Katrina knew the stalwart Mrs. Remington well enough to be certain she wasn’t one to exaggerate. Yet she was still shocked to observe her father’s condition with her own eyes.
The picture she would always hold in her mind’s eye was her father as a trim scion of military perfection. His uniform jacket, with its neat rows of medals and the blue sash of his Order of St. Andrew, never showed a wrinkle no matter how long he had been wearing it. His broad shoulders and fine military bearing, the gold buttons on his coat and his high leather boots polished to a glossy finish . . . that was her father.
She hardly recognized the figure that greeted her that evening at dinner. Her father looked more like a dissolute street vagrant than a Russian prince. He had discarded his uniform jacket altogether. The white shirt he wore and the uniform trousers were creased and wrinkled and had not been washed in days. His hair was disheveled, and his beard untrimmed and shaggy.
Most remarkably, Katrina noted more gray in his hair and beard than had existed there the last time she had seen him. She had heard that emotional distress caused people to go prematurely—and sometimes quickly—gray. But never had she seen it demonstrated so dramatically. She decided it must be a trick of her imagination.
But one thing was certain. He had aged, either physically or in some deeper, unseen way. No doubt a bath, a shave, and a good night’s sleep would remedy the surface haggard look. But it was clear from his eyes that the change went beyond anything that could so quickly be mitigated. And although she did her best to hide it, Katrina was shocked.
When he came near her he reeked like a distillery. She was thankful at least that he didn’t flare up at the sight of her. She had hoped he would not question her impromptu appearance just before the dinner hour. Perhaps, this once, Mrs. Remington was exaggerating after all.
“Ah, Katrina! What a pleasure to see you!” he said expansively. He took her hands in his, and except for the outward appearance and the smell of alcohol, she might have begun to doubt the housekeeper’s morbid speculations.
“Hello, Papa. I hope you don’t mind a visit just now.”
“Of course not,” he replied. “You are just in time to join us for dinner.”
“Thank you.”
“It is only a pity your mother is away,” Viktor went on. “What a time for her to visit Lividia! But you know how she hates the coming of summer here in the capital. I would join her, but duty calls, you know!”
“It’s . . . it’s you I came to see anyway, Papa.”
“How nice . . .”
His words trailed away as if some thought were trying to divert his attention. His eyes seemed to glaze over and momentarily lose their focus. “Uh . . . what . . . what were you saying?” he mumbled at length.
“We were talking about why I had come.”
“Ah yes . . . why have you come?” he said, turning toward her more forcefully. His eyes narrowed and he suddenly became suspicious.
“To see you, Papa.”
“Ha! That’s a good one!” He said the words as though they made perfect sense. Then he turned and walked away toward his chair at the dining table.
“Well,” he said sharply, “you are going to eat?”
“I . . . if you want me to, Papa,” she answered hesitantly, following him.
“You may as well. That’s why you’ve come—that’s all you really want anyway, is it not?”
“I don’t understand, Papa. I just want to see you. I heard you weren’t well and—”
“Ah! So that’s it! My own daughter!” he roared. “I thought I could expect some loyalty from you, at least. But I see this plot is wider than I had imagined. You are no better than Orlov and Baklanov conspiring against me . . . trying to be rid of me once and for all!”
“No, Papa!” Katrina said in a pleading tone, trying with little success to hold back her tears. “I want to help you!”
Almost expecting an explosive outburst from her father, Katrina was surprised at the brief moment of silence that followed. The next words were not those of a madman, but seemed to grope for some reality of relationship from out of the past to latch onto.
“You have known me better than any other human being, Katrina. Don’t you realize yet, daughter of mine, that I am beyond help?” For a single instant he appeared focused and sane.
It lasted but a few seconds. Suddenly he let out a sharp, humorless laugh, then strode toward the door, forgetting altogether about the meal, appearing not even to see the maid approaching with platter in hand.
“All the good brandy is in the parlor,” he said. “I must tell Natalia to have the servants begin serving Scotch at dinner—I don’t care how ill-mannered it is.”
He walked through the door and left the room, leaving his daughter staring dumbfounded after him. For a fleeting moment she wondered if she should go after him and make some continued attempts to find something to talk about that would distract him. But she thought better of it. She dismissed the maid, then left the dining room with heavy step.
In despair she dragged herself back upstairs to her old quarters. Anna had been busy freshening up the rooms, although they had been fairly well kept up during the year of Katrina’s absence. Even the warmth of Anna’s presence, however, could not console the princess. For Viktor Fedorcenko to lose the grip on his sanity was tantamount to nothing in this life being strong and sure enough to trust in or depend upon. If a man with his fortitude could break, then what else in life could be relied upon to stand?
Anna placed an arm around her mistress and tried to offer her what comfort she could.
“Oh, Anna, it’s awful to see him so weak. It takes my very heart away.”
“You must not give up, Princess, even if it seems that is what your father has done.”
“But it is destroying him, Anna!” wailed Katrina softly and tearfully. Anna sighed deeply, softly stroking Katrina’s hair. “I mean no disrespect, Your Highness,” she said after a moment, “for I know how painful your father’s losses are. But it would seem to me that he is making a choice not to face reality.”
The words hung in the air a moment; then Katrina turned to face her maid with a serious expression on her face.
“What are you saying, Anna?” she asked.
“Only that no matter how terrible the circumstances that come upon us, we still must choose what will be our response. I must admit sometimes I do not think I am doing well in the matter of your brother. But I nevertheless realize I cannot lose heart, and must go on living, and serving you as well as I am able.”
“And you think my father has given up?”
“That is not for me to say, Princess. I only know that you mustn’t—no matter what grief you feel for him. You have too much to live for.”
Even as the words fell upon Katrina’s ear, the unborn infant within her gave a vigorous kick. The present physical reminder jarred Katrina’s natural resiliency back toward the surface.
Of course she couldn’t lose heart. And not only for herself, but also for the sake of the next generation she was carrying in her womb. Besides, giving in to adversity wasn’t her way.
Even if that part of her nature had come from her father, she could not deny it or hide from it as he now seemed to be doing. Even if mother, brother, and father were taken from her, somehow she had to face what life was left to her with head held high.
There was no other way to triumph over painful circumstances in the end.