“Oh, Mama!” It was the old Burenin family Bible. It was at least a hundred years old.
“As you know, I gave it to Mariana years ago when she left Katyk for the first time. Before she left the country yesterday, she suggested I pass it on to you.”
He took the leather pouch, opened the flap, and carefully removed the worn old book. He knew it was not meant for everyday reading, and no doubt it had not been opened more than two or three times since it had come into Mariana’s possession. But Andrei well knew the tradition that went with the Bible. He opened it to the Book of Proverbs.
“It’s funny that this should come to me now,” he said reverently. “When I left before to join Lenin—although I slipped away without telling anyone and you had no chance to give it to me—it would not have meant very much except as a family tradition. But now, Mama, my heart is truly open to the things of God.”
“I know, son. And perhaps that is why my heart isn’t filled with as much sorrow as before.”
“Shall I read, Mama?”
“You know I have not heard you read from God’s Word since you were a boy.”
“I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”
“I learned long ago to allow God His own time. Now, go ahead and read.”
He turned a brittle page:
“‘My son, if thou wilt receive my words, and hide my commandments with thee; so that thou incline thine ear unto wisdom, and apply thine heart to understanding; yea, if thou criest after knowledge, and liftest up thy voice for understanding; if thou seekest her as silver, and searchest for her as for hid treasures; then shalt thou understand the fear of the Lord, and find the knowledge of God. For the Lord giveth wisdom: out of his mouth cometh knowledge and understanding. He layeth up sound wisdom for the righteous: he is a buckler to them that walk uprightly. He keepeth the paths of judgment, and preserveth the way of his saints. Then shalt thou understand righteousness, and judgment, and equity; yea, every good path. When wisdom entereth into thine heart, and knowledge is pleasant unto thy soul; descretion shall preserve thee, understanding shall keep thee.’”
Pausing, he glanced up to find tears trailing down his mother’s cheeks. He reached out and took her hand, then he found the passage that he knew was his grandfather Yevno’s favorite:
“‘My son, forget not my law; but let thine heart keep my commandments: for length of days, and long life, and peace, shall they add to thee. Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart: so shalt thou find favor and good understanding in the sight of God and man. Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.’”
Tears also welled up in Andrei’s eyes, and the Scripture reminded him of the rich family heritage that was his. How ironic that now that he was able to truly appreciate it, he must leave. Yet he saw it was the kind of spiritual irony only God could create. For only now, with the—how did the verse go?—“buckler” of his faith and loving support of his family was he truly prepared to face an uncertain future in a new land.
Anna embraced her son.
“I don’t know when, or if, we will see each other again,” Andrei said, trying to be manly and strong, but feeling so very like a child in his mother’s arms.
“Who knows what the future will bring, my Andrushka? Remember what I said about God’s timing. So let’s trust Him.”
Two days later, the time came for Andrei and Talia to leave. Anna and Raisa and Misha took the risk of seeing them off at the train station. In the crowd, no one would notice the presence of two Russian babushkas and an old war veteran. And though they all meant and understood the words about trusting God, Anna and Raisa wept freely at the departure. There were even tears in Misha’s tough old visage, for he thought of both young people practically as his own children also.
Yuri was more stoic. He would have a little more time with them and had to keep a clear head because it had fallen to him to organize an escape for his brother. He saw himself as nothing but a simple doctor, not some secret agent. But when the escape idea came to him, he knew it had to be his responsibility to see it through to the end.
There was a large contingent of officers and monarchists in and around Petrograd who were at the time in various stages of hiding, hoping somehow to get to the south and join the White Army. The wife of one of these men, who was a nurse at Yuri’s hospital, had come up with a rather creative plan to transport the men. There were still regular trains carrying wounded home from the Front and to various medical facilities in Russia. It would not be at all unusual for one such train to travel from Petrograd to some point in the south.
Talia was easily transformed into a nurse. Andrei, along with about fifty of the White officers, was made up with all manner of wounds complete with appropriate bandages. Andrei’s included a thick bandage obscuring a large portion of his face. Yuri made up a concoction that perfectly resembled blood, which he sprinkled liberally over many of the fake bandages. Oddly, this did not bother Andrei, and he hoped his horrible experience in Ekaterinburg had cured him of his phobia. But he learned otherwise when shortly after boarding the train he cut himself on a broken glass and nearly fainted.
“I guess I’ll never be perfect,” he told Talia, just a little disappointed at how true his words were.
Yuri, who was bandaging his hand, laughed. “Let me respond to that, Talia, all right? You will have many opportunities to do so when you marry this man.”
Talia smiled and nodded for Yuri to continue.
“Well, Andrei, that never stopped us from loving you in the past, now did it?” Yuri said. “In fact, the more imperfect you have been, the more we loved you.”
“Is that so? Had I known, I wouldn’t have worried so about it.”
Now Talia and Yuri laughed together and Andrei joined them. Suddenly all three, at the same instant, were struck with how much like old times that exchange was. There was a moment of sobering, then Yuri was called away to tend one of the real wounded on the train. And nothing more was said just then. None of them wanted to face the inevitable any sooner than they had to.
After a very tense inspection by the authorities, the train departed Petrograd. Each stop along the way presented dangers. If just one patrolman chose to actually look under one of the fake bandages, all would have been lost. But Yuri made sure his “patients” looked as authentic as possible. In reality there was so much confusion in the south with the civil war raging, and so many real wounded to be dealt with, the train, bearing its large red cross, was usually waved through without incident.
They reached Rostov near the Black Sea in four days. The city was held by the Whites at the time. Andrei was able to buy passage for himself and Talia on a friendly vessel.
And finally, the day they had all been dreading came. Yuri went with them to the dock. It was dark and an evening mist drifted around them as they stood in silence facing each other on the gangplank of the ship. A lonely ship’s bell clanged in the distance, muffled by the fog, and then the horn of the ship Talia and Andrei would board blasted.
“I guess this is it,” said Andrei, unable to stand the tension a moment longer. “Thanks for everything you have done for us.” Andrei held out his hand.
Yuri was about to take it when Talia said, “Just a minute! When we were young I used to referee you two; now I must do so again, but in a different way. Andrei, you know you want to do more than shake your brother’s hand. There will be a good Russian embrace, or we are going nowhere.”
“I fear what will happen if I do more,” said Andrei, his voice now starting to break. “Dear Lord—! I’m going to miss you, Yuri . . . !” His voice broke completely as he stepped forward and threw his arms around his brother.
Yuri opened his mouth but no words would come. Instead, a sob escaped his lips as he returned the embrace. But he did not forget Talia. He held out an arm and drew her into the embrace also.
“As it should be,” he said brokenly.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” said Andrei. “I feel I’ll never see you again. And you almost a father. I’ll never know my niece or nephew.”
“And what of you two?” said Yuri. “I’ll not be best man at your wedding, nor see your little ones—” But his emotion overcame him and he could say no more.
“Don’t say that,” Talia scolded, her own voice practically obliterated by her emotion. “I firmly believe this parting is only temporary. Once, we pledged to always be friends—and I believe that means more than merely friends in spirit.” She held up her hand, showing the finger with the faint scar from their childhood ceremony.
Andrei and Yuri did the same. They brought their fingers together and touched. Then in unison, through their tears, said the words that would always define the depth of their bond:
“A threefold cord is not quickly broken!”
Now, more than ever, the words represented hope, desire, and prayer all together.
Dasvidaniya . . .
I wish to take this final page to thank my loyal readers for sticking with it through the length and breadth of this series. When Mike Phillips and I first envisioned The Russians we never imagined—and we have very active imaginations!—that it would take eight years and seven books before we bid a farewell to the Burenin and Fedorcenko clans. Even now I cannot say with complete certainty that I am ready for that parting. I feel more like Anna when she said good-bye to her son. Who knows what will happen in the future? But for now it is time to leave The Russians—for a season at least. There is so much more to be told in the story of Russia, and my heart is so deeply tied to that country that I know I will return there one day—via my pen, if not via an airplane. I hope when the time comes you, the reader, will wish to come along on the journey once more.
In the meantime, you may wish to explore more deeply the history of Russia, and so I list below a few sources you might find of interest. In the course of producing this series, well over a hundred sources have crossed my desk to aid my research. Some became well-worn friends that I will miss as much as my fictitious characters. Many are too obscure for the casual seeker to find by normal methods, others are perhaps too specific in their content for many. But there are several that I feel the average reader would find not only informative, but readable and even entertaining.
Judith Pella
Eureka, California
1998
Nicholas and Alexandra, Robert K. Massie, Dell Publishing Co., Inc., New York. 1967.
The Shadow of the Winter Palace, Edward Crankshaw, Penguin Books, Ltd., England, New York. 1976.
Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution, Sir Donald Mackenzie Wallace, Vintage books, Random House, New York. 1961 (reprint).
Black Night, White Snow, Russia’s Revolutions 1905-1917, Harrison E. Salisbury, Doubleday & Co., Inc., Garden City, New York. 1977.
In War’s Dark Shadow, W. Bruce Lincoln, The Dial Press, New York. 1983.
Passage Through Armageddon, W. Bruce Lincoln, Simon and Schuster, New York. 1986.
The Russian Revolution, Alan Moorehead, Harper & Brothers, New York. 1958.
Nicholas II (Last of the Tsars), Marc Ferro, Oxford University Press, New York. 1993.
Years of the Golden Cockerel, Sidney Harcave, MacMillan, 1968.
My St. Petersburg, E.M. Almedingen, W.W. Norton & Co., Inc. New York. 1970.
About the Authors
Michael Phillips is a bestselling author with more than seventy of his own titles. In addition, he has served as editor/redactor of nearly thirty more books. He is known as the man responsible for the reawakened interest in George MacDonald of the last thirty years. In addition to the MacDonald titles adapted/edited for today’s reader, his publishing efforts in bringing back full-length quality facsimile editions also spawned renewed interest in MacDonald’s original work. Michael and his wife, Judy, spend time each year in Scotland, but make their home near Sacramento, California. Visit Michael’s website at www.macdonaldphillips.com
Judith Pella is a bestselling, award-winning author whose writing career spans more than two decades. Her in-depth historical and geographical research combines with her skillful storytelling to provide readers with dramatic, thought-provoking novels. She and her husband make their home in Scapoose, Oregon.
Fiction by Michael Phillips
www.macdonaldphillips.com
THE RUSSIANS*
The Crown and the Crucible • A House Divided • Travail and Triumph
THE STONEWYCKE TRILOGY*
The Heather Hills of Stonewycke • Flight from Stonewycke • Lady of Stonewycke
THE STONEWYCKE LEGACY*
Stranger at Stonewycke • Shadows Over Stonewycke • Treasure of Stonewycke
THE SECRETS OF HEATHERSLEIGH HALL
Wild Grows the Heather in Devon • Wayward Winds
Heathersleigh Homecoming • A New Dawn Over Devon
SHENANDOAH SISTERS
Angels Watching Over Me • A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton
The Color of Your Skin Ain’t the Color of Your Heart • Together Is All We Need
CAROLINA COUSINS
A Perilous Proposal • The Soldier’s Lady
Never Too Late • Miss Katie’s Rosewood
CALEDONIA
Legend of the Celtic Stone • An Ancient Strife
THE HIGHLAND COLLECTION*
Jamie MacLeod: Highland Lass • Robbie Taggart: Highland Sailor
THE JOURNALS OF CORRIE BELLE HOLLISTER
My Father’s World* • Daughter of Grace* • On the Trail of the Truth*
A Place in the Sun* • Sea to Shining Sea • Into the Long Dark Night
Land of the Brave and the Free • A Home for the Heart
*with Judith Pella
Books by Judith Pella
Texas Angel
Heaven’s Road
Beloved Stranger
Mark of the Cross
THE RUSSIANS
The Crown and the Crucible*
A House Divided*
Travail and Triumph*
Heirs of the Motherland
Dawning of Deliverance
White Nights, Red Morning
Passage Into Light
THE STONEWYCKE TRILOGY*
The Heather Hills of Stonewycke
Flight from Stonewycke
Lady of Stonewycke
THE STONEWYCKE LEGACY*
Stranger at Stonewycke
Shadows Over Stonewycke
Treasure of Stonewycke
DAUGHTERS OF FORTUNE
Written on the Wind
Somewhere a Song
Toward the Sunrise
Homeward My Heart
LONE STAR LEGACY
Frontier Lady
Stoner’s Crossing
Warrior’s Song
PATCHWORK CIRCLE
Bachelor’s Puzzle
Sister’s Choice
RIBBONS OF STEEL**
Distant Dreams
A Hope Beyond
A Promise for Tomorrow
RIBBONS WEST**
Westward the Dream
Separate Roads
Ties That Bind
*with Michael Phillips **with Tracie Peterson
The Russians Collection Page 268