White Nights, Red Morning (The Russians Book #6)

Judith Pella

Description

As Russia plunges from World War I into revolution, the tragic events of Bloody Sunday leave their stain upon the nation--and the Fedorcenko family. After a devastating loss, the Fedorcenkos struggle with their grief and find their loyalties in the conflict divided. Will their bond be strong enough to endure the trials of civil war?

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 13 octobre 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781441229700
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 1996 by 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 978-1-4412-2970-0
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
Judith Pella is represented by The Steve Laube Agency.
Dedication
To Jeannie Holmberg who is all a big sister should be.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
A Word From the Author
Part I: Troubled Times
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
Part II: Coming of Age
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
Part III: Brotherly Discord
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
Part IV: War and Weddings
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
Part V: Scattered Bonds
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
Part VI: Momentous Decisions
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
Part VII: Ends and Beginnings
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
About the Author
Books by Judith Pella
A Word From the Author
History is not like fiction—it is real. The things that happened in the past cannot be changed, altered, or ignored, though we may wish to do all those things at times. Interpretations, of course, may vary, but the basic facts do not change. As a writer of historical fiction I’m acutely aware of this with every word I write. And because of this I am committed to interpret history as honestly and with as unbiased a view as I possibly can.
Unfortunately, history is not always a pretty thing—neither are the characters who people it. And that is probably doubly true about the history of Russia. In a country where millions have been slaughtered in war or various political purges, it is inconceivable that an account of these things could be rosy. I’m certain this has already been noted by readers of previous books in THE RUSSIANS series. But this particularly is the case in White Nights, Red Morning . I could have taken the easy route and avoided the many sensitive elements involved in the era in which this book is set. It would have been safer to focus on World War I and to treat Rasputin lightly. But I believe the events surrounding Rasputin are extremely relevant to an understanding of a crucial time in Russian history. Thus I have forged ahead, often negotiating precarious waters, but always with a sense of responsibility both to history and to my readers. This commitment has constrained me not to whitewash or skip over the facts, though some may be distasteful or even shocking.
My intent is not sensationalism, nor even realism for realism’s sake. In fact, White Nights, Red Morning relates only a portion of Rasputin’s corrupt reign—and the least shocking at that! The line between truth and vulgarity in this case is a very thin one. I ask you, the reader, to proceed not so much with an open mind as with a mind constantly aware of the old adage, “He that ignores history is doomed to repeat it.” My hope and prayer is that you will see beyond the sordid facts of Rasputin’s life to the courage and strength of the other people in the multifaceted story of T HE R USSIANS .
Part I: Troubled Times
1
A gust of wind scattered the leaves beneath a spindly elm struggling to maintain life in front of the busy market on Vassily Island. Somehow through many winters it had managed to survive in the middle of a bustling city but each year always seemed as if it might be its last. Its barren branches were almost bare now, and the single leaf that blew against Anna Fedorcenko’s stocking was nearly the last of the season. Wistfully Anna glanced down at the dry, yellow leaf, then she shook it away. She continued to watch as it tumbled for a few more moments down the sidewalk until it was finally trampled by an unobservant passerby.
Then she turned her wandering attention back to the task at hand. The noisy jostling crowd in the market in no way mirrored the aimless tumble of the leaf. But for all the activity of the people trying to press against the bakery door, the line, such as it was, had hardly moved a handful of inches since she had taken her place there an hour ago. She had known of course when she left the apartment, while the cold morning dew was still thick on the doorstep, that she’d be spending a good part of her day at market. She’d already spent three hours purchasing a half pound of cheese. Since the railway strike, panic had spread through the city. Food was already scarce, and with the prospect of the strike, it was feared that soon nothing at all would be found on the shop shelves. As much as Anna hated crowds, her family had to have bread. Raisa Sorokin, with whom Anna shared the apartment, had offered to go. But in spite of the mobs, Anna desired the chance to get out of the flat, away from the presence of memories.
Anna hated to think how she or Raisa would manage the market trek when winter set in. She prayed daily the troubles in the city would heal by then. But since the terrible events of last January, since Bloody Sunday, matters only seemed to be worsening in St. Petersburg.
Anna had hoped the end of the war with Japan would bring relief. In March, practically the entire Russian navy had been destroyed by the Japanese in Tsuhmia Straits. It was a horrible tragedy, but it had speeded up an armistice. By then, however, many in the military were so incensed by the disastrous and futile war that they were ripe for the rhetoric of the revolutionaries. In August, the tsar had enacted a new law establishing a parliamentary body called a Duma—if it were ever convened. According to Anna’s brother Paul, who was quite involved in political matters, the powers of this Duma would be rather limited. But people had been clamoring for representation for years. At least it was a step forward.
However, instead of the law bringing peace to Russia, it seemed to ignite the fires of revolt even more. When the Duma did not readily convene, the whole country erupted into chaos. This spontaneous revolt took everyone by surprise, even the revolutionaries. The outbreak was initiated not by political dissidents, but rather by the masses.
General strikes broke out not only in factories but everywhere. Even among doctors and bank clerks and the corps de ballet of the Maryinsky Theater. St. Petersburg had been all but crippled; food and fuel for heat grew scarce. The city’s water supply, substandard as it was, had nearly ceased, and had only been saved by locking in the workers. But electricity was gone, and at night the city looked as if it had reverted to the medieval times of Ivan the Terrible. A searchlight perched on top of the Admiralty Building and operated by naval generators gave some illumination to Nevsky Prospekt. Yet it still was unsafe to venture out into the city streets at night. Hope for things to improve before winter set in was becoming more and more remote.
The city was also plagued by the constant upheaval of street demonstrations, rallies, and the ever-present threat of violence. Many times Anna had considered returning to Katyk. But she didn’t want to be that far from her sons, who were in school. Besides, things had changed in Katyk too, and Anna’s ties there were growing more distant. Two months ago Mama Sophia had died. When Anna had returned with Paul and her daughter Mariana for the funeral, she had suddenly realized that she no longer belonged in the home of her birth. Her sister Vera was still there, of course, but they had never been close, and the years apart only emphasized that fact. The Burenin izba and small plot of land went by common assent to Vera’s eldest son, who now had his own little family.
Life had become unbearable in the city, but it was still home for Anna. The people she cared most about were there. Even if she sometimes felt as if her life had ended with Sergei’s death, her sons and adopted daughter had established themselves, and it seemed unfair to uproot them just for her own satisfaction. And oddly, Anna had no serious desire to leave St. Petersburg. The memories here were painful at times, but they were her only link to her dear Sergei. She wasn’t ready to cut herself off from them, and never would be.
Thus, one way or another, Anna managed to cope. She gave thanks to God when she felt good, when moments of happiness penetrated the gloom. And the other times . . . well, she was just learning how to accept them.
“Mama!”
Anna turned toward the familiar voice that somehow rose above the noisy sounds of the crowded market.
“Yuri! Whatever are you doing here?”
Elbowing his way through the crowd, Anna’s eldest son strode toward her. He seemed to have sprouted several inches in the last six months. Cutting a path through the mass of shoppers, he could have been a man, not a fifteen-year-old boy. But as he drew close, the smoothness of his beardless cheeks revealed his youthfulness. Still, he was already nearly as tall as his father had been, with a lean, strong figure. His resemblance to Sergei and the Fedorcenkos was still marked, even though, unlike Sergei, Yuri’s hair and eyes were dark brown. His high forehead and well-sculpted jaw bore all the pride of the family whose nobility predated even the Romanovs.
“You shouldn’t have to be spending your day in these lines,” said Yuri.
“It must be