Neither of them wanted to believe that this might pull them apart more than any matchmaker. He had to journey “out there.” And he was afraid she would not want to go with him.
They did not discuss it, however. Right now such changes seemed too far away to disturb their blossoming young love. But he knew as certainly as the yearning in his heart that the time would come soon enough.
Now it was his turn to jump to his feet. His thoughts of her loveliness had caused stirrings in his body that frightened him. He was not that strong.
“I must go back to work,” he said suddenly.
“Will you come to my uncle’s Name Day party tonight?”
“I will try. The barin said he might have some work for me this evening.”
“What will all your dreams matter, Stephan, if you work yourself to death before they come true?”
“The true dichotomy.” He sighed wearily. “They will never come true if I don’t work.”
“Ah, Stephan . . . your big words, your big dilemmas. Sometimes you are beyond me.”
He frowned at this. His words contained more truth than either of them wanted to admit.
“And what of it?” he said lightly. “I’m sure when we marry, we’ll find other things to do together besides talk.”
“Will we, Stephan?” But before her impulsive question laid too great a heaviness upon them, Mariana went on hurriedly, “Well, no matter—I love you just as you are. Now run to work before you lose a precious kopeck!”
“You are special, Mariana!” he called over his shoulder as he jogged away.
15
Mariana watched him disappear over the horizon, her heart pounding in her ears. Life could not be sweeter! She lay back on the grass, intertwined her fingers behind her head, and smiled. She did not think of obstacles and differences, but only that the kind and gentle—and strong, too!—Stephan Alexandrovich cared for her. It was a nice feeling. It made everything else fade into the distance. Maybe she would even be willing to go to the city for him if she had to.
But, oh! Dear Mother of God, do not let that happen! Mariana prayed into the rays of bright sunshine. She wanted Stephan, but she did not want to ever leave her mama and papa. She knew they were really only her aunt and uncle, but they would always be far more to her than that. And her grandparents and her other dear aunts and uncles, and even her rambunctious little brothers. Her family was world enough for her.
She thought of when her mama talked about the city. There was always such melancholy to her voice when, only at the strong proddings of others, she related some of her experiences. Even the happy times seemed to carry a shadow. Of course, Papa’s viewpoint carried a slightly different tone and, if anything, was darker and less complimentary. He made no bones about drawing the conclusion that the country was best—the trees, the grass, the fragrance of wildflowers, the clear, meandering stream . . . he had written many poems capturing his love of the country. All these, he said, balance the scales of poverty. Grandpapa always said he’d rather starve in a forest than next to a palace.
So would she!
But what if Stephan were not in the forest with her? It was a choice she hoped she’d never have to make, but once she and Stephan were married, he would forget all his lofty dreams and settle down into the sedate, wonderful country life of Katyk. If only they could marry soon.
“Holy Virgin,” Mariana whispered into the wafting breeze, “cover my head.”
She knew it was the prayer reserved for peasant girls to pray at the feast of the Intercession of the Holy Virgin, the patroness of weddings. But she could not wait two months for the feast. She was young, yes, but not too young to wear the head covering that was the sign of a married woman. Many girls in the village were matched as young as thirteen or fourteen, and married by fifteen. One less mouth for the family to feed and one more laborer for the prospective mother-in-law.
She could make it happen, she knew she could! Why then had she been so reluctant to approach her parents? She would be able to convince them. And her grandfather adored her. He would melt like a snowflake in her hand.
What held her back?
Was it the same barrier that seemed to be restraining her parents? They had never brought up the subject of marriage to her, and by now most girls were hearing nothing else. Mariana recalled an incident shortly after her last birthday. She and her mother and grandmother were working in the house, when Sophia broached the subject. Mariana’s mother had turned a look toward Sophia that was as close to forbidding as ever the meek Anna could come.
Sometimes Mariana wondered if it had anything to do with her real parents. When her mama told her as a little child that they were not her real parents but her aunt and uncle, she had accepted it with the calm trust of a child toward loving parents. As she still did. Anna had told her not to tell anyone, that it was a fact best kept within the family. Mariana found that perplexing, but not disturbing. They cared for her and loved her and brought her great joy. Why worry over something that could not be changed anyway? It had always seemed a distant thing, having little to do with her.
Until now.
Should she say something to her mother? Did she really want to know? Maybe if she could be patient just a while longer, everything would turn out as she wanted, anyway. But, patience was not Mariana’s best quality.
All at once she realized that the rays of sunlight had shifted their angle and no longer touched her damp body. She scrambled to her feet with a start. Aunt Vera would be frantic by now. And Grandmama would be grinding her teeth.
“Oh, Mariana, sometimes I think you are as much a dreamer as Stephan, lying here thinking and fretting over things that will happen or not, in spite of me.”
She patted her hands over her skirt. It was still damp, but maybe if no one looked too closely . . .
No matter. She was needed and would be missed. She darted across the meadow, splashing lightly through the stream, making her way back to Katyk. Her dark braids flew out behind her, making her look more like an errant child than a woman on the brink of maturity.
16
A sky full of stars canopied the yard around the Burenin izba. The night was pleasantly cool, with enough of a breeze to emphasize the near-end of summer. The sounds of a balalaika and tambourine mingled pleasantly with the din of dancers and merrymakers. A half moon had risen hours ago, but the party seemed far from over.
Anna sat on a blanket spread out on the hard-packed dirt, hugging her legs to herself as she watched Mariana strum the balalaika and listened to her sweet, melodious voice.
Although this was Ilya’s party, Anna had been thinking mostly of her adoptive daughter. She had returned home from Vera’s with an odd glow about her, and a mysterious glint in her eyes. How much she was beginning to look like her mother! The blend of Katrina’s beauty with Dmitri’s Grecian good looks had produced a child of uncommon loveliness. In a way, Anna regretted the girl’s beauty because it emphasized even further that she was no ordinary child. It would have been better if she had been a plain girl.
But looks alone did not determine Mariana’s uniqueness. She had Katrina’s vivacious zest for life, her strength, her independent spirit. Watching her now, as she finished her song and handed the instrument to another so she could join in the dance with the other peasant girls, Anna saw that Mariana, through no insistence on her part, quickly became the focal point of the activity. The others were following her lead, some obviously watching her to stay in step with her. She was a natural leader just like her mother, Katrina—except that Mariana cared less about getting her own way.
The similarities between the two in looks and personality were striking, and in her melancholy mood, Anna found this fact as painful as it was comforting. Anna had grown accustomed to life without Katrina, without the joy serving her had brought, but she still missed her, especially when she caught some facet of Katrina’s personality mirrored in Mariana.
Mariana had been Katrina’s grandmother’s name and a favori
te of Katrina’s mother. But the name was ironically appropriate. Mary meant bitter, and Anna, grace. Bitter-grace. God had eased the bitterness of Katrina’s death with the gracious gift of Mariana. And yet no matter how much joy the child gave, there would always remain that tinge of sadness.
“Anna, would you like company in that far-off world of yours?” came a gentle voice in her ear.
“Sergei!” Slightly startled, she looked over at him. “Oh, my, was I daydreaming?”
“You were further away than if you were indulging in Eugene Onegin, or perhaps something French like The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
A ready smile came to her lips. “I was thinking of Mariana . . . and Katrina.”
“She is looking more and more like my sister, isn’t she?”
Anna nodded. “And perhaps the memories would not strike me so sadly at times if Katrina had lived her natural life.”
“But she did, Anna, for God took her to be with Him. We are blessed that He loaned her to us for as long as He did.”
“You are right, of course. But I do miss her at times.”
“As do I.” Sergei paused. “It is still hard for me to understand how such a relationship developed between the two of you. Not because of the class differences, but because you were both so different in personality.”
“Yes . . . I, too, will never know how or why it turned out as it did. Ironically I have always thought that our differences actually drew us together. We each drew something of what we lacked from the other. We were like two sides of the same coin.”
“And Mariana is a blend of both,” Sergei mused. “In her is the best of you both.”
“I don’t know about that. I certainly hope so. At least Katrina deserved to have such a legacy. She died so young, without accomplishing all she could have. I wonder what it would have been like to be old with her.”
Sergei chuckled. “And are you so old and gray, Anna?” he taunted to lighten the mood. “A wrinkled old woman with one foot in the grave.”
“I am getting there, Sergei. I’m nearly thirty-eight.”
“Ancient!” he laughed. But when he turned his gaze upon her there was more than amusement in his loving glance. “Anna,” he said earnestly, “you look the same as you did on our wedding day.”
And he meant it, too. There might be a few more fine lines about her eyes and the corners of her mouth, but as with an exquisite work of art, age only seemed to enhance her essential beauty. Hers was more than a surface loveliness, reflecting the more fundamental beauty within. Her winsome blond hair with its unruly mass of curls, now restrained beneath a pale blue head scarf, showed no hint of gray. And the Sculptor of her delicate features had used a precision tool in His work, even in the etching of the few wrinkles. The confidence of maturity had taken some of the tentativeness from her smile, and imbued her large brown eyes with a venerable depth of wisdom that when he had met her twenty years ago had only been hinted at.
To Sergei the face he now gazed upon was the same one he had visualized during his terrible exile and grueling trek to freedom. But its flesh-and-blood reality was a gift, and for that he never ceased to thank God. How close he had come to never seeing her again! What a marvelous miracle had united them in marriage!
He inched close to her and placed an arm around her shoulder, and she responded by leaning into his embrace. She would never tire of his nearness, for she, too, marveled constantly at the goodness of God in bringing them together.
“So,” Sergei said at length, coming back to their initial conversation, “why is Mariana so much on your mind, Anna? I heard from Sophia how she was derelict in her duties this afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s not it,” answered Anna. “Even Mama would not really upbraid her for that. No . . . I guess I have just sensed lately that she is maturing. Today it just struck me more strongly than ever. Perhaps it is God impressing this upon me; perhaps that was the source of my confusion when we spoke earlier today.”
“It is not God’s way to cause confusion.”
“No, but we have plenty of it in trying to discern His direction!”
“I am usually the one who is forever beleaguered in trying to fathom spiritual things, not you, my Anna. I have always counted on your splendid childlike faith.”
“I have no doubt that God will work everything out perfectly.” Anna sighed, not understanding her mood enough to explain it properly. “But I suppose this is just something a mother must do—fret over her children. And, Sergei, I feel in my heart as if she is my true daughter.”
“I think I understand, Anna, and I won’t keep you from doing what is natural. But look at her; she does not appear a troubled child at all.”
“You are right.” She smiled at him. “And as Papa says, why buy trouble when we have few enough kopecks as it is?”
17
The night had turned colder. Anna hugged her shawl closer to her shoulders as she walked home. She had accompanied Vera and her family part of the way home from Ilya’s party. It had started out as an excuse for her and Sergei to walk together and talk and unwind after the festivities. But as they were leaving, Andrei had awakened from a disturbing nightmare. He had dreamed about his bird and wanted to make sure it was all right. Sergei said he would take care of the boy and see that he got back to sleep. Anna decided to go with Vera anyway. Maybe Sergei could catch up with her later.
Perhaps it was better that she was alone. She could not define her mood, but it seemed to be growing heavier, making it harder to explain, even to Sergei who she knew would be loving and understanding.
After she parted from Vera’s family at the bridge, her path led down to the willow. At least Sergei would have no trouble finding her, nor would he have to guess where she might have gone. She sat in the little nook upon the mossy earth, chilled from having stood in the shade all night.
Was it her imagination, or did the nook not fit her as well as it once did? She hadn’t noticed it this morning, but she hadn’t eased all the way into it then. Could she have outgrown these fanciful retreats of her childhood? Sophia certainly never went off to some place to dream and read fairy tales. Her life was unceasing work and devotion to the Church. There was neither room nor desire for anything else. Yet Anna’s parents had not expected her to follow the same path; they had allowed for her differences. But that had been as a child. Perhaps, as the Bible said, it was time to put away childish things.
On the other hand, the Lord said she should become as a child. It was all so confusing.
Anna recalled watching Andrei just a few minutes ago in his father’s arms. All the fears, all the terror of dreams, had disappeared in the security of Sergei’s strength.
“Dear God, let it be so for me also as I abide in your strong arms! Let me be able to rest in you no matter what might be in store for me and for my children, especially Mariana. Quell this unrest within me, or show me what it is all about.”
The sound of a footfall gently crunching over the ground cover of leaves and twigs interrupted Anna’s thoughts.
“Sergei? Is that you.”
The answer was not Sergei’s voice at all. “No, Mama, it is Mariana.”
In a moment, Mariana appeared in the clearing under the willow. Anna noticed a glow about her that had nothing to do with the lingering summer gloaming. But she could not smile at these signs of young love. A part of Anna did feel joy for Mariana’s obvious happiness, but her heart was troubled by the nameless shadow hovering over her.
She could no longer avoid what they must inevitably face. Perhaps that was why Mariana had turned up just now at this unexpected moment. Perhaps it was God’s answer to Anna’s prayer.
“I hope I didn’t startle you, Mama.”
“Not at all. I was expecting your papa.”
“Isn’t it rather late?” said Mariana, more curious than reproachful.
“Do you mean for an old husband and wife to have a midnight rendezvous?” She smiled playfully.
“Oh, Mama!” Mariana
blushed. “I just meant . . . that . . . oh, nevermind!”
Anna patted a clear spot on the ground next to her. “Come and sit for a minute.”
“I don’t want to disturb you.”
“Then you weren’t looking for me?”
“No. I—”
Again Anna smiled. “I hope you were able to show Stephan Alexandrovich the proper way to his home.”
“He knows his way well enough!” She plopped down on the ground next to Anna. “Mama, I must talk to you!”
“Yes, my dear.”
“Stephan and I have pledged to one another that we will marry—each other, that is!” She made the confession in an explosive outburst, as if she had been holding it in for so long that it fairly jumped out of its own accord. “There! I’ve said it. I know it’s shocking and Grandpapa and Grandmama will protest. But you understand, don’t you, Mama?”
“Yes, I do, dear child.” Anna took her adoptive daughter’s hands in hers. “I was only a little older than you when I fell in love with your papa. But I was twenty-two when we married—”
“You are not going to lecture me about waiting, are you?” broke in Mariana, looking so much like Katrina at her most headstrong moments that it made Anna’s heart ache. “Most of the girls my age are already engaged or married.”
“That is a tradition bred by necessity, Mariana. But your grandfather never believed in allowing circumstance to control his children’s futures. He always wished to be open to God’s direction and God’s will. He never would do something just because everyone else was doing it. As a result, some of his children took some rather unexpected paths. I went to the city, your Uncle Paul became a revolutionary, your Aunt Tanya moved to Moscow. Vera and Tanya were matched to their husbands by a matchmaker, though both had the final decision in the matter. Ilya went into the army—though he had no choice in that, as sometimes we are victims of circumstance and duty. But in your case, Mariana, you are not bound by necessity or duty. Unlike so many of the girls in the village, you have a choice. You need not be bound to a single path.”
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