The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  “And I could not believe anyone’s eyes could possibly be wider,” chuckled Sergei, making his own attempt at levity. “I was jealous that those eyes were not for me.”

  “And I thought you were concerned only for my education.”

  “My interest was purely selfish. The more I could talk Katrina into investing in your cultural enlightenment—with me along as advisor and chaperon—the more frequently I could see you.”

  “Oh, Sergei!” Anna closed her eyes against the sudden and unexpected rush of tears.

  “We are always saying goodbye, aren’t we?” Sergei reached across the table and took her hands in his. “But this will be the last one, Anna. When we next see each other—and it won’t be long—there will be no more farewells. I swear it!”

  Anna could say nothing in reply. She hoped with all her heart that they would have a future together, but her confusion over what truly was best prevented her from voicing this hope even though she knew Sergei longed to hear those words from her.

  She could offer him no assurances. All she had to give was love. And she hoped that would be enough for him to take to the faraway place for which he was bound.

  “Sergei,” she said, “for once I do not come to one of our farewells empty-handed.” She smiled. “I have a gift for you. I know it is a poor substitute, but it is at least a token of what I feel.”

  “Anna, I need nothing—”

  She did not let him finish. “Please,” she interrupted. “You always have something for me. You have given me books and other things, and now it is my turn. Please, just let me give you a little piece of myself.”

  He smiled and nodded in agreement.

  She took from the pocket of her coat a small tan pouch made of soft deerskin. Unfastening the lace by which it was gathered together at the top, she carefully reached her fingers inside.

  “My father gave me this the day I left home,” she said. “He told me then that it was the only thing of material value in his possession. I have treasured it ever since, getting it out to look at when I was especially sad or just needed a reminder that my mama and papa loved me. And now it will make me happiest of all for you to have it.”

  She handed him a delicately handcrafted ornate Byzantine cross, made of pure gold, into which had been set thirteen exquisitely cut stones of Russian mined lapis. The deep blue on a background of solid gold was stunning.

  “Anna, it’s so beautiful! How can you ask me to take this—an heirloom from your own family? I could never—”

  She silenced him with a finger placed lovingly over his lips.

  “Will you deny me this one pleasure that will give me joy every time I think of you? Please, Sergei, for me. I will know that wherever you are, I am there with you. Let it be as a bond between our two hearts.”

  Finally realizing how important it was to her, Sergei nodded in assent and took the cross from her hand. He held it to the light and examined its every detail slowly and methodically.

  The cross was not large, approximately four centimeters from top to bottom, and two and a half in width. A deep blue lapis cabochon sat in the center of the cross, with twelve smaller lapis cabochons set into diamond-cut impressions in the gold arms of the cross. The entire perimeter of the cross was edged with hand-tooled gold beads.

  “What do all the stones and cuts stand for, do you know, Anna?” Sergei asked after looking it over with admiration and love.

  “I asked my father that too,” said Anna. “He told me that the largest cabochon stone is raised to symbolize the royalty and supremacy of Christ. The twelve smaller pieces of lapis stand for the twelve disciples of the Lord. And the gold beads around the edge represent the many ups and downs and crossroads of life.”

  “Besides being from your heart, it will be a special remembrance of Katyk and your father and family, and my time there,” he said. “I will treasure it.”

  “Thank you. You have made me happy.”

  “But,” he added, “by taking this gift, I do not make it mine. I will carry it with me as yours, as you yourself said, as a piece of you. I am merely agreeing to borrow it while I am apart from you . . . agreed?”

  Anna smiled. “Agreed,” she said.

  “And because it is borrowed,” Sergei went on, “I will return it to you, unharmed, to give it personally back into your hand.”

  “That will be the best part of all,” replied Anna, “looking forward to that day!”

  “That is my promise to you, Anna Yevnovna Burenin—a promise to place this cross of gold back into your hand.”

  “I accept you at your word,” said Anna. “Anticipating that day will give my heart peace whatever comes between now and then. And until it comes I will keep my father’s deer hide pouch, empty just like it is now, as my reminder that you carry my heart with you.”

  Sergei tucked the priceless icon carefully inside his uniform jacket, significantly near his heart. “We will each carry with us these reminders of our hope for a speedy reunion,” he said, reaching across the table and grasping Anna’s hand.

  She smiled. “Our God will see to it!”

  “But I don’t think God will mind too much if every time I look at the blue and gold, I think of you instead of Him, and am encouraged that I will see you again soon.”

  “I am sure He wouldn’t. Perhaps you can think of us both—of my love and the fact that He holds that love in His care.”

  Sergei smiled. “I will think of you and God when I gaze upon my treasured piece of your heart. And I will say a prayer for you every time.”

  “You cannot know how happy you have made me,” said Anna softly.

  “You often say that God has special providences and plans for His children,” said Sergei more seriously. “Do you still believe that?”

  “Yes, of course,” replied Anna.

  “So do you think too that there is some greater purpose in everything that happens?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Even this—my being sent away?”

  “I don’t know what the purpose is,” said Anna, “but yes, Sergei, I do believe with all my heart that this is the way God’s children must look at the events of their lives, the pleasant as well as the painful, if they are to know His peace in their deepest souls.”

  Sergei was silent a long while, looking earnestly and purposefully into Anna’s face.

  “Then, Anna,” he said at length, “I am going to make one more promise to you before I go.” He paused, took in a deep breath, then went on. “I am going to promise that I will do my best to see what happens in my life from now on in this way. I must admit, seeing life from what I have heard you call God’s perspective has not been my natural way. But I want to, and I will try. So you must pray for me.”

  “Oh, Sergei, of course I will!”

  “Then perhaps God can help me believe that all these events will somehow turn out for the best in the end—my leaving you, my problems with Father, whatever the future holds.”

  “I will pray that He will help you believe it.”

  “Thank you,” said Sergei intensely.

  “Thank you, Sergei! You have given me a gift far more priceless than any gold and lapis cross could possibly be.”

  “The time is getting late,” he said. “Shall we go out and walk for a while before curfew?” He rose, and they left the tea shop.

  The curfew had been recently imposed, but they had about an hour yet to walk and talk quietly. Then Sergei hired a carriage to take Anna home. They stopped some distance from the gates of the estate. There was no sense inflaming an already delicate situation by risking being seen together again.

  When the carriage came to a stop, Sergei leaned over and kissed Anna tenderly on the lips. Neither spoke. No words were spoken, only tears hidden by the darkness.

  Then he climbed out and helped her down to the street.

  They stood together in one final embrace. As they parted their eyes met, saying all that was necessary between them.

  Anna began t
o walk away.

  “I love you, Anna Yevnovna!” she heard Sergei’s voice say behind her.

  She paused, turned back for one last glance, trying to smile through the darkness even though tears streamed down her face. She opened her mouth in a vain attempt to return the words to him. But they caught hopelessly in her throat. Another moment more and she felt great sobs welling up in her chest.

  She turned again and hurried toward the black iron gates of the Fedorcenko estate.

  11

  The newlyweds returned to St. Petersburg during the first week of May. At Warsaw Station, Katrina and Dmitri were greeted by a swarm of friends and family from both sides. Then followed several days of receptions and parties in their honor, continuing as if uninterrupted from four weeks earlier. After the relaxing days in the sunshine of the Greek coast and cruising leisurely on the Mediterranean, suddenly Katrina fell right back in the middle of an emotional whirlwind, as she had before, during, and after the wedding. Society creature that she was, she loved all the social flittering and gaiety, especially because she and Dmitri were at the center of it all. Yet gradually the months of such an intense pace began to weary her.

  The frantic schedule of social engagements, however, was almost easier to take than the difficulties of adjusting to and settling into new surroundings. While on her honeymoon, Katrina had given no more than a passing thought to the prospect of no longer living at home under her parents’ roof and protection. Now suddenly she was not only away from home, but, at the tender age of nineteen, a mistress of that new house in which she found herself—at least Dmitri assured her it would be so once his mother returned to Moscow.

  The Remizov home in the South Side of St. Petersburg was much smaller than the Fedorcenko home, employing no more than fifteen or twenty servants. It was indicative of the declining state of the Remizov fortune, for when Count Gregory Remizov, Dmitri’s father, had been alive, the family occupied an estate equal in scale to the Fedorcenko’s, and, like Katrina’s family, two or three estates in the country as well.

  As their wealth declined after the elder count’s death, his wife, Countess Eugenia Pavlovna Remizov, was forced to move into a smaller place in St. Petersburg and relinquish all but the Moscow properties. Not long after that the countess, who had been born and bred in Moscow herself and hated St. Petersburg as much as she hated St. Petersburg society, returned to the Moscow estate. Now, for the first time in years, the house was returning to permanent family use with the marriage of her only son. This was possible because Dmitri had made a good marriage—far better, in his mother’s estimation, than he would have with the Nabatov girl—and it was financially feasible for them to operate the house once more.

  Katrina liked the place well enough—she wasn’t quite sure whether it could rightfully be called an estate. It was a bit cramped, with only thirty or so rooms. And it was not in the best section of even that exclusive St. Petersburg neighborhood. It was tastefully decorated, although there were a few changes she’d make someday. And it did feature lovely gardens with a high wall surrounding them so that you could walk about hardly aware of the location if you didn’t think about it.

  She could be happy there. She could be happy anywhere with Dmitri. But she decided almost the moment she set foot in the place that she would be far happier once the Countess Eugenia made her exit.

  Eugenia Pavlovna was, at best, a peculiar woman. She preferred a life of solitude, not because of a particularly meditative character, but more likely because she found nearly all other human beings tedious, hypocritical, deceiving, and generally nothing but bores. In her estimation, she herself was so far superior to most specimens of humanity she had encountered thus far in her life as to make any interaction with others wearisome and dull beyond description. Thus she kept to herself, and in that company was as content as a person of her ilk could hope to be.

  She was an accomplished musician and spent hours at the piano. But she did not care to share her talent, which was genuine enough, with people who could never properly appreciate her gifts. Self-generating and self-gratifying, her ability was also self-defeating and therefore spirit-killing. Even the servants, who seldom had opportunity of listening to music of high quality, found it more oppressive than pleasurable.

  She had married because it was expected of her, but she found no joy in the union. As an inevitable result, neither did her husband, who eventually turned to drinking, unwise investments abroad, reckless ventures in and about St. Petersburg, and other extramarital—and some said extralegal—activities, all designed to make life bearable, if not interesting. Thus began the eroding of the century-old Remizov fortune, a tradition which Dmitri himself, as son and heir, seemed bent on continuing until very recently.

  The countess would have made her son into a perfect image of herself, for no doubt that was the only way she could have accepted him. And, as his mother, she felt it was her duty to at least accept him. Dmitri, however, was not cut out to be a recluse absorbed in music and his mother—although he did manage to pick up rather advanced skills at the piano. If he must choose, he preferred his father’s dissipate lifestyle, and had been proceeding along that unruly path until he had suddenly stumbled upon the sister of his best friend directly in the middle of it. Something in him now seemed to have changed, definitely if not entirely. Time would tell how deep the transformation had gone.

  Katrina had expected, as had Dmitri, that the countess would return to Moscow immediately after the wedding. She had complained all throughout the festivities how horrid she found the climate in the north and how wonderful it would be to return to Moscow. Thus, the newlyweds were surprised to return and find her still in residence at their new home.

  The thought occurred to Katrina that perhaps her delay was motivated by the natural tendency of a mother-in-law to desire to know her son’s wife more intimately. Yet the countess made little effort toward that end, seeming almost to avoid Katrina when it was possible. Meals, if not strained, were certainly not talkative, friendly affairs, conducted rather almost as if matters of business. The few other encounters they had were not generally pleasant.

  A nod, one or two words, were all that came Katrina’s way—never a smile, never a conversation. The countess seemed almost pained whenever she chanced upon her new daughter-in-law. And even when Dmitri was present, although she treated him with a distant sort of respect, the countess scarcely had a positive word to utter about anything except herself and, occasionally, Moscow.

  Dmitri endured it. He had spent a lifetime learning how. Katrina eventually took to making sure she avoided the countess whenever possible. She knew her own temper well enough and did not want to take any chances.

  Still Eugenia Remizov stayed, even as the unbearable St. Petersburg summer approached. There was obviously nothing to be done on either Katrina’s or Dmitri’s part but to make the best of it.

  The mood in the household as a result was not of a sort that Katrina found invigorating for her first weeks and months as a young married wife.

  One afternoon, Anna was with her in her boudoir when perhaps mirroring her own inner quandary, Katrina asked, “Anna, how are you finding your situation here?”

  “I have to admit I miss the old surroundings,” replied Anna sincerely, “and some of the people I had come to know. But I am content because I am with you, Princess, and that is what matters most.”

  “Thank you, Anna. But I suppose like me, you would prefer our old home, with Mama’s headaches and Nina’s disapproving looks, and that ornery little dog yapping and nipping at our heels. And the smell of Papa’s tobacco and his deep, soothing voice.”

  She sighed. “Every difficulty or hardship I thought I had before is nothing alongside listening to her incessant playing on that horrid piano, and putting up with her silent stares. The other day I went into the music room, just to listen—I don’t know, and maybe try again for the hundredth time to see if there wasn’t something I could talk to the lady about. She stopped playing
and looked down her long nose at me from where she sat at the piano as if to let me know I was not welcome in her inner sanctum. She didn’t say a word!”

  “I know, Princess,” said Anna. “I have seen the way she behaves toward you. I am sorry.”

  “But whatever am I complaining about? I am starting to sound like the countess herself—God forbid! I am married to Dmitri, am mistress of my own home—I couldn’t be happier. Well . . . almost its mistress. Anyway, I must be insane to be sounding so melancholic.”

  “I do not see how you could keep from missing your own home. As happy as I have been in St. Petersburg, I also get homesick once in a while for my parents’ home and village.”

  “You are right,” said Katrina. She took a breath of resolve, as if that were the end of it. “At least I am glad to know you are adjusting well to our new home, Anna. I’ve been concerned because ever since I returned from Greece, you have seemed . . . well, rather withdrawn or distracted. I feared you were unhappy, or perhaps ill.”

  “I am sorry, Your Highness,” said Anna disconcertingly. “I am well, I’m sure . . . I did not realize—”

  “Your father’s health still weighs heavily upon you, doesn’t it, Anna?”

  “He is better this spring, but yes, I suppose so . . . more than I was aware of,” Anna replied. “I’m sorry if I have neglected you in any way.”

  “Oh, not at all, Anna—think nothing more of it.”

  Anna was relieved for the excuse her mistress unwittingly provided. Yet as much as she truthfully was concerned about her father, she hated not being able to tell Katrina the whole truth. Once, long ago, Katrina had suspected her brother’s attraction to Anna. But she had no idea how serious it had become. Now, Anna’s fear of Katrina’s opposition outweighed even the desire to confide with her everything about Sergei.

  Upon their return, both Katrina and Dmitri had been dismayed to learn of Sergei’s trouble over the tsar’s reaction to his book. Dmitri had soothed away her fears with assurances that Sergei was no doubt having the time of his life. There was glory and adventure to be had in the outlands of the empire for members of His Majesty’s army. Why not, therefore, when you are young and single, enjoy it to the full, and be where the action and dangers and excitement were?