by Gale Sears
“Are you cold?” Arel asked.
“No. I sometimes think of the past . . . bad memories I want to forget.”
A Red Guard passed close by and Arel adjusted his hat, turned away from him, and looked out across the river.
“Father said he should have your new papers any day.”
Arel nodded.
“I wish you hadn’t been so stubborn about staying. You could be leaving today with your brothers and sister for Helsinki. You could be seeing your parents.”
“Yes, I miss them. But trust me, dear one, it is no hardship staying here with you.”
“But you would be safer in Finland.”
“And much lonelier. You need to stay here, so here is where I stay.” He took her in his arms. “Now, enough. We have been over this before. And remember, you’re a Lindlof now, and we Lindlofs trust in the Lord.” When she didn’t respond, he whispered in her ear, “When the time is right, we’ll see them again.”
She nodded. “I love your family, Arel. I wish we could all live here together. Live in the country we love.”
Arel held her tightly and looked out across the river. “Perhaps someday.” He brought out his pocket watch and checked the time. “It’s time to meet them in the Summer Garden,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.
They turned reluctantly from their moment of solitude and immediately Natasha felt sadness and anxiety press in.
As they reached the gate into the garden, the beauty of the place overwhelmed her and Natasha found it difficult to control her emotions. The leaves of the elm and maple trees were dazzling in various shades of yellow, amber, and red, and when periodic shafts of sunlight broke through the clouds, the ground shimmered in a golden glow.
They met in the place where Elder Lyman had given the prayer for Russia. Andre Andreyevitch stood off to one side of the small courtyard as the family embraced. Natasha could tell that he was keeping watch for anyone or anything suspicious. Alexandria put down her carry sack and hugged Natasha so enthusiastically that they both nearly fell. Alexandria’s body was bulky with layers of clothing, and Natasha knew it was the only way to ensure they wouldn’t be stolen or confiscated along the way.
Johannes looked about the area, his expression unreadable. “Was it so many years ago?”
Arel nodded. “You were what—fifteen or sixteen?”
“Fifteen. Remember Elder Lyman said that I was about the same age as Joseph Smith when he received the First Vision.”
Natasha smiled. Visions, angels, and golden bibles.
“That’s right,” Oskar said. “What a glorious prayer.”
“Will we ever see that Russia?”
Oskar put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I don’t know, Johannes.”
Arel took Natasha’s hand. “I remember how Erland cried because he felt the love Elder Lyman had for us.”
“Yes, and I gave him my handkerchief to wipe his grubby face.”
“And Mother made that enormous meal for everyone.”
They all stood silent, and Natasha knew they were reminiscing about that day, and thinking about the days to come.
Andre Andreyevitch came and stood beside Johannes. “We should be going.”
Johannes nodded and extended his hand to the man who had brought them through so much. “Thank you, Andre Andreyevitch. Thank you.” The two embraced as Oskar thumped him on the back.
Andre Andreyevitch stood back and chuckled. “Now I know why you were the best logger on your team.”
Oskar grinned.
Johannes approached Natasha. He took her hand away from Arel and held it gently. She could see that emotion was keeping him from forming the words he wanted to say.
“It’s all right, Johannes. I understand.”
“No, I need to tell you. It was wrong of me to judge your heart. I’m sorry.” He looked into her face. “My sister loved you. She loved you.”
She nodded and he gave her a brief hug. “Come to Helsinki . . . when you can. When the European war is over and the fighting in Russia is done . . . come to us.”
“Yes, Johannes. We will.”
Arel looked earnestly into his brother’s eyes. “Tell Father and Mother . . . tell them . . . I . . .”
Johannes nodded. “I’ll tell them.”
They all exchanged final embraces, and then the travelers gathered their meager belongings and walked from the park. Arel and Natasha watched them go, strengthening and comforting each other without words and without tears. Finally Arel spoke.
“I have a riddle.”
Natasha smiled. “Yes?”
Arel nodded. “What can’t you see that is always before you?”
Natasha fought to contain her emotions. “The future,” she whispered.
“So, I guess we’ll just have to leave things in God’s hands.”
“A safe place.”
“Amazing how hearts can change.”
“It’s your father’s doing, you know. He tricked me with that little blue book of philosophy.”
Arel chuckled and held her around the waist. “He just wanted to offer you another way of looking at things.”
“Indeed.”
“And you’ve given my heart another way of looking at things.”
“Who would have thought that one of those obnoxious Lindlof boys—”
“Who teased you without pity.”
“Who teased me without pity,” Natasha agreed, “would one day be my husband.”
“You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think we should go and visit the statue of Ivan Krylov.”
Natasha brightened. “Oh, yes. I love his statue. It reminds me of when we were children.”
They quickened their pace until they were both running in the crisp, autumn air. As they approached the statue, they were enchanted by the halo of golden leaves framing the storyteller’s form. The bronze figure of Ivan Krylov sat reading one of his books, looking much too serious for a teller of children’s stories, but perhaps, Natasha thought, he was reading the part where one of the characters in the story is in trouble, or perhaps he’d come to the end of the book where the attendant child learns a lesson.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Natasha said breathlessly.
“It is.”
Next to them stood a young lad with his face pressed to the iron bars of the fence, obviously mesmerized by the charming iron animals that cavorted around the pedestal of the statue. Natasha smiled down at him. “Do you like his stories?”
The boy looked up at her, and Natasha felt her heart dance for the beauty of the child: his blue eyes full of innocence, his round face beaming, and a mass of honey-colored curls peeking from under his little blue cap. In one of his chubby hands he carried a large bouquet of colorful autumn leaves, some almost as large as his head.
“Lion!” the little boy squealed, pointing at the fierce lion at the corner of the statue.
“Yes, a big lion,” Natasha answered. “And where’s the fox?” The boy pointed. “And the bear?” His blue eyes searched past the dog and the sheep and the monkey until he found the bear playing a cello.
“He’s a funny bear,” the boy giggled.
Natasha nodded. “Yes, he is funny, but he must also be very smart.”
“Oh, he is smart!” the cherub replied. “He can play music and he can dance.” The boy turned in several circles as Arel and Natasha laughed.
“Kolya!” a woman called.
“That’s my mother. We’re going to pray at my father’s grave.”
Natasha reached out and tucked a curl under the boy’s cap. “I’m sorry your father died, Kolya.”
The curly head bobbed several times. “But he’s in heaven with God, and it�
��s nice there.”
Kolya’s mother came up to them. “I’m sorry. I hope he wasn’t bothering you.”
“No, of course not,” Natasha said.
“He’s a beautiful boy,” Arel added.
“Thank you. He brings me joy every day.” She took her son’s hand. “Come on, time to go.” She gave a little bow to Arel and Natasha. “Good day.”
Kolya bowed too. “Good day. God give you peace.”
Natasha and Arel smiled at him. Kolya stopped halfway down the path to wave his handful of leaves at them.
“What an angel,” Natasha whispered.
Arel held out his hand to her and she took it. “Never let go.”
“Never.”
“Time to leave.”
She felt peaceful as they walked through the park towards home. Somewhere from the fringes of the park came a rich tenor voice singing the Internationale.
Then, comrades, come rally
And the last fight let us face,
The Internationale,
Unites the human race.
She looked over at Arel and he gave her a crooked smile. “I don’t know the words or I’d sing along.” She laughed. “I could sing a hymn.”
What can’t you see that is always before you? Perhaps it wasn’t necessary to see the future, but only to know that there was a Father who waited for His children to reach out their hands to Him.
The song faded from their hearing as they neared the main gate. A cold breeze rustled the golden leaves and Natasha tied her scarf more tightly around her neck.
Arel beamed over at her. “Did you hear that?” he asked.
“What?”
“Listen carefully.”
Natasha smiled. “Ah, yes. Mother Russia is whispering.”
Notes
1. Six Lindlof children were sent to the work camps, some of whom remained incarcerated for ten years. Two daughters are known to have died in prison. In 1928, LDS missionaries from the Swedish Mission visited the remaining Lindlof family in Finland and found only Brother and Sister Lindlof and one daughter, Linda Alise. Arel was the only sibling sent to the work camps who survived. He eventually married a Russian woman and lived the rest of his life in Russia. He has descendants living in the United States. The fate of the other three Lindlof children is a mystery.
2. In 1988, Soviet premier Mikhail Gorbachev broke with Soviet ideology and its traditional stand against religious worship and allowed the Russian people to have a religious celebration honoring one thousand years of Christianity.
In April 1990, Elder Russell M. Nelson offered a prayer of rededication in the Summer Gardens in St. Petersburg.
In July 1990, the Helsinki East Mission was responsible for sending missionaries into Russia. In February 1992, this mission became the Russia Moscow Mission. At the same time, the Russia St. Petersburg Mission was formed.
In 1998, an LDS temple was announced and is currently under construction in Kiev, Ukraine. The temple site is only six miles from the place where, in 996 a.d., Prince Vladimir erected the Church of the Tithes.
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