Her little brother was a rebel, a subversive, a comrade of assassins and murderers! He had turned his back on his family, perhaps even on God himself. Every memory of Paul’s words flooded back to her, as painfully sharp as the moment she had first heard them.
She crept out of bed, still fully clothed, and opened the door. Peeking out into Katrina’s sitting room, she saw a lamp burning. Perhaps it was not as late as she feared. Her gaze moved across the room to the mantel clock. It was nearly seven.
Anna knocked softly on Katrina’s bed chamber door, but there was no answer. Just then the outer door to the sitting room opened and Nina entered, bearing a heavy-laden tray in her hands.
“Ah, there you are,” she said in a brusque, but not unkind tone. “Up at last, and feeling better, I hope?”
“Yes, I am. Thank you.”
“Well, you still look pale. Princess Katrina thought that if you were up, you might benefit from some tea.”
“That was kind of her. And also of you, Nina. You didn’t have to bring it to me here.”
“Of course, I have never felt it a good idea for servants in our position, Anna, to make a habit of waiting on other servants. But in your case, I don’t mind so much.”
The hint of a slightly embarrassed smile played upon her lips. “Now, sit down and drink this tea before it gets cold.”
“Thank you, Nina . . . for everything.”
“Are you well enough to receive a visitor?”
“A visitor?” repeated Anna. “I don’t understand . . . for me?”
“Yes, for you,” replied Nina. “It was the only way the princess would have consented to my disturbing you.”
“But who could it possibly be?”
“I have no idea, Anna.”
“No one would call on me,” said Anna, the possibilities already tumbling through her mind. “Everyone I know lives right here in the house.” Could it be Misha, Anna wondered? He had visited once or twice, but never without letting her know ahead of time. It could not possibly be Sergei, although the very idea of seeing him again, fanciful though it was, nearly sent her mind reeling. And the only other possibility was nearly as wonderful, but she had not told him where she lived. Could it be possible that Paul had had a change of heart and had come seeking her out? “Nina,” she added, the color returning to her cheeks, “is it a young man, about seventeen, with dark hair?”
“Not that I make it a habit of assessing other servants’ visitors . . . but he is old, thirty or forty if he is a day. And his hair is brownish, as is his bushy beard.”
“Oh. . . .” Anna’s color drained once more.
“Anna, don’t tell me you have a lover!”
“Nothing like that, Nina. I thought it might be my brother. I just recently discovered that he is in St. Petersburg.”
“I doubt this man could be your brother. But you’ll never find out unless you have some tea first—that is the princess’s order.”
39
Ten minutes later, Anna descended to the small anteroom where Nina told her the man was waiting.
“Vassili Ivanovich!” she said in bewildered surprise.
“Anna Yevnovna,” he replied, greeting her in the same voice Anna remembered, “you look well.”
“Thank you.”
“They said you were ill, and I am glad to see you looking better.”
“It is good to see a familiar face from the village, but . . . but whatever brings you to St. Petersburg?”
Vassili Ivanovich, whose father Ivan owned the tavern in Katyk, was one of the last persons Anna would have expected to see so far from home. She did not know him well, but in a village the size of Katyk there were no strangers. She remembered him as a retiring, soft-spoken man who had never married and had always seemed content to sweep the tavern floors and perform other menial tasks for his aging, overbearing father.
“I came seeking work in a cotton mill,” Ivanovich said in answer to Anna’s question. “My papa is selling the tavern, and there is no place there for me anymore.”
“Why do you not keep it?”
“Papa does not think I am able,” he said. “I am sure he is right.”
“I am sorry to hear that. But I am sure it will work out well for you.”
“The city is a frightening place. I hope I will get used to it.”
“I have learned my way around a bit,” offered Anna, feeling sorry for this country man with such a woebegone expression, “so I shall be glad to help you any way I can until you are settled.”
“That is kind of you, Anna, but that is not why I have come to see you.”
A puzzled expression crossed Anna’s face.
“When your mama heard I was coming here,” Vassili explained, “she came to me in the village. And she said, ‘I don’t care what Yevno says, I want you to bring a message to Anna.’”
He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if each word required deep thought. Anxious as she was to hear any news of her parents, Anna sat patiently on the edge of her chair, waiting for him to get the words out.
“You see, Anna Yevnovna,” Vassili continued, “your papa did not think it necessary to worry you—”
“Worry me?” interrupted Anna, unable to restrain herself any longer. “Whatever about?”
“He told my papa one night at the tavern that you had big responsibilities with your important position in the city, and that you did not need to be bothered by our little problems in dusty old Katyk. And I see that you are very important here—why, even the princess herself intercedes on your behalf! Your mama thought you should know, but she did not want to upset your papa—not in his delicate condition. So she came to me in private—”
“His delicate condition? Please—tell me what is wrong with my papa!”
“I am so sorry, Anna. I am no good at getting anything right. My papa always said I was simple-minded. How am I ever going to find a job in the big city? But they tell me you don’t have to be too smart to work in the mills—”
“Please, Vassili Ivanovich, tell me about my father!”
“Do you see what I mean? A simple message and I have botched it up already.” He shook his head slowly, as he did everything.
“Vassili . . . !”
“Your papa has not been well, Anna,” he sputtered out at last. “He took ill about a month ago. They think it is an ailing heart, and the doctor—”
“He has seen a doctor!” Anna exclaimed in horror. She knew that for her father this was the extremist of measures.
“A doctor from Akulin happened to be in the tavern. My papa fetched your mama right away to speak with him.”
“What did he do?”
“He looked at your papa, and then said all poor Yevno needs is to rest, to cut down on his work. But you know your papa. He has worked all his life. So he goes out and works in the fields and then he tires himself and must stop. But he will not stop in time, and once he fainted right in the field!”
“And he would never tell me this,” said Anna softly, more to herself than to Ivanovich.
“That is what your papa himself said, that he would never tell you. He did not want to worry you. But your mama would have none of it—and so here I am, the bearer of bad tidings, you might say.”
“I must get word to them,” said Anna thoughtfully.
“I am not returning to Katyk, so I cannot take a message back for you I am afraid.”
“No . . . of course not. But a message alone would never do,” mused Anna. She rose and walked slowly about the room as if unaware of Vassili’s presence. All at once the years in St. Petersburg—the life she had grown so accustomed to in this mansion, her duties as mistress to a princess, even the very room she was now standing in—suddenly seemed to fade away, and images of her past life rose before her. When she spoke again, she was once more Anna Burenin, peasant daughter of Yevno and Sophia of Katyk.
“I must return to the village myself,” was all she said.
40
No one hesitated in
giving Anna permission to return home—not Natalia, not Katrina, not Mrs. Remington, not even Nina. Katrina accompanied her to the Nicholas Station two mornings after Vassili Ivanovich’s visit, offering Anna enough money for a second-class round trip fare.
“The only thing I ask, Anna,” Katrina said as they sat in the carriage waiting for the train, “is that you return to me. For I shall be lost without you.”
“Oh, Princess, I will return as soon as I am able.”
“Take as much time as you need. Think only of your father, and not of me. I only pray he gets well very soon.”
“Do you mean that? Will you pray for him?” asked Anna, looking deeply into Katrina’s eyes.
“Yes, Anna. I will pray. I am learning many things, remember?”
“Thank you, Princess,” said Anna. “You cannot know how much that means to me.” Anna paused. “I am only sorry to have to leave you during this difficult time. We both seem to have uncertainties.”
“Oh, Basil?” Katrina gave a careless wave of her hand. “Don’t give him another thought. I’m sure all will go well.”
“I too will pray for you,” said Anna sincerely.
“Oh, but I do hope you will return before too long—by Christmas, or the New Year. I think I will be able to endure being without you for a month or two, perhaps even three. But more than that will be torture for me.”
Anna laughed, but a sadness filled her own heart. In all her trouble about her father, she had not until now realized how much she was going to miss the princess, too.
“I shall do my best, Princess.”
“Wonderful! I shall not miss you half so much then.” Katrina smiled and squeezed Anna’s hand. “I just know everything will work out splendidly and your father will be well in no time.”
Anna instantly responded with a halfhearted smile. Katrina saw through it. “What is it, Anna? Are you dreadfully worried about your father?”
Anna sighed and glanced away. “It is my brother, Princess,” she said after a moment, looking again at Katrina. “He was the one I saw at the market the other day. He is here in St. Petersburg. I only learned of it that day, and my parents do not even know. If I had seen Vassili Ivanovich even a few hours earlier, I would have been able to inform my brother of our father’s illness. He might have had a change of heart had he known. But now I have no way to inform him.”
“Where is he living? I will take him the message myself.”
“I don’t know, Princess.”
“Didn’t you find out when you spoke with him?”
“He would not tell me.”
“Why ever not, for heaven’s sake?”
“He has been very confused and troubled lately. He thinks it best if the family forgets about him entirely.”
“Anna, I am so sorry.” Katrina paused. “But I suppose I can understand what you must feel. It is similar to what Sergei has done to us.”
Anna was silent. It seemed all the people she loved most were drifting away from her, and now she and the princess had to part ways as well.
“Can’t they see how their attitudes only hurt us whom they think they are helping by going away?” Katrina said.
Anna scarcely heard her. She looked down into her lap for a moment, longing to be able to tell the princess of her own pain at Sergei’s absence as well. She realized she could not, however, and remained silent.
“I wish I could help you in some way about your brother, Anna,” Katrina added after another moment.
“He must find out himself what is the root of the turmoil in his mind,” said Anna sadly.
“We each have our brothers, both rebels in their own ways.”
“I suppose there is nothing to do but pray for them,” said Anna.
“I will do that, for your brother as well as your father, then, Anna,” said the princess genuinely.
“Thank you again, Princess, for all you have done for me,” said Anna.
Katrina embraced her. Anna returned the hug and they held each other for a moment. When they relaxed, both had tears in their eyes.
A train whistle in the background drew their attention. Anna took Moskalev’s sturdy hand and stepped down out of the carriage.
“Just come home soon, Anna,” said Katrina, her voice soft and tentative.
Again there was a slight hesitation. Suddenly Katrina jumped down from the carriage and threw her arms around Anna again and kissed her on the cheek. She sniffed, then stepped back and added in a husky voice, “Now be off with you before I change my mind about letting you go.”
Moskalev grabbed up Anna’s bag and escorted her to the train bound for the south. She shook his hand warmly and said goodbye to the first friend she had ever known in St. Petersburg. Anna found her way inside, took a seat by a window, and waved to the burly coachman, who then turned and made his way back to the carriage.
Just come home soon . . . !!
Katrina’s final words rang over and over in her ears. It should have sounded strange for the mansion of a prince and princess to be called her home! Yet Katrina’s use of the term warmed Anna’s heart. Katrina considered this Anna’s home! She had become part of this family.
Anna remembered her first frightening arrival in St. Petersburg. She could never have imagined that the day would come when she would leave this place reluctantly, with tears in her eyes for all the friends she was leaving behind: Katrina, Polya, Sergei—wherever he was, Misha, and Paul. Even old Moskalev and Nina, in her own way, had become part of her life.
Anna had promised Katrina she would return, that she would come home. Yet at the same time in the south away from the city, another home called to her, where her mama and papa and little brothers and sisters waited. Joy and melancholy mingled in Anna’s heart—the bittersweet pain of loving and letting go. Perhaps it would always be that way for her, love and loyalties ever divided.
41
Anna awoke in the predawn hours and crept quietly from the warmth of the family bed.
She had slept alone for so many months that it took a few seconds after awaking to recall the lifelong necessity of not disturbing others. The little ones still slept soundly. But when Anna glanced to the other side, she saw that the place usually occupied by her mama and papa was already empty.
Sophia bent over the cook fire stirring the pot of kasha, the embers of the fire casting a warm glow onto her round face. As Anna dressed in the corner, she watched in silence, taking in the familiar scene with a quiet joy. Until she arrived back home two days ago, she had not fully realized how much she had missed her dear family, and all the homey details of the life she had left behind—right down to her mother’s morning rituals over the fire. She slipped her feet into a pair of lapti her mother had made and then approached the fire.
“Ah, good morning, my dear little Anna,” said Sophia, as if she too had been thinking how much she had missed her daughter.
“Good morning, Mama,” replied Anna. She walked on to the “beautiful corner,” where she crossed herself before the icon of St. Nicholas, then knelt for a brief prayer.
When she rose, her mother was gazing at her with a pleased smile on her face. “It gives my heart joy,” she said, “to know the ways of the city have not corrupted your faith.”
“You and Papa have taught me too well for that,” said Anna.
“It is not so for all those who go to the city, daughter. The stranger’s ways have turned many a well-bred Russian peasant from the beliefs of his parents.”
Anna wondered if her mother was thinking of Paul as she spoke. She had told them she had seen Paul in St. Petersburg and that he was well. But she had heeded his advice and given them no details. In her very vagueness they no doubt read much of the truth. Yet by remaining silent, she left a thread of hope to cling to. Anna refused to believe it was a false hope by which she deceived her parents, for she still prayed that Paul would see the error of the road he was traveling. God would not give up on him, she knew that. And thus, she somehow felt that by keeping alive
her parents’ hope, she was at the same time honoring God. At any rate, Yevno and Sophia did not question Anna too closely. They wanted to retain their hope for Paul as much as Anna wanted it for them.
“Where is Papa?” asked Anna.
“Taking care of the animals.”
“Should he be doing such things, Mama?”
“I am his wife, Anna, not his jailer. I can ask him to do this or that, but he does not have to listen.” Sophia laid down the wooden spoon with a heavy sigh. “He hoped his son would take care of the land and the animals in his old age.”
“Oh, Mama . . .”
“We take the lot God has given us. That is all we can do.”
“I am here now, Mama.”
“And it is a comfort to us, daughter.”
“I will help.”
“But your papa is a proud man.”
“How have you managed these last months?”
Sophia took a loaf of bread from a cupboard and began to slice it. “Anna, will you fill the samovar?” she said. “Your papa will want his tea when he comes in.”
Anna obeyed. In the silence that followed, she began to think that her mother was going to ignore her question. But after a few moments Sophia spoke.
“God provides for us, Anna. He has used you to do so more often than you may realize.”
“It has not been much.”
“For us, it is a great deal. I do not know what we would have done without the money you sent.”
“Papa would say that God could have found another way,” put in Anna as she poured water from a pail into the samovar.
“No doubt, no doubt. But you know how the saying goes, ‘We do not eat the bread, but the bread eats us.’ Maybe that is how God wants it sometimes. People starve—not because God doesn’t care, but because that is just what happens.”
“Is it that bad, Mama?” asked Anna in alarm.
“No. Thanks be to God we have not come to such a pass!”
Relief spread over Anna’s face.
“I will tell you, though,” her mother went on, “it is no thanks to our landlord. The moment the rent was due, after word got out that your father was ill, his factor Korff was at the door bright and early to collect. They are waiting impatiently for us to fall behind so they can snap up our land. I know he would love nothing more than to make us their servants again. And a stranger was here one day asking about Paul. I did not know what it meant, Anna, but I did not have the heart to tell your papa when he returned home.”
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