House Divided (The Russians Book #2)

Michael Phillips, Judith Pella

Description

As the war in the Balkans nears its end, Prince Sergei Fedorcenko returns to St. Petersburg and to his love, Anna Burenin, whose brother, Paul, has joined the revolutionaries. Torn between love for her family and devotion to the Fedorcenkos, Anna's faith is her only comfort as she tries to keep those closest to her--and all of Russia--from becoming a house divided.

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 13 octobre 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781441229755
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 1992 by Michael Phillips and Judith Pella
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-2975-5
This book is a work of fiction. With the exception of historical personages, all characters are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to living persons, past or present, is coincidental.
Cover design by Melinda Schumacher
Dedication
To Catherine Jean Phillips
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
A Cast of Characters
Prologue: A Season of Partings
1
2
3
Part I: Seeds of Rebellion
1
2
3
4
5
6
Part II: Turning Points
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
Part III: Our Rebel Brothers
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
Part IV: The Will of the People
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
Part V: Home to the Country
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
Part VI: A House Divided
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
Part VII: A House United
65
66
67
68
About the Authors
Fiction by Michael Phillips
Books by Judith Pella
A Cast of Characters
The Burenin Family:
Yevno Pavlovich Burenin
Sophia Ilyanovna Burenin
Anna Yevnovna Burenin (Annushka)
Paul Yevnovich Burenin (Pavushka)
Tanya
Vera
Ilya
The Fedorcenko Family:
Prince Viktor Makhailovich Fedorcenko
Princess Natalia Vasilyovna Fedorcenko
Prince Sergei Viktorovich Fedorcenko
Princess Katrina Viktorovna Fedorcenko Remizov (Katitchka)
Count Dmitri Gregorovich Remizov—Sergei’s best friend, Katrina’s husband
Basil Pyotrovich Anickin—revolutionary son of Dr. Anickin
Lt. Mikhail Igorovich Grigorov (Misha)—Cossack guard, Anna’s friend
Count Cyril Vlasenko—Chief of Third Section, the Secret Police
Kazan—Paul’s revolutionary friend
Other revolutionaries:
Sophia Perovskaya
Andrei Zhelyabov
Alexander Mikhailov
Fedorcenko Servants:
Mrs. Remington
Polya
Leo Vasilievich Moskalev
Olga Stephanovna
Nina Chomsky
The custom in Russia is to be known by three names—the Christian name, the patronym (“son of . . .” or “daughter of . . .” your father’s name), and the surname. The patronym is formed by adding the appropriate suffix to the individual’s father’s Christian name. The endings are usually vich or ovich for a male, and vna or ovna for a female. These patronyms are often used almost interchangeably with the surname. Nicknames or “little” (diminutive) names are also used in intimate conversation between family and close friends—Pavushka, Annushka, Katitchka, Misha, Sasha, etc.
Prologue: A Season of Partings
1
M ARCH 1878
The garden was once again still.
Since her first days at the Fedorcenko estate, Anna had often come to this garden to seek solace. Here she had first met the princess . . . and here the prince had spoken to her his first words of love.
Then a war had parted them, and throughout the long months she had carried the secret silently within her breast: A prince of Russia, whose father counseled the tsar, was in love with her —a mere peasant girl. The memory of his softly spoken words of love became a quiet treasure Anna would keep forever.
But the war had changed Prince Sergei Fedorcenko. He had made clear that he still loved Anna and still wanted her to be his wife, but he had changed in his attitude toward himself, toward life.
“I have to get away,” he said that first day after his return. “I have to think about many things. I have to . . .” He paused, glancing around nervously. “I don’t know, Anna,” he went on. “I just don’t know any longer what is important, what really matters. I feel as if I’m looking down a dark tunnel—at the end, in the only ray of light, I see your face. But the path in between is so dark. I’m not sure I could find my way. And if I did, how could I touch you with so much blood on my hands?”
His words stopped. She looked into his eyes, eyes that spoke of pain, of confusion, of a sad guilt she could not reach. She longed to soothe his tormented soul, yet she felt powerless.
In the few days he was home, Sergei contrived to see Anna several times. He spoke to her of the war, of what he felt, of the pain, and of the horror of taking a life. He wept unashamedly before her, as he was too proud to do before his own family and peers. He spoke of his wound, and the infection that had developed, and about his book.
“I’m almost finished with it, Anna,” he said, his eyes brightening with more enthusiasm than he had shown about anything. “I worked on it the whole time, especially after I was laid up. I wrote to Count Tolstoy, and he has agreed to critique it for me. He even extended an invitation for me to visit Yasnaya Polyana! Can you believe it, Anna?”
But Prince Sergei’s enthusiasm was short-lived, and he soon relapsed into the morass of dark thoughts and emotions. Anna wondered if the war had destroyed Sergei’s love for life. She wondered if his book was as bleak as his countenance and outlook. If so, his words would not find a ready reception in the ears of Russia’s leaders, for Sergei made no attempt to hide his bitter views of the stupidity of the war effort.
“This wound in my leg has warranted me an extended leave from my military duties,” Sergei said. “Perhaps I shall visit Tolstoy. I shall finish the book there, then perhaps travel in the provinces. Six months . . . a year. After that I shall return for you, Anna.”
Anna smiled, but inside she knew how foolish it would be for her to hang on to false hopes. She knew Sergei was not at peace—with himself, with his country, or with the world. There was more to his determination to leave St. Petersburg than merely finishing his book. He was searching for something he had no idea where to find—meaning to life, hope in the midst of the futility he felt, relief from tormenting guilt, an outlet for the anger burning inside him over the unnecessary loss of life.
“I love you, Anna,” he said. “I will come back for you. Once my book is published, I shall have the prestige to allow me to quit the military, and you and I shall live in the city. I will write, and—”
Anna quietly silenced him with her finger. “I will still be here when you return” was all she said.
Their final meeting before his departure had been brief.
“I will carry your smile with me until I return,” he said, but his own smile as he spoke the words was sad and tired. The time at home had done nothing to assuage his inner turmoil and conflict, and clashes with his father had not helped. “But there is one last request I have to make of you, Anna,” he went on. “Let me depart with the assurance of your love. Let me hear it from your own heart. Please say it, Anna, and may it be the last thing I hear from your sweet lips, until we meet again.”
“I do love you, Sergei Viktorovich,” said Anna softly.
Supporting himself with one hand on his cane, he reached out with the other and drew Anna toward him, pulling her tightly to his chest. Without looking up, Anna knew there were tears standing in her young prince’s eyes.
That was all. He released her, then turned and, still gripping his cane tightly, he limped out of sight.
Anna’s eyes clouded over with tears as she watched him go. Even though they had both confessed their love, a pang of loneliness stung her heart. She knew she might never see him again.
By late afternoon he was gone, and a pall of silence hung over the Fedorcenko estate. Father, mother, and sister all knew that Sergei had set his course upon a path that for the present no one else could follow.
Anna Yevnovna Burenin, peasant girl of Katyk, maid to Princess Katrina Fedorcenko, had matured greatly in the year and a half since she had come to St. Petersburg. No one knew how much Sergei’s love for her had affected that process of maturity. Perhaps no one would ever know.
2
As Katrina approached her in the garden, Anna remembered their first meeting, when Princess Natalia’s dog had run away, bringing the angry young princess across her path. How greatly the princess had changed since that day!
Her mistress walked with an uncharacteristically quiet gait. Anna watched as she came closer; Princess Katrina had been crying! Her eyes were red, but her expression was quite different than the pain that had filled her countenance two weeks ago, on the evening of her brother’s and father’s return.
Katrina’s face was flushed with shock, hurt, and betrayal. “He’s not coming home!” she burst out. Anna could not tell whether the princess meant the words for her, or was only venting her pent-up emotions.
“Who, Princess?” asked Anna.
“Dmitri! How could he do this to me!” she half-shouted, seemingly uncertain whether to give grief or anger the upper hand. Her lower lip trembled.
“But why . . . where is he? Have not all the soldiers been sent home?” asked Anna, her own mind still full of her brief meeting with Sergei a short while earlier.
“I don’t know! Who cares why? He’s not coming home—what does anything else matter?”
In her anger, the princess sounded like the old Katrina, the petulant princess Anna had first met in the garden—impulsive, quick to anger, intent on having her own way, and furious when anything stood in her path.
“But surely, Princess,” Anna said, “there must be some reasonable explanation. Did not Prince Sergei give a reason?”
“Oh, yes, he gave a reason, and it didn’t help one bit! How dare Dmitri behave so like a barbarous Coss