Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“Yes, but a mixed blessing, under the circumstances,” Kostrov answered in a measured tone. “You see, Zhanna and her father have been at odds ever since your visit to their estate in November. And I find myself caught between them.”

“At odds? Over what?” Ivashov asked in a tone that Ned suspected might be disingenuous.

“I think you already know, Igor Ivanovich,” the banker answered with a pointed stare. “It appears you and Captain du Pont were among the very first she told of her plan. For several months, Zhanna has had in mind to travel to Omsk for an audience with Admiral Kolchak. But, having failed to win support in Verkhne-Udinsk, she has altered her tactics and aims to persuade our Governor-General to send her. And since I am a friend of the governor and live close to his residence, my niece has pitched camp under my roof and laid siege to the poor man! Fool that I am, I took her in and now I am complicit in her plot…”

Kostrov raised his open palms and looked to the heavens as if appealing for divine succor, but it was obvious that he was enjoying the escapade.

“And Zhanna’s father?” Ivashov inquired. “What does Stepan Petrovich think of her idea of running off to take up arms against the Bolsheviks?”

“You must understand something,” Kostrov replied in a low voice, placing a hand on each man’s shoulder and drawing them close. “The only women in Russia who run off with the army are prostitutes. If my brother-in-law thought for a moment that Zhanna would take such a path, he would have drowned her with his own hands! But she is so devout a girl, and so patriotic of purpose, that he offered to send her to school in France or America in hopes of distracting her. And yet she persisted! So at last, he banished Zhanna from his house, sent her here and left the knot for me to untangle. Since then, I have enlisted every resource at my disposal to gain Zhanna an audience with General Volkov, hoping that he will make her see reason. All to no avail. Though Volkov is an old friend and used to see me often, I have been rebuffed now in three separate attempts.”

“This must be distressing for Zhanna,” Ned commented, unable to come up with any constructive advice, though sympathetic to the uncle’s plight. “She seemed to believe so strongly in her task. How has she taken the governor’s rejection?”

“She is as determined as ever to see him, and I expect will concoct a new approach before long,” Kostrov answered with a helpless shrug. “Meanwhile, seeing the two of you is certain to raise her spirits. And she will doubtless press you mercilessly for the latest news from the front. For she follows news of the war with more interest than a banker follows the price of gold.”

The two officers looked at each other with arched eyebrows, but a moment later they broke into laughter at the idea of seeing Zhanna again so soon. After all, hadn’t she predicted their return?

* * *

When Ned and Ivashov entered the parlor at the hour appointed for dinner, they found Kostrov awaiting them, attired in a flawlessly tailored blue serge suit befitting his position as bank director and as a newly elected member of the Transbaikalia’s provincial council. Standing at his side was Father Timofey Ryumin, dressed in his customary ankle-length cassock of fine gray wool. And, as in Verkhne-Udinsk, the cleric wore a long black beard, disheveled hair, and an ominous expression.

The parlor was a spacious square room with high ceiling and tall double-hung windows, furnished in the neoclassical French style. Ned ambled over to the nearest window and looked out onto the street, where he saw a group of Russians, about twenty or so, mostly women, huddled outside. An old babushka[19] wearing a thick sheepskin coat and a coarse wool shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders looked his way and pointed up at him. Ned instinctively stepped away from the window.

“We seem to have attracted a crowd outside,” he observed to his host. “I can only hope that they are admirers and not Bolsheviks.”

Kostrov rolled his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Those are Zhanna’s supporters,” the banker replied. “Some of them have followed her all the way from Verkhne-Udinsk. The crowd seems to grow by the day. There’s simply no keeping them away.”

Ned exchanged a puzzled look with Ivashov and drew an unexpected response from Father Timofey.

“Much has happened since we last met,” he addressed the officers. “You see, not long after you left us, Zhanna made several dire predictions of Red Army conquests which promptly came true. First the Red troops took Estonia, then Latvia, and now Lithuania. Today they are in Ukraine, at the very gates of Kiev! News of her prophecies spread quickly among the servants at the Dorokhin estate. And before long, certain peasants and townspeople learned of her plan to deliver a message from God to Admiral Kolchak. That was when her story became linked with the prophecy of Yermak.”[20]