Only one bit of logic came to him at the moment. “Let’s go back to the inn where we can talk.”
She nodded, then clung to him all the way back.
The same three people were in the inn’s common room. Daniel and Mariana easily found a table in an isolated corner. The woman innkeeper brought them hot tea.
“You must be nearly frozen,” Daniel said as he poured tea and placed a steaming cup in her shaking hands. “Just hold it a minute and let it warm you.” He didn’t have to tell her that, he knew, but he had never really had to care for someone before, and he was rather awkward at it. Surprisingly, as he began to warm up to it, he enjoyed the sensation. Or perhaps it was just that he enjoyed caring for Mariana. He knew she didn’t need him—not really. But it felt good, for a short time, at least.
It took several minutes before the tea had warmed Mariana so that her trembling lips could form intelligible conversation. Then the events of that terrible day gushed out like a river breaking through the winter’s ice.
Just the telling helped, and hearing Daniel’s supportive responses, and seeing the look on his face that said, I will help you carry this burden. The questions that had plagued her were still there, but she no longer despaired that there were no answers.
“Daniel, why didn’t I stay with my uncle? What am I going to tell my mama? Because of me he died alone. I could have—”
“No more of that, Mariana,” he said sternly, like a benevolent father. “Believe me, I know what little good recriminations do.”
“It hurts so much.”
“But at the same time, you don’t think it hurts enough,” he said gently. “You feel like a failure, and you want to keep punishing yourself with blame. It won’t work, Mariana. You’re only going to make it worse.”
She nodded. Her head was clearer now. Dear Uncle Ilya was gone; she couldn’t do anything to change that awful fact. Daniel was right. And as she gazed at Daniel through tear-filled eyes, she realized how much he had grown since their time in Russia. He wasn’t speaking mechanical words of comfort, but rather sharing from the depths of his soul, giving to her from the pain he had known.
“I knew you’d understand,” she said.
He shook his head sadly. “I do, dear,” Daniel said. “If I learned nothing else from my father’s death, I did learn that I can’t bring him back, and I can’t change past mistakes.”
Mariana sniffed and tried to blot her tears with her hand. Daniel handed her his handkerchief.
“Down deep, I guess I know that,” she said after a moment. “But I’ll still always wonder if I might have done something. Maybe if I had prayed more. Maybe God would have healed him.”
“Mariana, if God wanted to heal your uncle He would have found some way to do it without your prayers.”
“Then why even bother praying?”
A corner of Daniel’s mouth twitched in a partial smile. “You’re asking me? I’m a lot newer at this praying business than you.”
“Papa and Mama could tell us the answer.”
“Someday you and I can ask them. And I’ll have countless more questions, while I’m at it.”
“Oh, Daniel!” For the first time that dismal day, Mariana was reminded that joy did exist. “I can’t wait! How I miss them and our happy, peaceful home; Mama’s smiles, Papa’s poetry, the tuneless song Grandmama hums, even my little brothers’ shenanigans.”
“I wish they could be here for you now, dear Mariana.”
Mariana dried her eyes with the handkerchief. “But as much as I want my family,” she said in a clearer, more assured tone, “I’m certain God sent the right person, Daniel. He knew just what I needed, and He brought you to me.”
“Whatever would God be doing using a wishy-washy nincompoop like me, who has far more questions about God than answers?”
“It’s like I said before—He sees your heart.” She smiled. “And I, for one, am glad you don’t have all the answers. How would you grow otherwise?”
They fell silent for a few minutes, sipping their tea and enjoying the surprising peace of the time. Mariana couldn’t believe that two hours ago she had felt as if her world were crumbling. In a sense, nothing had changed—except for herself.
“When I came here tonight,” she said, “I was ready to run away from Port Arthur. I never wanted to see that hospital again. I think I can go back now.”
“I’d like to find a way to take you away from here.” Daniel took her hands in his. “But you’d never be happy with yourself if you didn’t return. You’re too strong and brave for that.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them tenderly. “I love you, Mariana.”
I love you.
Those words floated between them for a long moment; they had surprised even Daniel. Yet he knew, even as he heard himself speak them, that he had never meant anything more fervently in his life.
Before Mariana had a chance to speak, he added, “Don’t say anything now, Mariana. It was poor timing on my part, I know. You’re not only grieving your uncle, but you’ve been under so much stress. There’ll be time enough to respond when life is back to normal.”
“I can tell you how I feel now, Daniel.” She paused and held his eyes with her gaze. “I love you, too.”
The intensity of her response sent a thrill through his body, but he found it difficult to accept the reality of their exchanged words of love.
“You don’t think it’s the impulse of the moment that’s speaking?”
“Daniel, I think we’ve been destined to speak these words to each other for years.”
“Nevertheless, it may take a while for it to sink in.”
Daniel walked Mariana back to the hospital. He hated to leave her at the door. He knew Mariana was as true as gold in her declaration, but this was war, and life was unpredictable, changing from minute to minute. Even if a heart was true, so many outside events could happen to unravel the best intentions, the strongest love. As he turned away, back into the cold, dark street, he had a deep sense of how fresh and new their love was. Was it strong enough to withstand the fires of adversity that were sure to come?
36
After five years Count Dmitri Remizov was still congratulating himself on the wisdom of returning to Russia. This was where he belonged, not traipsing all over foreign lands, allowing himself to be put on display by fawning, giddy women. In Russia he was more than a mere novelty.
With men he found the camaraderie of shared experiences—school, the Guards, war. With women . . . well, it was somewhat the same as during his travels. They were still fawning and at times giddy, but they were Russian women. More and more he was discovering in himself a much greater affinity for things Russian. He was almost as bad as the tsar in that respect. But his heritage, and leaving a mark on the future, was more important to him than it had been in the past. Why, he was even considering remarrying—a younger woman who could bear him a son to carry on his name.
He almost chuckled as he thought of that time of near despair in America when he thought he might die alone and in disgrace. He was still in the prime of life. And he need not worry about his daughter forgetting him. She was simply a gem in that respect. But even when she married and left him for good, he wouldn’t have to spend his autumn years in solitude. There were droves of women interested in him.
He glanced at his reflection as he passed the French doors. Ah, yes, he did cut a fine figure for a man of forty-seven. What was he saying? He could hold his own with men half his age.
“Dmitri, Dmitri!”
Remizov turned to find Countess Alice Tolgskij. Dmitri had been engaged to her before he married Katrina, but Alice didn’t hold his fickle youth against him. She had ended up marrying well, and had been widowed a year ago. Since then she’d had her sights on Dmitri. She was still attractive, and her money was even more so. But she was at least forty-five years old, and no amount of makeup could hide the lines around her eyes. If Dmitri did take the matrimonial plunge, he was set on it being with a woman
still of childbearing age.
That determination, however, did not prevent him from being friendly. “Alice, how good to see you.” He paused to puff on his cigarette, as always in its six-inch holder. “Isn’t this a delightful party?” They were at the home of Prince Velemir Cerni, celebrating his seventieth birthday. “And the ‘season’ hasn’t even begun. We are in for a grand winter.”
“If the war doesn’t put a damper on things.”
“But we must do something to maintain our spirits during this dreary time. My own daughter is over there, and I would go absolutely crazy if I didn’t have something to distract my worry.”
A servant passed with a tray of champagne. Dmitri plucked off two glasses, handing one to Alice.
“Let us toast our brave young people so gallantly defending Holy Russia!” They clicked glasses and sipped at the expensive drink.
Another woman joined them. “I heard your toast,” she said. “If I had a fresh glass, I would lift it also. My brother is fighting in the war.”
“Then let’s get you a glass, by all means!” Dmitri hurried away, snatched another glass from the servant, and returned. With a flourish he gave it to the newcomer, appraising her carefully as he did so. He didn’t recognize her as from the St. Petersburg social set. She was in her early twenties and pretty, in a plain, understated way. She had gentle brown eyes and looked as if she’d be far more comfortable in a church than at this party.
The three clicked glasses again and Dmitri noted with pleasure that Alice was giving the newcomer a rather critical scrutiny.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of your acquaintance,” said Alice formally.
“I don’t get to St. Petersburg often—you know how Muscovites are.” She smiled, and her plainness was suddenly replaced by a glowing beauty. “I’m Yalena Barsukov.”
Dmitri clicked his heels smartly and, bowing, took her slim, graceful hand in his and kissed it. “A pleasure indeed! I’ve heard the name, Princess Barsukov, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“An old Moscow family, to be sure. In banking, among other things. But it seems I’ve heard the name in relation to something else recently. Now what was it . . .” Dmitri stroked his goatee thoughtfully.
Alice wasn’t about to be left out of this tête-à-tête. “I am Countess Alice Tolgskij.”
“I’m glad to meet you,” said the princess. “And you, Count Remizov, need no introduction. I inquired of our host about you—you see, I have heard of you recently also.”
“Is that so? I am most intrigued.”
“My brother and your daughter have made each other’s acquaintance in Port Arthur.”
“Ah, yes! Now I remember. The last letter I received from Mariana—in fact, the last since the Japanese tightened down on the siege. Your poor brother was wounded and was a patient of my daughter’s. He is well, I hope?”
“He, too, managed to get a letter to our mother. He wanted to allay her fears in case word of his wound had reached her. He was quite well at that time. But there hasn’t been mail from Port Arthur for months.”
“It only adds to our anxiety.”
“When I learned that you would be at Count Cerni’s party, I wanted to meet you. From my brother’s description of your daughter, I think I’d be safe in assuming that she did not see fit to tell you the whole story of my brother’s hospitalization.”
“The whole story?”
“Philip was about to have his leg amputated, but Mariana did not feel the severity of the wound warranted such a drastic measure. She stood up to Philip’s doctor and insisted another surgeon be consulted. As a result, his leg was saved.”
Dmitri beamed.
“You have every reason to be proud,” said Yalena.
“Why, Dmitri,” interrupted Alice, in another attempt to make her presence known, “your Mariana is a real heroine!”
“And it is so like her.” Dmitri made no attempt to hide his affection. “A girl of real principles, and the strength to stand up for them. Not that she is bold or brassy, mind you,” he added quickly. “A sweeter, more gentle girl you’ll not find anywhere.”
“You don’t need to sing your Mariana’s praises to me,” smiled Yalena. “My brother has already done so in no uncertain terms. He is quite taken with her.”
“Really? How kind of him.”
“Thank you for allowing me to interrupt your conversation,” said Yalena. “I shall leave you to yourselves.”
“It was the most pleasant interruption of the evening!” Dmitri plied Yalena with his most charming grin.
“It was good meeting you.” Alice infused a definite finality into her tone as she repositioned herself subtly to inch Yalena out.
But Dmitri stepped around her and caught Yalena’s attention once more. “Princess Yalena, how long will you be here in St. Petersburg?”
“A week more. I am visiting my aunt and uncle.”
“Perhaps our paths will cross once more. In the meantime, thank you for telling me about Mariana.”
“It is the least I could do. I am more grateful to your daughter than words can express. I have added her to my daily prayers, and I light a candle for her safety each time I attend Mass.”
Sometime later Countess Eugenia Remizov, in attendance at the same party, managed to get her son off alone.
“I saw you talking with Princess Barsukov earlier. What was it all about? You realize the Barsukovs are among the richest, most influential families in Moscow—probably in all of Russia. What did she want? It seemed a most pleasant exchange.”
“Oh, my dear mama. It was! It was!”
“Well, tell me about it?”
“If you would read Mariana’s letters,” he said with just a hint of rebuke, “perhaps you’d know.”
“My name may be on the envelopes, but it is obvious her letters are for you. I don’t put my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“I think it is sweet that she includes you. You never write to her.”
“And would she care to hear from me?” Eugenia sniffed with derision. “Now, tell me about the Barsukovs.”
“Well, it seems my Mariana saved their son’s life. Princess Yalena is most grateful, as is her brother. Apparently he is quite taken with Mariana.”
“Taken . . . ? Hmmm, this sounds promising. What a match that would be! I couldn’t have come up with a better one had I worked night and day. Perhaps her crazy notion of being a war nurse wasn’t so bad after all.”
“Is that all you think of, Mariana’s marriage?”
“Why not? Regardless of her feminist notions, the girl will have to marry one day; there’s no reason why it can’t be to a man of family and substance. I might remind you, my suddenly idealistic son, that a Barsukov dowry would set you up for life.”
“There is more to life than money, Mama.”
Eugenia laughed at that. “Maybe if you had to pay your own bills for a change, you’d think differently.”
“Besides,” Dmitri said, adroitly skirting the touchy subject of his financial accountability, “Mariana also mentioned in her letters that she has met that American fellow, Trent, in Manchuria. They were quite taken with each other four years ago, and I rather liked the man.”
“That uncouth reporter? Bah!”
“Well, Mama, I must tell you unreservedly that I wish for Mariana to marry for love, not position.”
Eugenia had begun to discover that her self-centered, rather foppish son, who in most cases could be easily manipulated, was almost impossible to argue with where Mariana was concerned. Eugenia had made an enormous mistake in backing down the first time he had stood up to her, over the issue of medical school. Now he seemed to think he had complete license where his impudent brat was concerned.
But Eugenia wasn’t going to give up easily on this issue. They all stood to gain from a good marriage. “Do you mean to tell me you’d consent to her marrying a foreigner—an American?” She slurred over the last word as if it were the same as sayin
g “leper.”
“Well, I—”
“Ha! And you, who so extol the glory of Russia! How you spout off about your pride in being Russian. It all must be rhetoric in order to ingratiate yourself to the powers that be.”
“I mean every word of it!”
“But you’d permit Mariana to marry a foreigner?”
“You know Mariana; it doesn’t much matter what I permit. She does have a mind of her own.”
“And it is about time you took her in a firm hand. If you don’t have the heart for the job, then let someone who does do it. You must not let your insipid sentimentality spoil Mariana’s future.”
“I’ll take what you’ve said under consideration,” Dmitri said rather sulkily.
Dmitri was relieved when Eugenia excused herself, but he continued to reel from her harangue. It took a good ten minutes before he could get back into a proper mood for the remainder of the party. Still, his mother’s intractability took the edge off his enjoyment; the only further bright spot was another brief conversation with Yalena Barsukov. She was a lovely woman—well, young woman. But so mature for her age, so poised and gracious. And he had found out, much to his satisfaction, that she was unattached. How such a lovely woman had made it to the ripe age of twenty-seven without getting snagged by some worthy Moscow aristocrat, Dmitri had no idea.
Dmitri made a point of learning her aunt and uncle’s address so he could visit her before she left the capital. Perhaps he could make both his female relatives happy by obtaining a share of the Barsukov money without involving Mariana.
But, who knew? Perhaps Mariana was interested in Philip, after all. Wouldn’t that be quaint? Father and daughter marrying sister and brother.
37
Three days later, on Vassily Island across the street from the humble residence of Anna and Sergei, a lone figure hid in a dark alley.
It was only about seven-thirty in the evening, but darkness came early in November. Basil Anickin had made the best use of the early winter shadows. He had been positioned in this alley for an hour, waiting, watching. He had made a habit of keeping this residence and that of Dmitri Remizov under surveillance—not every day, but often enough so that he had a very good idea of their routines. He and Jack had also made the acquaintance of a couple of the Remizov servants, frequenting a certain saloon where the two, a chauffeur and a grounds keeper, were regulars.
The Russians Collection Page 171