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Part XII: Gatherings
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Part XIII: Bloody Sunday
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Part XIV: Heroes
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About the Author
Books by Judith Pella
The years following the ascension of Nicholas the Second to the throne of Russia were, at least by Russia’s volatile standards, relatively serene. Nicholas and his wife, Alexandra, lived their lives in a rather idyllic fashion, raising their four daughters to the Victorian standards by which Alexandra herself was raised. Each day brought a pleasant succession of afternoon teas, lavish receptions, and evenings at the opera or ballet. In summer the royal family retreated to the Crimea where they lost themselves in warm balmy days on the beautiful seaside.
Political unrest seemed to be under control. But strife was merely lurking just beneath the surface, simmering like a broth that needs only a bit more heat to bring it overflowing furiously from the pot.
Unlike the royal family, the lives of the Burenin and Fedorcenko clans seemed intent on upheaval. When Prince Sergei Fedorcenko angered the tsar with his writings, he was exiled to Siberia, far from his parents and his sister Katrina. He escaped and returned to Russia, taking on the guise of a peasant and marrying his sister’s maid, Anna Burenin. For many years Sergei and Anna Christinin (Fedorcenko) lived contentedly as peasants in Katyk. They raised Katrina’s daughter, Mariana, and had two sons of their own. Then the unexpected appearance of Dmitri, Mariana’s real father, changed everything. Mariana left her beloved Katyk to live with him in St. Petersburg and there abandoned her peasant ways to take her rightful place as a countess. The transition was not always easy for the sixteen-year-old girl, especially since her father, Dmitri, proved to be as irresponsible and unreliable in middle age as he had been as a youth.
A young American journalist named Daniel Trent was the one bright spot in Mariana’s new life. Both were in strange, new circumstances, and those common bonds seemed to draw them together, cementing the friendship. Mariana openly confided her most private emotions to Daniel, and when he used his friendship with her to write an authorized story about Mariana and her family for his newspaper, she was deeply hurt by the betrayal. His heartfelt repentance seemed to come too late to help their wounded friendship. Daniel was suddenly called back to America to be with his father, who had taken ill. Mariana accepted this as proof that their friendship, not to mention their budding love, was not to be.
Anna and Sergei, concerned about Mariana’s difficulties in St. Petersburg, decided to leave the safe haven of Katyk to be with her in the city. Unable to reveal his aristocratic background because he was still an escaped fugitive, Sergei found life in the city hard and unrelenting. Employment as a laborer in a factory nearly drove him to his death until he was rescued by their longtime friend Misha, a Cossack guard. Misha directed Anna and Sergei to the widow Raisa Sorokin, who was struggling to raise her daughter, put food on the table, and pay rent on her modest apartment. Sergei and his family moved in with Raisa, establishing a mutually sustaining relationship that would last years.
Sergei found employment as a tutor, and just as life appeared to be taking a turn for the better, Cyril Vlasenko made his greedy presence felt. Vlasenko, a cousin of Sergei’s father, Viktor, had long envied the Fedorcenkos. Even when Viktor went insane and Sergei was sent to Siberia, Vlasenko could not be satisfied. He usurped control of the Fedorcenko estate, the last vestige of the once-mighty Fedorcenko holdings. When Viktor attempted to reclaim his property at gunpoint, Sergei came out of hiding and, in the guise of a family servant, convinced his father to surrender. Viktor lost his estate but regained his sanity and was reunited with his son after years of discord.
The Burenin family, too, experienced some bittersweet reconciliations during those years. Anna’s revolutionary brother Paul finally returned to Katyk when he received news of his father Yevno’s illness. And he found, like the biblical Prodigal, that his father’s arms were open to him.
In Yevno’s final talk with Anna, he passed on to her the mantle of spiritual caretaker of the family. “You, my little daughter!” Yevno gently informed Anna. “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.”
Thus the Burenin and Fedorcenko families enter into a new century. They do not know what strife and upheaval the world will mete out to them. They know only one thing—that with God’s help they will survive. After all, they are Russians, and that is what Russians do best.
1
Black smoke coughed from the engine’s smokestack, streaking the clear summer sky with an ugly ribbon, like a battle scar. The train was passing through the heart of Siberia now. The Urals, with their lovely green foothills and meadows covered with violets and kingcups, had been left behind long ago. With Europe left far behind as well, a new world had opened up before the mighty iron engine of the Trans-Siberian Railway.
At least it seemed so to Mariana Remizov, who had never before traveled beyond St. Petersburg.
The flowery steppes and black earth of Tiumen had been followed by the dismal city of Omsk, on a sandy plain populated as much by huge mosquitos as by people. Then had come the flooded Barabinskaya Steppe. In spite of the swarms of insects, the steppe was like a wonderland to Mariana. Lakes and swamps bubbled up from the earth in an eerie fashion. Water surrounded farms, and sometimes even whole villages looked like floating islands. Amazed, Mariana had gazed for hours out the dusty train window at the scenes.
Abruptly the steppe had given way to woodlands, then the taiga. This vast primeval forest, which appeared as if it had never seen the blade of an axe, made Mariana realize just how small the Russia she had always known was, and how much more there was to her beloved Motherland. She had passed through the virgin forest as if in a dream, its swampy mists enveloping her with darkness and cold. She wondered if the sun ever penetrated the thick canopy of foliage.
Several breakdowns on the way, causing hours of delays, had provided Mariana ample opportunity to view the countryside. The trip across Siberia should only take fifteen days, but she had already been en route for more than two weeks, and she was still less than two-thirds of the way to her destination.
The train was approaching Irkutsk—“the pearl of Siberia,” as it was called. No doubt Mariana would only catch a quick glimpse of the “pearl” as the train made another quick stop at the station and then resumed its course. There was so much to see, and so little time. It would take a dozen lifetimes to experience everything Russia had to offer.
Even with all the changes of scenery and the interminable drone of the train beneath her, Mariana could still hardly believe she was more than three thousand miles from home. But she had made her decision, and there was no turning back. Not that she wanted to turn back. This was one of the greatest adventures of her life, almost as life-changing as the day she had left her adopted parents’ peasant izba in Katyk for the big city of St. Petersburg.
Mariana could hardly believe the direction her life had taken. She had grown up in Katyk as the peasant daughter of Anna and Sergei Christinin. Life in the village was simple and satisfying, and Mariana could not have imagined anything else.
Mariana had always known that Anna and Sergei were not her real parents, but her aunt and uncle. They had told her she was the daughter of Princess Katrina Fedorcenko, Sergei’s sister, who di
ed in childbirth. When her father, Count Dmitri Remizov eventually returned, the time had come for her to take her rightful place in Russian society.
That first giant step had sent her catapulting through many new and exciting and frightening experiences. She had not only gone from country girl to city girl; she had leaped from peasant to countess in the blink of an eye. And once she had made that move, each successive step became easier. Now she hungered for adventure—she who had once been content with the prospect of spending all her days in sleepy old Katyk!
Her mama Anna told her it must be from the blood of her real mother, Katrina, that flowed in her veins. Katrina had had such a zest for life, Anna said. She was afraid of nothing, always confident to enter a new situation with gusto. Of course Mariana’s real father, Dmitri, had no small part in this also. Stories of his wild exploits, especially in his youth, always left Mariana in awe.
Mariana wasn’t quite so audacious. She had to admit to some fear of what lay ahead, but, as when she left Katyk, her fear was mingled with anticipation. Mama Anna had told her that her apprehension was a positive sign.
“The fear shows your maturity, Mariana; it says you have good sense. But you don’t let your fear control you. It doesn’t keep you from a new challenge.”
Mama Anna had spoken those words with tears rising in her eyes. Certainly, a good part of Mariana’s courage had come not by blood but by a lifetime spent in the loving care of a woman who had met and conquered her own share of fears and challenges. Mariana knew it must have been hard for Anna to let her adopted daughter travel halfway around the world, undoubtedly to encounter many dangers and hardships. Yet Anna had often said that the goal of parenting was to raise children so they could eventually step out on their own. Her own dear papa, Yevno, had taught her that much.
Yes, Mariana had matured in many ways in the years since she left Katyk. People seemed to think she was pretty and were always admiring her smooth skin, dark hair, and green eyes—her mother’s eyes, people now said. But her hair was apt to be pulled back into a practical bun, and long hours of study indoors had left her skin pale and her eyes weak. She was forced to wear eyeglasses most of the time.
She was twenty-three years old and still unmarried—a fact that never failed to amaze others, especially those from her village where girls were usually married by age fifteen or sixteen. As Countess Mariana Remizov, she had numerous suitors from the best families in St. Petersburg. But she had too much to see and do before she could commit her life to another. Singleness didn’t bother Mariana at all, for it was her choice.
Papa Sergei commended her self-awareness, although her real father, Dmitri, was beside himself with fear that his only daughter might become an old maid. Her grandmother, Eugenia, was outraged.
“How can you throw your life away, after all I have done for you!” the woman had ranted.
Dmitri was more tender: “Dear child, you are so beautiful, so lovely . . . it is such a waste.”
“Just because I’m not married?” Mariana had replied with some affront—perhaps she had been spending too much time with the liberal women at the medical school. “That doesn’t mean my life is wasted, Père. I’m doing something valuable and important with my life—helping others.”
“But you could do that if you were married.”
“Would I have the freedom to follow this call to the East, if I were married? I don’t think so.”
“Oh, don’t even mention that, my dear!”
Mariana knew that her father wished she were married just so she couldn’t go on what he called “this fool’s journey of hers.” He wanted her safe and secure on the estate of some count or prince, surrounded by babies, and booked up with parties and concerts and ladies’ luncheons. A life like his mother’s—a life that, once the initial glamor had dimmed, had become increasingly empty and meaningless to Mariana.
Thoughts of marriage had, in fact, been a little more frequent lately. She even told herself that as soon as the war was over, she would seriously pursue that path. She did want someone special in her life, and after this current adventure, she would be ready to give up her freedom for him, whoever he might be.
But a hunger after adventure wasn’t the only reason for her hesitancy. She had to wonder if her spinsterhood was also because she had been unable to find a suitor who interested her. She had fallen into the annoying habit of comparing all men to one particular cocky American. She had neither seen nor heard from Daniel Trent in nearly four years, yet he still managed to intrude into her life, especially when she was introduced to an eligible male. She had met many handsome young men who were far better looking than that wiry little American with his perpetual smirk, probing eyes, unruly brown hair, and that silly cleft in his chin. But none who had been more exciting, more stimulating, more—
More self-centered, arrogant, and insensitive, Mariana reminded herself sharply. Hadn’t he deceived her and won her friendship in order to write a story about her for his newspaper?
Still, he seemed sincere in repenting of that error. When they had spoken before he left Russia to return to America and his sick father, he had seemed so contrite. By then, though, it was too late. He would be thousands of miles away, and she was embarking upon a new life at the St. Petersburg Medical School for Women. It was hardly a good time to begin a romantic relationship.
She had written to him once in America but never received a response. Perhaps she should have been more persistent, but she had been hurt by his silence and it seemed best to surrender to fate. No doubt he was getting on with his life without her, and she resigned herself to do the same. And, after four years, it was apparent she would never see him again.
Why, then, couldn’t she forget him? Was there something to what she had once read about “soul-mates,” two people who just fit together, who had the right ingredients to perfectly complement the other? She had felt that way with Daniel—that is, before his newspaper article had ruined everything.
Well, if for no other reason, this journey of hers, this adventure, would be just the right thing to distract her mind from a hopeless romance, once and for all.
Just then the train jerked to a sudden stop. Mariana was thrown hard against the back of the seat ahead of her. Several other passengers were pitched from their seats entirely, one crashing into Mariana before landing in the aisle.
2
Although there had been innumerable stops and delays along the way, none had been like this. When Mariana recovered from her momentary surprise, she jumped up to aid other passengers. One woman had broken her arm, and an officer had a nasty bruise on his brow.
All the passengers were buzzing with curiosity. Many had crowded to the windows to peer out.
“What happened?”
“Can’t see a thing!”
“Cursed railroad. It’s a wonder we weren’t all killed!”
It wasn’t long before the conductor appeared. “Everyone calm down, please. We . . . ah . . . are going to have a . . . ah . . . little delay.”
Two officers exited the train to make their own assessment of the problem. Within moments, several other passengers decided to do the same. They knew by experience it was almost impossible to get straightforward information from train officials.
As soon as Mariana had helped tend to the injuries, she joined the throng of curious passengers.
It was about an hour before dusk, and a chill wind was blowing. Mariana had left her cloak in the car, but she was too curious to return for it. Shivering, she joined a knot of passengers who stood gaping ahead.
Mariana gasped with shock.
Not twenty feet away, a huge canyon stretched before them. The railway bridge spanned a dozen yards out over the gorge, then ended in a tangled mass of support beams and pilings. Someone had blown up the bridge. Had the train stopped a few seconds later, the engine and all the cars would have tumbled into the raging river below.
One woman in the group of spectators fainted at the dreadful sight. Mariana
herself was quaking a bit, although she forced herself to remain at least outwardly calm. They had been only seconds from a horrible death.
“Sabotage,” one of the officers said.
No one wanted to hear that. They had expected danger at the end of their trip; many were even prepared to die when they arrived at their final destination. But it was unnerving to think that they could die this far away from Manchuria—suddenly, unexpectedly, by an unseen hand.
It was Mariana’s first hint of the real implications of her decision to embark on this journey.
Was she traveling to her own death?
It seemed more possible now than ever.
Anna and Sergei had tried to support her in her decision to come, but even they had been confused by their adopted daughter’s unexpected turnabout. Four years ago, Mariana had been so certain the Medical School was what she wanted. But she had been disillusioned by the mountains of study and work involved in becoming a doctor. She had always worked hard on her parents’ farm in Katyk, but the intellectual work that faced her in school was worse than milking and threshing and baking all put together!
She had chosen to pursue medicine because she had wanted to help people. Although that might be the end result, in order to get there she had to wade through endless mounds of mathematics and science. Mathematics, especially, was as tough as an old Russian bear for her. Even with Sergei tutoring her, she barely passed. It was the same with science, though at least that was interesting—what she could understand of it! Chemistry was impossible. When she failed her third-year chemistry final, she knew she was in way over her head. The school allowed her to take chemistry again in her fourth year, but in addition to all her regular classes. By the time Christmas came, she was a wreck. Her eyes had completely failed her. She was losing weight and had a terrible chronic head cold. She could not face another minute of school, much less over a year and a half more.
The outbreak of war with Japan in February provided an unexpected outlet for Mariana. There was a desperate call for nurses to go to the front. The Russian Red Cross Organization was recruiting and training women by the dozens to answer that call. Mariana was welcomed eagerly into the fold. Her education might not have seemed much to her, but to the Red Cross it was more than their nurses were required to have. All she lacked was practical training, which they provided at the Red Cross Hospital in St. Petersburg. By summer she was ready to embark on her journey to Manchuria, the theater of war.
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