The days grew longer as April spring progressed.
It was still light when Anna made her way through the market near Maly Prospect. Dusk would soon descend upon the city, however, and she clutched her cloth-wrapped parcel tightly to her. She hoped her errand did not take her past dark. She had a few kopecks with her for a droshky, but in this part of the city they were not always readily available.
She began to feel some comfort when she caught sight of the drab old walls of the cathedral on the other side of the market. The church was busy that afternoon. Many were still offering prayers for both the dead tsar and his successor. She found herself hoping, for her brother’s sake, that there were some benevolent voices interceding for the revolutionaries as well.
The light from many burning candles helped her eyes adjust quickly to the dimness as she walked inside. Thirty or forty worshipers knelt at the altar, their subdued voices filling the vacuous building with a low chanting hum. A score of others milled about the great high-vaulted room, some conversing quietly with one of the priests, others standing with their own thoughts and prayers. Some seemed to have wandered in merely to seek a few moment’s respite from the chilly winds outside. One shabbily garbed man lay in a corner, propped against the stone wall, sound asleep, his snores blending almost harmoniously with the prayerful intonations coming from the front of the church.
Anna glanced about, hoping to see a familiar face. The church bells had tolled the hour about ten minutes ago as she made her way across the street. She knew the time was right. But she saw no one who reminded her of her brother.
Slowly she began to wander through the church, looking about inconspicuously every now and then.
The sound that jarred her from her inward thoughts was no more than a whisper.
“Anna . . . please—do not be startled.”
She turned toward the voice.
“Oh, Paul! I so hoped it would be you!”
She threw her one free arm around him. He did not retreat from her, nor rebuke her affection. Rather, he seemed for a moment to want nothing more than to melt into her—desperate, hungry for the sisterly love she had to offer, for any kind of love.
The tender mood between them lasted but a moment. He appeared to catch himself and then withdrew abruptly from her.
As he stepped away, Anna focused more fully on her brother. His appearance had deteriorated noticeably since the last time she had seen him. His clothes were threadbare; the long wool overcoat could barely warm a man even in the milder spring weather that would soon be on the way. Paul was thin and gaunt, and the dark circles under his eyes hinted at too many nights spent on the hard cobbles of dirty alleyways.
Anna’s initial joy at seeing him was replaced with a terrible ache. Tears welled up in her eyes. Even if she had wanted to show restraint for his sake, her emotions these days were too close to the surface to command much control. She could not keep from crying.
“Paul . . . how have you been?” She wiped her eyes hastily, thankful for the darkness of the church. Paul would not appreciate being pitied! “I have thought so much about you and prayed you’d come to see me. Are you well? Can I do anything for you?”
Her words poured out in a rush, as if it would be possible to make up for a year’s absence in a few moments. Paul detected her nervousness and knew she was uncomfortable with how he looked.
“Anna,” he said, “there is no time for pleasantries.” His voice was strained and hard around the edges, as if he were battling with his own ambivalence at the reunion.
“Please, Paul, don’t do this to me! You are my brother, and I love you. You can’t expect to ask to see me and then think I will not care about you.” Frustration and hurt were more evident in her tone than irritation.
“I can tell you nothing about myself,” replied Paul, still distantly. “You wouldn’t want to hear it even if I were at liberty to tell you. As far as how I am—I couldn’t lie if I wanted to. You can see for yourself, can’t you?”
“Let me help you, Paul.”
“It is too late for that,” he replied bitterly. “I didn’t send for you to beg for help—”
“You never have to beg, Paul. I am your sister.”
He shrugged but said nothing, obviously unwilling to open himself further to the risk of her generosity. He took her arm lightly in hand and directed her to a more private corner.
They came to a little alcove no larger than a small stall in a barn. Paul stopped, then led her inside. It was open on the side that faced the interior of the church, but there was no one nearby, so they could talk in relative seclusion, though they still kept their voices in whispers.
“Anna,” he began, “I asked to see you for one reason only . . .”
He hesitated, as if he regretted saying the word. But he did not correct himself.
“I have certain connections in this city, Anna,” he went on. “People from whom I hear things and obtain information—things that are unknown to most people.”
Again he paused. Anna stared deeply into his face, waiting.
“Recently I heard something I felt I ought to pass on to you. It regards your employers—I believe your mistress is now Princess Remizov.”
Anna nodded, a perplexed look on her face.
“Do you know the name Basil Anickin?”
Anna’s shocked gasp was answer enough.
“I see you do, and undoubtedly understand the danger this man represents.”
“But how do you know all about this, Paul?”
“I cannot answer your questions, Anna. I do know, and that is enough. Suffice it to say that I know of this man, and I know of his cause against Princess Remizov and her husband. But what you may not be aware of, Anna, is that Anickin recently escaped from prison—”
“No! Paul . . . is this true?”
“It is true,” Paul replied, almost evasively. It was clear to Anna that he wasn’t saying all he knew. But she also realized the futility of trying to get information from him that he was unwilling to give. “You must also know,” he went on, “the danger this implies to your employers.”
“But surely, after all this time . . .”
“Oh, Anna! Your naivete is both your greatest virtue and your greatest fault. Time does not heal all wounds, especially where a man like Anickin is concerned. His wounds have only festered and become all the more virulent and dangerous in the time that has passed. He is, I believe, consumed with a passion for revenge.”
“How do you know all this, Paul?”
“Do you not believe me?”
“No, Pavushka, it’s not that.” Anna shook her head. She was naive. It was simply unimaginable for her to conceive of such destructive animosity.
“Anna, I tell you the truth—this man means to harm, even to kill your mistress and her husband—”
Anna could not keep from sucking in a breath of air at the shocking words, but Paul continued.
“I am telling you this because . . .”
He faltered momentarily. When he spoke again, his lips trembled slightly. “I tell you because you are my sister.”
“Is . . . is there nothing to do?” said Anna, still in disbelief.
“I suggest you warn Remizov.”
“I will tell the princess,” Anna replied.
“I . . . I may be able to keep somewhat apprised of his movements, and can possibly let you know should the danger become imminent. But I can promise nothing. They must take great care.”
“If we knew where he was, perhaps the count could have him arrested now before there is worse danger.”
“I don’t know how to find him. He too is a fugitive.”
“He . . . too? What does that mean, Paul?” said Anna with fearful tone.
Only then did Paul realize his error. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “No questions, remember?”
“Paul,” implored Anna, “you warn me of others’ danger, but what of your own? Do you not trust me, that you are so secretive?”
“Trust, Anna? Trust has nothing to do with it.”
“Then what does, Pavushka?”
“Oh, Anna, you are so sheltered from the real world. My dear sister, don’t you even realize what you are saying? You call me Pavushka, but I am not that boy any longer. You don’t even realize that merely talking to me as you are now could land you, and perhaps our whole family, in a Siberian prison. I isolate myself because I must.”
“But—”
“There can be no argument. I am an exile without even leaving Russia—”
At the word exile, Anna’s eyes involuntarily closed and a shudder coursed through her frame. One beloved exile was intolerable. Two, and she would break in half from sorrow!
“This is how it must be,” Paul was saying, “how I have chosen it to be.”
Anna drew in a deep breath and tried to compose herself. “These things you believe must be very important to you,” she said, “if you would forsake everything for them.”
“They are,” he answered emphatically.
“Then I appreciate all the more the risk you have taken to warn Princess Katrina and her husband.”
“Please understand me, Anna. One aristocrat more or less means nothing to me. But because you are involved, I feel duty bound to speak to you.”
Again Anna closed her eyes at the cruelty of his words. But only for an instant. She opened them again and did her best to say nothing that would offend him. “I understand, Paul . . . thank you.”
But did she understand? No, how could she ever understand such a change in one she cared for! Oh, dear Paul . . . how hardened you have become! Yet I see the pain and sorrow in your eyes. There is still a deep vulnerability in you; all my heart can do is weep for you. You want to be loved just as I do, but you have closed your heart off to everyone! Why do you need to protect yourself with such a hard shell, when we—
“I must go now,” said Paul abruptly, breaking into Anna’s thoughts. “We have already been together too long.”
“When . . . When will . . . ?” Anna tried to form the question.
“With the police stalking Anickin, he has plenty on his mind. I think your count and princess have time to prepare themselves.”
“What should they do, Paul?”
“The count is a Guard. Let him figure out best how to protect himself. Now listen to me, Anna. If I think you must act quickly, I will get a coded message to you. It will say, The harvest is ripe. If you hear that, you must be especially vigilant. Anickin will probably be on the loose and prowling around getting ready to make his move.”
“I will look for it, but hope it never comes.”
Paul turned to leave. But Anna caught his arm. “Wait, Paul . . . I almost forgot. This is for you.” She handed him the package she had been holding.
He frowned. “What is it?”
“Some spare things from the pantry—”
“I need no aristocratic handouts!”
Finally Anna’s sadness for Paul reached its limit. “Don’t be so stubborn!” she snapped. “You hardly look in the position to turn away a little food.”
Their eyes met for a moment or two in a brief battle of wills. Anna’s frustration with Paul’s intractability, now that it had spilled over, put her immediately in the stronger position of older sister she had always occupied with him when he was younger. Neither would ever know to what extent she was prepared to stand up to him now, for it only took another second or two for the gnawing hunger in Paul’s stomach to make him give in.
He reached out and took the parcel.
“Thank you, Anna,” he said, not exactly with a smile, but at least with a serious look of gratitude.
She smiled. Their hands touched as he laid hold of the parcel, and her fingers lingered on his for a brief moment.
He turned to go once more, then paused again. He opened his mouth to speak, but it seemed to take a moment before he could master his rising emotions enough to utter the words that were trying to get out of his heart.
“Anna,” he said, “how is . . . Papa?”
“He is better, Paul,” she answered. “He needs to rest much more, but he has a helper who comes during the sowing and harvest.”
“How is that possible?”
“Prince Fedorcenko has made it possible. After I was home a year and a half ago and the prince learned of Papa’s troubles, he said he wanted to do something for my father. So Papa had help last harvest.” Anna hoped her answer did not sound smug and would show Paul that not all the nobility were evil and selfish.
Paul nodded. He seemed to have understood. “Thank you for telling me,” he said quietly, somehow implying without words that he knew he did not deserve her patience. “Goodbye, Anna.”
“Godspeed, Paul!”
No more was said. Anna desperately wanted to hug him. But Paul turned and hurried away. With tears in her eyes, Anna watched him go, wondering when, or if, she would ever see him again.