Valeriya, Patrick Sean Lee [best historical biographies .txt] 📗

Valeriya

     They took Doctor Betrolsky away that morning. He was the royal physician, and was to be spared, it was believed. For the remainder of the royal family, everyone but young Peter knew intuitively what fate had in store for them. Peter, after all, was only seven years old, and knew nothing of politics, revolution, and hatred. Ten minutes later the family of Emperor Stanislaus heard the crack of gunshots through the window of the sitting room where they had been held captive for three long months, and any remnant of hope vanished. Stanislaus turned his head toward his beloved wife and whispered something in a melancholy tone of voice. She seemed to gulp for air before bursting into tears.
     Across the spartanly furnished room, Elizaveta hugged her younger sister, Antonina, who had risen from her desk chair when the shots burst through the already sweltering July air. Five feet away, eighteen year-old Valeriya stood in the corner, her eyes betraying a deep sense of disbelief. A kind of shock that hit her like a hammer, setting the last nail firmly into the wood of the coffin lid.

Yesterday.

     “By decree of the Supreme Council of the People’s Court, the reign of Emperor Stanislaus Yoraskeltov has been terminated. By virtue of the multitude of crimes committed, caused in their entirety by Emperor Stanislaus Yoraskeltov, it is hereby further decreed that he and his heirs shall be put to death by firing squad on the morning of July 17, 1874 at an hour to be determined.”
     “My family is innocent! Kill me if you must, but spare them, I beg you in the name of God our heavenly father.”
     The judge sat imperiously, with a scowl on his face, looking down at the fallen emperor and his bewildered family.
     “We bury this god of yours in the rubble of your kingdom. He is no concern of ours. Your plea for mercy shall be taken into account, however, by the merciful Peoples Council.” Commandant Petrov nodded slightly as he spoke the next words to four shabbily dressed men surrounding the emperor and his family. Each held a rifle in their hands and reeked of mold and vodka. “Take them back to their rooms.”

                                             *

     His Majesty Stanislaus squeezed the shoulder of his wife with one hand. With the other he motioned for his three teenage daughters dressed in the white of innocence to join them. Consumptive Peter already sat with one lame leg crossing over the other at their feet, and inquired of his parents what the loud noise he had just heard was. The three beautiful daughters of Stanislaus and Taisia rushed to their parents’ feet in a fog of shock and denial. This could not be happening; six months ago they had attended the opera, sat reading Homer in the palatial gardens of Winterfest, eaten modestly in laughter each night at dinner. Despite the regal trappings and appearances bequeathed by their grandfather, and before him their great grandfather, the royal family had always shunned pomp and overt indulgence. The revolution caught them sleeping in a vacuum of political ignorance.
     “Do you think these beasts will honor your request, Father?” Valeriya sobbed. Her long, dark hair hung half across her breast and her back, ending in a swirl at her waist. She recalled how she and her mother had journeyed monthly through the streets of the capital with baskets of bread, which were given to the poorest of the peasants in accordance with the highest principles and admonitions of Christ. Certainly the usurpers knew this.
     “You, your sisters, and Peter have nothing to fear, child. The Commandant might seem heartless, but such evil in this age of enlightenment is beyond even his godless imaginings. Our guards have treated you with kindness and respect, is that not true?”
     Valeriya shook her head yes. The young guards, even though uneducated, had not only been kind, but had joked pleasantly whenever they happened upon the girls in the old mansion, barricaded and standing in isolation as it was outside the perimeter of the city, high on a treeless hill.
     An hour passed, and with it some of the anxiety felt by the children. The passage of time was their greatest ally. Taisia ran the beads of her rosary through her shaking fingers, beseeching Our Lady to at least protect the children. No one spoke except young Peter, who wanted to know how much longer they would be confined to this hot and cheerless house.
     The door opened and six guards half-staggered in, courage emboldened by liquor and the remembrances of brutal beatings by the Emperor’s police time and again. They took position in a ragged line and raised their weapons at the Royal Family sitting in a cluster beneath the window streaked with dust and sorrow on the outside.
     The leader, if there was one, a twenty-two year old convicted thief and murderer, shot first. His aim was poor. He had intended to split the Emperor’s skull in half by hitting him between the eyes, but he managed only to separate the right frontal lobe and send blood and brain fragments in a spray onto the disbelieving family. Screams broke out from the mouths of the children. Antonina lurched for her lifeless father as the remainder of the death squad picked targets at random and opened fire, filling the sitting room with smoke and horror, cursing and laughter. In less than two minutes the deed had become history.
     Drunk though they were, the soldiers were forced to stumble back out of the smoke filled room, either that or choke to death. One young man remained in the stench of gunpowder, however--a young man named Anastasius, who had fallen hopelessly in love with Valeriya. He had smuggled flowers to her often in order to make her days less dreary, and she had smiled and touched his hand tenderly each time. Anastasius approached her lifeless body and wept. He could no longer recognize her face.

Text: Patrick Sean Lee, (c) 2012
Images: Word Count-999
Publication Date: 10-27-2012

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, and his innocent family. I have changed the names of the Tsar and his family; deleted one daughter's appearance in the story, and changed slightly the circumstances, but not the outcome of that savage day in 1918.