The Passion of Marie Romanov by Laura Rose

Author:Laura Rose [Rose, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Memoir House
Published: 2014-04-28T04:00:00+00:00

STOPPING BY RASPUTIN’S HOUSE AT POKROVSKOYE

We were bone-tired in the morning but were roused, as usual, before dawn and forced from the new warm beds. The horses rebelled; they too were exhausted, and it was decided to change them at the next village.

Mama and I slept in the tarantass, despite the discomfort. Exhaustion won over pain; it was a mercy. I had strange dreams that I was home in my own room but my bed was being carried by soldiers. I think the mind tries to explain all discomfort and this is a great trick!

It was no dream though when the tarantass halted so abruptly that I bolted awake. I was not quite conscious and I needed a moment to recall the upsets, the farewells with my sisters and Alexei, our departure from Tobolsk, the frights of the river crossing.

What was next in store?

***

The carriages stopped beside a carved wooden peasant’s house and Mama recognized the building before it was announced. “Grigory” she said in one breath, his name expressed as a sob. “That is the home of our friend Grigory.”

Mama was moaning—she whispered a prayer in my ear. I nodded. She prayed for Grigory’s soul, that he had found peace after death in the kingdom of heaven, that he had escaped the torments of our lives on earth. How strange, that we should stop here before the house of the man who so influenced our destiny.

I thought of “our friend” Grigory, who met his end under the half-frozen Neva. White-grey mists rose from the frozen snow and river ice. I could feel “our friend’s” spirit. It was the odd fate that we stopped here—at this exact and special place, to change the horses. “Our friend” Grigory lived here—Grigory Efimovitch raised his own family there in the plain wooden house, with its hand-carved shutters and green painted trim.

Grigory foretold that we would pass his home in Siberia, as he foretold so much that would befall us. Let us pray, that his other predictions—what horror they foretold—shall not also come to pass. I will not speak aloud the last of Grigory’s predictions, as I believe that the spoken threat comes true.

An even more mysterious event occurred as the exhausted horses were exchanged for fresh. Grigory’s family—his wife, widowed now, and two of his children appeared framed in the window —a family portrait of longing. They were ghosts as well. Could they recognize us from this distance? Their faces seemed to blanche before our eyes. Was this not another omen? That those who wished our salvation were, in fact, watching us—not only our captors but also those whose fates became entwined with our own?

Mama looked as if she might weep. Did his widow and children know of Grigory’s extended torturous murder? How was it that a man could be poisoned, stabbed, shot and still not die? I heard the guards whisper what Mama and Papa tried to shield us from knowing—that “our friend” Grigory was thrown into the river, still alive. He had been roped yet had freed his hand—some say he tried to make the sign of the cross as he died.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.