The Lives Of The Romanovs

The Redhead On Alexander Street

Vladimir

The economy crashed. Trades with America and other countries would be ruined. This was inevitable. But of course, it would not be the Romanovs and other aristocrats who have to worry about the economy crashing. It would be the Russian commoners.

I decided to take Paul out shopping in Petrograd. I wished to go and buy Paul some new shoes and a new winter coat. I also wanted to go see the outside of Petrograd's main bank. We both dressed incognito in basic suits and hats. The chauffeur drove us out of Tsarkoye Selo and down the street. But once we started getting to the busy streets, he pulled over and let us out. I took little Paul's hand and started walking with him.

"Daddy, I want a new sweater." Paul skipped as he held my hand.

"Can't it wait until your birthday? Or Christmas? You have plenty of sweaters at home."

"Toys are for birthdays and Christmas. Clothes are for any other day."

I laughed. "Who told you that?"

"Cousin Lyokha."

"Of course he did." I groaned. "Clothes and toys can be for both. Cousin Lyokha should not be listened to. You know what, I shall buy you a sweater. But only one."

Paul nodded. "Alright, Daddy."

Suddenly, I heard the sounds of glass shattering. I looked up and saw an ambush of people trying to get into the bank. They were screaming and crying. Men were throwing bricks and rocks while women were beating on the door. Some were on their knees and crying. I gasped at the sights and immediately picked up Paul "shoulder hold" style.

"Daddy, what is going on?" Paul whispered.

"Nothing. I think we are going to get you a sweater some other day." I gulped. I had not realized how awful it was. But the press was not reporting about what the damage was to the Russian economy and citizens were scared. My main concern at that moment was getting my son out of there. It was far too dangerous. He was too young to see something to horrendous.

Then, torches started being thrown at the bank. And then, something else was thrown. It was red and long. A bomb. But it had not occurred to me what it was until it was too late. However, that bomb did not hit the bank. Instead, it bounced off the bank and hit the crowd. Without hesitation, I took off running. There was a loud explosion and more screams. Paul started screaming and crying and clinging on to me tighter.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Paul screamed. I stroked his back as I ran with the crowd. But the crowd was becoming too thick and I needed to get out. Next to us was a pub. I knew it was not the best idea to take my four-year-old son in there, but safety was first. I hustled us inside the bar and slammed the doors shut. There were several men in there and a few women as well.

"Paul, let's go sit." I whispered to him and put him down on the floor. I walked with him to a table across the room. We sat down at the table and took off our coats and hats.

"How long must we sit here?" Paul tilted his head to the side.

"Just until it calms down outside. My boy, are you alright? You seem frightened." I stroked his cheek. Paul shook his head.

"I'm fine."

A young woman walked to our table. I did not really look at her at first. But then she spoke. Her voice. Her voice was too familiar. That tomboy sound in her mature voice. I looked up at the woman and I felt my heart drop. It began to race and I thought I would die. She was here. It had to be an eventful dream. It would make sense with the protests and now the bar.

"Anastasia?" I gulped. She trembled and looked at Paul. Anastasia looked the same as she did in 1926. Her hair turned to a deep-red and was chin-length.

"Paul?" Anastasia softly said. "He's grown so big."

"Sit down, please." I hardly spoke and pointed to the extra chair at our table.

"I cannot, and I do not want to. I am working."

"Anastasia, I beg of you. Sit, please. I have so much to say and ask."

Anastasia looked around the room before sitting down at the table with us. However, she tensed-up and could not even look me in the eye. I did not blame her. I did a horrible and vile thing to her that I would never be able to forgive myself for. She had grown more mature-looking in the years she was gone. I never realized how much Anastasia had grown from a pudgy, loud, child to a slender, mature, young woman. They were like to completely different people.

"Vladimir, ask your questions now. I do not have much time." Anastasia snarled at me, finally giving me eye contact.

"Have you been in Russia this whole time?"

She shook her head. "No, I was originally in London. I worked as a barmaid for awhile."

"You did not go back to your life in America?"

"How could I? Josiah was dead. Everything about America still reminds me of Josiah. So, I emigrated to London with Cheryl."

"The papers say you were dead-"

"The papers accidentally report deaths all the time. I simply did not correct them." Anastasia whispered and looked around the room again. "I only came back to Russia about one-month-ago. I lost my job and there were sayings that the economy was going to plummet. While I had the chance, I hurried back to Russia. But this is only temporary. Once everything is better, I shall go back to England."

"No, please do not leave. Come home. You have no idea-"

Anastasia scoffed and stood up. "I am so tired of this Romanov bullshit. None of you care about me or my well-being. Vladimir, leave me alone."

I stood up with her. "I am so sorry for what I did to you. I should have never lied-"

"It's too late for that. And it looks like the mob outside is gone. Leave the bar and don't come back if you know what is best for you." Anastasia stormed off. She still had every right to be angry and I understood that the family would never get her back. It was well-deserved, of course. But apart of me knew I should not let her go again. Anastasia was my sister and family, and no one should ever give up on family.

"Daddy, who was her?" Paul whispered in his bad grammar.

I looked at home with a weak smile. "No one. She is just an old friend. That is all."