Travail and Triumph by Michael Phillips

Author:Michael Phillips [Phillips, Michael and Judith Pella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction, FIC042030, FIC042000, FIC026000
ISBN: 9781441229762
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2017-09-20T00:00:00+00:00

43

Paul dashed the back of his hand across his eyes as he hastily made his retreat from St. Andrew’s Church.

The same thoughts that at the moment were in his sister’s mind were crossing his also. But he knew they’d both be better off if this were their last meeting.

What he’d said about the police arresting her and the family because of his revolutionary activities was a real enough danger. He had spoken a true fear, and that was sufficient reason in itself for avoiding all future contact. He had known that very thing to happen to the innocent families of others.

There was more than that, of course.

It tore him apart every time he thought of, much less laid eyes on his sister. It stirred too many longings in him that were best forgotten. The warm security of being surrounded by a loving family was not to be his lot in life. It was absurd to put himself through such torture.

Thus he put as much distance as he could between him and Anna, and did so quickly, walking away from the church as if the devil himself were on his tail.

He was panting freely by the time he reached Maly Prospect. His exhaustion came as much from lack of nourishment as from the swiftness of his pace. He continued on for a few more blocks, then stopped for a rest. He found a small courtyard between two dilapidated tenements, slipped inside, and sat down next to a pile of garbage. A rat scurried past, but he hardly noticed. He had long ago become accustomed to their inevitable presence.

Paul tore open Anna’s bundle and silently applauded his concession in taking it. Inside, neatly wrapped, were a large loaf of stout brown bread, a rich hunk of cheese, and several plump red apples. He finished off half the contents in less than ten minutes. The rest he put in his pockets for later. He rose and started again on his way.

He walked another hour or two, until well past dark. Roaming the city streets seemed to be his chief occupation of late. There was little else for a homeless fugitive to do. He could stop for a while here or there. But remaining too long in one place could get him arrested just as easily for vagrancy as sedition.

Mostly he frequented back streets and poor neighborhoods where his presence would go unnoticed. He seldom went to the same place twice if he could help it, at least not on successive days, and never showed his face anywhere he had lived prior to the assassination.

When he had first come to the city he lived just this sort of aimless, homeless existence. He had known so little then! Had it not been for Kazan, it was doubtless he would have survived at all that first winter. But now he knew the ropes, and it was a good thing. For his life depended on his experience in a far more profound way than it did back then.

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