The Ring of the Queen (The Lost Tsar Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Part XVIII

  Have you ever been hurt and the place tries to heal a bit, and you just pull the scar off of it over and over again.

  -Rosa Parks

  “How far is it to Dubna?” I asked.

  “Just a few kilometers,” Peter answered. “That’s where I actually live. My apologies, it may take some time in this weather.”

  “I guess it’s just another part of the adventure,” I replied, sarcastically.

  “I am sure this is not what you envisioned when you signed up for a class in Russia,” Peter said.

  He couldn’t have been more right. I didn’t know what to expect from a class in Moscow, but I was absolutely certain that I hadn’t envisioned finding out I was a Tsar. That was as far from my mind as becoming a rock star was. I wanted to get my mind off of the whole mess for just one minute, but I couldn’t. It was overwhelming, and I wasn’t sure where the whole thing was going.

  The snow was relentless. It was white out conditions the entire way to Dubna. I was impressed that Peter could tell where he was going. I assumed that since he lived there he probably knew his way extremely well. I’d read that the towns that were close to Moscow were populated by people who spent a great deal of time in Moscow, or lived in Moscow and worked in the outlying city. Either way, commuters seem to instinctively know the way home.

  An hour went by in the driving snow. The car, even though it was high and four wheel drive, was having a tough time in the snow. I wasn’t sure how much snow had accumulated in such a short time, but it seemed like a lot. As I looked out the window, it seemed that there was no way to tell the difference between road and not road. It was all a level plain of fresh snow. Where I came from that meant it was time to get out the snow machines.

  There were houses, or dachas. I wasn’t sure what the difference was between a house and a dacha, but I’d heard the term dacha many times describing dwellings in the Russian countryside. After what seemed like forever, Peter drove up to the front of an enormous mansion. It was covered with snow, but I could tell that it was magnificent. It looked like a large bed and breakfast, but not Victorian like most of them in the states. It was modern and looked like a work of art. It was based on a farmhouse style, but it was so much more. It had gables and a steep pitched roof. There were sections of decorative wood work all along the roof and the wrap around porch. There were several chimneys poking out of the roof. The front doors were etched glass and huge and double. I immediately became nervous. Apparently, Peter was rich.

  “Wow, this is your place?” I asked Peter.

  “Holy cow, this place is huge,” Tania said.

  “It’s a family dacha,” Peter said.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “That means he lives with his grandmother,” Dr. Zemecki replied.

  “Your grandmother?” I asked.

  “Her choice. She doesn’t even like the idea of me staying in the city,” Peter explained. “She’s a little over protective. That’s the American term for it, correct?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. She immediately made me think of my mom by his description. “Yes, I believe that’s the American term,” I replied. “I have a mother like that.”

  “I empathize,” Peter said.

  He pulled up to the side of the house. Even the giant SUV was dwarfed by the enormous dacha. I was very impressed. Peter turned the car off, but did not open the door.

  “I hate to ask this of everyone, but we need to be quiet. I try not to wake my grandmother,” Peter explained.

  “You mean, you’re scared to wake her,” Dr. Zemecki commented.

  “No,” Peter objected.

  “Do you mean to tell me that Tish is going to welcome two American girls on the run, because one of them is a Tsar?” Dr. Zemecki asked. “I can’t imagine that one going over well at all.” He looked at us. “You should tread very lightly here, girls. His grandmother does not care for anyone that believes in or supports the Tsarist movement. She is vehemently against her grandson being involved in any of that nonsense.”

  “Steve, you do realize that it officially is not nonsense,” Peter said. “That should change her mind, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve known your grandmother for about five years now, and one thing that I’ve never seen is her change her mind. Tish is a tough cookie, and she’s not going to like this,” Dr. Zemecki said. “We need to be realistic on this, and behave accordingly. Now, my suggestion is that we sneak into the house and hope that she doesn’t find out what’s going on until after we’ve left in the morning.”

  “Sounds like a welcoming woman who loves guests and meeting people from other parts of the world,” Tania said, sarcastically.

  “It is not like that,” Peter objected. “She has had some bad things happen because of the Tsarist movement. I cannot blame her for how she feels about the topic.”

  “What kind of bad things?” Tania asked.

  “I do not wish to discuss it at this time. Shall we go inside before we get too cold sitting in this ridiculous car?” Peter asked.

  It was obvious that whatever had happened in his family that Peter had been affected by the “bad things” as well. I decided that I wouldn’t pursue the subject at that time. I was just realizing how late it was. It had been dark for so long that it was difficult to get a grip on exactly what time of the night it was. I looked at my satellite phone and it said that it was after midnight at that point. I was out of sorts with time anyway what with flying halfway around the world, but the darkness was not helping.

  Peter opened the door and Dr. Zemecki opened his door. The two men climbed to the ground and helped us climb down after them. When I hit the ground, I realized that the snow was at least three feet deep. I presumed that it wasn’t all from the current snow storm, but there was a little voice in the back of my mind that insisted that it was.

  “Is all of this snow from this storm?” I asked.

  “Do not be ridiculous,” Peter said. “It’s been snowing for a couple of months. It has been a light snow year.”

  I was covered with snow, and I’d only gone about five feet. I was pretty sure that the storm was bringing a whole lot of snow with it. I wondered how long it was supposed to last and how much snow was supposed to fall.

  Dr. Zemecki, Tania, and I followed Peter into the house. He kept putting his finger to his mouth to remind us to be quiet, as though we would forget. The entryway was beautiful. There was the head of a moose mounted on the wall as we entered that completely distracted my attention. The walls were wood, like a hunting lodge, except for the crystal chandelier that hung above our heads. In front of us was a winding staircase that was as elegant as a southern plantation’s. On either side of us were doorways leading to other parts of the house. The tile on the floor beneath out feet was some kind of beautiful slate blue stone. I was intimidated by the house and the elegance that was oozing from every nook and cranny except for the moose head.

  “Why do you have a moose head?” I whispered to Peter.

  “It’s a trophy, in Russia we call them Elk,” came a voice from the stairway. “Peter, who are these girls and why are you sneaking into the house in the middle of the night with them and Stephen?” It was Peter’s grandmother.

  “Tish, this is Stacey and Tania,” Peter said to his grandmother. “They are visiting from America. They wanted to see the countryside.”

  Tish didn’t reply to Peter. She looked at Dr. Zemecki. “Stephen, I expect my grandson to be involved in things like this, but really. I would not expect to see you involved in such nonsense.”

  “They’re students of mine,” Dr. Zemecki replied.

  She finished descending the staircase and came to the foyer where we were all standing and walked to me. She put out her hand to shake mine, and I obliged. I was immediately frightened of the woman, although there was no physical reason for my apprehension. She was a five-foot-tall elder
ly woman with grey and brown hair, blue eyes, wrinkles around her eyes, and a small frame. She looked like she should have been in the kitchen baking cookies. Instead, she was in the entryway intimidating me.

  “Elizabeth Zinkov,” she said as she shook my hand. “I have seen you on television.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you,” I stammered. “I am sorry that there are such strange circumstances going on around me. I haven’t done anything. I just came to Russia to take a class.”

  Elizabeth stared at me for a moment. “Can I see the ring?”

  I held up my hand and showed her the ring. I had given up on the idea of keeping it hidden, since it seemed that everyone in Russia knew about it. She examined it closely.

  “I thought it was nothing but a myth,” she said. She looked at Peter. “I suppose we should help her.” She walked off into the house.

  “That went better than I expected,” Peter said as he followed his grandmother into the house.

  We all followed along.

  “Why is she so upset?” I whispered to Peter.

  “She lost my parents to the Tsarist movement,” Peter replied.

  Suddenly I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was a reminder of potentially the worst thing that had ever happened to this woman. I could tell that it was going to be difficult to be in that house.

  The Ring of the Queen