Ever in My Heart
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Acknowledgements: How I long to have the faith of Abraham, or David, believing in God’s promises and his suffi- ciency! But I can be such a fickle lamb, forgetting the care and leading of my shepherd, baaing in fear or even despair when the skies overhead turn dark. Such was the situation when I wrote Oksana. Overwhelmed by deadlines and the awesome task of writing this story—a story of faith and courage, a story about a man and a woman who began three generations of faith—I stared at the blinking cursor of the computer and bawled. Thankfully, God is not fickle or afraid. He is sufficient and has the right words for every writer. As I pulled my laptop onto my lap and began tapping, one verse hung in my mind: “You are my witnesses,” declares the Lord, “and my servant who I have chosen, so that you may know and believe me and understand that I am he” (Isaiah 43:10 NIV). God is who He says He is—my provider, my sustainer, my encourager. And, as Oksana poured out onto the page, I saw this verse come alive in my life. Never had a story emerged with such passion from my heart as this one did. Never had I sensed God’s hand in writing more than in the birth of Oksana. Never did my faith grow as it did when I flung myself into God’s hands and lived out An- ton and Oksana’s story—a story of trusting God, one step at a time, believing in his faithfulness to all generations (or, all chapters, as the case may be!). I wish I could see ahead to my children’s lives, to know that they will walk in faith and that their lives will be fruitful for the Lord. But I can’t-I can only put them into God’s hands and walk faith- fully today. Oksana and Anton’s story has encouraged me that God is at work in this generation and the next. His faithfulness in my life has included the following people who have encouraged me on this journey: Susan K. Downs, thank you for participating in this journey for me and for being an instrument God uses to remind me of His faithfulness and blessings! I will forever be grateful for your friendship and the privilege of writing this series with you. Rebecca Germany and Barbour Publishers, for taking an idea that seemed a little outlandish and be- lieving in it. For making the heirs of Anton come to life and for believing in two writers with a heart for Russia. I am honored and blessed to work with you. Tracey Bateman, for walking this journey of faith with me and praying for me, and for being friend and encourager. God blessed me so much with your friendship. My children, David, Sarah, Peter, and Noah, who prayed with me and supported me. I am so proud to be your mother and watch you grow into children who love God. My sweet husband Andrew, who shows me every day what true courage is and what it means to love sacrificially. You are my hero and my prince. “Grow old with me . the best is yet to be!” EVER IN MY HEART SUSAN MAY WARREN HEIRS OF ANTON SERIES BOOK FOUR 1 Ever in My Heart © 2005 by Susan May Warren All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either prod- ucts of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, or- ganizations, and/or events is purely coincidental. Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Scripture quotations are also taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNA- TIONAL VERSION@. NIV®. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible So- ciety. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. For more information about Susan May Warren, please access the author’s websites at the following Internet addresses: www.susanmaywarren.com Printed in the United States of America. 54321 2 PROLOGUE PSALM 100:5 NIV - For the LORD is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations. ALEXANDER PALACE, TSARSKOE SELO SOUTH OF PETROGRAD, RUSSIA 27 FEBRUARY 1917 From the outside looking in, she lived the fairy tale—a peasant caught up in a princess life. But regardless of what the revolutionaries and dissidents thought about those who served the royal family, Oksana Nikolaevna Terekhova had endured her fair share of suf- fering in her twenty-plus years. She possessed no immunity from heartbreak, no royal dis- pensation of never-ending bliss. From the inside looking out, the fairy tale was fast turning into a tragedy before her very eyes. Starting with her hair. She still couldn’t bear to look in the mirror. True, the pinned damask drapes allowed in only the barest of light, but she could trace her appearance in her thoughts. Crude, bar- ren. Oksana ran her fingertips along her now naked scalp, stripped of its crowning glory. A bad case of the measles had caused her hair to fall out in clumps, and the mantle of sores that covered her had made it necessary for Yulia to shave Oksana’s head to keep the gooey discharge from caking what little of her hair remained. In the grand scheme of things, her humiliation should be of no consequence, she knew. She was just an orphan, raised to serve the needs of Romanov royalty. But she couldn’t help but think she’d die of embarrassment before her hair returned. If the measles or the revolutionists didn’t kill her first. Revolutionists. This morning’s news from Petrograd brought the bleak report that the capital city had fallen into rebel hands. The insurgent horde that fought to bring down the monarchy had already seized control of the village of Tsarskoe Selo. They now pushed toward the Alexan- der Palace grounds, intent on attacking the tsar’s residence. Had anyone bothered to tell the revolutionaries that Tsar Nikolai wasn’t at home? As if the threat of an imminent hostile coup wasn’t stress enough to bear, an outbreak of measles had erupted among the tsar’s children and confined them to bed. For over a week now, Oksana, too, had suffered from the disease, quarantined from all human con- tact save that of Yulia Petrovna, her fellow servant and best friend. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend away the humiliation and instead find herself cruising the Gulf of Finland on summer holiday. 3 The gentle scent of lilacs and lilies surrounded Oksana. She opened her eyes. The tsarina’s candle glowed in the chamber. Terror balled in her throat. A midnight visitation from Her Royal Majesty Tsarina Alexan- dra herself did not portend good news. Oksana’s eyes ached at the unaccustomed brightness. She swiped at her tears and struggled to rise. “Don’t get up, child. I know you’re ill.” The tsarina spoke in English, her voice as soft as the candle’s radiance. “Poor thing. You look just like my girls.” Both her choice of language and her tone added fresh credence to Oksana’s fears. What the tsarina had to say she must not want to have overheard and understood by a passing guard. However, that Oksana’s misery held such esteemed company served to ease her embarrassment at her wretched appearance. She eased back on her pillow. Dressed in her invariable Red Cross uniform, the tsarina looked more apparition than human—pallid in color, cadaverous in form. She set her candle on the nightstand then perched herself on the bedside chair. “I regret having to disturb you when you’re so sick.” Oksana recoiled beneath the royal’s scrutiny. Her fever welled in her chest. Why was Her Majesty staring at her? No, not at her. Through her. The tsarina shook off her trance and reclaimed her thought. “But our present circum- stance dictates that I speak with you.” She sighed and looked away. “I’ll try to be brief.” The flickering candlelight sent the tsarina’s silhouette on a nightmarish dance across the ceiling and ornate plaster walls. “We all pray this season of rebellion is soon suppressed and order restored to our land, but in the event such is not ordained…” Oksana’s pulse roared in her ears. She swallowed hard. Did the tsarina truly believe this rebellion, this affront to everything noble and just, might overtake, even overthrow so many centuries of holy rule? Tsarina Aleksandra’s gaze fixed on her hands. She smoothed and picked at the folds of her uniform. “As you know, the tsar is a thorough and deliberate man, and although he, as do I, places his full trust in our troops’ strength and abilities to protect us, he feels we should prepare for any eventuality. I’m certain, as always, I can trust in your discretion concerning any matter we discuss.” “Of course, Your Majesty.” Oksana’s reply came out wobbly and weak. She cleared her throat and started to reiterate. “I—” The tsarina spoke over her. “Child, I’ve come to extend an offer to release you from service to our family.” All remaining color drained from the royal mother’s face, save the deep burgundy circles that ringed her eyes. “You must flee to safety while the opportunity for such action still exists.” 4 “No—” Oksana’s protest barely made it past her lips.