Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“In truth, very few of us are so cut out,” Ivashov went on with frosty voice, likewise avoiding the boy’s gaze. “Bravery is bred of training and strengthened by testing on the battlefield. Still, all of us must take our places, regardless of strength or aptitude.”

“I see that neither of you challenges my estimate of Admiral Kolchak’s defeat,” Borisov answered, his face now bright crimson, “Instead you imply that I am a coward. Well, let it be. I would almost rather be called a coward than a hero. In my life, I have found that people injured me most when I tried to be brave.”

The boy folded his napkin and laid it on the table as if preparing to leave. His words must have softened Zhanna’s heart, for she laid her hand on his forearm as if to hold him there.

“Sometimes bravery means being the only one who knows he is afraid,” she told him with a consoling look. “When your time comes, I know you will take your place on the battlefield and hold your head high.”

Borisov forced a cheerless smile at Zhanna’s remarks but remained seated. Kostrov, apparently realizing his indiscretion, winced and then busied himself pouring a fresh round of vodka for each man but Father Timofey.

The latter, whose gaze was fixed on Zhanna, steered the conversation back to her predictions.

“The Lord has surely bestowed upon you the gift of second sight, my dear,” Timofey told her. “But you have never fought in a war, nor have you studied at a military academy like our two young officers. So please forgive my impertinence in asking: how do you propose to convince Governor-General Volkov to grant you an introduction to Admiral Kolchak, or for the Admiral to hear you out, should you gain either man’s ear?”

It was a reasonable question and one for which Ned could not conceive an answer. Accordingly, he was unprepared for Zhanna’s fierce self-mastery and the strange fire in her eyes when she responded.

“Both you and Boris Viktorovich are right: I am indeed an ignorant schoolgirl who is unfit to speak to great men. Yet my Voices order me to Omsk and I have no choice but to obey. Throughout this winter, my Voices have warned me of setbacks, but they have also urged me to strengthen my resolve.”

She raised her head and stiffened her spine, appearing to bristle at Timofey’s lack of confidence in her.

“A few months from now, by God’s grace,” she went on, “Siberian victories will signal the beginning of the end for the Red Army. By year-end, our forces will dash Lenin’s hopes of bringing all of Russia within his grasp, and deliver it instead to the democratically elected leader of a new Russian republic.

“That leader will be Admiral Kolchak,” she declared. “Not the man we know today as a cruel dictator, but a wiser man whose eyes God will open to the glorious potential of a self-governing Russia. The Admiral will require God’s help. My Voices tell me that I am the one to provide that help.”

“But Zhanna, my angel,” her uncle interrupted, running his hands along his temples in apparent frustration. “Though I don’t doubt that God guides your every step, the fact remains that Governor Volkov has turned us away three times and shows no signs of relenting.”

Watching Kostrov’s heartfelt confession, Ned could not help but sympathize with him. Kostrov had clearly formed a strong attachment to his niece and didn’t want to disappoint her. But he had already gone far out on a limb with the governor-general. And Zhanna had also risked much since Ned had last seen her, estranging her father, tarnishing her reputation, stirring controversy, and provoking the very governor whose aid she required.

“Never mind, uncle,” Zhanna replied in a calm voice, pushing her half-filled plate away from her and rising from the table. “I will make another attempt tomorrow, and this time I expect Governor Volkov to grant my request. Now, sleep well, dear gentlemen, for tomorrow will be a busy day for all.”

Zhanna’s path to the outer parlor took her past Ned and, though she did not return his gaze in passing, he couldn’t resist inhaling deeply as she strode out of the room. In that moment, he detected the same scent of lilacs as in November and it reignited the attraction he had felt to her then. Zhanna still fascinated him, and he delighted in being around her, but not in the same way as before. She was off-limits, and that was that. Having found Yulia made such restraint far easier than before.

As Ned looked around the table, however, the other men seemed to have taken a very different attitude toward Zhanna. All seemed aghast at her intention to approach the governor yet again, except for Father Timofey.

“The Lord has blessed you with a hero for a niece, Kirill Matveyich,” the cleric addressed his host, who beamed at the praise. “A real Russian eagle! How she arouses faith in her followers! If God speaks to Zhanna, as I believe He does, I urge you not to give up on her.”