The train arrived at the small station early in the morning.
Autumn had already taken hold. A thin mist lay over the fields, and the cold air smelled of damp earth and cut grass.
Skoropadskyi stepped onto the platform and paused for a moment.
The station was small. A wooden building, several tracks, and a warehouse filled with sacks of grain. Workers were loading the sacks into freight wagons. A little farther away several carts stood beside the road.
It was an ordinary scene.
He had seen stations like this across the entire Russian Empire.
But this time the road led home.
A carriage stopped near the station.
The estate manager stepped out quickly and removed his hat.
—"Pavlo Petrovych."
—"Good morning."
They shook hands.
—"We received your telegram yesterday evening."
—"The train arrived faster than I expected."
A few minutes later the carriage was already moving along the country road.
Fields stretched on both sides. Part of the harvest had already been gathered. In the distance peasants were collecting the last bundles of grain.
Skoropadskyi looked at the familiar land.
Four years.
Too long.
During that time he had seen armies, negotiations, battlefields, and maps of the General Staff.
But these fields remained unchanged.
After some time an old tree-lined avenue appeared ahead.
Tall trees stood on both sides of the road. Behind them the roofs of the estate could already be seen.
When the carriage entered the courtyard several workers immediately turned around.
Within seconds everyone in the yard knew that the master had returned.
The door of the house opened.
His wife stepped onto the porch and stopped.
For a moment she simply looked at him, as if making sure that he had truly returned.
Skoropadskyi stepped out of the carriage.
For several seconds they said nothing.
Four years could not be reduced to a few words.
She quickly walked down the steps.
—"At last."
He smiled.
She embraced him.
—"Four years, Pavlo."
—"I know."
She stepped back slightly and looked at him carefully.
—"You have grown thinner."
—"The Balkans are not a quiet place."
She shook her head slightly.
—"I read the newspapers."
Voices were already rising in the courtyard.
Children appeared from around the corner of the house.
They stopped for a moment.
During four years they had grown a great deal.
Maria and Yelyzaveta were already almost adults.
A little behind them stood Petro.
Skoropadskyi looked at him for a moment.
When he left for Serbia, the boy had been nine years old.
Now a tall teenager stood before him.
Danylo ran forward first.
—"Father!"
Skoropadskyi caught him and embraced him.
—"Hello."
The others approached more calmly.
Maria smiled.
—"We expected you yesterday."
Yelyzaveta added:
—"Mother said the train might be late."
Skoropadskyi looked at them.
—"You have all grown."
Petro stood slightly aside.
Skoropadskyi walked toward him.
For a moment they said nothing.
Then he extended his hand.
—"Well, hello."
Petro shook his hand firmly.
—"Hello, Father."
He spoke calmly, but there was still excitement in his voice.
Skoropadskyi studied him carefully.
He remembered very well.
The memories of the man from the future had warned him that the boy might one day suffer from a severe illness.
When Petro was still very young, doctors had found nothing unusual.
But Skoropadskyi had insisted on strict discipline.
Regular sleep.
Fresh air.
Moderate study.
Doctors who examined him every year.
Now he stood before him healthy and strong.
His wife quietly said beside him:
—"He trains every morning."
Skoropadskyi nodded.
—"I can see that."
Petro said:
—"We were just at the stables."
—"Show me."
A few minutes later they walked toward the stables.
A groom brought out a horse.
Petro mounted easily.
He sat confidently in the saddle.
The horse made several calm circles around the yard.
Skoropadskyi watched silently.
Petro handled the reins well and sat straight.
When he stopped, Skoropadskyi said:
—"You ride well."
Petro smiled slightly.
—"I practice every day."
—"It shows."
His wife said:
—"We tried to follow the routine the doctor recommended."
Skoropadskyi nodded.
He looked at his son again.
The boy stood calm, strong, and confident.
Most importantly — he was healthy.
Danylo tugged at his sleeve.
—"Did you really see a real war?"
Skoropadskyi looked at him.
—"Sometimes."
Maria immediately asked:
—"Is it true that Serbia is almost always fighting?"
He smiled slightly.
—"The Balkans are rarely quiet."
Soon the courtyard became lively with questions.
Danylo said proudly:
—"I read about wars."
Skoropadskyi looked at him.
—"Which ones?"
—"About Frederick the Great."
He added seriously:
—"And about Napoleon."
Maria quietly said:
—"Sometimes he reads about the Cossacks."
Skoropadskyi raised his eyebrow slightly.
—"Which ones?"
—"Bohdan Khmelnytsky."
Danylo nodded.
—"And the hetmans."
Yelyzaveta added:
—"Petro sometimes reads about our family."
Petro shrugged slightly.
—"There were many soldiers."
Maria said:
—"There is also a book about Hetman Skoropadskyi."
Skoropadskyi thought for a moment.
Ivan Skoropadskyi became hetman after difficult years of war and turmoil. His rule came at a time when the Cossack state already faced strong pressure from St. Petersburg. He tried to preserve order and at least part of the old rights of the Hetmanate while preventing another internal division.
Skoropadskyi finally said calmly:
—"It is useful to know history."
Danylo asked:
—"Why?"
—"Because it helps us understand how states appear."
Voices of workers were heard again in the yard.
Skoropadskyi looked at his children.
Four years ago they had been completely different.
Now each of them was beginning to grow into their own person.
His wife quietly said:
—"They changed a lot while you were away."
Skoropadskyi nodded.
—"I can see that."
He looked at Petro once more.
For the first time in many years he felt calm.
The worst possibility had been avoided.
By evening the house became quiet.
After supper the children did not leave the table immediately.
The candles burned quietly. Outside the windows it was already dark, and distant voices of workers could still be heard in the courtyard.
Danylo was the first to speak again.
—"Is it true that the armies in Serbia are very large?"
Skoropadskyi thought for a moment.
—"Not as large as those of the great powers. But for the Balkans they are considerable."
Maria asked:
—"Were you close to real battles?"
—"Sometimes."
He said it calmly.
—"I was an observer. I watched how the armies fought."
Petro, who had been silent until now, spoke.
—"And what did you see there?"
Skoropadskyi paused briefly.
—"That war is changing."
The children looked at him more attentively.
He continued:
—"In the past the bravery of individual soldiers often decided the outcome. Now artillery, railways, and factories decide much more."
Maria said quietly:
—"That does not sound like the books."
Skoropadskyi smiled slightly.
—"Books prefer heroes."
Danylo asked:
—"And in reality?"
Skoropadskyi answered calmly:
—"In reality entire states decide wars."
For several seconds no one spoke.
Then his wife said:
—"It is time to end the conversation. It is already late."
The children slowly rose from the table.
Danylo asked:
—"Will you tell us more tomorrow?"
Skoropadskyi nodded.
—"If there is time."
A few minutes later the house became quiet again.
After supper the children continued asking questions about Serbia. Danylo was most interested in the army, while Maria and Yelyzaveta asked about cities and people.
Eventually the conversation ended and the children went to their rooms.
Only Skoropadskyi and his wife remained in the study.
Several letters lay on the table.
She pointed toward them.
—"These came from Kremenchuk."
Skoropadskyi sat down and opened the first letter.
The seal of the trading house was familiar.
He read quickly.
—"The flour mill is operating steadily."
He turned the page.
—"They process about forty tons of grain per day."
His wife nodded.
—"Barges arrive constantly."
Skoropadskyi said:
—"And flour is sent south by railway."
He placed the letter on the table.
Kremenchuk had not been chosen by accident.
The Dnipro allowed large cargo transport. The railway connected the city with central provinces.
It was an important trade point.
He opened another letter.
—"This one is from the workshops."
His wife looked carefully.
—"The same ones?"
—"Yes."
He read several lines.
—"Production is still small."
He paused.
—"But they have begun producing rifle components and cartridge cases."
She asked:
—"Can private workshops really produce such things?"
—"Yes, if they produce parts."
He continued:
—"The rifles themselves are made at state factories. But many elements can be produced privately."
She asked:
—"Are there orders?"
—"Not many yet."
He placed the letter down.
—"But if European armies continue expanding, demand will grow."
His wife was silent for a moment.
Then she said:
—"I wanted to discuss something."
Skoropadskyi looked at her.
—"What exactly?"
She took another letter.
—"While you were away I met several shareholders of the bank."
Skoropadskyi smiled slightly.
—"It seems you did not waste time."
She replied calmly:
—"Someone had to manage things."
He nodded.
—"And what did you decide?"
—"We discussed building two enterprises in Kremenchuk."
—"Which ones?"
—"A leather factory and a clothing factory."
Skoropadskyi thought for a moment.
—"That is connected with the army."
—"And with the market."
She continued:
—"Boots, belts, coats. These are always needed."
He nodded.
—"And work clothing."
—"Exactly."
She added:
—"If war begins, such factories will never stop working."
Skoropadskyi said calmly:
—"You are thinking about war."
She looked at him.
—"After the Balkans it is difficult not to."
They were silent for a moment.
Skoropadskyi opened another letter.
The seal was French.
—"This is from Kryvyi Rih."
His wife said:
—"The engineers?"
—"Yes."
He continued reading.
—"Steel production has increased."
He turned the page.
—"The plant now produces about twenty thousand tons per year."
She looked surprised.
—"That is more than before."
—"Yes."
He continued:
—"Originally the plan was fifteen thousand."
He placed the letter down.
—"French engineers propose expansion."
—"Another workshop?"
—"Possibly."
He looked again at the letter.
—"There is another proposal."
She raised her head.
—"What?"
—"A tractor factory."
She looked surprised.
—"In Kryvyi Rih?"
—"Yes."
He explained:
—"There is steel, a railway, and workers."
She thought for a moment.
—"That could help agriculture."
Skoropadskyi nodded slightly.
—"And not only agriculture."
She looked at him carefully.
—"You are thinking about war again."
He answered calmly.
—"I am thinking about the future."
For a moment the room was silent.
Outside voices of workers could still be heard.
Skoropadskyi walked to the window.
Darkness was slowly falling over the estate.
He looked at the courtyard, the barns, and the road leading toward the fields.
Kremenchuk.
Kryvyi Rih.
Railways.
Factories.
All of it was slowly growing.
But he knew very well what was happening in Europe.
Armies were expanding.
Factories were working faster every year.
Empires were preparing.
He said quietly:
—"We must continue building."
His wife stepped beside him.
—"Are you certain?"
—"Yes."
He looked at her.
—"If things develop as I expect, industry will decide the fate of armies."
She remained silent for a moment.
—"Then we still have much work."
Skoropadskyi nodded.
—"And not much time."
Outside the night had fully fallen.
But the work had only begun.