The morning at the estate was calm.
Early spring coolness still lingered in the air. A thin mist hung above the orchard, and the damp ground darkened between the paths after the night dew.
A carriage was already waiting in the yard.
The horses shifted their hooves and occasionally snorted quietly. The coachman held the reins and from time to time glanced toward the house.
He knew his master was leaving early today.
Pavlo Skoropadsky stepped onto the porch and paused.
For several seconds he simply looked at the yard.
Much had changed there during the past months.
Carts loaded with grain stood near the barns. Workers were discussing the morning's tasks near the farm buildings. Not far away lay planks and crates filled with tools — part of the materials for the distillery that was being built near Hadyach.
Life at the estate had become noticeably more active.
A few months earlier everything had been far quieter.
Now the estate was slowly beginning to resemble a well-organized enterprise.
Skoropadsky walked down the steps.
The estate manager was already waiting near the entrance.
Hryhorii Stepanovych held a small folder of papers in his hands.
—"Everything is ready, Pavlo Petrovich."
—"Good."
Skoropadsky stopped beside him.
—"How is the work progressing?"
—"Construction is moving steadily. The stone for the foundation has already arrived. The workers have begun preparing the base."
—"How many men are there now?"
—"Almost forty. When the walls begin to rise, there will be more."
Skoropadsky nodded.
That meant the work was truly gaining momentum.
At that moment the door of the house opened.
Oleksandra stepped onto the porch.
She was holding little Petro in her arms. Maria and Elizaveta stood beside her.
Skoropadsky climbed the steps again.
He knelt down in front of his daughters and embraced them.
—"I will return soon."
Maria looked at him seriously.
—"Soon?"
—"Of course."
Elizaveta wrapped her arms around his neck.
—"Are you going back to the soldiers again?"
Skoropadsky smiled.
—"Yes. But not for long."
Oleksandra stepped closer.
—"Write to us."
—"I will."
For a moment she looked at him as if trying to remember this moment clearly.
—"We will manage here."
—"I know."
Skoropadsky gently touched his son's hand.
Little Petro was sleeping peacefully.
A few minutes later he took his seat in the carriage.
The wheels creaked softly on the gravel as the carriage slowly left the yard.
The road ran between fields.
Spring had only just begun. The soil was still dark and damp after the melting snow. In the distance peasants were already working the land.
Skoropadsky looked at the familiar landscape.
It felt strange how quickly his life had changed.
The army and industry.
Now he had to live in two worlds at once.
In one world there were regiments, exercises, and military discipline.
In the other there were calculations, construction, and economic plans.
And both worlds were becoming equally important.
Several hours later the carriage arrived at the railway station.
The station was small but lively.
Peasants, merchants, and several officers stood on the platform. Workers rolled barrels and crates toward the freight wagons.
The locomotive slowly released thick clouds of steam.
Skoropadsky picked up his suitcase and entered the train.
The compartment was empty.
Soon the train began to move.
The wheels started their steady rhythm along the rails.
The journey lasted almost two days.
Sometimes he read newspapers.
European politics.
Military reforms.
Industrial development.
But most of the time he simply watched the passing landscape through the window.
The empire was enormous.
Stations replaced one another.
Villages slowly gave way to larger towns.
Sometimes he saw endless fields.
Sometimes the smoke of distant factories.
He knew the future belonged to those factories.
Factories.
Railways.
Metallurgy.
Without industry no modern war could be fought.
And Russia was far behind.
The thought did not leave his mind.
Finally the train arrived in Saint Petersburg.
The city greeted him with its usual dampness.
A heavy grey sky hung above the Neva. A cold wind blew from the river.
Carriages and cab drivers moved through the wide streets.
Soon Skoropadsky was standing in the courtyard of his regiment's barracks.
Several officers immediately noticed him.
—"Skoropadsky! Finally back."
—"Your leave is over."
—"How was life at the estate?"
Skoropadsky shook their hands.
—"Quiet. The estate required attention."
One officer smirked.
—"They say you are becoming an industrialist."
Skoropadsky smiled slightly.
—"A little estate business never harmed anyone."
Another officer laughed.
—"Careful. That is how factory owners begin."
—"We shall see."
The next morning the regiment was preparing for exercises.
Commands echoed through the yard.
Soldiers checked their equipment while grooms led the horses from the stables.
Cavalry demanded precision.
And above all — discipline.
Skoropadsky watched the formation carefully.
Much depended on the officers.
Soon the regiment rode out of the city.
The exercises took place on the open plain.
Squadrons moved in formation, performing turns and maneuvers.
Skoropadsky observed closely.
One squadron acted particularly confidently.
The commands were calm and clear.
The formation held steady even during difficult turns.
When the maneuver ended, Skoropadsky rode toward the squadron commander.
—"You handled the squadron well."
The officer nodded slightly.
—"We tried to maintain formation."
—"Your name?"
—"Yakov Handziuk."
Skoropadsky paused for a moment.
The name sounded familiar.
He studied the officer more carefully.
—"Where are you from?"
—"Podolia Province."
Skoropadsky glanced across the field.
—"You executed the turn well. Many units lose formation there."
Handziuk answered calmly.
—"A horse must feel the movement. If you rush, the formation breaks."
Skoropadsky smiled slightly.
—"A correct observation."
For a few seconds they remained silent.
Then Skoropadsky added:
—"Continue working like this."
—"We will."
The exercises continued for several more hours.
Later the officers gathered near the штаб and discussed the maneuvers.
They spoke about formation, speed, and command control.
Skoropadsky listened carefully.
The army was changing slowly.
But he understood that times were coming when the preparation of officers would matter far more than it did now.
Future wars would be different.
Larger.
More destructive.
That evening he returned to his room.
A letter lay on the table.
He immediately recognized Oleksandra's handwriting.
Skoropadsky sat down and opened the envelope.
She wrote about the children.
About the estate.
And about the distillery construction.
The building was nearly finished.
The workers had begun preparing the equipment.
In a few months the factory would begin production.
Skoropadsky carefully folded the letter.
For a long time he sat silently.
His life was now divided into two parts.
Duty and the future he was trying to build.