeping out in the lodge tonight, are you?” she reproached him. “I’ll have Vera prepare one of the spare bedrooms for you and tell Genrikh to put out the fire you lit in the stove outside.”

“Really, I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble,” he protested half-heartedly.

Yulia’s response was to regard him with raised eyebrows for a brief moment before letting out a sudden laugh.

“Oh, heavens, you aren’t married are you?” she asked with a broad smile.

“No, no, certainly not!” Ned stammered.

“Engaged, then?”

“Far from it,” he answered, regaining his poise and breaking out in a grin of his own. “Not any more, at least…”

“Then you shall stay.”

The last statement was made with such authority that it struck Ned that Yulia might have more reason than mere hospitality for having him spend the night under her roof. So he agreed and, while they sat quietly over their coffee, the elderly caretakers finished their tasks for the night.