A brief silence fell between them; then Anna broached the subject that had been nagging at her mind in spite of her attempts to push it aside. “Paul, will you . . . try to see Mama and Papa?”
He was quiet for a long time before he shook his head. “Please try to understand, Anna. The dangers that drove me from them in the past are still present. There has not been a day since I returned from Siberia that I haven’t been under police surveillance. It is only a matter of time before they crack down on Mathilde and me. That is why we plan to go to Geneva until the political climate around here cools a bit. If I went to Katyk now, it would immediately bring our family under scrutiny. I long to see them, but it cannot be under these conditions. Isn’t it for the best, anyway, that things remain as they have been, that they not be reminded of their wayward son?”
“Do you think for a minute they have ever forgotten about you?”
“No, I suppose they wouldn’t.”
“Papa is old, Paul.” Anna peered earnestly into her brother’s eyes, looking for other motives lurking beneath the practical ones he verbalized. “He will not live much longer.”
“Perhaps when I return from Geneva . . .”
In spite of the melancholy conclusion to their reunion, Anna left her brother that day with a light, joyful heart. She knew that somehow God would bring about all things that mattered in His own time.
71
Two weeks later, Anna received a letter from Katyk in Vera’s stilted and somewhat illegible hand. Within an hour she had packed a small travel case and Sergei was ready to call a cab to take her to Nicholas Station, where she would board a train for Pskov. Raisa gave her many assurances that the children would be fine during her absence and would keep up on their studies.
She hugged her children; then she and Sergei climbed into the drosky. Sergei was about to give the driver instructions when Anna placed a restraining hand on his arm.
“Driver,” she said, “we wish to go to Nicholas Station, but before that, please take us to the First Line, on the waterfront, to number two hundred and four.” She glanced at her husband as if to ask, I am right in doing this, am I not?
Sergei nodded his support. “You have no choice, Anna. Paul would want to know, no matter what he says on the surface.”
At Paul’s house, Mathilde called her husband from his study. Anna said only three words:
“Papa is ill.”
He responded without hesitation. “Mathilde, would you help me pack a bag?”
They did not know what they would find as another drosky from Pskov drove them into Katyk. Anything might have happened in the time between Vera’s letter and Anna and Paul’s arrival home. Vera had indicated that Yevno was very ill, worse than he had ever been before. The priest had administered extreme unction.
But Anna had been praying fervently since her first meeting with Paul that somehow God would bring about a reunion between Paul and his father. For years she had marveled at her papa’s long life, despite his chronic illness; lately she had begun to feel that God was sparing him for a special purpose. Since seeing Paul, she had a strong sense in her heart that this must be the reason. During the trip to Katyk, that sense continued to be confirmed. God would not let Papa go until he and Paul were reunited.
Paul was impressed by Anna’s peaceful countenance. He, on the other hand, had been in great turmoil the entire trip. He found it hard to receive Anna’s words of comfort and hope. He would never see his papa alive again, he was certain. He had been selfish and cruel, and this was his punishment.
But punishment was not the way of the God in whom Anna placed her faith.
Anna and Paul walked together toward their parents’ izba. It seemed to Paul as if nothing had changed from when he had grown up there. The little tow-headed three-year-old sitting on the front step looked like his baby brother Ilya; the dark-haired six-year-old girl by his side could have been Vera years ago. Had time truly frozen in place, and only he, Paul, had changed?
Then the girl jumped up. “Aunt Anna!” she called, running to Anna and hugging her skirt.
Time began to move once more. This was more than twenty years later. Everything was different.
The little girl let go of her aunt and dashed into the house. “Mama, Aunt Anna is here!” she cried.
“Hush, child!” a voice from inside scolded. “You’ll wake your grandpapa. Now, what is all this excitement?”
The implication of those words were not lost on either Paul or Anna. Paul glanced at his sister, and she smiled, never having doubted for a moment that their papa would be there to greet them.
After a whispered exchange between those who were indoors, several figures emerged from the izba. Sophia saw Anna and was about to run to her when she noted the man standing next to her. It took only an instant for Paul’s mother to peel away twenty years of aging and see her dear son underneath.
“Dear God in heaven!” Sophia cried, and wasted no time before her son was in her loving embrace.
He was the Prodigal Son, and he received no less a welcome—full of love, of forgiveness, of unquestioning acceptance. But still Paul trembled a bit as Sophia led him to his father’s bedside.
In the dim light of the cottage, Paul was not as easily recognizable, especially to Yevno’s old eyes, dulled by his illness. Paul knelt by the bed so that his face was level with Yevno’s.
“Papa,” he said in a choked voice, “it is your son, Paul. I have come to you.”
Yevno looked closer, but he did not start with surprise or astonishment. “Of course,” he said. “I knew you would come.” He reached up a hand, shaky and weak, and Paul grasped it tightly. They did not let go of each other for an hour.
“Papa, you forgive me, then?”
“My son, what a question to ask! Love always forgives.”
“I love you so much, Papa!” Paul wept freely. And when Yevno opened his arms, Paul melted into them and would never again doubt the power of his father’s God.
Paul had three more days with his papa after that, and though it would never make up for the twenty-one lost years, he realized that even this brief time together was a priceless gift—a gift he did not deserve but which God saw fit to lavish upon him. He did not allow guilt and inadequacy to rob him of that gift. He accepted it as he accepted his father’s forgiveness and love and mercy.
When Yevno, on the final day of his earthly sojourn, bestowed praise on his son, Paul humbly received it.
“I have always been proud of you, Pavushka,” said Yevno. “I raised you to think for yourself and fight for your beliefs, so what kind of father would I have been if I had rebuked you for doing that very thing? My only regret is that perhaps I raised you too well.” He chuckled, and for a moment his eyes danced with their old merriment. But even the effort of joy fatigued him, and he could not speak for some time after that.
After a while Paul said, “Papa, I have never forgotten anything you ever taught me. Sometimes I tried to think I knew better, but it was never so. I have over the years met many learned and intelligent and scholarly men, but I have never met a man wiser than you, Papa.”
“A poor, illiterate man like myself? Imagine that!”
“Our family has been wealthier than the tsar’s because of you, and I thank you for all you have given me—a legacy beyond price.”
Yevno sighed contentedly. “I can now die in peace. I know I have been successful in what matters most.” He lifted his eyes toward his family gathered around him. “Come closer, my children—Anna, Vera, Ilya, Ivan, and Marfa—and you little ones! Let me see you one last time before I sleep. You have all made my life worthwhile!” He extended a hand toward Sophia. “Ah, my dear and faithful wife! We have done well. Continue to watch over them for me, and God will continue to watch over you—each of you!”
72
Anna wandered alone down the path that led from her parents’ home to the gnarled old willow. A stiff autumn breeze was blowing, and she pulled her winter coat close about her. Th
e brown and orange and yellow leaves on the trees in the woods tried valiantly to brighten the dull gray sky. The willow had already shed some, but a few yellow leafy stems still clung tenaciously to the branches. As she settled into the little niche at its base, a shower of foliage floated down upon her.
Oddly, she felt as light and unburdened as the falling leaves. Her dear papa was gone, leaving an empty place in her heart. Yet his passing had been accompanied by peace and fulfillment. Only faith in God could turn a time of grief into a time of rejoicing.
Her papa was in heaven, face-to-face with the God and Savior he had worshiped all his life. What was there to mourn in such knowledge as that? Of course she’d miss him terribly, but it would be like the years she’d had to spend in the city away from them. They would not be parted forever.
Yevno himself had told her that only yesterday. Then she had been desolate, unable to say goodbye, unable to let go.
“Anna, you must not weep so.” He took her small hand into his big, rough one. “It makes me feel a little guilty. . . . I am so full of joy that soon I will be entering my Father’s house. Think of me with our Lord, talking to Him, asking Him all the questions I have always wondered about, and listening to His answers for eternity. I suppose you must weep, but let it last only a short season, as the Scriptures say. In the morning, I want to look down from my heavenly izba and see you rejoicing, eh?”
She tried to smile through her tears.
“There’s my Annushka!”
“What will I do without you, Papa?”
“As you have always done, Anna. You have been my sensible, wise child, and I am counting on you to keep this dear family together.”
“Me, Papa?” She suddenly felt like the shy, uncertain little girl she had been many years ago. Her father’s words astonished her.
“You, my little daughter! Don’t you know yet that those slim, delicate shoulders of yours have the strength of an ox? In your weaknesses, Anna, you have been made strong because you have, more than all my children, allowed God to dwell in His fullness within you. I have no doubt that you can shoulder the burden of this family. But you must remember that you need bear no burden alone—otherwise I would not place such an expectation upon you.”
“I know, Papa. I will do my best. And, to be truthful, I have already begun to feel that responsibility, and have sensed for a long time that this might be my calling.”
“Yes . . . part of you may be ox, but another part is mother hen.” Yevno gave her a broad grin. “Ah, I love you, my Annushka, so much!”
It was difficult not to rejoice as she thought of the life of her remarkable papa, and of his passing into eternity. Anna was a comfort to her grieving family; already they were turning to her for strength—even her mama, who had been bereaved of her friend and companion of over fifty years.
Yevno had instilled hope in Anna. That was, after all, the hallmark of his life. He had endowed her with the ability to anticipate what lay ahead, not dwell on what was past. When she thought about the past she was left with a feeling of completion. She felt as if the loose ends of her life were in order. Paul was at last restored to his family. Although he would soon return to his life of politics and danger, it would be as a man delivered of a heavy burden. And, in addition to Paul and Yevno, another father and son, Viktor and Sergei, had also been restored to each other.
She was pleased with how her own children were growing. Yuri and Andrei attended well to their studies, especially Yuri, who seemed to have inherited his parents’ thirst for knowledge. Andrei had a harder time sitting still for such slow-going activity, but he tried his best. They got along well with Talia, Raisa’s daughter, and the three promised to become fast friends. Teaching them provided Anna with challenge and purpose for her life. Unlike Mariana, who desired to use her education to make a grand mark upon the world, Anna was completely content and satisfied to pass on whatever knowledge and wisdom she had to her children.
Mariana indeed seemed destined to make her mark. Settled into a path that appeared promising, she was happy. And even if she still harbored some confusion about the men in her life, she was content to leave those matters in the hands of God. Katrina would be proud of her daughter, so beautiful, so filled with self-assurance and spiritual assurance.
What lay ahead for them, Anna could not guess. Nor could she envision how the forces of world events, political upheaval and discontent might work to unravel those loose ends that seemed so neat and tidy now. Where would her children be in a year? In five years, or ten? Where might she and Sergei be, for that matter?
So much had happened, and more was bound to occur in the years to come. Anna supposed that the cataclysms of history and politics would continue in spite of an insignificant peasant woman. But her duty, as her papa had taught her, was simply to live her life as faithfully as she could, to love her dear family, and to trust God. This she could do. And God would do the rest.
About the Author
Judith Pella is a bestselling, award-winning author whose writing career spans more than two decades. Her in-depth historical and geographical research combines with her skillful storytelling to provide readers with dramatic, thought-provoking novels. She and her husband make their home in Scapoose, Oregon.
Books by Judith Pella
Texas Angel
Heaven’s Road
Beloved Stranger
Mark of the Cross
THE RUSSIANS
The Crown and the Crucible*
A House Divided*
Travail and Triumph*
Heirs of the Motherland
Dawning of Deliverance
White Nights, Red Morning
Passage Into Light
THE STONEWYCKE TRILOGY*
The Heather Hills of Stonewycke
Flight from Stonewycke
Lady of Stonewycke
THE STONEWYCKE LEGACY*
Stranger at Stonewycke
Shadows Over Stonewycke
Treasure of Stonewycke
DAUGHTERS OF FORTUNE
Written on the Wind
Somewhere a Song
Toward the Sunrise
Homeward My Heart
LONE STAR LEGACY
Frontier Lady
Stoner’s Crossing
Warrior’s Song
PATCHWORK CIRCLE
Bachelor’s Puzzle
Sister’s Choice
RIBBONS OF STEEL**
Distant Dreams
A Hope Beyond
A Promise for Tomorrow
RIBBONS WEST**
Westward the Dream
Separate Roads
Ties That Bind
THE HIGHLAND COLLECTION*
Jamie MacLeod: Highland Lass • Robbie Taggart: Highland Sailor
THE JOURNALS OF CORRIE BELLE HOLLISTER
My Father’s World* • Daughter of Grace* • On the Trail of the Truth*
A Place in the Sun*
*with Michael Phillips **with Tracie Peterson
© 1995 by Judith Pella
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-2969-4
This book is a work of fiction. With the exception of historical personages, all characters are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to living persons, past or present, is coincidental.
Cover design by Melinda Schumacher
Judith Pel
la is represented by The Steve Laube Agency.
To my niece,
Sarah Storbakken,
for her love and support as this book grew.
“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you:
not as the world gives, give I unto you.
Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
John 14:27 KJV
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue: What Has Gone Before . . .
Part I: Journey
1
2
3
Part II: War Zone
4
5
6
7
8
9
Part III: Home
10
11
12
13
14
15
Part IV: Geneva
16
17
Part V: The Reporter and the War Hero
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
Part VI: Family Secret
27
28
29
30
31
32
Part VII: Breaking Point
33
34
35
Part VIII: Unraveling the Past
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
Part IX: Proposals
44
45
46
47
48
Part X: The Past Catches Up
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
Part XI: Commitments
57
The Russians Collection Page 151