77

When all the excitement was over, the guests gone, and Raisa, Mariana, and the children were in bed, Anna found herself alone in the parlor. It was still hard to go to her and Sergei’s room. His presence was still too painfully evident there, and she had not yet had the heart to remove his things. Maybe she never would. Viktor’s wife, Princess Sarah, who had lost her first husband many years ago, suggested that it was all right and normal to hang on for a little while. She had known people, and so had Anna, who had cleared out all their deceased spouse’s possessions in an attempt to erase the ache. It usually didn’t work, anyway. And the memories and things of a loved one, besides causing some pain, were a great source of comfort also.

Sarah said Anna would know when she was ready to put away Sergei’s things and keep her best memories of him in her heart.

A few days ago Anna would never have believed Sarah. She had been in a dark tunnel with no end in sight. She had felt, as never before in her life, a longing to die also. That she should have to live, to continue an empty, hopeless existence without her dear Sergei, seemed the cruelest fate imaginable.

But something had happened to Anna within the past few hours. A glimmer of light had appeared at the far end of her tunnel, a small hint that her despair was not destined to be endless. Oddly, that perception had been prompted by the bomb scare. The moment she had set eyes upon Basil Anickin’s bomb she had been beset by fear—gripping fear, the kind that only springs from someone who is afraid to die. Someone who desires to live.

When Misha had exited the building grinning his success, Anna had cheered as loudly as anyone.

It had shocked her at first. Then she had felt just a little guilty about it. How could she want to live when the most important part of her life had been snuffed out?

Yet she did; she really did.

She had no idea at the moment just how she would go on, how she would survive day by day. Most of the time it seemed impossible. But she would.

Perhaps it was the strength everyone, even Sergei, was so fond of extolling in her. Sometimes it was such a burden to be strong. But as usual, she would no doubt come to the place where she could thank God for it.

“Mama?”

“Mariana, come in.”

“If you want to be alone . . . ?”

“No. Come and sit by me.”

“I woke up and you weren’t there.” Mariana was sharing Anna’s bed, partly because there was no other room in the small flat, but also so her mama would not be so lonely.

“Don’t worry so about me, Mariana,” Anna said gently as her adopted daughter sat on the worn couch by her side.

“I can’t help it.”

“I’ll be all right.”

Mariana peered at her mama through the dim light of the oil lamp. How worn Anna looked. The strain of her grief etched in new creases in her delicate features. But for the first time in days the dull void seemed gone from her eyes. The smile that touched her lips reached up into her eyes, instilling a hint of life into her face.

“Will you?”

Anna nodded. “Yes. There’s too much to live for. Now I’m beginning to understand what Sergei meant by savoring life. I know that’s what I must do—for him, for myself, and for those I love. I want to be part of your future, Mariana—yours and Daniel’s. I want to see my sons grow to be men. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to see my grandchildren.”

“It’s what Papa would have wanted for you, Mama.”

Anna nodded. “But Mariana, it’s also what I want, and that makes all the difference.”