Read an Excerpt

Journey

Chapter 1

Black smoke coughed from the engine's smokestack, streaking the clear summer sky with an ugly ribbon, like a battle scar. The train was passing through the heart of Siberia now. The Urals, with their lovely green foothills and meadows covered with violets and kingcups, had been left behind long ago. With Europe left far behind as well, a new world had opened up before the mighty iron engine of the Trans-Siberian Railway.

At least it seemed so to Mariana Remizov, who had never before traveled beyond St. Petersburg.

The flowery steppes and black earth of Tiumen had been followed by the dismal city of Omsk, on a sandy plain populated as much by huge mosquitos as by people. Then had come the flooded Barabinskaya Steppe. In spite of the swarms of insects, the steppe was like a wonderland to Mariana. Lakes and swamps bubbled up from the earth in an eerie fashion. Water surrounded farms, and sometimes even whole villages looked like floating islands. Amazed, Mariana had gazed for hours out the dusty train window at the scenes.

Abruptly the steppe had given way to woodlands, then the taiga. This vast primeval forest, which appeared as if it had never seen the blade of an axe, made Mariana realize just how small the Russia she had always known was, and how much more there was to her beloved Motherland. She had passed through the virgin forest as if in a dream, its swampy mists enveloping her with darkness and cold. She wondered if the sun ever penetrated the thick canopy of foliage.

Several breakdowns on the way, causing hours of delays, had provided Mariana ample opportunity to view the countryside. The trip across Siberia should onlytake fifteen days, but she had already been en route for more than two weeks, and she was still less than two-thirds of the way to her destination.

The train was approaching Irkutsk—"the pearl of Siberia," as it was called. No doubt Mariana would only catch a quick glimpse of the "pearl" as the train made another quick stop at the station and then resumed its course. There was so much to see, and so little time. It would take a dozen lifetimes to experience everything Russia had to offer.

Even with all the changes of scenery and the interminable drone of the train beneath her, Mariana could still hardly believe she was more than three thousand miles from home. But she had made her decision, and there was no turning back. Not that she wanted to turn back. This was one of the greatest adventures of her life, almost as life-changing as the day she had left her adopted parents' peasant izba in Katyk for the big city of St. Petersburg.

Mariana could hardly believe the direction her life had taken. She had grown up in Katyk as the peasant daughter of Anna and Sergei Christinin. Life in the village was simple and satisfying, and Mariana could not have imagined anything else.

Mariana had always known that Anna and Sergei were not her real parents, but her aunt and uncle. They had told her she was the daughter of Princess Katrina Fedorcenko, Sergei's sister, who died in childbirth. When her father, Count Dmitri Remizov eventually returned, the time had come for her to take her rightful place in Russian society.

That first giant step had sent her catapulting through many new and exciting and frightening experiences. She had not only gone from country girl to city girl; she had leaped from peasant to countess in the blink of an eye. And once she had made that move, each successive step became easier. Now she hungered for adventure—she who had once been content with the prospect of spending all her days in sleepy old Katyk!

Her mama Anna told her it must be from the blood of her real mother, Katrina, that flowed in her veins. Katrina had had such a zest for life, Anna said. She was afraid of nothing, always confident to enter a new situation with gusto. Of course Mariana's real father, Dmitri, had no small part in this also. Stories of his wild exploits, especially in his youth, always left Mariana in awe.

Mariana wasn't quite so audacious. She had to admit to some fear of what lay ahead, but, as when she left Katyk, her fear was mingled with anticipation. Mama Anna had told her that her apprehension was a positive sign.

"The fear shows your maturity, Mariana; it says you have good sense. But you don't let your fear control you. It doesn't keep you from a new challenge."

Mama Anna had spoken those words with tears rising in her eyes. Certainly, a good part of Mariana's courage had come not by blood but by a lifetime spent in the loving care of a woman who had met and conquered her own share of fears and challenges. Mariana knew it must have been hard for Anna to let her adopted daughter travel halfway around the world, undoubtedly to encounter many dangers and hardships. Yet Anna had often said that the goal of parenting was to raise children so they could eventually step out on their own. Her own dear papa, Yevno, had taught her that much.

Yes, Mariana had matured in many ways in the years since she left Katyk. People seemed to think she was pretty and were always admiring her smooth skin, dark hair, and green eyes—her mother's eyes, people now said. But her hair was apt to be pulled back into a practical bun, and long hours of study indoors had left her skin pale and her eyes weak. She was forced to wear eyeglasses most of the time.

She was twenty-three years old and still unmarried—a fact that never failed to amaze others, especially those from her village where girls were usually married by age fifteen or sixteen. As Countess Mariana Remizov, she had numerous suitors from the best families in St. Petersburg. But she had too much to see and do before she could commit her life to another. Singleness didn't bother Mariana at all, for it was her choice.

Papa Sergei commended her self-awareness, although her real father, Dmitri, was beside himself with fear that his only daughter might become an old maid. Her grandmother, Eugenia, was outraged.

"How can you throw your life away, after all I have done for you!" the woman had ranted.

Dmitri was more tender: "Dear child, you are so beautiful, so lovely ... it is such a waste."

"Just because I'm not married?" Mariana had replied with some affront—perhaps she had been spending too much time with the liberal women at the medical school. "That doesn't mean my life is wasted, Père. I'm doing something valuable and important with my life—helping others."

"But you could do that if you were married."

"Would I have the freedom to follow this call to the East, if I were married? I don't think so."

"Oh, don't even mention that, my dear!"

Mariana knew that her father wished she were married just so she couldn't go on what he called "this fool's journey of hers." He wanted her safe and secure on the estate of some count or prince, surrounded by babies, and booked up with parties and concerts and ladies' luncheons. A life like his mother's—a life that, once the initial glamor had dimmed, had become increasingly empty and meaningless to Mariana.

Thoughts of marriage had, in fact, been a little more frequent lately. She even told herself that as soon as the war was over, she would seriously pursue that path. She did want someone special in her life, and after this current adventure, she would be ready to give up her freedom for him, whoever he might be.

But a hunger after adventure wasn't the only reason for her hesitancy. She had to wonder if her spinsterhood was also because she had been unable to find a suitor who interested her. She had fallen into the annoying habit of comparing all men to one particular cocky American. She had neither seen nor heard from Daniel Trent in nearly four years, yet he still managed to intrude into her life, especially when she was introduced to an eligible male. She had met many handsome young men who were far better looking than that wiry little American with his perpetual smirk, probing eyes, unruly brown hair, and that silly cleft in his chin. But none who had been more exciting, more stimulating, more—

More self-centered, arrogant, and insensitive, Mariana reminded herself sharply. Hadn't he deceived her and won her friendship in order to write a story about her for his newspaper?

Still, he seemed sincere in repenting of that error. When they had spoken before he left Russia to return to America and his sick father, he had seemed so contrite. By then, though, it was too late. He would be thousands of miles away, and she was embarking upon a new life at the St. Petersburg Medical School for Women. It was hardly a good time to begin a romantic relationship.

She had written to him once in America but never received a response. Perhaps she should have been more persistent, but she had been hurt by his silence and it seemed best to surrender to fate. No doubt he was getting on with his life without her, and she resigned herself to do the same. And, after four years, it was apparent she would never see him again.

Why, then, couldn't she forget him? Was there something to what she had once read about "soul-mates," two people who just fit together, who had the right ingredients to perfectly complement the other? She had felt that way with Daniel—that is, before his newspaper article had ruined everything.

Well, if for no other reason, this journey of hers, this adventure, would be just the right thing to distract her mind from a hopeless romance, once and for all.

Just then the train jerked to a sudden stop. Mariana was thrown hard against the back of the seat ahead of her. Several other passengers were pitched from their seats entirely, one crashing into Mariana before landing in the aisle.

Excerpted from:
The Dawning of Deliverance (The Russians) by Judith Pella
Copyright © 1995, Judith Pella
ISBN:0764225251, 1556613598
Published by Bethany House Publishers
Used by permission. Unauthorized duplication prohibited.