Member-only story
Torn from History
They said the old merchant’s house had been singled out by the powers that be, the owner told to leave and some of the rooms closed up. Then a detachment of guards came, along with speculation that this secluded villa might become a barracks.
By the time the palisade fence went up, people talked about a prison. It was as if a nearby forest of Siberian pines had marched up to the house in rag-tag formation, each rough hewn trunk staked into the ground, nails hammered in, no slither of daylight allowed between.
Some were surprised to hear that shortly before this ugly barricade had been put in place, a family of seven had already taken up residence. They had arrived in halting procession a month previously, their small entourage pruned on arrival. Only the doctor, the valet, the cook and the maid were permitted to accompany them over the threshold.
The head of the family was the first to arrive. He seemed weary and drawn, shrunken inside his field uniform, while his wife, veiled and shawled, leaned heavily on the arm of a tall, pretty girl, venturing the ghost of a smile.
After a few weeks, the remaining children turned up. Two of the girls were seen carrying lapdogs like lesser characters from a lost story by Chekhov. The younger girl cradling a toy spaniel with silky ears, while tucked under the arm of her older sister, aloof, gazing…
