Winter came quietly to Poltava Province.
At first frost covered the grass in the mornings with a thin layer of ice. Then the first snow fell, light and almost transparent. By January the fields around Hadyach were already covered with a white blanket, the roads had hardened from the cold, and long columns of smoke rose above the villages.
Life at the estate remained calm.
In the mornings the yard gradually filled with the sounds of work. Stablemen led horses from the stables. Workers unloaded carts filled with grain. Thick smoke rose from the chimney of the distillery.
The distillery had been operating for several months.
Pavlo Skoropadskyi stepped onto the porch and stopped.
The cold air touched his face.
For several seconds he looked across the yard toward the road leading to Hadyach. In the distance, beyond the fields, the tall brick chimney of the distillery could be seen. A thin line of smoke rose straight into the gray winter sky.
Several workers were rolling barrels toward a cart.
Others unloaded sacks of grain near the warehouse. One of the foremen inspected the harness of a wagon that would soon carry another shipment of alcohol into the town.
Life was slowly settling into a new rhythm.
The estate was no longer as quiet as it once had been.
Now it resembled a small enterprise.
He was about to walk down the steps when the door of the house suddenly opened.
—"Papa!"
Maria and Elizaveta ran onto the porch almost at the same time.
Skoropadskyi smiled and knelt down to embrace them.
—"You escaped outside again?"
Maria answered seriously.
—"We were watching them load the barrels."
—"A very important task."
Elizaveta was already pulling his hand.
—"Let's go see the horses."
—"First breakfast."
The door of the house opened again.
Oleksandra appeared on the porch.
She looked at the girls.
—"I knew you would already be outside."
The girls quickly ran back into the house.
Skoropadskyi remained on the porch.
Oleksandra walked closer.
—"You woke up early today."
—"Habit."
She remained silent for a few seconds.
Then she spoke quietly.
—"I need to tell you something."
He looked at her carefully.
—"What happened?"
Oleksandra smiled faintly.
—"Nothing bad."
She lowered her eyes for a moment.
—"I am pregnant."
For several seconds Skoropadskyi said nothing.
Then he slowly nodded.
—"That is good news."
Oleksandra looked at him.
—"I knew you would say that."
—"How long?"
—"The doctor says about two months."
Skoropadskyi nodded.
—"Then by summer our family will become larger."
Oleksandra smiled.
—"It seems so."
For several seconds they stood in silence.
Then she said:
—"Come inside. The girls are waiting."
After breakfast Skoropadskyi walked into the yard.
Hryhorii Stepanovych was already waiting near the barn.
The estate manager held several newspapers in his hands.
—"They brought these from Poltava."
Skoropadskyi took one of the papers.
—"Anything interesting?"
—"They are writing about Japan."
He unfolded the newspaper.
Several articles on the front page were devoted to the Far East.
Negotiations.
The fleet.
Diplomatic statements.
He slowly turned the pages.
Then suddenly stopped.
A short headline stood on the front page.
He read it once.
Then again.
For several seconds he said nothing.
Hryhorii Stepanovych noticed.
—"What happened?"
Skoropadskyi raised his eyes.
—"It has begun."
—"What has begun?"
He turned the newspaper toward the manager.
—"Japan has attacked Port Arthur."
Hryhorii Stepanovych frowned.
—"War?"
—"Yes."
For several seconds they stood in silence.
Work in the yard continued.
A cart slowly left through the gate.
Someone laughed near the stables.
Life at the estate had not changed.
But Skoropadskyi already understood:
for the Russian Empire everything was only beginning.
Hryhorii Stepanovych looked across the yard thoughtfully.
—"This may change many things."
—"Yes."
—"If the war lasts long, grain prices will rise."
Skoropadskyi nodded.
—"And metal."
The manager looked at him more carefully.
—"You are still thinking about Kryvyi Rih."
—"Yes."
—"War may accelerate industry."
—"Exactly."
That evening he opened the newspaper again.
Now the articles were longer.
The Japanese fleet had attacked the Russian squadron anchored in the roadstead of Port Arthur.
Several battleships were damaged.
The fleet had been placed on full alert.
Skoropadskyi slowly folded the paper.
He understood one thing clearly.
This war would not end quickly.
Russia had underestimated Japan for too long.
He walked to the window.
The yard was already quiet.
Snow crunched softly beneath the steps of the few people still outside.
During the past months he had been occupied with the distillery, accounts, and the affairs of the estate.
But now everything was changing.
He returned to the desk and took a blank sheet of paper.
A few minutes later the letter was finished.
A report.
A request to return to active service.
And a request for transfer to the Far East.
Several days later Skoropadskyi was already traveling north.
The train moved through snow-covered fields.
Several officers shared the compartment with him.
They spoke about only one thing.
The war.
—"The Japanese will not last long."
—"Our fleet will deal with them quickly."
—"A few months and everything will be over."
Another officer shook his head.
—"I would not be so certain."
—"Why?"
—"Japan defeated China ten years ago."
—"China is not Russia."
Skoropadskyi listened silently.
He knew the situation would be far more complicated.
The train continued its journey.
Stations passed one after another.
Sometimes he saw small platforms where peasants and soldiers stood reading newspapers and discussing the news.
The Russian Empire appeared vast and calm.
Yet it was now entering a war.
When the train arrived in Saint Petersburg evening had already fallen.
Cold wind from the Neva swept through the streets.
Skoropadskyi went almost immediately to the regimental headquarters.
The corridors were already filled with discussion of the latest news.
Newspapers lay on the tables.
Officers argued loudly.
Some spoke about the fleet.
Others about Manchuria.
One of the officers noticed him.
—"Skoropadskyi! Have you heard?"
—"Yes."
—"They say several battleships were damaged."
Another officer interrupted.
—"It does not matter. Our fleet is still stronger."
Skoropadskyi said nothing.
He entered the commander's office and placed his report on the desk.
The regimental commander looked at him carefully.
—"You wish to go to the front voluntarily?"
—"Yes."
The officer remained silent for several seconds.
Then he nodded.
—"The report will be forwarded."
Skoropadskyi left the office.
Now all that remained was to wait.
The war had begun on the far edge of the empire.
But very soon it would become his war as well.