We had learned sewing at an early age because Mother had always stressed its importance in any woman’s life. She, herself, was expert at sewing and during the early years of her marriage made some of the layettes for us infants. Many of her embroideries sold at benefits and some handmade blouses in silk or linen, beautifully tucked and embroidered, went as gifts to our relatives in England and in Germany. Grandmother, too, was clever at hand work. She could repair her own exquisite handkerchiefs so perfectly one would never know they had been mended. Grandmother could knit well, too; during the war she made fine woolen gloves for the soldiers and sent some to Father. Marie and I concentrated on socks, gloves, and caps, and received our war news while we were knitting in the evening. War and our mutual problems became the greatest teachers of responsibility. When I became the honorary chief of a regiment, the 148th Caspian Infantry, the monthly reports I received of my regiment brought to me news of the losses in dead and wounded. These reports were frightening and I ran to Olga to find what could be done to ease the situation. She said; “Hundreds of wounded are coming every day and it is horrible the way they suffer.” I heard that the German losses were even greater. Once again I wanted to be a doctor when I grew up. Soon after this, Mother allowed Marie and me to visit our own hospital more often. As we entered the building they were carrying a wounded man with bloody bandages. He was taken directly to the operating room; a moment later they carried him right out again. The doctors had found he was already dead when he was brought to the operating room. I had a dizzy spell. I was ill. No, I never could be a doctor. The sight of that poor boy could never be erased from my mind. For weeks I could smell blood. Red became a haunting color with its reminder of the horror of that picture. Even red medicine made me ill all over again. Day after day Olga and Tatiana worked beside Mother at the hospital. They got up at seven, attended lectures, and then again resumed their hospital work. In the evening, they read while knitting. I could not understand how they endured it all. It was comforting, however, to learn that Olga, like me, could not bear to see suffering. Tatiana was like Mother in her ability to see beyond the suffering to the relief she was able to give. Doctors were scarce, and Mother assisted in many operations. Each day before going to the hospital she stopped at the Znamensky Sobor, the little church she had restored, to pray that her hands might be blessed with the power to do things right. She felt so obligated to each wounded soldier, she wanted to nurse him with her own hands to relieve his suffering. At the sight of each new patient she prayed anew for the war to end. She spent all day at the hospital and came home exhausted and would lie on her sofa for a short rest.