Anna led the way through ward after ward. Katrina began to wish she had never suggested coming. The odors and blood-stained bandages, with now and then a pitiful moan of pain coming from somewhere, caused her stomach to churn. She had forgotten all about her desire to be accepted as an adult; she only wanted to run away and hide from the misery. And she was oblivious to the fact that her mother was no longer with them.
“I always go down to the last ward,” said Anna. “It’s where the younger ones stay.”
Katrina nodded but was unable to speak.
“Some of them are hardly older than you or I, Princess,” she went on. “I know it cheers them up to visit someone their own age. You will see.”
They entered the ward. It was like all the rest except, as Anna had said, the faces were younger. Anna spoke with one of the uniformed sisters for a moment, then began to talk to some of the wounded. It was clear from their smiles that they recognized her, and several called her by name.
“Will you read to us, Anna?” said one.
“If you wish,” she replied sweetly, giving his hand a squeeze before visiting briefly with the others who were greeting her, some in voices barely above a whisper.
As Katrina watched the scene in bewilderment, amazed to see this side of her maid’s character she hadn’t known existed, one of the nurses walked softly toward her.
“Anna tells me you would like to help, Princess Fedorcenko,” the woman said.
Katrina nodded.
“We have a boy at the other end of the ward,” she went on, “who requires constant supervision. He is too far away to hear when Anna reads to the others. She does what she can, but I know he would dearly love it if you read just to him.”
“Why is he there?” asked Katrina, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“It is not pleasant, Princess,” she returned. “His leg was shattered and had to be amputated at the field station.”
Katrina turned away, revolted, then managed to regain control of herself. She turned a white face back toward the nurse.
“We are doing everything we can to save his life,” she said. “But the poor boy is in great pain.”
“Does he . . . is his family . . . ?” faltered Katrina.
“No, Princess, he is alone. He comes from a peasant family east of here. We have not yet been able to locate his parents. Shall I take you to him?” she added.
“Yes, please.”
The nurse took Katrina gently by the arm and led her down through the rows of patients to a bed at the far end. The boy was clearly in misery, his eyes closed.
“Serge . . . Serge,” whispered the nurse. “This is Princess Fedorcenko. She has come to read to you.”
She gave Katrina a smile, placed two books in her hand, then went off to other duties.
Katrina stood beside the bed for a moment, not knowing what to do. Slowly the boy’s eyes opened and he tried to shift his weight, wincing as he did so. Katrina stared mutely down at him. He was younger than Dmitri, his smooth cheeks beardless. His face, even in semi-consciousness, was contorted with pain, and it seemed to take the most valiant effort not to cry out. Katrina tried to keep her eyes from wandering to the foot of the bed where the shape of the blankets revealed a single leg. He also seemed to be wounded in the chest, and he kept one hand clutched to his heart.
“Are . . . are you really a princess?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she answered. “My name is Katrina. I will read to you if you wish.”
He opened his eyes, wider, taking in this angel who had descended from heaven to grace his bedside. His eyes were a brilliant blue, dulled now in the agony of his condition. As she looked upon his face, Katrina’s heart swelled with love for him. She could easily imagine the youthful enthusiasm that must have once filled these same eyes, the young warrior’s zeal and pride. She wondered if he had been marching through the streets that day last spring when she had watched the army going off to war in hopes of a quick thirty-day victory.
“I am Sergei Ivanovich,” he said weakly, as if his voice did not have enough breath to support the effort.
“I have a brother named Sergei. He is in the Balkans now, fighting.”
“Was he at Plevna?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. . . .”
Katrina did not know what to make of his response, though it seemed tinged with darkness. Plevna was a great victory, she thought. Why such a mournful tone from one of its veterans?
Gingerly Katrina sat down on the edge of the bed, and opened one of the books in her hand. It was a collection of fairy tales. She turned the leaves until she came to the first one. “I will read you the story of the Dead Princess and the Seven Heroes,” she said, then took a breath and started to read:
The tsar said goodbye to the tsarina, for he was about to leave on a very long journey. And so as she sat alone by a window, the tsarina began her long vigil, waiting for the tsar’s return.
She remained by the window from morning until night and never stopped gazing out at the plain. She stared at it so hard that her eyes wearied, but her beloved did not return. All she saw was the snow, which fell in large flakes over the white plain.
Nine months passed. Still she waited. On Christmas Eve, late at night, the Lord gave her a beautiful baby daughter.
One fine morning the traveler for whom she had waited day and night, the tsar, arrived home at last. She gazed up at him with her face full of love. Completely exhausted, she gave a sorrowful sigh and died.
For a long time the tsar was inconsolable. A year went by, as quickly as a fleeting dream. Then the tsar remarried. Truth to tell, his new bride looked every inch a tsarina. Tall and slender, with a face of creamy white, she possessed remarkable spirit and rare qualities found in few women. Unfortunately, she was extremely vain, flighty, self-centered, and envious.
Among her multitude of wedding presents she had a little talking mirror. Only when she spoke to her mirror was she gentle and gay. She joked and made charming faces. She would ask the mirror:
“Light of mine eyes, tell me the whole truth. Am I the loveliest, the sweetest, the fairest in all the world?”
“Of course, Tsarina,” the mirror would answer. “You are the loveliest, the sweetest, the fairest in all the world.”
And the tsarina would burst into laughter at the mirror’s pleasing words, then shrug her shoulders and walk about with her hands on her hips, parading up and down in front of the mirror so that she could admire her own image.
All this time the daughter of the tsar was growing up and blossoming into a beautiful young girl. Her complexion was white as snow, her hair as black as the night. She had a charming and gracious nature. Many years passed and she grew more beautiful and charming than she was in her childhood. The day came when Prince Elissei sent a messenger to ask for her hand in marriage. The tsar gave his consent and set the dowry at seven mill towns and one hundred and forty palaces.
The day before the wedding, as the tsarina was dressing, she asked her mirror:
“Am I the loveliest, the sweetest, the fairest woman in all the world?”
“Of course you are beautiful,” the mirror replied, “but the loveliest, the sweetest, the fairest in all the world is the princess, the daughter of the tsar.”
The tsarina jumped up in a rage. . . .
Katrina paused a moment to glance over at the young soldier. His eyes were closed and he was breathing peacefully, with a faint smile on his lips. She continued on for another twenty minutes to the end of the story.
When she had finished, the boy lay unmoving. Katrina closed the book and slowly stood to leave.
“You’re not going so soon . . . Princess?” said a small voice from the bed.
Katrina turned, smiled down upon the face. “I thought you were asleep.”
His eyes opened into thin slits. “No . . . it is not easy for me to sleep. But if I lie quietly, sometimes it does not hurt so bad.”
“Did you enjoy the story?” asked Katrina,
sitting down again.
“Oh, yes, Princess. I have not heard it since I was a little boy. I used to be so afraid of the beggarwoman, especially when she held out the ripe apple. I was so angry with the seven knights for leaving her home all by herself.”
Katrina laughed. “My nurse used to read it to me, too. I had almost forgotten the story, until I read it to you just now.”
“Will you read me something else?”
“Another story?” Katrina said, glancing down at the other book the nun had given her. She hadn’t even looked at it yet. “I also have a Bible,” she added.
“Oh yes . . . could you read me—”
He stopped as a stab of pain shot through his body. Katrina could see him tremble momentarily, and he winced sharply.
“What is it—shall I fetch the nurse?” she asked in alarm.
“No, it will pass,” whispered the boy. “Sometimes my leg shoots out in pain—the leg that isn’t there . . . and then I remember how much it hurt when—”
Katrina turned away, face pale, clutching her stomach.
“I’m sorry, Princess,” he said as the painful tremor subsided. “Will you . . . the twenty-third Psalm. My mother read it to me the night before I left for the war. Will you read it, Princess?”
Katrina said nothing, swallowed several times and took a deep breath. Then she opened the covers of the book and turned to the familiar passage.
“The Lord is my shepherd,” she began, “I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. . . .”
As she read, the words seemed to soothe and calm both princess and soldier. Katrina continued.
“He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of—”
Katrina stopped. A lump rose in her throat. She could not bring herself to say the word.
“It is all right, Princess,” said the young boy. “I am not afraid. Please . . . go on . . . I want to hear it all.”
With a faltering voice Katrina went on.
“ . . . the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”
“Amen,” came a quiet whisper from the bed.
Katrina was silent. The words had given birth to a great many feelings she had no idea she had. At the words the paths of righteousness, the face of Anna suddenly filled her mind. She had always attributed the differences she saw in Anna to her being a simple peasant. Now she realized there was more to her peaceful countenance than that. Katrina also began to see all the ways her life was changing as a result of her maid’s presence with her. Was God “leading” them in that path, as the Psalm said—that “path of righteousness”—together? But she had no time to dwell upon her own question, for the moment she had seen the fearful word death on the page, her mind conjured up images of Sergei and her father and Dmitri, and yes, this poor boy. She was filled with such a pang of dread for all their sakes. What if Sergei or Dmitri lay somewhere like this—or worse? What if they had already been killed in some new battle and she didn’t know of it? Horrible, awful thoughts! What if she never saw her brother or Dmitri again? Or what if, when she did, they were missing an arm or a leg? The full hideousness of this war suddenly filled her heart with dismay. Fortunately the Psalm had been a short one; she would not have been able to continue much longer.
“You read it as beautifully as my mother,” said the soldier after a few moments of silence.
“Thank you,” whispered Katrina, looking down, her heart too full to say any more.
“Thank you, Princess. You have made this the most wonderful Christmas Eve I could have wished for.”
Katrina stood, the two books under her left arm, then reached down, took the pale hand lying limp on the blankets, and gave it a long and tender squeeze. She could barely speak, but managed to force out the words.
“God bless you, Serge Ivanovich,” she said softly. “I will remember you always, and will light a candle for you when I am next in church.”
She turned and walked back down between the beds of the ward, followed by Serge’s eyes. His face again wore a smile.
Katrina breathed deeply to steady herself as she approached Anna. Her maid had paper and pen in hand and was writing as a man dictated to her—apparently a letter to some loved one. She had a smile on her face and the man was chuckling over something he had just said. He was missing an arm. Katrina marvelled that he could laugh and that Anna could find the strength to smile. She did not feel like smiling just now at the thought of poor Serge.
She waited while Anna completed the letter, found the nurse and returned the books, then the two girls left the ward together, many of the wounded calling out Christmas greetings to them as they went—especially to Anna, who offered smiles, handshakes, and kinds words to all those she passed.
They had seen nothing of Katrina’s mother since shortly after their arrival. Katrina began to wonder if perhaps she had gone home without them, finding the morbid atmosphere of the hospital too much for her sensitive, frail nature.
As they neared the entrance, among a row of beds bearing older wounded soldiers, a shocked Katrina at last saw her mother. Princess Natalia stooped over one of the beds, with a cup of water in one hand, while she held up the head of an old man and helped him to drink.
Katrina stared in disbelief. She and Anna went outside and waited by the carriage. In another five minutes Princess Natalia joined them, a stain or two of blood on the fine lace of her sleeves, but with a rosy glow of life on her face.
They climbed up into the carriage, Anna sitting beside Leo, while Katrina and her mother sat behind. Anna and Moskalev chatted but Katrina remained silent most of the way.
“I am happy that we went to the hospital today,” said Natalia.
“So am I, Mother,” replied Katrina.
“I think we shall return. The nurses begged me to come back. Can you imagine, Katrina, they said I was a help to them.”
“I saw you with the old man, Mother. You were helping him.”
“He was a dear old man. He said he had come through the Crimean battle as a young man without a scratch, only to lose an arm in his last year of service.”
Katrina said nothing. Her thoughts were full of young Serge.
“Your Anna is a most amazing girl to have thought of this,” Natalia added.
“Yes . . . yes, I suppose she is,” agreed Katrina, falling silent again. She had a good many new things to think about that she had never considered before.
Natalia, however, did not bother thinking in depth about her new experience of service. She had done it, and was determined to do it again, and for her that was more than enough.
67
The remainder of that day before Christmas was a quiet, thoughtful one for Katrina. Her mother, however, remained ebullient, and bustled about the house spreading matriarchal good cheer. More than one of the servants wondered what had happened to the princess to alter her somber mood over the absence of her husband.
That evening, after all final preparations and baking and decorations had been taken care of, and after everyone had bathed and dressed, Natalia gathered all the servants of the main house—Nina and Mrs. Remington, Fingal Aonghas, Leo Moskalev, and seven or eight others along with fifteen or twenty from the servants’ quarters who did not take advantage of their four days off to go to their families. Standing before the tree of which she was so proud, she briefly addressed the entire staff, and then proceeded to hand a gift to each from underneath the tree.
There were frosted nut cakes decorated with iced holly leaves, small bottles of French perfume for some of the women, meat rolls and woolen neckscarves for the men, a new pair of gloves for Leo, and
a book by a Russian historian for Fingal, giving a unique perspective to the 1745 uprising in Scotland. The family dining room was laid out with a feast of cold hams and turkey, piroghi, and sweet delicious pashka. Some of the servants had never been in this part of the house before this night, although those who had been with the Fedorcenkos for years always looked forward with special anticipation to Christmas Eve. The absence of the men and the war theme of the tree’s decorations seemed to bind servants and family, young and old, together in a harmony of spirit, giving added depth to the reservoir of love which had been welling up from within Natalia all afternoon. The mood among all those gathered was merry and festive.
Katrina, however, remained subdued and quiet. Her eyes kept wandering to the poignant Christmas tree with its branches full of war-ribbons.
Anna approached Katrina with a sympathetic smile. “It will not be long until they are home, Princess.”
“You mean Sergei and my father?” she said.
“Yes, weren’t you thinking of them?”
“I suppose maybe I was, in a way. But I was really thinking of that poor boy in the hospital.”
“The one you read to?”
“Oh, Anna, you should have seen him! I can’t get his suffering but smiling face out of my mind!”
“I’m sorry if my taking you there—”
“Oh no, Anna! I’m glad we went. But I feel . . . as if a little of his pain stayed with me when we left, and I can’t get rid of it.”
“Maybe you did bring a little of it out with you,” suggested Anna, “and left him with less to endure.”
The Russians Collection Page 41