Anna wandered alone down the path that led from her parents’ home to the gnarled old willow. A stiff autumn breeze was blowing, and she pulled her winter coat close about her. The brown and orange and yellow leaves on the trees in the woods tried valiantly to brighten the dull gray sky. The willow had already shed some, but a few yellow leafy stems still clung tenaciously to the branches. As she settled into the little niche at its base, a shower of foliage floated down upon her.
Oddly, she felt as light and unburdened as the falling leaves. Her dear papa was gone, leaving an empty place in her heart. Yet his passing had been accompanied by peace and fulfillment. Only faith in God could turn a time of grief into a time of rejoicing.
Her papa was in heaven, face-to-face with the God and Savior he had worshiped all his life. What was there to mourn in such knowledge as that? Of course she’d miss him terribly, but it would be like the years she’d had to spend in the city away from them. They would not be parted forever.
Yevno himself had told her that only yesterday. Then she had been desolate, unable to say goodbye, unable to let go.
“Anna, you must not weep so.” He took her small hand into his big, rough one. “It makes me feel a little guilty. . . . I am so full of joy that soon I will be entering my Father’s house. Think of me with our Lord, talking to Him, asking Him all the questions I have always wondered about, and listening to His answers for eternity. I suppose you must weep, but let it last only a short season, as the Scriptures say. In the morning, I want to look down from my heavenly izba and see you rejoicing, eh?”
She tried to smile through her tears.
“There’s my Annushka!”
“What will I do without you, Papa?”
“As you have always done, Anna. You have been my sensible, wise child, and I am counting on you to keep this dear family together.”
“Me, Papa?” She suddenly felt like the shy, uncertain little girl she had been many years ago. Her father’s words astonished her.
“You, my little daughter! Don’t you know yet that those slim, delicate shoulders of yours have the strength of an ox? In your weaknesses, Anna, you have been made strong because you have, more than all my children, allowed God to dwell in His fullness within you. I have no doubt that you can shoulder the burden of this family. But you must remember that you need bear no burden alone—otherwise I would not place such an expectation upon you.”
“I know, Papa. I will do my best. And, to be truthful, I have already begun to feel that responsibility, and have sensed for a long time that this might be my calling.”
“Yes . . . part of you may be ox, but another part is mother hen.” Yevno gave her a broad grin. “Ah, I love you, my Annushka, so much!”
It was difficult not to rejoice as she thought of the life of her remarkable papa, and of his passing into eternity. Anna was a comfort to her grieving family; already they were turning to her for strength—even her mama, who had been bereaved of her friend and companion of over fifty years.
Yevno had instilled hope in Anna. That was, after all, the hallmark of his life. He had endowed her with the ability to anticipate what lay ahead, not dwell on what was past. When she thought about the past she was left with a feeling of completion. She felt as if the loose ends of her life were in order. Paul was at last restored to his family. Although he would soon return to his life of politics and danger, it would be as a man delivered of a heavy burden. And, in addition to Paul and Yevno, another father and son, Viktor and Sergei, had also been restored to each other.
She was pleased with how her own children were growing. Yuri and Andrei attended well to their studies, especially Yuri, who seemed to have inherited his parents’ thirst for knowledge. Andrei had a harder time sitting still for such slow-going activity, but he tried his best. They got along well with Talia, Raisa’s daughter, and the three promised to become fast friends. Teaching them provided Anna with challenge and purpose for her life. Unlike Mariana, who desired to use her education to make a grand mark upon the world, Anna was completely content and satisfied to pass on whatever knowledge and wisdom she had to her children.
Mariana indeed seemed destined to make her mark. Settled into a path that appeared promising, she was happy. And even if she still harbored some confusion about the men in her life, she was content to leave those matters in the hands of God. Katrina would be proud of her daughter, so beautiful, so filled with self-assurance and spiritual assurance.
What lay ahead for them, Anna could not guess. Nor could she envision how the forces of world events, political upheaval and discontent might work to unravel those loose ends that seemed so neat and tidy now. Where would her children be in a year? In five years, or ten? Where might she and Sergei be, for that matter?
So much had happened, and more was bound to occur in the years to come. Anna supposed that the cataclysms of history and politics would continue in spite of an insignificant peasant woman. But her duty, as her papa had taught her, was simply to live her life as faithfully as she could, to love her dear family, and to trust God. This she could do. And God would do the rest.