Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

By the time Ned finished his meetings with Neilson and the men at the lodge, the sun was low on the horizon. He took leave of them to inspect the grounds before dark. During his solitary walk, he pondered what might have prompted Yulia’s odd behavior and how he should address it. While away from Beregovoy, he had come to recognize how irresponsible he had been to enter into an amorous relationship with Yulia, given his primary responsibility for the wireless mission and the safety of his men. More than that, going to bed with her violated the AEF’s non-fraternization policy between American military men and Russian civilians. Not only would Colonel Barrows disapprove, but Ned could hardly enforce a policy toward his men that he violated regularly. Nor was his conduct likely to enhance his stature with Colonel Ward or the Omsk regime, upon whose cooperation he depended.

On reflection, Ned realized that the relationship with Yulia was one of convenience that he might never have begun but for the war. And now the affair’s outcome would likely depend on the war. If the Whites lost, the Americans would withdraw and so would he, leaving the widow at risk of Bolshevik reprisals. And if the stress of hosting him and his men had undermined her mental stability, his fault would be all the greater. But, having begun the relationship, how was he to end it?

Ned stepped up to the front door of the main house at Beregovoy, knocked, and waited. No answer. He stepped into the entry hall and closed the door behind him. Silence. He called out to announce himself. Still no answer. So he mounted the stairs and went to his room, where he found his haversack on the bed, empty, its contents having been hung in the closet and put away in the dresser beside the bed.

Moments later, he heard rapid footsteps on the stairway and turned to listen through the half-closed door. When the door swung open, Yulia stood at the threshold, slightly out of breath.

“How long have you been here?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

“Not long,” Ned replied. “I’ve been at the lodge to talk with Neilson and the men.”

“Why didn’t you come directly to see me? I’ve been waiting,” she said, stepping into the room. She wore her usual long gray wool skirt and pleated white blouse buttoned to the throat and looked lovely, with her pale cheeks slightly flushed. Was it excitement, anger, or just the exertion of climbing the stairs?

“I called out from the front door but no one answered,” he answered after a moment. “Anyway, I’m here now, and I see that Genrikh has already put away my things.”

He waited for a response but none came.

“I can pack up and move to the lodge if you prefer,” he added. But she ignored his offer.

“You said you wouldn’t be traveling. Then you left for the south. You said you would be gone two or three weeks. It has been nearly a month,” she responded at last with pursed lips, her arms folded across her chest. “What am I to think?”

“The trip took longer than anyone expected. I had no control over it,” he replied without emotion.

“Were you long in Omsk before coming here?”

“Not long,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”

“Did you see the girl, Zhanna, while you were there?” She waited for his reply with a strained expression and unblinking eyes.

“Not since I left last month. Why, is there something…?”

“No, no,” she replied, her limbs and facial muscles relaxing visibly. “She was also gone for a while. I thought, perhaps…”

“My trip had nothing to do with Zhanna,” he added. “Now, what would you like me to do? Shall we go downstairs, have tea and talk, or would you like me to carry my things back to the lodge?”

At that, Yulia rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Ned’s neck.

“You have no idea how I missed you,” she whispered into his ear. “I felt so alone here without you. And unsafe.”

Ned returned her embrace before releasing her so he could speak.

“But, Yulia, you have a squad of soldiers next door and armed sentries on duty around the clock,” he replied with a gentle laugh.

“Yes, but beyond the estate, people are watching us,” she insisted. “When I go to the village or to Omsk, I see how they look at me. They know that I own land and factories, and that I am half-British and have friends at the British consulate. Perhaps they also know what sort of work goes on at the lodge.”

“What if they do? You’re making much more of it all than you need to, Yulia,” Ned responded. “Most people really only care about their own affairs. Sometimes we think they take an interest in us, but nine times out of ten they couldn’t care less. I strongly doubt you are in danger, but if it concerns you so much, why don’t we sit down and discuss it over tea?”

Yulia dropped her arms from his neck and turned away.

“You don’t understand how I feel. Because you’re a man, and an American officer,” she said. “The whole world lies open to you. But a woman, in Russia…”

“Do tell me about it, but let’s talk downstairs over tea. I’m parched!” he replied, flashing his most disarming smile.