The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  Mariana was glad she had decided to have a small wedding. She hadn’t really enjoyed her father’s at all. It was all so impersonal, not to mention stressful in the planning and execution. She had only been the maid of honor but she had been nervous days before. And she had needed days of coaching, also, to learn proper protocol.

  Mariana’s wedding was tomorrow, and she felt as relaxed as a napping kitten.

  The bride kissed her new husband, and a great cheer rose from the small group of guests. There was definitely something to be said about the simplicity of a Protestant ceremony.

  “I feel as proud as if she were my own,” Misha whispered in Anna’s ear.

  Anna remembered how close that had come to being true. When Anna had decided to abide by Princess Katrina’s last wish and adopt her newborn daughter, Mariana, Anna had not been married. Sergei had been imprisoned in Siberia, and there seemed no hope of her ever seeing him again. Misha had offered to marry Anna in order to provide a proper family for the infant Mariana and to diffuse the gossip. But before a wedding took place, Sergei had miraculously appeared, having escaped from Siberia. Anna and Sergei married and became Mariana’s adoptive parents.

  Anna glanced at Misha. The big Cossack would have made a good father. For all his rugged visage, he was a gentlehearted man. Anna often wondered why he never married. When the subject came up occasionally, he’d say the military was no life for a wife. He was a captain of the Imperial Cossack Guard. He looked ten years younger than his forty-nine years, and could probably hold his own with his strongest, youngest recruit.

  When Anna had first met Misha, he had been involved with a noblewoman, the daughter of a lady-in-waiting to Marie Fedrovna, who was now the dowager empress. Anna never knew what became of the noblewoman or Misha’s relationship to her. All she knew was that it had dissolved long before the death of Katrina and Misha’s proposal of marriage to Anna. He’d had a few female acquaintances since then, but none had developed into anything serious.

  Actually, now that Anna thought about it, she knew very little of Misha’s life apart from his long-standing and devoted friendship with her and Sergei. Somehow, when the three of them had been together, the talk had always centered upon Anna and Sergei’s life and family. Was that because they had been self-involved and insensitive to Misha? Or had Misha adroitly channeled conversation away from himself? If the latter had been the case, he had been very successful.

  Suddenly curious, Anna said, “Misha, I was wondering—”

  “Mama!” Mariana called, not realizing she was interrupting. “The photographer wants to take some pictures.”

  Anna excused herself from Misha’s side and went with her daughter over to where a camera was set up. She took one backward glance at Misha; he was watching her, rather intently, she thought. He quickly smiled. Was that embarrassment she detected on his stoic face?

  Andrei was more interested in the table of food, and especially the cake, than in having his picture taken. While he waited with the rest of the family to be called by the photographer, he kept one eye on the refreshment table. Luckily almost everyone in the group would be included in the pictures, so he wasn’t likely to miss out on any of the food. Nevertheless, he was getting hungry and impatient, and it didn’t help that Yuri was engaging the photographer in conversation, asking the poor man countless questions. At that rate, it would take forever to get through the picture-taking.

  Then, to his added dismay, Talia sauntered up to Yuri and the photographer. She quietly listened to Yuri’s questions about the workings of the camera and to the photographer’s answers. Andrei noted that, although she once in a while glanced back and forth between the two speakers, for the most part her gaze was focused on Yuri.

  What a cow-eyed expression she was wearing! What was wrong with her?

  Andrei never had been the most intuitive of boys, but it suddenly dawned on him that the look Talia was giving Yuri was very similar to the looks he’d seen Mariana and Daniel often exchange in the last year.

  Could Talia be in love with Yuri? How could that be? She was practically like a sister.

  Andrei gave Talia a closer appraisal. It had been months since he had last seen her, not counting the few days before the wedding. The last time had been in October when they had sneaked down to St. Andrew’s market and tacked his poster up on the church wall. When she had been home for the Christmas holidays, he had been in Moscow for his uncle Dmitri’s wedding. Almost six months had passed since last fall.

  And, though Andrei had seen Talia yesterday, he hadn’t noticed until now that she had changed. Maybe it was the fact that she was all dressed up. The shimmering blue satin gown she wore as a bridesmaid made her look very grown up, even though her slim, willowy figure was still childlike in many respects. Andrei was beginning to notice the blossoming of other thirteen-year-old girls of his acquaintance, but Talia had not yet shown any of that. Still, there was something older, more mature, about her. Her dark brown hair, falling in soft waves to the middle of her back, was no different than it had always been. Her dark eyes, almost too large for the rest of her dainty facial features, and fringed with long, thick lashes, were, as always, those of a fanciful child. Andrei thought he’d like to sketch her because her eyes would be a fascinating study. Yet they were hardly mature.

  Perhaps then the changes were more in the graceful way she moved, with assurance and confidence. That must be a result of her ballet training. He could almost visualize her gliding around a stage, the lovely swan, or the beautiful, tragic Giselle. For a moment Andrei forgot all about the beckoning food and his impatience. And momentarily his young eyes glimpsed life as an artist, not a cocky adolescent. He felt the kind of sensitivity he’d always mocked in others. And for an instant he could understand and appreciate beauty without being embarrassed by it or by the sensitivity itself.

  He also felt a strange tightening of his throat, and he suddenly wished Talia would look at him as she was now gazing at his brother. He licked his dry lips.

  “Hungry, my boy?” A voice intruded into his thoughts.

  It was his grandfather.

  “No . . .” Andrei’s voice squeaked nervously. “I mean . . . yes, I think so.” He began to regain his composure. “Will these pictures take forever?”

  “They’ll want you in a minute,” said Viktor.

  “Do I have to?” Andrei easily slipped back into the guise of the petulant teenager.

  “Years from now you’ll be glad you did.”

  Andrei shrugged.

  Viktor went on. “How are things going at school for you these days, Andrushka?”

  “I think I’m passing everything.”

  Viktor smiled. “That’s something, isn’t it?”

  “I’m satisfied.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that your brother makes perfect marks and will probably graduate at the top of his class?”

  Andrei glanced once more toward Yuri and Talia. The photographer was busy taking pictures, and Yuri and Talia were by themselves now, talking. No, there were other things besides school grades that Andrei thought would bother him far more.

  Andrei said to his grandfather, “He has to get good grades for what he wants to do; I don’t.”

  “And what do you want to do?”

  “I guess I’m not sure. But I do know it’s not going to be anything that’ll require math or science or even grammar. Maybe I’ll be an artist.”

  “Really?”

  Andrei was just as surprised at that impulsive notion as his grandfather. But now that he thought of it, it sounded like the perfect path for him. It wouldn’t require an education, and, as with the posters he was making and tacking up around the city, it could be a perfect way for him to express his political passions.

  But he shrugged again. “I don’t know. Do I have to know what I want like Yuri?”

  “No,” said Viktor. “Oh, there was a time when I would have believed so. I was very hard on your father when he was your age. I felt he h
ad to fit into certain molds and do so at the expected time. I wanted to stamp out his natural instincts. Now I would encourage you to seek that which makes you happy. However, Andrei, goals in life are not entirely bad. I wouldn’t like to see your indecision and uncertainty cause you to take the path of least resistance, or worse, to carry you away wherever the winds will blow. There is a saying about being master of your own destiny. You mustn’t let others control your future.”

  “No one’s going to push me around, Grandfather, you can be sure.”

  “I hope not,” said Viktor. “I think the photographer wants us now.”

  They went to where the family was being posed around the bride and groom. Viktor was whisked away to a prominent position next to Daniel. Much to Andrei’s relief, he was directed to a place on the fringes. Yuri was placed beside him.

  Then the photographer said, “And this pretty young lady . . .” He smiled at Talia. “You are a member of the family?”

  When Talia hesitated, Yuri quickly said, “Of course she is—our sister. Come on, Talia, get between Andrei and me.”

  “Perfect.” The photographer grinned. “A rose between thorns.”

  Andrei smirked at the lame attempt at humor, then moved to accommodate Talia. The photographer went to his camera, which was on a tripod, looked through the lens, then returned to the place where the young people stood.

  “You must move in closer so I don’t cut off any arms or legs,” he said, giving Andrei a little push toward Talia.

  As Talia’s frame pressed against Andrei’s chest, he felt a strange sensation tingle through him. Heat crept up his neck and his heart started pounding.

  Talia glanced up at him apologetically, almost as if she sensed his discomfiture. “Am I crowding you too much, Andrei?”

  “It’s okay. I just wish they’d get this over with.” He nervously ran a finger between his neck and stiff collar. He suddenly needed some air.

  “Young man,” the photographer chided Andrei, “this is a joyous occasion, not a funeral. Try to appear as if you are glad to be here.”

  Andrei hated every minute of it, except for the nearness of Talia, but that made him more confused than happy. Nevertheless, he composed his face in what he thought, and hoped, was appropriate for the occasion. But, when he wasn’t looking at the camera, he found his gaze strayed toward Talia. Unfortunately, she was always looking at Yuri.

  7

  Anna felt melancholy. Perhaps it was, as Raisa had suggested, just a letdown after the excitement of Mariana’s wedding. True, Anna had let herself become completely absorbed in planning the big day. She had probably gotten a bit carried away, but Daniel had insisted that she do whatever she and Mariana wanted. For nearly two months the wedding had been her life. Her escape. She hadn’t had time to dwell on how much she missed Sergei. Some days she’d go one or two hours without thinking of him at all.

  Now the wedding was over, and Anna felt as empty as she had when Sergei had first died.

  She wandered into the parlor of the flat she and Raisa shared, alone now that the children were all away at boarding schools. Raisa was sitting at her sewing machine, busy altering a gown for a countess to wear on Easter Sunday. The machine stopped when Raisa glanced up and saw Anna.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” said Anna.

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You’re busy.”

  Raisa finished the seam she was working on, took the garment from the machine, then said, “There, now I have only handwork. Stay, Anna, I can sew while we talk.”

  “I don’t know if I really wanted to talk. I was just . . .” Anna sighed and sat on the couch. “Raisa, I think I’ll go crazy with boredom. If only I still had the children to teach. It seems I lost everything at once. I know of little other work to do. I’ve thought about hiring myself out as a servant again.”

  “Most of the houses would require you to be a live-in.” Raisa’s tone betrayed an edge of dismay at that thought.

  “That’s why I haven’t pursued it. It’s not that we need the money, thanks to Daniel. But . . .”

  “I know, Anna.” Raisa reached her plump arm out and took Anna’s hand. “I could teach you how to sew. I always have more work than I can handle.”

  “I suppose . . .”

  “But you’d rather be a teacher yourself.”

  “I loved teaching our children. But no one would hire an old peasant woman as a tutor.”

  Raisa let go of Anna’s hand, turned to a pile of sewing projects, withdrew a gown, and held it out to Anna. “This is all I have to offer right now,” she said. “This dress and several others need hemming. They are all marked and need only to be sewn, and you do a fine hemstitch, Anna.”

  Anna took the dress. “I’ll be happy to help.” She didn’t have the heart to tell her friend that she found sewing tedious. At least it was something to do. Maybe she should learn to sew. She had always admired the beautiful embroidery work that Raisa did so well. It seemed a bit more challenging than simple dressmaking. Perhaps she’d have Raisa teach her that.

  Two days later, Misha came by for a visit. Had Raisa spoken to him about Anna’s melancholy? He seemed especially solicitous. But she welcomed him gladly and was happy to hear it was his day off, so he could stay for as long as he wished.

  “So, do you miss Mariana terribly?” Misha asked as he and Anna sat at the kitchen table with cups of tea, freshly drawn from the samovar, before them.

  “Of course. But she has been gone before and I know I’ll see her again.” Anna sighed.

  “Anna—”

  “Misha—”

  They spoke simultaneously, chuckled together, then Misha said, “Go on, ladies first.”

  “I was just going to say how I’ve appreciated your company this past year. You’ve always been such a dear and faithful friend. That’s all. Now, what were you going to say?”

  Misha hesitated. “I’m glad to have been there for you, Anna. You’ve helped me as much as you say I’ve helped you. Anna, maybe it’s time . . .” He paused.

  “Yes . . . ?” prompted Anna.

  “Oh, nothing important.” Misha looked away, then focused on his tea.

  “Misha, is something bothering you? You know you can always talk to me.”

  “I know that, Anna.” He picked up his cup and took a long sip of tea. “I did have something I wanted to mention to you.” Anna sensed this wasn’t his initial concern, but she nodded for him to continue. “Raisa spoke to me the other day about how all your idle time is affecting you.”

  “Poor Raisa. She has to put up with so much.”

  “You know that’s not what bothers her. She would lay down her life for you if it would help—as would I. Anyway, I have a little problem at the barracks, and it’s just possible you might be able to help.”

  “Me? Help out the Imperial Cossack Guards?” Anna chuckled. “Pray tell how—I’m very curious.”

  Misha smiled. “I don’t need your help with the entire unit, just with one guard in particular—actually a former guard, one of my officers who was killed in Moscow last winter. Shortly after his death, his wife committed suicide in despair. Their two young children were orphaned. Well, they did have a grandparent with whom they went to live, but now the grandparent has also died.”

  “Oh, those poor children!”

  “Yes, it is a sad case.”

  “What can I do to help?” Anna asked eagerly.

  “There is another relative, an aunt who lives in England. I’m trying to locate her, but she apparently departed Russia after some family dispute and has cut herself off.”

  “Do you think she’ll take the children?”

  “In her suicide note, the mother mentioned the aunt—her sister. The dispute had not been between them, but they lost contact anyway. The two were quite close, and the mother wanted her children to go to the aunt if she could be found. In fact, she had specifically not wanted them to go to the grandparent with whom they ended up going, because he had be
en the cause of the family dispute. Her last wish was ignored at first, but now it seems we are finally forced to regard it.”

  “I still don’t know what you want of me, Misha.”

  “The children, a boy age three, and a girl age six, will have to go to an orphan home—”

  “Say no more, Misha!” interjected Anna with rising excitement. “Unless Raisa protests—and I know she won’t—you must bring them here to live until you find their aunt.”

  “I was hoping you’d agree—”

  “Agree!” Anna laughed. “If you hadn’t asked me, I would have begged for them.”

  “It’s so good to hear you laugh, Anna . . .” His voice trailed away as if he wanted to say more but decided against it. An intensity remained in Misha’s eyes.

  “You won’t worry about becoming attached to them, then having to give them up?” asked Misha. “It wouldn’t be too hard on you?”

  “I’m sure it will be hard, but not more than I can endure. Certainly the rewards would far outweigh any difficulties. Misha, I have so much love to give—so much more than is needed these days by anyone close to me.”

  “Not everyone, Anna.” Misha stopped abruptly, and his gaze dropped.

  “Misha . . .”

  “Every time I see you, I try to hold my tongue.”

  “I don’t understand, Misha.”

  “Come, Anna, I think you do.” His tone held a hint of rebuke. “But you have made it hard on me.”

  “That wasn’t my intention. I was only afraid.”

  “I know.” Misha’s voice was gentle again. “Were you afraid for me, or for yourself, or for Sergei’s memory?”

  “A little bit of everything, I suppose.” Anna paused in wonder at the sudden turn the conversation had taken. One minute they were talking about her taking in some orphans and the next—

  “Anna,” Misha went on quickly, as if he feared he would lose his nerve again, “I love you—”