Free The Bronze Horseman by Paullina Simons Page A

was left standing in the kitchen. Mama came out and said, “The officer forgot his cap.”
    Tatiana took it from Mama’s hands, but before she could take one step to the corridor, Alexander had returned—by himself. “Forgot my cap,” he said.
    Tatiana gave it to him without speaking and without looking at him.
    As he took the cap from her, his fingers rested against hers for a moment. That made her look up. Tatiana stared at him with sadness. What did grown-ups do?
She
wanted to cry. She could do nothing but gulp down the aching in her throat and act grown-up.
    “I’m sorry,” Alexander said so quietly that Tatiana thought she might have misheard him. He turned and walked out.
    Tatiana found her mother frowning at her. “What do you think
you’re
doing?”
    “Be grateful we got some food, Mama,” said Tatiana, and started to make herself something to eat. She buttered a piece of bread, ate part of it with absentminded abandon, then jumped up and threw the rest out.
    There was nowhere for her to go. Not in the kitchen, not in the hallway, not in the bedroom. What she wanted was a little room of her own where she could go and jot down small things in her diary.
    Tatiana had no little room of her own. As a result she had no diary. Diaries, as she understood them from books, were supposed to be full of personal writings and filled with private words. Well, in Tatiana’s world there were no private words. All private thoughts you kept in your head as you lay down next to another person, even if that other person happened to be your sister. Leo Tolstoy, one of her favorite writers, wrote a diary of his life as a young boy, an adolescent, a young man. That diary was
meant
to be read by thousands of people. That wasn’t the kind of diary Tatiana wanted to keep. She wanted to keep one in which she could write down Alexander’s name and no one would read it. She wanted to have a room where she could say his name out loud and no one would hear it.
    Alexander.
    Instead, she went back into the bedroom, sat next to her mother, and had a sweet biscuit.
    Her parents talked about the money Dasha was not able to get out of the bank, which had closed early, and a little about evacuation, but said nothing about Pasha—for how could they?—and Tatiana said nothing about Alexander—for how could she? Her father talked about Dimitri and what a fine young man he seemed to be. Tatiana sat quietly at the table, summoning her teenage strength. When Dasha returned, she motioned for Tatiana to come into their bedroom. Tatiana dutifully went. Whirling around, Dasha said, “So what did you think?”
    “Of what?” said Tatiana in a tired voice.
    “Tania, of him! What did you think of
him
?”
    “He’s nice.”
    “Nice? Oh, come on! What did I tell you? You’ve never met anyone so handsome.”
    Tatiana managed a small smile.
    “Wasn’t I right? Wasn’t I?” Dasha laughed.
    “You were right, Dasha,” said Tatiana.
    “Isn’t it incredible that you met him?”
    “Isn’t it?” said Tatiana without feeling, standing up and wanting to get out of the room, but Dasha blocked the door with her twitching body, unwittingly challenging Tatiana, who was not up to a fight, not a big one, not a small one. Challengeless, she said and did nothing. That’s the way it had always been. Dasha was seven years older. She was stronger, smarter, funnier, more attractive. She always won. Tatiana sat back down on the bed.
    Dasha sat next to Tatiana. “What about Dimitri? Did you like him?”
    “I guess. Listen, don’t worry about
me,
Dash.”
    “Who’s worried?” Dasha said, ruffling Tatiana’s hair. “Give Dima a chance. I think he actually liked you.” Dasha said that almost as if she were surprised. “Must be your dress.”
    “Must be. Listen, I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”
    Dasha put her arm on Tatiana’s back. “I really like Alexander, Tania,” she said. “I like him so much, I can’t even explain.”
    Tatiana felt a