The Ring of the Queen (The Lost Tsar Trilogy Book 1)

Part I

A great wind is blowing, and that gives you either imagination or a headache.

--Catherine the Great

You know, your mother would probably have a stroke, Dr. Al said to me as I sat in the garage of my grandmother's house.

I knew that he was referring to the bottle of Corona that I was drinking. I know I was only 17 at the time, but I'd had a really rough year. Forget the fact that my grandma's death was the third so far, after my dad and brother. I also had discovered that my boyfriend was gay. At the moment that Dr. Al found me drinking a beer in the garage after my grandma's funeral, the least of my worries was what my mom might think.

Dr. Al was actually Dr. Alfred Dalton. I'd known him my whole life. He was a history professor at Manchester College, or Manchester University, depending on your familiarity with the institution. The name had changed, but I'd been around my whole life and still referred to it as a college. I'd gone to school with Dr. Al's daughter, Penny, up until that year. She was a year older than me and she'd gone off to college at Purdue to get away from home.

Dr. Al was a portly older man, who'd been all over the world with students studying history. He and my grandma had always been friends, because they both loved Russian history. Because of that, I'd probably known him even better than I knew his daughter.

I think I've earned a drink, I replied. If only he knew it wasn't my first beer that day. I guess the good news is that it should be over.

What are you talking about? Dr. Al replied.

They say that deaths come in threes. I would think that after dad, grandma and Alex it would be over, right?

But I forgot to say what was making me so depressed about it. First, my family is from a tiny town in Indiana that goes by the name of North Manchester. My grandfather was a farmer there and my grandma's house was the place that she bought after grandpa died of a heart attack. She still didn't like the though finding city, so it sat on the edge of town along State Highway 13 where she could look at the farms across the way, but didn't have to maintain one. Smart move when you think about it. My parents lived in Servia, a sort of a town that was actually on the edge of North Manchester. It was hard to believe that there was indeed a smaller town than North Manchester. My dad and Alex worked at the truck factory in Fort Wayne. There were no longer any farmers in my family.

Things were fine until recently. It was February when Alex and my dad were both killed in an explosion at the factory. I'm not even sure what exactly happened. I figured that I would understand it more later. The report said that a boiler exploded, but I wasn’t even sure what a boiler was. I was numb at the time that I heard the news, and I couldn't comprehend much. It was a real shock. My mother was a mess from that moment on. So, for the last three months, I'd been her caretaker. She was pretty much crackers without my dad, and I don't know how to help someone cope with the loss of a child. Pretty much for the last few months I'd been nothing but a last salvation for my mother. I felt like I was suffocating, because she'd decided that nothing should happen to me, and was dead set on personally making sure that nothing did happen to me. She was crazy overprotective at this point, and I didn't want to be within 50 miles of the overbearing person who was once my mom.

Most of my life I had spent a lot of time with grandma. She was pretty much my best friend. My mom had always been jealous, and complained about me being at grandma's all the time. After my dad and Alex died, however, she started insisting that I stay home with her more. She actually decided that I should never leave her side. I was 17 years old, not 7 years old, and didn't want anything to do with that.

Shortly after my dad and Alex died I had the next blow to my psyche. I remember when I found my boyfriend of three years, Virgil, making out with a wrestler after a meet one night. My mom was the last person that I wanted to talk to about that one. She was really self involved after dad and Alex died, and I understood that. I wanted to talk to grandma about the whole thing, even out about it explained a lot of what I'd known was wrong with our relationship. I was so mad at Virgil that I didn't know what I should think about it all. I wanted to go and talk to grandma and mom wouldn't let me. I wanted to punch her right in the face. It took some time, but eventually I got to talk to grandma and she made me see things a little more clearly. Now Virgil was pretty much my best friend and it made sense to me. Grandma had a way of making sense of things for me.

After that, Virgil helped me cope with the deaths of Alex and dad, and everything was fine until the day that grandma died.

Where is mom, anyway? I asked Dr. Al.

She’s running around inside making sure that everyone is comfortable and well fed, he

replied.

Sounds about right, I said.

Virgil came up and handed me another beer. He looked over and saw the same judgmental look on Dr. Al’s face that I did. You won’t tell, will you? She’s had a rough few months, and just because she isn’t 21 yet, doesn’t mean that she doesn’t deserve a beer at a time like this.

Dr. Al didn’t say much at that point. He shook his head and went back into the house.

Virgil sat for a while and didn’t say much. We’d always had a good relationship, but by the time I’d found out about his preferences I’d really known that we were destined to be good friends. He was probably more effeminate than me, particularly since I was such a tomboy. Most guys saw me as one of them more than one of the girls. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t like dresses or heels or make up or getting my nails done. It just wasn’t me. I was much more at home in a hoodie and jeans with boots or sneakers on. It was just who I was.

So, what’s going on in that head of yours? Virgil asked.

I’m trying not to ask what else could happen, because I don’t want karma to kick in and let me know the answer.

Fair enough. So, does this mean that you have to stay with your mom forever and never have a life of your own?

I took a swig of my beer. God only knows.

Ring of the Queen

Part II

…some of your greatest pains become your greatest strengths.

-Drew Barrymore

I’ll never forget the day my grandma died. I was supposed to spend the weekend with her, but my mom was having one of her episodes. She’s started having them after my dad and brother had died. I never understood them and thought that she was just manipulating me, until grandma passed as well. Then I understood.

I got the call at around 10 pm. I couldn’t believe it. I realized that she lived on a State Highway, but the idea that someone ran into the house floored me. I woke mom up from one of her depression sleeps, where she took a couple too many of her anti-anxiety meds. She really didn’t know what was going on, but I piled her into the car and drove to the emergency room anyway. When we arrived, the doctor on call was waiting. I’d never met the man, but I could tell by the look on his face that it wasn’t good news.

What happened? I asked the doctor.

I don’t know the details of the accident. You’ll have to ask the police about that, he said. I do know that all I can do for her is make her comfortable. I wish I had better news.

My mind ceased to work at that very moment. Still, every time I thought about that moment, I had a hard time breathing. What do you mean?

She has too many injuries for us to operate on her right now. I can only hope that we can stabilize her so that we can try and repair some of the damage.

Are you saying that my grandma is going to die? I asked. I heard the words coming out of my mouth, but I couldn’t wrap my mind around them.

We just don’t know, the doctor said.

I remember him leading me down a hall into the intensive care unit. Mom didn’t want to come. She was so out of it that she didn’t realize what was really happening. Since my dad and Alex had died, I felt as though I had become the parent, but there was nothing that I could do about that at that moment.

When I walked into her room, she looked terrible. She had several machines hooked up to her. I didn’t know what they were. She was awake, and she smiled at me. I didn’t know what to think. Deep down inside I knew that no matter how horrible she felt, she would try not to let on to me. There was no one else on Earth that I knew better, and I knew that she would try and put on a brave face no matter what.

You look worried, she said to me, struggling to get the words out.

I had to smile. I don’t know how to answer that, grandma. I love you, and I do worry about you. How do you feel? And don’t tell me that you’re fine.

She smiled at me again. I won’t tell you that.

She caught me by surprise. Good, I stammered, not knowing how to reply to that.

My little princess, I don’t want to lie to you, Grandma started. I’m in rough shape, and I’m pretty sure I’m gonna die.

I fell into a nearby chair. Don’t say that, I replied flatly.

I have to honey. I don’t think that I have much time left, and I need to tell you some things before I go.

Like what?

Put your hand out, she ordered me.

I did as I was told. She put a ring in my hand. I’d never seen it before, so I didn’t know what it was about. It was gold and the top had a setting that was different than anything I’d ever seen before. It had a picture on it that looked as though it was made out of inlaid gems. I knew that the scene on the ring was Russian, which was no surprise since my grandma was the biggest Russia fanatic that ever walked the face of the Earth.

It’s beautiful, I said.

I don’t have time to explain it, but it’s a very important piece of jewelry to me, and I want you to have it. She folded my hand around the ring. I don’t have much time, so just trust what I tell you and don’t question it like you do everything else in the world.

My grandma had never talked to me like that. I wasn’t sure how to react. Okay.

I don’t know what will become of the house and all of the things in it, but I want you to have this. She was having trouble breathing, and the words were not coming out of her mouth easily. This is special. I can’t tell you why. It would take too long. If nothing else, I want you to hang onto it, and never let it out of your sight. Promise me.

I promise.

She coughed. She was having a hard time breathing. I tried to stand to go and get help, but she grabbed my arm with a force that I wouldn’t have thought possible, considering she could barely breathe.

Don’t go, she said.

You need help. You can barely breathe.

I realize that. I’m going to die.

Let me get help, I said.

She let go of my arm, but I realized it was because she had passed. It was over. Just like that, my grandma was gone. She was my best friend. She was the one who taught me everything. She was the most important person in the world to me, and she was gone.

Nurses and the doctor came running in as the machines informed them that grandma had passed. The staff came with equipment to try and revive her, but the doctor stopped them. I realized that I was still holding her hand. I didn’t want to let go.

I’m so sorry, the doctor said.

He shooed the staff out of the room. He followed them and left me to have a minute. I wasn’t sure what to do with my minute. She was gone. It would take forever to get used to that. I looked at the ring that she had placed in the palm of my hand. I picked it up and put it on my ring finger. It fit perfectly. Irony wasn’t what I needed at that moment. Unfortunately, irony was all I had to go on. From that moment on, that ring had been the single most important item in my world. I had no idea why it was so important to her, but it was. That was why it was so extremely important to me.

Of all the things that my grandma held dear, I was surprised that the thing that she wanted me to have was a ring that I had never seen before. She had a whole house full of Russian collectibles that she was extremely proud of and protective over. But, no, she wanted me to have a ring.

Every time I wake up from a nightmare about the night that my grandma died, the last thing that I remember is when she insisted that I take that ring. Of all the things that I could remember, that’s the one that sticks in my head. The senseless death doesn’t stick in my head. The part where I found out that the driver of the car also died didn’t stick in my head. The part where my mom was hysterical didn’t stick in my head or the part where the doctor had to sedate my mom. Of all the parts of that horrible night that could make their way into my dreams and make them frightening, I only remember the ring. I figured it was because she died immediately after giving it to me.

The Ring of the Queen

Part III

This is all you have. This is not a dry run. This is your life.

-Laura Schlessinger

College was supposed to be a fun time for me. What with my grandma dying shortly before my high school graduation, it had become a lot more work than I’d anticipated. I hadn’t wanted to go to college at Manchester College, but when I inherited my grandma’s house, it seemed to make sense. I’d planned to go to Ball State in Muncie, so I’d had to ask Dr. Al to get me in after applications had closed. It was nice to have someone to help me with difficult circumstances.

My mom had not wanted me to live in grandma’s house. I wasn’t sure if that was because she was lonely, or if it had something to do with the house. She and my grandma had a very difficult relationship, which didn’t seem like a surprise to me. Grandma was my mom’s mother in law. I wasn’t sure what to do about the house. It was my grandma’s, and I didn’t want to sell it. I didn’t really want to live in it either, because it looked like a Russian antiquities museum.

My grandma had spent my entire life doing what my mother called obsessing about Russia. Her library was full of Russian history books and political science books and biographies about Russian leaders. She’d collected all kinds of Kolkova and lacquer boxes, samovars and tea glasses, and many other items over the years. Her knowledge of the language, the history, the art, and the culture was amazing. It was her insistence that had made me learn to speak Russian. I was hoping that it would be useful in college.

Her tutelage had made me who I was, and my idea was to become a history professor. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to pursue Russian history as a specialty, but it made sense. I loved the tales that my grandma told me about the Soviets, and what little she’d told me about the Tsars. I think she talked about the Soviets more, because they had ruled the country throughout most of her life, and they really pissed her off. She was angry that they’d ever existed, but she also wasn’t too fond of the new democracy. She said that they were no different from the Soviets. She said that they only went by different titles.

At any rate, I started my first semester of college at Manchester, and lived in grandma’s house with the Russian chachkis everywhere I looked. Virgil also went to Manchester, so there was one good friend that I had on campus. History was a tough major socially, so I didn’t make friends the way I would have liked. I tended to find like-minded people on Facebook and chat with them. It made more sense to me, since I didn’t want to spend my time hanging out with a bunch of cheerleaders.

Facebook was where I met Tania. Tania went to Boston College which was her hometown school, and she was studying history as well. We were a couple of geeks when it came to history, and we’d hit it off online and chatted constantly like we’d known each other our entire lives. Tania said that her family was Irish, but she found Russian history fascinating. She was pretty sure she wanted to be a Russian history professor. As sad as it sounds, Tania was my best friend during my first semester at college.

Things were going as well as could be expected. I’d settled into a routine, and was comfortable with my living arrangements, and then everything changed.

It was November, and I was driving home from a late class one night. The weather was this horrible sideways 34-degree rain that only people who have spent their lives in northern Indiana or Iceland can truly appreciate. Since the town of North Manchester was a ridiculously small town that was mostly college students, senior citizens, and several forms of Amish, they didn’t feel the need to spring for very many street lights. All the hipsters hated light pollution, and it just wasn’t in the budget to make it so that people could see where they were going on rainy cold nights in November. I was making my way down Highway 13 to the house, when I saw a car behind me. I didn’t think much of it. It was late, and there was hardly ever any traffic on the road at that hour, but hey, what did I know? It was when the car pulled into my driveway after me that my heart stopped.

I’d started to carry a baseball bat in my car for just such an occasion, because after my family had started dying off, I’d gotten a little paranoid. I pulled into the garage that was attached to the single story ranch style house that my grandma had left to me. The car just sat there, and I couldn’t tell anything in the dark rainy night. I grabbed the Louisville Slugger that I now kept on the seat next to me and prepared to get out of the car. I jumped out of the car, baseball bat in hand and nearly took a swing at Virgil as he emerged from his car.

Damn you scared me! I yelled at him, swinging the bat and almost hitting him in the head. What the hell are you following me for?

Because I wanted to talk to you, God, Virgil replied. Are we a little paranoid or what?

I really wanted to hit him with the bat, but instead I put the bat down and walked into the house with Virgil behind me. He didn’t say anything as I put my stuff on the kitchen table and hung up my coat. I walked to the refrigerator.

So, stalker of mine, are you thirsty? I asked Virgil.

Aren’t you the least bit curious what I wanted to tell you?

I handed him a can of Diet Coke and opened one for myself. What on Earth could be so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?

Russia.

I stood and stared at him as if he was insane. The country? It’s been around a long time, Virgil. I don’t see it going anywhere before 3 pm tomorrow.

Virgil pulled a piece of yellow paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. Russia. There’s a class at Moscow University over Jan Term.

Yeah, so?

So, you need to go.

What makes you say that?

You live in this Russian museum. You love this shit. Your grandma would make you go. It’s like the stars aligned just right and here’s the opportunity of a lifetime. You can’t pass on this.

I knew he was right. If there was ever anyone in the world that should go on a trip to Russia it was me. It was like I’d spent my whole life in training to do just that. I’d spent all the years listening to my grandma and looking at her Russian things. I’d written all of my elective papers on Russian topics, because I had a complete library at my grandma’s house to work from. There was so much that I’d learned, but so much that I still didn’t know. Spending time in Russia and taking a class in Russian history would be a great thing to help answer some of the questions I still had about that mysterious country.

Are you still with me? Virgil asked, waving his hand in front of my face.

Sorry, I was just thinking, I replied.

I looked at the flyer. The class was called Tsars; Myth, Legend, and Facts.

Well, what do you think? Virgil asked.

I think it sounds amazing, I told him. I also think that there’s no way in hell that I can do this.

How can you not do this?

I can’t just go running off to Russia on a whim. Not even for a few weeks. My mom would freak so bad that they’d have to lock her up somewhere. Besides, I’ve never really gone anywhere. Russia’s a scary place. It’s big, and no one really seems to know what goes on over there. I’d probably be so lost that I’d never get over it.

You’re a wimp.

That’s not nice, and you’re right. There, I said it. I’m a wimp. Okay?

You know what I think? Honestly?

I was getting angry with him and wanted to punch him right in the face. What?

I think you’re saying what your mom would want you to. If you did what your grandma would want, it would be going to this class. Your mom is freaky scared of every little thing. I realize that you had a lot of bad luck last year, but none of them would be lying in a grave wanting you to pass up on something that would make a huge difference in your life because of them. Your mom needs to get over it. Shit happens. You should not quit living, because your mom is scared of nonsense.

You’re right. I’m afraid my mom will lose her shit, and I’ll be to blame. I’m also scared. I admit it.

You can’t be scared for the rest of your life.

I had an idea. Then go with me.

I would love to, you know that. But, I can’t.

Why not?