Anna went to the marketplace by St. Andrew’s Church. She bought some potatoes, turnips, and a few pounds of flour. When her basket was full, she discovered she had a few pennies left, so she decided to stop at the church.
It was time she lit a candle of thanksgiving. She was thankful for so many things—for the home that Raisa had opened up to Anna and her family, not even batting an eye when Viktor and Mrs. Remington and Peter also moved in temporarily. The woman walked around in awe that such a person as Prince Viktor Fedorcenko would grace her humble home with his presence. She still could not believe that he and the simple peasants, Anna and Sergei, were related.
That reminded Anna of another matter for thanksgiving. Except for Raisa, who could be trusted implicitly, Sergei’s anonymity was still intact. Questions had been raised by the police about the man who had talked Prince Viktor into surrendering his siege of the estate. When they saw him, however, they assumed he was a beloved servant whose entreaties Viktor could not refuse. Since no charges were ever pressed, there was never any need for further investigation. Anna was also grateful that Cyril Vlasenko never pressed charges, and that he, who might possibly identify him, never had a clear look at Sergei.
But Anna’s gratitude was also directed toward deeper miracles, such as the wonderful healing of Prince Viktor. He was a quiet man now, not as self-confident, more deeply scarred than the mighty prince Anna had known twenty years ago. His mind was apt to wander occasionally. But he was whole; he was more thoughtful, and quicker to express his heart. And Anna guessed that Sarah Remington now possessed a very large part of that man’s heart.
And, finally, there was the healing of Viktor and Sergei’s relationship. The two could actually talk now, the first time Anna had ever seen them interact without tension and frustration. The most marvelous turning point came when Viktor had asked Sergei if he still did any writing. Sergei showed him a couple of poems he had written; and Viktor came back a few hours later with a drawing to illustrate one of the poems that had especially touched him. For the first time in his life, Viktor truly understood his son’s creative drive.
Anna placed her basket in the crook of her arm and headed toward the church. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she hardly noticed the bustle of activity around her—the crowd at the market kiosks, the traffic jam in the street, and the accompanying shouts of drivers and pedestrians alike. When one voice raised above the others, she almost did not respond.
“Anna?”
There must have been at least a dozen Annas on the street that day; why would anyone be calling her? Yet it was persistent.
“Anna!” The voice drew closer. “Anna? Is that you?”
She lifted her head and turned toward the sound. Someone was running toward her—a middle-aged man of average height, dressed in a modest brown suit, a well-worn overcoat flying out behind him, a dark fur hat on his head.
“Anna, it is you!”
Then she knew. The man might have changed, but the voice was still that of her dear little brother, Pavushka.
Stunned, she dropped her basket, but seemed oblivious to the fact. She couldn’t move; she could only stare, speechless, until he reached her. At that moment all the shock fell away, replaced by pure joy. She ran into his arms, engulfing him in an embrace. And he responded with all the vibrancy and warmth and love she had longed for. The tense, haunted lad who had so mordantly declared that he was dead to his family was very much alive—in body and heart. The Pavushka of her fondest memories now stood once more before her.
He actually laughed. “What a scene we are making!”
“We must look like two long-lost lovers!” Anna chuckled, then turned serious. “It’s all right, I mean, if you are noticed?”
Paul shrugged. “I don’t think I am a wanted man at the moment.” To her confused expression, he grinned. “It’s fine, it truly is.”
“I can’t believe that we should meet by chance like this,” said Anna.
“Perhaps it was not as much by chance as it appears.” Paul wore a sheepish expression. “Not long ago, I heard from a mutual friend of ours that you were still here in the city. I confess that since then I have come by this church many times.”
“You were looking for me?”
“In my own way, I suppose I was. I wanted so to see you, but I was a bit afraid. It has been so many years.”
“Never so many that my love for you would ever change, Pavushka.”
He smiled with gratitude, his eyes as moist as his sister’s. “I have a coach waiting,” he said. “Will you come home with me so we can talk?”
“Yes, of course. Let me get my basket.”
Paul helped her gather her spilled groceries; then they went to the waiting cab. In five minutes they were at his house on the waterfront.
“Paul, this is incredible. I live only a few blocks from here!”
“We were bound to meet eventually!”
Inside, Anna was greeted by another delightful surprise—Paul’s wife. Mathilde smiled joyfully at Anna and seemed to know who she was even before Paul had a chance to make introductions. Her natural reserve caused her to hesitate in her desire to embrace her sister-in-law, but no such reserve hindered Anna. She threw her arms around Mathilde, and at once they were sisters.
Paul and Anna talked for the next two hours, filling in the years of their lives since that day they had last seen each other at St. Andrew’s. They shared every detail until they began to feel as if they had actually been present and part of each other’s lives. They wept a great deal, and gazed at each other, marveling at how the years had been imprinted upon them in various ways.
“But, Anna, you look as if time has truly forgotten you,” Paul said.
Anna chuckled. “Then your eyes must be failing you, Paul, if you don’t see all the wrinkles!”
“Failing sight is one of God’s blessings as you grow older, I suppose. Who needs to see all the wrinkles, anyway?”
Anna grew thoughtful. “Paul, did you say ‘one of God’s blessings’? Do you really mean that?”
“I have traveled a long road, Anna—filled with hardships and trials and heartache, along with an equal portion of blessings and miracles. I can no longer deny the existence of God, though my knowledge of God and my relationship to Him may never compare with yours or Papa’s or Mama’s. Perhaps one day I will know God as you do, but in the meantime, I am no longer foolish enough to believe He doesn’t exist or matter. I have a feeling you have never ceased praying for me, Anna, in all these years. And I will not object to your continued prayers.”
“Not that your objections would stop me.” Anna smiled.
“I thought not!”
Mathilde brought tea as they continued talking. Eventually their conversation turned toward the future.
“I miss the country,” said Anna, “but I must admit that now that I am in the city, I recall the many opportunities it presents—at least now that we are out of the awful flat in the Haymarket and that terrible factory.”
“I remember that life,” said Paul. “It was my lot when I first came to the city years ago.”
“Our cause aims to change such circumstances,” put in Mathilde.
“I can now wholeheartedly support that cause,” said Anna.
“You, dear sister!” exclaimed Paul with mock astonishment. “You are no longer a meek and naive peasant girl, without a political thought in your head?”
“I can’t say I will be joining any demonstrations,” Anna replied. “But I know now more than ever just what it is all about. I have seen firsthand the tragedies our system of government has produced, and I can’t say I will be heartbroken for change to come. Still, I believe true change must begin in the hearts of individuals. And that kind of change can only come through faith in Christ.”
“You may be right, of course,” said Paul. “You always did have more sense than I. But I see no conflict between faith and actively fighting for reform, if the latter is kept within the bounds of morality. Have you heard of Thomas Jefferson, Anna?”
“Wasn’t he an American president? He wrote the Declaration of Independence.”
“Yes, and he also wrote that ‘Resistance to tyrants is obedience to God.’”
“I cannot argue with that, Paul, but then again, I could never debate you very well.”
“You read the wrong kind of books.”
“Or the right kind.”
He smiled.
“Paul, I suppose my only reason for trying to argue with you in the first place,” Anna continued, “is that I fear you will get into trouble again. Now that I have found you, I couldn’t bear for you to disappear again.”
“I am afraid, Anna, that trouble is part and parcel of the path I have chosen. Even the most benign protester risks a great deal. I told you about Mathilde’s father. If a man like that can be destroyed by the government, then what I risk isn’t even near to being enough.”
A brief silence fell between them; then Anna broached the subject that had been nagging at her mind in spite of her attempts to push it aside. “Paul, will you . . . try to see Mama and Papa?”
He was quiet for a long time before he shook his head. “Please try to understand, Anna. The dangers that drove me from them in the past are still present. There has not been a day since I returned from Siberia that I haven’t been under police surveillance. It is only a matter of time before they crack down on Mathilde and me. That is why we plan to go to Geneva until the political climate around here cools a bit. If I went to Katyk now, it would immediately bring our family under scrutiny. I long to see them, but it cannot be under these conditions. Isn’t it for the best, anyway, that things remain as they have been, that they not be reminded of their wayward son?”
“Do you think for a minute they have ever forgotten about you?”
“No, I suppose they wouldn’t.”
“Papa is old, Paul.” Anna peered earnestly into her brother’s eyes, looking for other motives lurking beneath the practical ones he verbalized. “He will not live much longer.”
“Perhaps when I return from Geneva . . .”
In spite of the melancholy conclusion to their reunion, Anna left her brother that day with a light, joyful heart. She knew that somehow God would bring about all things that mattered in His own time.