The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  “Mariana has a mind of her own.”

  “Like her mother.”

  “I am happy for them, Sergei,” Anna went on. “But with Daniel’s home being in America—it’s hard to accept that Mariana may go so far away from us.”

  “Perhaps they won’t be. Daniel seems very attached to Russia.”

  “I guess we must accept the time when our children will grow up and start lives of their own. I don’t want to be the kind of mother who holds on too tightly.”

  “Just remember, Anna, you will never lose your children. Don’t forget our favorite old proverb: Let your children choose their own path, and it will always lead back to you. You have done this, and you will reap the fruits.”

  “We have done it, Sergei. And we will reap the fruits.”

  “Yes, of course . . .” Sergei’s voice trailed away, and for a moment his focus turned inward. “Anna, if I am not always around—”

  “Sergei, what are you saying?” scolded Anna. “I won’t hear of such a thing. I just got you back—to keep for a very long time.”

  “I suppose my time in prison made me think of the future—it made me realize I am not immortal. God does not always give us what we think we want or need. I just feel it is best to be prepared for . . . well, whatever God ordains for us, that’s all.”

  “How would you feel, Sergei, if I said such a thing to you?” Anna said, slightly miffed. “If I said I wouldn’t be with you forever?”

  “I’d feel you were being practical.”

  “Ha! You’d be devastated.”

  A sheepish expression slipped across Sergei’s face. “You know me too well, Anna.”

  “Does all this just have to do with your time in prison, Sergei, or are you not telling me something?”

  He shrugged, trying too hard to appear casual for it to work. “I suppose, like everyone else in this city, I’m a bit on edge.”

  “Is it Father Gapon’s march?”

  “We have no guarantees all will go as planned.”

  “Then don’t go, Sergei!” Anna said emphatically.

  “You know I can’t do that. It’s going to be an important day in our country’s history. I have to be there.”

  Anna nodded and tried to shake the momentary pall over the conversation with a quick grin. “All right. But I’ll have no more such talk about uncertain futures, especially on this grand day. We are celebrating your homecoming, my dear husband. And that’s all I want to think of—how happy I am to have you back.”

  Anna put her arms around her husband and pulled him to her in a fervent embrace, and she held on for such a long time Sergei wondered if she would let him go in time to greet their guests.

  67

  Daniel decided to approach his two prospective fathers-in-law before dinner. He would never be able to enjoy the meal otherwise. His main problem was how to get them alone in the crowded house. A large table of boards had been set up in the parlor to accommodate all the people, and at the moment, Sarah, Mariana, and Talia were there setting out dishes. The kitchen, of course, was out of the question, which left only the bedrooms available for privacy.

  He chose his moment while Viktor and George were deep in conversation, and Misha had gone out with Yuri and Andrei to carry in firewood. Dmitri cocked a curious brow when Daniel asked if he could speak to them in private. Sergei had a slight smirk on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes.

  They went to Sergei and Anna’s tiny room, for they were less likely to be disturbed there. When Sergei closed the door, a sudden attack of “nerves” struck Daniel. He walked to the little window by the writing desk, hoping the minor physical activity would ease his anxiety. He wished he could have stood forever gazing out the window at the falling snow, but then he thought of the life that lay ahead for him and Mariana, and that gave him courage to begin. He cleared his throat and turned back toward the men. Dmitri was seated in the desk chair, and Sergei on the edge of the bed.

  “Thank you for leaving the festivities for a few moments,” he said. “I . . . have . . . something I wish to ask of both of you.”

  Neither Dmitri nor Sergei looked especially surprised. They had both known this was coming.

  “I thought it best to speak to both of you because you are both such an important part of Mariana’s life. I hope there is no offense taken in that,” Daniel said.

  It was appropriate that Dmitri spoke first, for he was the one most apt to be offended by Daniel’s method of approach. “These are rather odd circumstances, and I am the first to admit that Sergei, here, has as much right as anyone to be involved in my daughter’s affairs. Do go on, Daniel.”

  “Well, Count Remizov—Prince Fedorcenko,” he began in a formal tone, “I would like to ask Mariana’s hand in marriage!”

  Both men grinned, and Dmitri turned to Sergei. “What do you say, Sergei? I value your opinion.”

  “This is by no means a surprise,” said Sergei. “And, if it were entirely up to me, I would give my wholehearted blessing. I have one concern: Where will you make your home? We are close to Mariana and hate to think of her leaving us for such a faraway place as America, but we understand that is your home, Daniel.”

  “Mariana and I have discussed this, and we feel we can keep a home here and a home in America, dividing our time equally between the two places. I am pretty much indispensable to my newspaper on Russian affairs, so I’ll be called upon to spend much time here.”

  “That relieves my greatest worry—and Anna’s, too,” said Sergei.

  “You have my blessing also, young man,” Dmitri began. “But—”

  Daniel’s hopes rose, then immediately fell at the word but. “Yes, Count Remizov?” said Daniel in a foreboding tone.

  “We must consider the matter of your different faiths, Daniel.”

  “Mariana and I have discussed that, and I have given this a great deal of thought.” Why, then, did he now have a knot in the pit of his stomach? He’d had it all worked out in his mind and was confident that he had a solution that would make everyone happy. But his confidence suddenly fled.

  “May we hear what you have been thinking?” asked Sergei.

  “In the past I was never a very religious person.” Daniel tried to put in his voice the assurance he lacked in his heart. “My father was Presbyterian, and though he didn’t attend church regularly, he was far more faithful than myself. I darkened a church doorway twice a year if I was lucky—you know, Christmas and Easter. When my father died four years ago, I experienced a—how shall I call it?—spiritual awakening. There have been ups and downs during that time, and I am far from mature in the spiritual or religious sense. But my faith in God has become very important to me. Because I have traveled so much, even in the last four years, I have never affiliated myself with a particular church. When I was home, I attended the Presbyterian church where my father was a member. I found it to be a nice church where God seemed real and alive. I’ve also attended churches of other denominations—some good, some bad. I’ve gone to some Presbyterian churches that I didn’t like. What it boils down to in my mind is that the kind of church you attend isn’t as important as whether God can be found there or not.”

  Daniel paused, glancing back and forth between the two men as if trying to gauge what their reaction might be to his next statement. “I’ve attended some Orthodox churches here in Russia as well,” he went on, “and I have to admit I never felt comfortable in those services. Even when my Russian became fluent, I received very little in the way of spiritual food from them. Perhaps the emphasis on form and recited liturgy was just too alien to me. However, I must say I have only attended two or three services in all my time in Russia. It may be I have just not found the right Orthodox church—”

  Sergei held up his hand. “Before you go on, Daniel, let me say that our church is indeed based largely on form. How a man performs is their major consideration—more so, I think, than what is in his heart. You will find many who dwell on the external acts hoping to insure their salvatio
n in this way, hardly giving a thought to Christ.”

  “The same kind of people exist in the Protestant church.”

  “I will confide something to you,” said Sergei. “I have attended a Protestant church here in St. Petersburg a couple times and I enjoyed it very much. You Protestants are given much more liberty to approach our Lord directly, and I like that. But I have been an Orthodox all my life, and at my age change is not easy.”

  “You mean you have considered changing?” asked Daniel, incredulous. There was also an audible gasp from Dmitri.

  “Like you, Daniel, I want more than anything else to grow close to my God. I want to be open to how God may want to accomplish that deed. I can grow in the Orthodox Church because my heart is seeking. Others may attend and not change a bit because they want only to fulfill the law, as it were.”

  “Well, sir,” said Daniel, feeling a bit more relaxed, “that is just how I see it. At first I thought it might be hypocritical to convert in order to marry Mariana. But now I see it as getting the best of two worlds. There are some beautiful things about your church; there are some good things about mine. With the proper inner attitude, I think they can both be beneficial.”

  “There’s more involved in converting,” said Sergei, “than only attendance.”

  “Do they forbid you from attending other churches?”

  “It is frowned upon. Other churches are not considered to be the true faith.”

  “I was thinking we could divide our time between the two.”

  “Would the Presbyterian Church permit that?” Dmitri asked.

  “I probably couldn’t be a member of both denominations, but I could attend both.”

  “Not so in our church,” said Sergei. “If you did what you’re proposing, you’d have to be somewhat secretive about it. Of course, if you were far away in America, I suppose it would be easier to practice such a—”

  “Deception?” put in Daniel. He suddenly saw the faulty logic of his simplistic resolution, and an uneasy feeling crept over him.

  “Sort of sounds a bit like that, doesn’t it?” said Sergei.

  “I feel rather naive,” sighed Daniel. “I thought I had the perfect solution.” He looked once more out the window. The snow had stopped. He had never imagined this interview would go quite like this. He’d thought he had worked it out so well. Dmitri and Sergei would give their blessing, and he and Mariana could marry in peace.

  Suddenly it was falling apart.

  “Will you convert?” asked Dmitri.

  Daniel sighed again. While he had been deliberating these things earlier, he had tried to ignore the fact that the Orthodox Church was unbending toward other Christian faiths. He had hoped it wouldn’t be an issue. But it was—a very big issue. And he knew instinctively where he stood on this matter.

  With hesitancy in his voice, but with conviction in his heart he could not deny, he said, “I . . . don’t think I could be part of a church that won’t accept other Christians simply because they belong to a different church. I don’t pretend to be an expert, but it sounds similar to what the apostle Paul was battling against when the Jewish Christians wouldn’t accept the Gentiles on equal terms. I just don’t think Christ would judge Christians of different levels like that.”

  Daniel didn’t notice the approving glint in Sergei’s eyes because Dmitri spoke up immediately. “This must be hard for you, Daniel,” he said. “But I respect you all the more for the fact that your principles mean so much to you that you will give up Mariana—”

  “What?” gasped Daniel. “I haven’t given up Mariana.”

  “But she cannot marry outside the Church.”

  Daniel only gaped silently at this flat, seemingly unmovable statement.

  “Dmitri,” said Sergei, calmly, reasonably, “don’t be so rash.”

  “You would allow such a thing?” exclaimed Dmitri. “Thank God, I am her legal parent and the final decision rests with me.”

  “Dmitri, Mariana is of age,” said Sergei.

  “She would not defy me!”

  “Don’t place her in such a position,” implored Sergei. “You will alienate her. She loves Daniel and, I believe, has for a long time. We all saw this brewing. Why didn’t you oppose it from the very start?”

  “Because I . . . I—”

  “You wanted Mariana’s happiness,” prompted Sergei.

  “I hadn’t given thought to this other detail.”

  “It’s not such a big thing, Dmitri. Mariana will not burn in hell by marrying outside the Church, contrary to what they’d have us believe. Only socially—”

  “Only socially? Sergei, what else is there?”

  “I remember a time when you didn’t give a fig about what society thought. You used to laugh at the pompous gentlemen and the pampered ladies and all their meaningless rules. Don’t you remember, Dmitri?”

  “It’s different when you’re older. I have to think of what people will say.”

  “Our families have had to live with a lot worse irregularities and have survived. What matters most is that this will not tear us apart as a family. Mariana has chosen a man of faith, a man of honor, and a man of principles.”

  Dmitri uttered his worst fear. “What about my mother?”

  “Surely you can handle Countess Eugenia.” Sergei said it with such conviction that Dmitri gave him a double take.

  “I can? Ah . . . well . . . of course I can! I am the head of the family.”

  “That’s right.”

  Daniel had listened silently, amazed at how adroitly Sergei was handling Dmitri. Dmitri seemed to be breaking.

  Dmitri glanced at Daniel and could not help but be touched by the young man’s earnest countenance. Although Dmitri hadn’t followed most of Sergei’s and Daniel’s religious talk, he still felt more inclined to give his blessing than not. After all, he did like Daniel. Hadn’t he been the one to discover Daniel in America and bring him to Mariana’s attention? He had seen promise in the lad from the beginning. And the Trents were worth millions. Who cared what church they went to next to that? Besides, they’d be in America most of the time, so who would notice?

  But tradition kept hounding him. A marriage outside the Church? How would that affect their current status with the tsar? Nicholas and Alexandra were extremely religious people. But Dmitri had thought Sergei would oppose it, and he hadn’t at all. Were the emperor and empress as peculiar in the matter of religion as that?

  “It’s just so irregular . . .” Dmitri mumbled, hardly realizing he was speaking aloud.

  At that moment, Mariana threw open the door.

  “Père, you can’t withhold your blessing!” She knelt at his feet and took his hands in hers. “Please, don’t stand in the way of our happiness!”

  “Mariana,” said Dmitri, also in a pleading tone, “there are so many things to consider.”

  “But, Père, have you thought of the most important thing?” Mariana jumped up and strode to Daniel’s side. “What of the fact that we love each other?”

  Dmitri looked at his daughter, then at Daniel—his future son-in-law?—who was returning Mariana’s devoted gaze.

  Look at them, Dmitri thought. How often is it that such depth of love comes to two people? They are truly meant for each other. What I wouldn’t give to have someone love me in the way she loves him. And what father would not give everything to know his only daughter will be loved as Daniel so clearly loves my Mariana? This is a match made in heaven. It’s impossible that heaven could, or would, destroy it.

  Dmitri stood and walked to Mariana and Daniel, laying his hands over their joined hands. “Ah, love,” he said in a thoughtful tone. “In one’s autumn years, it’s easy to forget such things. My dear children, you have my blessing also!”

  68

  Cyril’s patience was growing thin. Things were simply not going well.

  The release and pardon of Sergei Fedorcenko was enough to sour Cyril for life. Those rascals always managed to get the better of him! How did the
y do it? Did they have some kind of guardian angel looking over them?

  In addition, he had to face the disheartening realization that Basil Anickin might not get to Gapon before the big march on Sunday—tomorrow!

  Drat that Anickin! But Cyril Vlasenko knew it was hardly fair to blame Anickin entirely for the fact that Gapon was still alive. The priest had been a slippery devil these last several days. Gapon was keeping an extremely low profile lately, and even when he did appear in public, he was better protected than the tsar himself, constantly surrounded by his bodyguards.

  Gapon knew he was a marked man.

  Warrants had been issued for his arrest, but they had been denied on the ground that the priest’s arrest would only worsen the situation. Besides, no one could get close enough to the man even to arrest him.

  But Anickin had better do something soon. If the workers’ march wasn’t stopped, Cyril had no doubt that he, himself, would be the prime scapegoat for whatever the march brought.

  What was taking Anickin so long? True, he had only recently received his explosives, but he had known the importance of getting the job done quickly. Cyril was beginning to wonder if the fellow could be trusted. He had known Anickin was deranged all along, but he felt it had been worth the risk, considering that the lunatic was probably his best hope for eliminating Gapon. If Cyril was wrong . . . well then, he had just given a crazy man enough explosives to blow up half the Winter Palace.

  Cyril just couldn’t think of that now. But something had better happen soon or he was going to pull Anickin in. Vlasenko’s nerves couldn’t take much more of this.

  Cyril might have to resign himself to the fact that neither he nor anyone else would be able to stop Gapon’s planned march on the Palace. Fullon, the mayor of Petersburg, had telephoned Gapon in an attempt to talk him out of it, but the priest wouldn’t even speak to him. The best Cyril could hope for now was that the march came and went without incident, forcing Gapon’s demise by his own ineptitude.