The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  “It is my fault . . .” she murmured quietly. “I spoiled everything. I didn’t trust you. Maybe your love was simply too strong for me to believe. God knows, I’ve never had anyone love me like that before. It was so fragile and beautiful—but I destroyed it like I do everything else.” Tears rose in her eyes and she tried unsuccessfully to squeeze them back. “Love is so frightening, Yuri. I know so little about it. Maybe I’ll never know . . .” The tears erupted, but she continued, “And . . . now it’s too late!”

  Yuri put his arm around her—he didn’t know what else to do. She laid her head on his shoulder and wept.

  “Maybe it’s not too late,” Yuri said after several moments. Was he just saying something to comfort her? Or was it really possible? He wished it was—prayed it was. He didn’t understand it at all, but he still loved her.

  “No, Yuri. If only I had told you before this. But now . . . you’d have every right to hate me for keeping my secret from you. I didn’t trust you. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know how to trust, that I know nothing of the kind of love you want. I knew enough to be honest. But I couldn’t do it . . . and now I’ve lost you . . .”

  “What secret, Katya? I’ve always known there must be something.”

  “Don’t you see, Yuri? If I tell you now, it’s like I am trying to win you through sympathy. I’d rather have no love at all than that. But the crazy thing is, I was about to tell you everything. If only I hadn’t waited . . .”

  “Don’t write me off, Katya. Can’t you give me a chance? Didn’t I give you many chances? Didn’t I keep coming back, even when you hurt me? And maybe, after all, that’s really what love is—giving each other the benefit of the doubt and never giving up on the other.”

  She lifted her head. How beautiful she was with tears streaking her pale face, so sad, so vulnerable. Her vivid eyes glistened with tears . . . and something else. Need. She needed him as much as he needed her.

  She sniffed like a little child, and he gave her his handkerchief. She blew her nose and dabbed away some of her tears. Then, with a determined breath, she said, “Yuri, if I tell you, will you promise that you won’t feel sorry for me? And you won’t let it sway your feelings?”

  “I promise.”

  “And I will trust you.” She spoke the words with assurance.

  He smiled. Her statement was so simple, yet infused with so much sincerity. It was all he really wanted.

  “But this is something I need to show you rather than tell you.” To his perplexed look she added, “Remember, Yuri, trust. Come, take my hand.”

  He took her hand in his and they rose from their seats. Much to his surprise, she led him up the stairs and down a long corridor. Then they paused before a door. Katya knocked, and when it was opened, they were greeted by a middle-aged woman whose homely face was warm—in spite of her obvious surprise at their appearance.

  “I’ve brought a visitor, Teddie,” said Katya.

  “Indeed you have!” A smile tugged at the woman’s lips.

  “This is Prince Fedorcenko. I want him to meet Irina.”

  Yuri looked over the woman’s shoulder. They were in a nursery. But Katya strode into the room purposefully, and he could only follow. A child, about two years old, was seated on a blanket on the carpet. When she saw Katya approach, she quickly pulled herself up on a nearby rocking chair and toddled toward Katya with arms outstretched.

  “Mama!” said the child as she reached her chubby little hands up to Katya.

  Yuri thought he’d heard wrong. Surely the child must have mistaken Katya for someone else.

  But no. The truth was obvious by the way the child snuggled close to Katya when lifted into her arms, and in the way Katya cooed and kissed the child. Then Katya looked at Yuri.

  “It’s your . . . child?” Yuri croaked.

  She nodded. “My terrible secret,” she said, then smiled lovingly at the child. “Terrible and beautiful and sweet.”

  “But, why a secret?”

  “Time for all that later. First, let me properly introduce you. Yuri, this is Irina. And, Irina, this is the most persistent, most infuriating, most wonderful doctor you’ll ever meet.”

  Irina giggled as if she understood, then reached out a hand to touch Yuri’s nose, which she grasped with a strong grip. Yuri chuckled. “Just like her mother—thinks there’s a ring in my nose.” He took the little hand and shook it politely. “A healthy grip, too. Delighted to meet you, Irina. I wish I could have met you sooner. But now that I have, I think we will be great friends.”

  “Do you really, Yuri?” Katya’s eyes filled with as much hope as any child’s.

  “It amazes me, Katya, that someone so tiny, so innocent, could have been such a huge barrier between two people. I don’t completely understand why, but I do know it wouldn’t be right to keep her in that place. It’s much too ponderous a weight for a little child.”

  “If only I could truly believe that—”

  “What happened to trust, Katya?”

  “Perhaps it is time you heard the whole story.”

  They walked in the garden. It was warm and fragrant there, with roses in full bloom and honeysuckle and many other blossoms in rich flower. Katya left Irina in the care of Teddie, and Yuri held her hand as if they had nothing between them but sweet love. He didn’t think anything she could say would alter how he now felt. Certainly seeing the child hadn’t, and he could guess at what Katya’s story might be. But she needed to tell him, and so he let her.

  “I never married.” She paused, the shame in her tone evident.

  “We all make mistakes.” The words were trite, perhaps, but he meant them.

  “My father wanted me to go to someone he knew, a failed medical student, who helped women . . . get rid of such mistakes.” She closed her eyes. Reliving that awful time was obviously still painful. “I couldn’t do it. Instead, I ran away to a convent in the Caucuses—far enough away from everything so my secret would be safe. The nuns would have found a home for my baby. But I couldn’t do that, either. Perhaps it sounds very selfish. I’ve told you a little about my own mother, how she ran away, but I’ve never expressed how horribly that affected me. I always believed it was me she ran away from, not my father, and that if I had been a better person, maybe she would have loved me enough to stay. I didn’t want my daughter to suffer like that. Even if I turned out to be a terrible mother, at least she’d have me. She wouldn’t have to grow up thinking her own mother didn’t love her enough to keep her—” Katya broke off as a sob escaped her lips.

  Yuri placed his arm around her and held her close. “My poor, dear Katya.”

  “I don’t want sympathy, Yuri.”

  “Sympathy? You have it all wrong. It is because of love, Katya, that I want to comfort you. Trust me.”

  She nodded. “I wish I had trusted you sooner. From the beginning, I hated not telling you. But my father insisted no one be told—that our family shame stay within the family. I suppose there were times when I didn’t mind keeping the secret. I wanted to be normal. I was so confused—I just didn’t know what was best, and sometimes I didn’t even care. When you came along, Yuri, I think I loved you from the start. But I was so afraid of what you’d think. What I did was a horrible sin, and most decent people would instantly shun me if they knew. At times I thought I could keep it a secret and still have you—at other times I knew I couldn’t and shouldn’t. Maybe you can understand why I vacillated so. Even now I feel you must think me a loose, brazen woman for what I did. Believe it or not, before Irina came along, I tried to be a brazen hussy. If you think I am wild now, you should have seen me before. I really shouldn’t have been surprised when I discovered that my wild ways had caught up with me. But it did surprise me—it devastated me! I was on the verge of ending my life—and that of my unborn baby. That’s when Father Grigori came into my life. Yuri, you may not think highly of him, but he saved my life. He helped me find God’s forgiveness for my sins.”

  “Then I will try to th
ink better of him,” said Yuri. “I will remind myself that because of him I was able to find you.”

  “There is good that comes out of everything. And Irina is the greatest good. There are those who might say she is the punishment for my sins, but I will never believe that. She is pure goodness. If there was any punishment, it came in other ways, in the torment I experienced, the confusion, and in almost losing you.” She paused and looked at him. He could tell she was not fully convinced that he could still want her.

  “But you didn’t lose me, Katya,” he said with emphasis. “We have a God who brings joy to those who place their faith in Him. I let go of my own faith for a while, but I am beginning to find it again. My papa was fond of a Scripture that said, ‘Delight in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.’ It is truly happening to me, Katya.”

  “I am the desire of your heart?”

  “Oh yes. But the funny thing is, Katya, God didn’t give me that desire until it was the right thing for me.”

  Her lips bent into an ironic smile. “It’s odd, Yuri, that you have such a hard time accepting Father Grigori. He is a deeply spiritual man, perhaps not unlike your father was. I should think you two would have much in common.”

  She was right in a way—Rasputin was very spiritual. Yet Yuri was certain that Rasputin and Sergei Fedorcenko were worlds apart, especially spiritually. Just thinking of the starets made Yuri’s skin crawl, but he didn’t deem this a good time to detail his disquiet to Katya. Instead he said lightly, “I don’t know what it is, probably just his smell.”

  “I know you are not that superficial, Yuri.”

  “Perhaps we ought to save this discussion for another time.” When she nodded, obviously relieved, he went on. “Katya, I do have another question about Irina. Your answer will not change how I feel, yet I guess I need to know. Please forgive me for asking . . . but, what about Irina’s father?”

  “I understand . . . and you have every right to ask. I can say without hesitation that he means nothing to me now. I thought I loved him, but I think mostly he represented a way of escape from my father’s control. He is the son of a French diplomat and has now returned to France. As it turned out, he had no intention of marrying me, and since I didn’t want to be the cause of an international scandal, I did not pursue the matter. He wanted no part of the child. I suppose at first I had hoped it would compel him to marry me, but I quickly realized that I didn’t want any man who was forced into marriage. I have never revealed to anyone the man’s identity. Perhaps one day Irina will want to know, but I will ford that river when I get there.” She paused, sighing. “There you have it—all my dirty laundry. I have no more secrets . . .” Her voice trailed away and her brow creased. “Yuri, there is one other thing . . .”

  He put his fingers to her lips. “Katya, I don’t need to know anything else. I love you and want to marry you. If I have any hesitation now, it is only because of the war and all the uncertainty of it. But even that won’t change how I feel.”

  “How am I so fortunate to have a man like you love me so?”

  “Only by the mercy of God.”

  “Yes . . . truly!”

  They returned to the nursery so Yuri could say good-bye to Irina. They played with her for a few minutes before Yuri had to leave for the hospital. He found it amazing how natural he felt around the child, especially for a man who had had little contact with children except in the hospital. When he married Katya, he would become an instant father. The idea was a little frightening, but he knew he’d have no trouble at all loving Katya’s child.

  39

  Katya was understandably nervous about meeting Yuri’s mother. Yuri joked that it could not possibly be as daunting as his upcoming meeting with her father would be.

  A little shadow flickered across her face, then she chuckled. “You’re right. I’m sure this will be a lark by comparison.”

  Yuri also knew Katya was uncertain about what to say to her prospective mother-in-law about Irina. But they had both agreed to put an end to secrets, though they weren’t quite certain yet just how they would handle questions about Irina’s origins. Yuri thought his mother would have wisdom for them because of her peculiar situation with Mariana.

  Yuri was thrilled to present the woman he loved to his mother. It had been difficult keeping that relationship quiet. In the past, he’d made one or two vague references to Katya, but their status had always been so uncertain that he had never felt confident enough to make serious mention of her. Now, as he and Katya traveled by cab across Nicholas Bridge to Vassily Island, he felt his first touch of nerves. He wondered what his mama would think of Katya. She was quite different from Talia and also from the domestic types Anna and Raisa were accustomed to. His mama had probably always pictured her conservative son with a flower of Victorian womanhood rather than with a modern woman such as Katya.

  Yuri felt the differences most strongly as they entered his plain, working-class flat. Katya was wearing a lovely silk summer dress, pink and white stripes, perfectly suited to the warm August day. She looked like a breathtakingly beautiful flower growing in a poor alley. The dress was the latest spring offering from Paris, and even Mariana and Talia had never looked so absolutely chic.

  Katya gave him a weak smile. “She won’t think I’m putting on airs, will she? I tried to dress simply.”

  Yuri knew she was dressed as simply as she could. There was nothing in her wardrobe, after all, that was not a Paris original. He gave her an encouraging smile. The moment his mother appeared, Katya would be put at ease. Even Yuri himself felt no sense of hesitation at bringing someone like Katya into his poor home. And even if he did, all he had to do was remind himself that his mother was a princess of Russia who chose to live a simple life.

  “Mama!” he called as he closed the door behind them. Katya squeezed his hand tighter.

  Anna stepped from the kitchen, drying her hands on the clean white apron she was wearing. “Goodness! You’re early.” She smiled, not in the least put out by their surprise appearance. She quickly took off her apron. She was wearing her best also, a tan linen two-piece outfit, with brown buttons down the front. Mariana had sent it to her two years ago for Christmas, and she wore it only on special occasions. This was as much an important event to Anna as it was to Yuri and Katya, and Yuri thought his mother might be feeling a touch of nerves also.

  Anna draped her apron over the telephone table in the corridor, then strode to her guest with her hands held out.

  “Katya! It is such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  There was a momentarily awkward pause before Katya took Anna’s offered hands. But, as their hands touched, the two women appraised each other carefully with their eyes. Yuri held his breath, his confidence wavering slightly.

  Then Katya said, “Princess Fedorcenko, the honor is mine, believe me! Yuri has sung your praises to me often, and now I see he has only spoken the half of it.”

  Anna grinned and winked at her son. “Yuri, why don’t you take Katya into the parlor. I have one or two more things to do for dinner in the kitchen—”

  “Please, Princess, may I help you?” asked Katya.

  This truly amused Yuri because, to his knowledge, Katya had never set foot in a kitchen. But it endeared her to him even more.

  “Come along, then,” said Anna. “There’s not much to do, but we can visit. However, before we do anything else, I must confess to you that I can’t abide being called ‘princess.’ My son bears his title well, but mine has never quite fit me. Please, just call me Anna.”

  Yuri had almost forgotten how his mother had moved among the nobility in her youth, how she had come to be dearest friends with a princess. It showed now in how graciously she put Katya at ease. He had also nearly forgotten how much Katya longed for a mother. Now, it seemed, she had finally found one.

  After dinner the three sat in the kitchen with cups of tea and homemade sweet rolls. Raisa was gone for the evening, attending one of her daughter’s perfor
mances. Both women had felt that one mother figure at a time was quite enough to subject Katya to, so it was just Anna, her son, and her daughter-in-law-to-be.

  The prospect of a new daughter in the family came easily for Anna. Yuri was ready for marriage, and she had been expecting it to come anytime. The idea of losing him never occurred to her. She was only gaining another daughter. And a granddaughter, it seemed, as well.

  She was already a grandmother three times over, of course, from Mariana and Daniel. Mariana came to Russia once every year or two, so the children were not complete strangers to her. But Anna had not yet seen the newest addition to their family. The children, and even Mariana, were beginning to seem a bit foreign, adopting American ways. Nevertheless, she loved them dearly, and she knew she would come to love Irina. That none of these youngsters were her blood grandchildren was simply not an issue to Anna.

  As they sat at the rough old table, Anna could tell that something was troubling Katya. Through dinner they had talked mostly of trivial things or, at least, introductory things—likes, dislikes, experiences—nothing too deep or difficult. But now Katya obviously wanted to move into more sensitive areas, but she seemed to be having difficulty finding the proper approach. Anna was proud of her son who, seeming to sense the strain, stepped in to pave the way.

  “Mama, I’ve told Katya something of our family’s peculiar history, but I thought she might like to hear a woman’s perspective, especially about how you came to adopt Mariana.”