Russia as I remember it.

Before the revolution I always looked forward to traveling home to welcome the new year with my sister. Leaving the Academy I took the train from Petersburg, changing onto a small branch line at Pikalevo where a much smaller, slower train filled with peasants and their packages took me to within 30 versts of our family estate. 

At the small halt with its overgrown, deserted station house, Elsa always waited for me with anxiety scribbled on her face. She settled me in the troika, fussing round me like I was a sick child, covering my knees under blankets of fox pelts. She always sat close beside me, holding onto my arm and dragging information about Petersburg and my studies from my travel-tired head while Grigori spanked the horse with his whip sending us speeding smartly across fields of crisp snow and on into the eeriness of the winter forest.  

It was only when we crossed onto our own land that Grigori showed any mercy to the horse and let it slow to a trot as we emerged from the forest, and my heart always leapt when the familiar shape of the house came into view on the far side of the small, frozen lake. 

Servants were always on hand to bring in my luggage and take it up to my room that Elsa had made sure was well heated, a fire roaring in the fireplace. The bed sheets and my linen would be smelling of pine gathered from the forest. As soon as I arrived a bath would be drawn for me in front of the fire. Elsa always withdrew when she saw that I was about to undress, leaving one of the servants to stand by with towels for when I was ready to emerge from the scalding water pink and steaming.