Itkinson was in his office, attempting to deal with the mounds of paperwork that passed over his desk each day. When she knocked on his door, he looked relieved at the interruption.
“I was never happier, Miss Remizov, than when I could roll up my sleeves and work with the sick. Even working with eager students had its many moments of compensation. But this—” He waved a hand over the stacks of paper in front of him. “This is worse than being put out to pasture completely.”
“You need another clerk, Doctor,” she said, making an attempt at conversation in spite of her haste. “It’s a shame for you to be kept from where you could do the most good.”
“I’ve requested one half a dozen times in the last month. I am told another clerk for me would take a man away from the defense of the city. I can’t argue with that, now, can I?” He smiled, and his pale blue eyes crinkled to slits. He was a pleasant-looking man, with a thick crop of white hair, a matching moustache, and a thin, lined face.
“But, I am sure,” he continued, “you wish to discuss other matters.”
“I do, Dr. Itkinson, and it’s not an easy subject to broach. However, time may be of the essence, as they say.”
“Then forget all the niceties and get right to it. I’ll forgive any indelicacy.”
“I have a patient who came in during the night with a wounded lower leg. Surgery was postponed until he stabilized, and just a few minutes ago Dr. Vlasenko said he was ready to take Captain Barsukov into surgery for an amputation.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Dr. Vlasenko didn’t look at the man’s chart and only glanced briefly at his leg. But it seems very obvious to me that an amputation may not be called for in this case. X-rays verify that the bones are sound, and the circulation is still quite good. I tried to point this out to Dr. Vlasenko—”
Dr. Itkinson’s laugh cut her off. “My dear girl, don’t you know it’s the height of blasphemy to question a doctor’s diagnosis?” His tone was laced with sarcasm.
“Even Dr. Vlasenko’s?” she ventured boldly.
This brought on a roar of laughter from the doctor. Dabbing tears of amusement from his eyes with a handkerchief, Itkinson tried to compose himself. “Someday, I believe nurses will receive the respect due them from physicians. They will be able to hold their own in that realm—if not as equals, then at least as vital and indispensable assistants. Unfortunately it is not so now, my dear. Many doctors consider you little better than maids.”
“Doctor, I don’t ask you to take my opinion in this, because I realize I haven’t near the training to make such judgments. All I ask is that you look at the evidence and, as senior physician, lend your input to Dr. Vlasenko. He is fresh out of medical school, himself, and surely would value the expertise of an experienced man.”
“You must understand, Mariana, that I simply cannot intercede every time one of my doctor’s judgments is in question.”
“I’m not asking you to do it every time. But this one time, couldn’t you speak to him? Think of the poor patient who will have to go through the rest of his life maimed. He is a hero of Russia, a recipient of the Order of Stanislaus.”
“You understand, don’t you, how desperate we are for physicians over here? Vlasenko isn’t completely incompetent. He has saved a few lives, you know.”
“Of course,” Mariana replied respectfully, although she didn’t altogether agree.
“I wanted to make sure you knew—” He stopped and shook his head. “What am I saying? I needed to remind myself! If only it were different.”
“What about Captain Barsukov?” Mariana asked quietly.
“Let me see his chart.”
Within five minutes Mariana and Dr. Itkinson were walking together back to the ward. They were only halfway to Barsukov’s bed when Mariana saw that it was empty.
21
Philip Barsukov thought he must surely live a charmed life. A few hours ago he had believed that his life as he knew it was over, that he’d be a cripple forever, an object of pity to all who saw him.
When that boorish young doctor had him whisked away from the room so suddenly, he had almost lost all hope. Nurse Remizov had made him think that perhaps something could be done to save his leg, but then she had disappeared. Philip’s protests when the attendants began to wheel him away were ignored. His complete helplessness only deepened his depression.
As he regained consciousness after his surgery, it took him quite a while to get the nerve to look at the foot of his bed. Someone had told him about “phantom pains” after an amputation. He could not trust the pain coursing through his wounded leg, and he was too weak at first to lift his head to look. He tried to ask an attendant, but they were all too busy. A large influx of wounded had just been brought in from a skirmish outside the city. He dozed off still not knowing the truth.
When he awoke an hour later, he was back in his ward. The first person he saw was Mariana Remizov, her smiling face a heavenly vision. She was gazing down at the foot of his bed, and the radiance in her eyes was his first indication that he was blessed above all men. By some miracle, his leg had been spared.
“The last thing I’d wish a pretty woman to notice about me,” he murmured, “are my ugly feet.”
“They are both beautiful to me! I am so happy for you, Captain.”
Mariana said nothing about her part in the events surrounding Philip’s surgery, and if it had been up to her, she would have had the whole thing kept quiet. But once the hospital rumor-mill learned of it, all chance of that ceased. Barsukov heard the story from Ludmilla.
Vlasenko, furious at Mariana’s gall, had immediately ordered Ludmilla to ready the patient for surgery. Since Mariana left without apprising Ludmilla of the situation, she obeyed his orders—not that she was one to argue with a doctor, anyway. The patient was wheeled away while Mariana was still speaking with Itkinson.
Fortunately for Barsukov, an emergency case came into the operating room at the same time he arrived. Vlasenko tried to insist on his claim to the only available room, but even he had to admit that a bleeding chest wound had priority over a leg. Vlasenko was pacing and fuming when Itkinson arrived on the scene. Mariana had stayed behind in the ward. She told Ludmilla she had done all she could, and she was satisfied to leave matters in the chief of staff’s capable hands.
Thus, when Barsukov’s turn for surgery finally came, Dr. Itkinson held the scalpel. He had convinced Vlasenko that there were some new techniques he wanted to show his novice physicians. Karl was relieved from the case while saving face, but he was still not happy about the situation. No matter how gracious Itkinson had been, it was still galling that a mere nurse—and the Remizov girl as well—had so usurped his authority. He wasn’t likely to forget the insult.
After hearing the story, Philip tried to thank Mariana.
“I won’t have any of that,” she said lightly, chuckling to hide her embarrassment. “Any nurse here would have done the same for you, and for any patient.”
“But they didn’t. You did.”
“Nevertheless, I’d prefer not to be singled out.”
“I’ll say no more, then,” Philip replied, “but know that you will always have my undying devotion.”
She blushed outright because his words were so earnest, but she tried to lighten the moment with a little laugh. “If I had a ruble for every time I’ve heard that in this war, I’d be a rich woman by its end.”
He smiled, trying to understand her discomfiture. But he couldn’t help his gratitude. Because of her he was a whole man. Now he had the right to court a woman, to love her, to take care of her. Hours ago he had nearly given up all hope of marriage and having a family—he was simply not the type of man who could burden a woman with his care. All that had changed because of Mariana.
Perhaps his growing devotion was confused with gratitude—such feelings were certainly not uncommon between nurse and patient. Yet it was not at all difficult to believe his stirring feelings were for other r
easons also. She was a lovely woman, with a gentle and lively spirit to match. She was everything he could have wished for in a girl. And when he learned she was also of the nobility—well, it seemed they were fated to be together.
While Philip Barsukov’s attentions were focusing on his nurse, she was holding him up to scrutiny alongside a brash, impertinent American.
Philip was everything a young woman could want in a man, with his thick, wavy brown hair and matching vivid brown eyes—eyes that had a striking way of mirroring his feelings in an open and honest manner. He had strong, broad shoulders, a gentle voice, and a pleasant sense of humor tempered by sincerity. Mariana’s grandmother, Eugenia, would be delighted to make such a match for her granddaughter. And the fact that he was Moscow born and bred would have endeared him even further to the woman. But his social station did not impress Mariana as much as the fact that he seemed to be, above all, a very nice man who had somehow escaped the arrogance and self-absorption so common among members of the aristocracy. Mariana enjoyed his company, and over the next few days, she found herself frequently stopping by his bed just to chat.
Daniel and Philip were as different as two men could possibly be. The comparison wasn’t fair, yet she couldn’t help herself. The initial thrill upon seeing Daniel in Manchuria hadn’t diminished. She thought about him a lot, even dreamed about him. But there were problems with Daniel. She feared he could never be as committed to another person as he was to his work. And, if they married, where would they live? Would he give up his home in America so she could be near the home she loved? She had once experienced this same worry with Stephan Kaminsky, to whom she had been engaged back in Katyk. It had worked out in the end, though far differently than she had anticipated. But moving a couple hundred miles from her village was hardly to be compared with moving halfway around the world to an entirely different culture, language . . . everything! Could she do it? Could she ask Daniel to do it?
But other more vital concerns nagged at her. There was, first of all, the matter of faith. Daniel was Protestant and she was Russian Orthodox, but that was not the real issue. She had learned from her mama and papa that there was far more to faith than the name on your church’s doorpost. But Mariana wasn’t even sure if Daniel truly believed in God. He always skirted the issue and made superficial statements, even as he listened so attentively to her own words of faith and belief. Sometimes he said he believed in God, sometimes he said he didn’t know. She wondered if he was merely placating her, avoiding making any firm commitment.
Philip Barsukov, on the other hand, took his faith seriously. After his miraculous salvation from amputation, he had asked to be taken to the hospital chapel, and there had offered his thanks to God with utmost sincerity.
“I know I could have done this just as easily in my bed,” he had told Mariana, “but I felt my thanks would be a sweeter offering if some sacrifice were involved.” And it had been a sacrifice; the simple action of moving from his bed to a wheelchair had brought on immense pain.
Although Mariana liked Philip a great deal, she realized that something was missing. But, she had only known the man a few days, after all. Perhaps, given time, the intensity she sought, the passion, would grow. She was no child who believed “falling in love” with a man was everything. She knew that there was more to a relationship between a man and a woman than physical attraction. Yet she could not abandon the feeling that passion should be at least part of such a relationship.
The majority of marriages, however, were arranged without the slightest consideration of passion, and they turned out adequately. But Mariana wasn’t sure she was willing to settle for only adequate. She longed for the kind of marriage Anna and Sergei had. Theirs was special. They seemed to know what the other was thinking and feeling; they talked like friends; and once or twice Mariana had chanced to see them kiss like young lovers. But perhaps their love was just too special to be repeated. Maybe adequate was the best a woman could hope for.
And Daniel Trent’s reappearance in her life only added to her confusion. She had decided to give Daniel another chance—he had seemed different after all. But a relationship with someone like Philip would be much safer, more secure. Or would it just be boring?
Mariana sighed. Maybe spinsterhood wasn’t such a bad thing after all. She wouldn’t have to be plagued with all this inner turmoil. How simple her life would be then. How . . . lonely.
A week after Philip’s surgery, he called her to his bedside. “They will be moving me today to a less critical ward.”
She nodded. It was both good news and bad.
“I probably won’t be seeing as much of you, Mariana, but I hope you will not forget me.”
“I won’t, Philip.”
“Will you take this? It is a token of my gratitude—and also a sign of my hope that the friendship we have found here will not end with this war, but will go on for . . . a very long time.”
He removed a chain from around his neck and held it out to her. On it was a silver cross, edged in a delicate filigree with a beautiful oval-shaped opal in the center.
“My sister gave this to me when I left for the war. It’s all I have with me of any value except for my sword. It isn’t much, as I said, only a mere token—”
“Philip, I couldn’t take something so special. How would your sister feel?”
His wide, expressive mouth parted in a smile. “She gave it to me precisely so that I would have something to give a beautiful nurse who might chance to save my life.”
“Oh, Philip, I’m not that gullible.”
“Well, perhaps she never said as much, but I know my sister. She is a romantic; knowing the final destination of her cross would make her ecstatic.”
“I don’t know, Philip . . .”
“Please!” His smile was replaced with deep entreaty. He took her hand and laid the cross in it, continuing to hold her hand for a moment. “I have not known you long, Mariana, but you have become very special to me. I would not want you to forget me.”
“I truly won’t,” she promised.
“Take this anyway. Who knows—someday it may find its way back into my family.” He winked and grinned again.
She decided light banter was the best way to counter such a statement. “Watch what you say, Prince Barsukov. You may find yourself in deeper than you wish.”
He clutched his hands theatrically to his heart and looked heavenward. “Oh, by the saints, if only it could be true!”
Mariana laughed, he joined in, and that was all that was said of the matter. She took the cross and slipped it around her neck. The tenderness of the moment was marred only by a fleeting thought of Daniel.
22
Daniel and Yin Chu made it to Louisa Bay to the north of Port Arthur. They hooked up with a blockade runner named Shen Kuo-hwa who reluctantly—and expensively—agreed to take them with him on the perilous five-mile overland trek to the port. Every mile they flirted with discovery by Japanese patrols, but Shen knew his business well and managed to get them to the port safely, along with his precious cargo of black market merchandise.
They were helped by the fact that the Japanese were somewhat distracted by a major skirmish being waged twelve miles north of Port Arthur, and miles to the east of where Daniel and his party would pass. What they did not know was that even as they neared the town, the Japanese General Nogi had finally broken through Port Arthur’s first line of defense and had pushed the Russian troops to within six miles of the town. The Russians had been fighting frantically to maintain that position.
As they neared Port Arthur, Daniel thought the sounds of artillery and gunfire were awfully close. He didn’t realize as he slipped into the city with Yin Chu and Shen, who paid a large bribe to a guard to allow them entry, that Fock’s troops had been ordered to withdraw to the city. He had no idea that the siege of Port Arthur had begun in earnest.
But Daniel’s biggest worry at the moment was finding lodging and eluding the many Russian guards posted around the ci
ty. Shen had a prearranged setup with the guard he had bribed—after all, it was to everyone’s advantage for goods to continue to get into the city. But there was no reason for the Russians to welcome an unauthorized newspaper correspondent illegally entering the city. Among other things, he was just another mouth to feed, and that was the last thing Port Arthur needed.
About an hour of daylight remained. Daniel sent Yin Chu in search of lodgings among the Chinese locals, and he set out to investigate a source of his own. He wandered into the nearly deserted Japanese section of town. He remembered this street from his stay in Port Arthur at the beginning of the war. Several Japanese barbers had shops here, and he had often enjoyed their expert services. Daniel rubbed the four-day stubble on his face and wished they hadn’t been forced to abandon their businesses and leave the city.
It was rather eerie here now and he hastened his pace, all at once feeling far too obvious. He rounded a corner and almost collided with a big burly Cossack sentry.
“What’s your business here?” barked the sentry.
Daniel swallowed his trepidation, relying on his fine ability to think on his feet. “I was just hoping to get a shave.” For added emphasis he scraped his hand over the sandpaper on his face.
“Where have you been to get a growth like that?”
“The last shave I got was from a Chinese barber over on Broad Street, and he nearly slit my throat. Thought I’d try growing a beard after that, but it’s starting to drive me crazy.”
“What’s your business in Port Arthur?”
“I’m a clerk at the Colfax Bank and Trust Company.”
“They are still operating?”
“We closed down a month ago and most of the staff evacuated to Mukden, but I was asked to remain as caretaker. We couldn’t get all of our important papers out, you know. They’ve doubled my salary, so how could I refuse, eh?”
“Well, this area is off limits.”
Daniel sighed as if greatly disappointed. “Those Japanese had some wonderful barbers.”
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