She had always prided herself on her ability to make friends, and worked hard to make people feel at ease in her company. In part it grew out of a feeling that she was an outsider in the family. Olga and Tatiana were the big pair, and they were usually inseparable, whispering secrets they could never be persuaded to share. Anastasia and Alexei were babies, still happiest when giggling and playing the fool. Maria was neither her father’s nor her mother’s favorite; she was stuck in the middle, the odd one out in family affiliations. She had once written to her mother, all teenage seriousness, saying that she felt she wasn’t loved. Her mother had replied that she was “just as dear as the other four,” but it was difficult to believe. Actions spoke louder than words.

Why had she been the one chosen to accompany her parents to Ekaterinburg while her other siblings stayed behind? Her mother only wanted her because she was willing to run errands; she had overheard her telling her father, “Maria is my legs.” She was not there for her scintillating conversation or ready wit or adorable nature, but because she was obedient. And clearly she was the one her siblings felt they could most readily manage without.

Maria’s dream was to fall in love and marry. Her husband need not be a foreign prince, although a couple had shown an interest. She would be perfectly happy with a dashing Russian officer who would sweep her off her feet. Often when she lay in bed at night she would picture the scene. He’d bring a gift: perhaps her favorite Lilas perfume or some pretty bijou. She would smile and extend her hand, letting him press his lips to it. He would fall to his knees, swearing he could not live without her, then begging permission to ask her father for her hand in marriage. She would hesitate for a few moments, so overcome with emotion that she could not at first speak, then she would blurt out, “Yes, oh yes, my dear!” And he would stand and take her in his arms, and kiss her so passionately that she would almost swoon.

This future husband did not at present have a face, but Maria dreamed he would be strong and true, and most important that she would be his great, enduring love, the one and only woman he could not possibly live without.

Chapter 3

Ekaterinburg, May 1918