38

The news of war was greeted in Russia with wild enthusiasm. Workers gave up their strikes, and thousands of others, from prince to factory minion, all gathered at Palace Square to shout their support and praise their emperor. Where only nine years before, on Bloody Sunday, the armies of the tsar had shot down innocent Russians, fervent strains of “God Save the Tsar” now rose like a wave from the voice of the crowd. No one seemed to give a thought to the potentially destructive force of such a wave.

Yuri shouldered his way through the crowd on Palace Square. The blood that had been spilled there nine years before was long gone, but Yuri could still point out the exact spot on which his father had been killed. He couldn’t get near it now—there were too many people there, cheering the tsar. But a lump formed in Yuri’s throat as the memory of that awful day assailed him. He could almost sympathize with his brother’s antitsarist sentiments. But, unlike Andrei, who believed he was honoring his father by hating his killer, Yuri always had the deep sense that his father would not have hated his own killers but would have forgiven them.

Yuri wished that godly compassion was his only motive for a forgiving attitude, but, to be honest, he knew his compassion also had roots in his desire to be accepted among the noble classes, who were by and large loyal monarchists. Still, it was never easy to come to Palace Square and not feel deep and conflicting emotions for the loss of his father.

He should have avoided it altogether today. He didn’t need this to further clutter his already churning thoughts. But when the message arrived for him at the hospital, and he was compelled to leave, his destination took him past the square. He was curious. There might also be news about military conscriptions. He did not relish the idea of going into the army, but he knew he would go if he had to. Still, for the time being, he had a more immediate problem at hand.

Katya.

Since his talk a few days ago with Talia, he had been mentally agonizing over his relationship with Katya. He had realized that he wanted the same things with Katya that he had praised about Talia and Andrei’s relationship.

He loved Katya passionately, thought about her constantly. His heart throbbed whenever he was with her—probably much as Talia had once felt toward him. But he had to ask himself the same question he had posed to Talia. Did he only want a woman to worship? Didn’t he rather want someone at his side, whose passion and need equaled his?

His mother and father’s marriage was a shining standard to him, and he wanted nothing less for himself. Thus, with that in mind, he had to ask himself if Katya was the woman to meet that standard? He had always sensed with her that there could be more. When their times together had been good, they had been very good, even excellent! But those times had been so fleeting. Her warmth and compatibility easily turned cool and distant. The pain of her rejection still hurt him. And always he had the sense that she was holding something back from him. Their last meeting in Moscow had been wonderful. But would it turn cool again? And even if it didn’t, did he and Katya truly have that special something that made a marriage all it should be?

He loved her, and yet he also questioned that love. Perhaps, as with Talia and Andrei, he needed to be separated from Katya in order to evaluate his true need for her. But not separated as in the past when he had been rejected, and thus his yearning for her was mixed up with such an array of other emotions. Perhaps he needed to step back from the relationship while it was good, and of his own free will. Then he might be able to more rationally assess what was real and important in it.

Yet it was no easy thing to break off with this woman whom he had been pursuing for nearly two years—and to break off when he had finally won her! It seemed insane, but he knew no other way. If only he could break through those barriers that seemed to hinder them from achieving true closeness. Her distance undermined the kind of trust necessary for a permanent relationship to grow. He felt she loved him, yet she always kept him at arm’s length.

What else could he do but back off? If he couldn’t penetrate her barriers, then did he have any other choice?

All this reasoning would be moot, of course, if she had continued to stay away. It had been a month since their meeting in Moscow. True, she had written him, explaining about the unavoidable circumstance that required her attention. She said there was an illness in the family. But she had been rather vague about it, and he couldn’t keep from wondering if it was just another excuse. Maybe it was her way of gently backing out of any verbal commitments she had made.

Thus, when the message was delivered to him at the hospital, he was torn. Katya had returned to St. Petersburg and wanted to see him. He had walked a good deal of the way, his steps taking him past Palace Square, to have a chance to sort out his feelings before seeing her. But all the activity on the Square had prevented that. When he arrived at her grandmother’s house on Petersburg Side, he was no closer to understanding himself than when he had begun.

The meeting between him and Katya was difficult from the beginning. She had actually invited him in, an occurrence that had happened only twice before. This time he was escorted into the parlor, and a servant brought them tea. Katya seemed more relaxed and at ease with him than ever before. But even that worried Yuri.

“What a time I’ve had these last couple of weeks!” she said. “I’ve never had anyone close to me so ill before. It was difficult.”

“Who exactly was ill, Katya?”

“Then there was the news about poor Father Grigori.” She blithely ignored his question. “I haven’t seen him for such a long time and felt so guilty. It has been almost a year since I promised I would see him, and I never did. I will make a point of seeing him now that I am returned to Petersburg.”

“I was beginning to wonder if you were going to stay away forever.”

“Not this time, Yuri!” She smiled radiantly, and he felt his heart race. “I thought constantly about you while I was gone—”

“When you weren’t occupied with your worry over Rasputin.” He regretted the caustic words. He was slipping into his old pattern, momentarily forgetting that this relationship no longer controlled him as it once had.

“Why, Yuri, it sounds almost as if you are jealous!”

“Not at all. I am glad the priest is better.”

“You don’t agree with all those who were wishing he wouldn’t survive?”

“No.” But he couldn’t infuse his denial with enough enthusiasm.

“I think it’s terrible, Yuri, that anyone, especially a doctor, would wish ill to any human being.”

“Katya, I don’t wish ill upon Rasputin, but I do hope you will think twice about seeing the man.”

“Who do you think you are telling me whom I should see and whom I shouldn’t—!” She stopped, her face twisting in frustration. “Blast you, Yuri! I didn’t want to fight on our reunion. I wanted it to be special when I responded to our conversation from the last time we saw each other.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you I’d think about marriage. Well, I have, and—”

Yuri looked away. He could tell by the sudden glow in her eyes that she was on the verge of accepting his proposal. His mouth went dry. What irony!

“What is it, Yuri?” He could not meet her questioning eyes. “Oh no . . . you’ve changed, haven’t you?”

“It’s not that, it’s—”

“How could I blame you?” On the verge of tears, her voice cracked. “I pushed you away so many times, treated your love so cruelly—”

“Katya!” Yuri broke in. “It’s me as much as you.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he said more firmly, “Listen to me. I haven’t changed, not in the way you think. I still love you. But I have to be honest. Lately I’ve questioned that love. Have I loved you or loved an image I had of you and of what we could have together? Katya, I want to love a real person—someone I can trust and who can trust me, someone I can share my life with. We have passion, but is that all we want? I fear it is all we will ever have, as things are now. I feel that there is a wall between us of . . . I don’t know what. Mistrust, fear? What is it, Katya? Unless we can overcome that barrier, even the passion we feel will diminish. I cannot enter a union with someone who occasionally touches my heart, then retreats again.”

“It is my fault . . .” she murmured quietly. “I spoiled everything. I didn’t trust you. Maybe your love was simply too strong for me to believe. God knows, I’ve never had anyone love me like that before. It was so fragile and beautiful—but I destroyed it like I do everything else.” Tears rose in her eyes and she tried unsuccessfully to squeeze them back. “Love is so frightening, Yuri. I know so little about it. Maybe I’ll never know . . .” The tears erupted, but she continued, “And . . . now it’s too late!”

Yuri put his arm around her—he didn’t know what else to do. She laid her head on his shoulder and wept.

“Maybe it’s not too late,” Yuri said after several moments. Was he just saying something to comfort her? Or was it really possible? He wished it was—prayed it was. He didn’t understand it at all, but he still loved her.

“No, Yuri. If only I had told you before this. But now . . . you’d have every right to hate me for keeping my secret from you. I didn’t trust you. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know how to trust, that I know nothing of the kind of love you want. I knew enough to be honest. But I couldn’t do it . . . and now I’ve lost you . . .”

“What secret, Katya? I’ve always known there must be something.”

“Don’t you see, Yuri? If I tell you now, it’s like I am trying to win you through sympathy. I’d rather have no love at all than that. But the crazy thing is, I was about to tell you everything. If only I hadn’t waited . . .”

“Don’t write me off, Katya. Can’t you give me a chance? Didn’t I give you many chances? Didn’t I keep coming back, even when you hurt me? And maybe, after all, that’s really what love is—giving each other the benefit of the doubt and never giving up on the other.”

She lifted her head. How beautiful she was with tears streaking her pale face, so sad, so vulnerable. Her vivid eyes glistened with tears . . . and something else. Need. She needed him as much as he needed her.

She sniffed like a little child, and he gave her his handkerchief. She blew her nose and dabbed away some of her tears. Then, with a determined breath, she said, “Yuri, if I tell you, will you promise that you won’t feel sorry for me? And you won’t let it sway your feelings?”

“I promise.”

“And I will trust you.” She spoke the words with assurance.

He smiled. Her statement was so simple, yet infused with so much sincerity. It was all he really wanted.

“But this is something I need to show you rather than tell you.” To his perplexed look she added, “Remember, Yuri, trust. Come, take my hand.”

He took her hand in his and they rose from their seats. Much to his surprise, she led him up the stairs and down a long corridor. Then they paused before a door. Katya knocked, and when it was opened, they were greeted by a middle-aged woman whose homely face was warm—in spite of her obvious surprise at their appearance.

“I’ve brought a visitor, Teddie,” said Katya.

“Indeed you have!” A smile tugged at the woman’s lips.

“This is Prince Fedorcenko. I want him to meet Irina.”

Yuri looked over the woman’s shoulder. They were in a nursery. But Katya strode into the room purposefully, and he could only follow. A child, about two years old, was seated on a blanket on the carpet. When she saw Katya approach, she quickly pulled herself up on a nearby rocking chair and toddled toward Katya with arms outstretched.

“Mama!” said the child as she reached her chubby little hands up to Katya.

Yuri thought he’d heard wrong. Surely the child must have mistaken Katya for someone else.

But no. The truth was obvious by the way the child snuggled close to Katya when lifted into her arms, and in the way Katya cooed and kissed the child. Then Katya looked at Yuri.

“It’s your . . . child?” Yuri croaked.

She nodded. “My terrible secret,” she said, then smiled lovingly at the child. “Terrible and beautiful and sweet.”

“But, why a secret?”

“Time for all that later. First, let me properly introduce you. Yuri, this is Irina. And, Irina, this is the most persistent, most infuriating, most wonderful doctor you’ll ever meet.”

Irina giggled as if she understood, then reached out a hand to touch Yuri’s nose, which she grasped with a strong grip. Yuri chuckled. “Just like her mother—thinks there’s a ring in my nose.” He took the little hand and shook it politely. “A healthy grip, too. Delighted to meet you, Irina. I wish I could have met you sooner. But now that I have, I think we will be great friends.”

“Do you really, Yuri?” Katya’s eyes filled with as much hope as any child’s.

“It amazes me, Katya, that someone so tiny, so innocent, could have been such a huge barrier between two people. I don’t completely understand why, but I do know it wouldn’t be right to keep her in that place. It’s much too ponderous a weight for a little child.”

“If only I could truly believe that—”

“What happened to trust, Katya?”

“Perhaps it is time you heard the whole story.”

They walked in the garden. It was warm and fragrant there, with roses in full bloom and honeysuckle and many other blossoms in rich flower. Katya left Irina in the care of Teddie, and Yuri held her hand as if they had nothing between them but sweet love. He didn’t think anything she could say would alter how he now felt. Certainly seeing the child hadn’t, and he could guess at what Katya’s story might be. But she needed to tell him, and so he let her.

“I never married.” She paused, the shame in her tone evident.

“We all make mistakes.” The words were trite, perhaps, but he meant them.

“My father wanted me to go to someone he knew, a failed medical student, who helped women . . . get rid of such mistakes.” She closed her eyes. Reliving that awful time was obviously still painful. “I couldn’t do it. Instead, I ran away to a convent in the Caucuses—far enough away from everything so my secret would be safe. The nuns would have found a home for my baby. But I couldn’t do that, either. Perhaps it sounds very selfish. I’ve told you a little about my own mother, how she ran away, but I’ve never expressed how horribly that affected me. I always believed it was me she ran away from, not my father, and that if I had been a better person, maybe she would have loved me enough to stay. I didn’t want my daughter to suffer like that. Even if I turned out to be a terrible mother, at least she’d have me. She wouldn’t have to grow up thinking her own mother didn’t love her enough to keep her—” Katya broke off as a sob escaped her lips.

Yuri placed his arm around her and held her close. “My poor, dear Katya.”

“I don’t want sympathy, Yuri.”

“Sympathy? You have it all wrong. It is because of love, Katya, that I want to comfort you. Trust me.”

She nodded. “I wish I had trusted you sooner. From the beginning, I hated not telling you. But my father insisted no one be told—that our family shame stay within the family. I suppose there were times when I didn’t mind keeping the secret. I wanted to be normal. I was so confused—I just didn’t know what was best, and sometimes I didn’t even care. When you came along, Yuri, I think I loved you from the start. But I was so afraid of what you’d think. What I did was a horrible sin, and most decent people would instantly shun me if they knew. At times I thought I could keep it a secret and still have you—at other times I knew I couldn’t and shouldn’t. Maybe you can understand why I vacillated so. Even now I feel you must think me a loose, brazen woman for what I did. Believe it or not, before Irina came along, I tried to be a brazen hussy. If you think I am wild now, you should have seen me before. I really shouldn’t have been surprised when I discovered that my wild ways had caught up with me. But it did surprise me—it devastated me! I was on the verge of ending my life—and that of my unborn baby. That’s when Father Grigori came into my life. Yuri, you may not think highly of him, but he saved my life. He helped me find God’s forgiveness for my sins.”

“Then I will try to think better of him,” said Yuri. “I will remind myself that because of him I was able to find you.”

“There is good that comes out of everything. And Irina is the greatest good. There are those who might say she is the punishment for my sins, but I will never believe that. She is pure goodness. If there was any punishment, it came in other ways, in the torment I experienced, the confusion, and in almost losing you.” She paused and looked at him. He could tell she was not fully convinced that he could still want her.

“But you didn’t lose me, Katya,” he said with emphasis. “We have a God who brings joy to those who place their faith in Him. I let go of my own faith for a while, but I am beginning to find it again. My papa was fond of a Scripture that said, ‘Delight in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.’ It is truly happening to me, Katya.”

“I am the desire of your heart?”

“Oh yes. But the funny thing is, Katya, God didn’t give me that desire until it was the right thing for me.”

Her lips bent into an ironic smile. “It’s odd, Yuri, that you have such a hard time accepting Father Grigori. He is a deeply spiritual man, perhaps not unlike your father was. I should think you two would have much in common.”

She was right in a way—Rasputin was very spiritual. Yet Yuri was certain that Rasputin and Sergei Fedorcenko were worlds apart, especially spiritually. Just thinking of the starets made Yuri’s skin crawl, but he didn’t deem this a good time to detail his disquiet to Katya. Instead he said lightly, “I don’t know what it is, probably just his smell.”

“I know you are not that superficial, Yuri.”

“Perhaps we ought to save this discussion for another time.” When she nodded, obviously relieved, he went on. “Katya, I do have another question about Irina. Your answer will not change how I feel, yet I guess I need to know. Please forgive me for asking . . . but, what about Irina’s father?”

“I understand . . . and you have every right to ask. I can say without hesitation that he means nothing to me now. I thought I loved him, but I think mostly he represented a way of escape from my father’s control. He is the son of a French diplomat and has now returned to France. As it turned out, he had no intention of marrying me, and since I didn’t want to be the cause of an international scandal, I did not pursue the matter. He wanted no part of the child. I suppose at first I had hoped it would compel him to marry me, but I quickly realized that I didn’t want any man who was forced into marriage. I have never revealed to anyone the man’s identity. Perhaps one day Irina will want to know, but I will ford that river when I get there.” She paused, sighing. “There you have it—all my dirty laundry. I have no more secrets . . .” Her voice trailed away and her brow creased. “Yuri, there is one other thing . . .”

He put his fingers to her lips. “Katya, I don’t need to know anything else. I love you and want to marry you. If I have any hesitation now, it is only because of the war and all the uncertainty of it. But even that won’t change how I feel.”

“How am I so fortunate to have a man like you love me so?”

“Only by the mercy of God.”

“Yes . . . truly!”

They returned to the nursery so Yuri could say good-bye to Irina. They played with her for a few minutes before Yuri had to leave for the hospital. He found it amazing how natural he felt around the child, especially for a man who had had little contact with children except in the hospital. When he married Katya, he would become an instant father. The idea was a little frightening, but he knew he’d have no trouble at all loving Katya’s child.