Passage into Light (The Russians Book #7) , livre ebook

Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 1998 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 978-1-4412-2971-7
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 Tracie Peterson, whose enthusiasm is so very refreshing, and whose friendship is a true blessing!
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Cast of Characters
Part I: Ashes to Ashes
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
Part II: July Days
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
Part III: Revolutions and Rebirth
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Part IV: New Allies, Old Enemies
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
Part V: Plans and Deceptions
35
36
37
38
39
40
Part VI: Passages
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
Dasvidaniya . . .
About the Author
Books by Judith Pella
Cast of Characters
( IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE )
Andrei Sergeiovich Fedorcenko—a.k.a. Andrei Christinin, Malenkiy Soldat, Ivan. Son of Anna and Sergei, younger brother of Yuri.
Sonja Morozovna—Andrei’s friend.
Rudy Gruenwald—Andrei’s friend.
Anna Fedorcenko Grigorov—nee Burenin. Mother of Andrei, Yuri and Mariana. Widow of Sergei, wife of Misha.
Raisa Sorokin—Anna’s roommate and close friend, and mother of Talia.
Daniel Trent—American reporter, husband of Mariana.
Mariana Trent—nee Remizov. Wife of Daniel, adopted daughter of Anna.
Children of Mariana and Daniel—John, Katrina, Zenia.
Yuri Sergeiovich Fedorcenko—son of Anna and Sergei, brother of Andrei.
Cyril Karlovich Vlasenko—relative and nemesis of Fedorcenkos, one time member of the Imperial Ministry.
Katya Fedorcenko—wife of Yuri.
Nicholas Romanov—former tsar of Russia.
Alexandra Romanov—former tsaritsa of Russia.
Children of the Romanovs—Olga, Marie, Tatiana, Anastasia, Alexis.
Bruce McDuff—a.k.a. Lord Findochty and “Finkie.” British aristocrat and supporter of Russian monarchy.
Paul Burenin—brother of Anna, revolutionary, associate of Kerensky.
Alexander Kerensky—a.k.a. Sasha. Minister of Justice, later Minister of War and finally, Prime Minister of the Provisional Government.
Stephan Kaminsky—Lenin’s bodyguard, formerly a friend of the Burenins and one-time suitor of Mariana.
Vladimir Ilyich Lenin—leader of the Bolshevik Party.
Dr. Eugene Botkin—physician to the tsar, friend of Yuri.
Prince Viktor Fedorcenko—grandfather to Yuri, Andrei, and Mariana. Father of Sergei.
Lev Trotsky—leader in Bolshevik Party, Lenin’s right-hand man.
Sergei Viktorvich Fedorcenko—deceased father of Yuri and Andrei.
Lt. Boris Soloviev—head of a monarchist organization involved in rescue of the tsar.
Monarchist soldiers assisting Daniel—Melink, Sedov, Pitovranov, Karloff.
Count Wilhelm Mirbach—German ambassador.
Yakov Sverdlov—president of the Central Executive Committee of the All Russian Congress of Soviets.
Vasily Yakovlev—Soviet Commissar and head of military unit sent to move the tsar.
Misha Grigorov—husband to Anna.
Dmitri Remizov—birth father to Mariana.
Yakov Yurovsky—head executioner.
Part I: Ashes to Ashes
1
The cold clamped down upon Andrei’s fallen form as insistently as the pain and fear that gripped his soul. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness, but he knew the next time oblivion struck would be the last. He literally felt the life ebbing from his body.
“Mama . . .” he murmured, not even certain if sound accompanied the word.
“I’m here now, my dear one,” came an ethereal voice out of the dark shadows surrounding him.
Was he only imagining that voice as he’d thought he’d imagined Talia calling her kitty? Then hands began to jostle him. Had his attackers returned? Would they kill him now by manhandling his pain-wracked body? It certainly felt as if that were their intent. He cried out when a particularly sharp movement wrenched his side where the gunshot wound had penetrated.
“Stop! Rudy, we are only making it worse for him.”
That was the same voice Andrei had heard soothing him a moment ago, a female. Was it the voice of a rescuer rather than an attacker?
“You fetched me out in this wretched storm to save this man,” answered a male voice. “Let’s get on with it.”
“But every movement pains him so.”
“Better for him to suffer now than to lie here and freeze to death. And I tell you, Sonja Morozovna, though he may die from his injuries, he certainly will perish if left in this storm any longer.”
“Oh, but my Ivan cannot die. . . .” The woman brushed gentle fingers against Andrei’s cheek.
“He isn’t Ivan. . . .”
“What . . . ?”
“Never mind that, Sonja, let’s just get him moved. I’ll grip him under the arms and try to drag him as much as possible. You mind his feet. I don’t know how we’ll get him up two flights of stairs to your flat, but even if we leave him in the entryway of the building, it will afford him some protection from the elements.”
“His bed is all ready for him with fresh, clean sheets. I knew he’d come home soon. I am ready for him. I have a nice ham in the oven baking. . . .”
“Ah, Sonja,” sighed Rudy, “if you have a ham in these times, or even clean sheets, I will give up my atheism and consider the possibility of a God.”
Sonja made no response but to whisper words of encouragement to Andrei. “Dear boy, it will hurt for a bit. It can’t be helped . . . be brave and strong, then you will be safe in your mama’s home.”
“Mama . . . you are here, then . . . ?” breathed Andrei.
“Always, child. I will not leave . . . and you will not leave me again.”
The two rescuers began again the difficult and excruciating process of moving Andrei. Mercifully, he blacked out after a few minutes.

It took a lot longer than it would have in normal conditions to traverse the alley, round the corner, and cover the few yards to the building’s front entrance. But Rudy was not a large man, and he was a scholar, not a laborer, so he was hardly conditioned to move two hundred-plus pounds of dead weight even a short distance. Once they left the shelter of the alley, the wind and falling snow impaired their vision, and the icy ground caused them to slip and slide several times before they reached the steps to the building. And those five steps up might just as well have been a mountain. At least the doorman, who had disappeared when the revolution began, was not there to question them. Everyone knew all doormen in Russia were agents of the Okhrana.
By the time Andrei’s body was deposited in a corner of the inside entryway, as far from the door as possible, Rudy felt certain they were merely transporting a corpse. He had completed three years of medical school before he had been expelled for political reasons, but he did not need those years of instruction to tell him that no one in this man’s condition could survive such treatment. He was shocked when he bent over the body and felt Andrei’s chest rise and fall. True it was only a slight movement, but unmistakable nonetheless. The man was still alive!
“Well, he made it this far, Sonja!” said Rudy, clasping his frozen, gloved hands together to warm them.
“Of course,” Sonja replied. “Did you ever doubt it? Now the stairs—”
“Hold it! I will die if I have to lug this bear to your flat. Leave him here for the night, and in the morning we can get more help. It will be easier, anyway, to transport him to a hospital from here.”
“A hospital . . . ?” Sonja shook her head. “I will not let my Ivan leave me again. Besides, I can nurse him better than any stranger in a hospital could.”
“You may be right there,” said Rudy, “especially in these times. But still it can wait till tomorrow—”
“No! I will get help now. He has come so far to get home.” She spun around and rushed up the stairs.
Sonja Morozovna was about fifty years of age, though she looked much older. Her frame was petite and slightly bent in the shoulders, but she moved with amazing speed and agility. If only her mind were as quick and able as her body. But the last few years had taken a terrible toll on her. Rudy remembered her in happier days when her family filled the flat on the second floor and there was always laughter and life in her home. Though working-class folks, they were never as poor as most because her husband was a skilled weaver. Sonja, a hardworking, industrious woman, brought in additional income by selling fine handmade lace items. She was generous, though, with her bounty. Rudy and many of the other neighbors had often enjoyed her fresh bread or the sweets she loved to bake.
Three years of war destroyed all that. Her husband and two eldest sons were killed in the first year of fighting. Her youngest son, Ivan, overcome with grief, ran away and joined the army against her wishes. He was killed in the fall of 1916, less than six months ago. Sonja’s sanity had already begun to deteriorate. She simply did not have the stamina to face a grim, dark, lonely world with a future that promised only more heartache. Ivan’s death sent her completely over the edge. Perhaps that was a mercy. In her clouded mind the world had not changed. Why, she even continued to bake bread for her neighbors—not real bread, of course, for there was not enough flour for that. Wearing a smile that was an empty shadow of her former happiness, she would offe