Waking Anastasia (20 page)

Eventually the feast was served and Jerry climbed up on a stool and ate at the island while Ana cleaned up. Every so often she would blow him a kiss and he would grab it out of the air and stuff it in his shirt pocket. The entire time Al Green, Ben E. King, Amanda Marshall, and Moxy Fruvous serenaded them from the laptop. By the time Moxy Fruvous’ Dave Matheson was telling the tale about when he was the King of Spain, Jerry’s hunger was sated, and Ana had loaded and started the dishwasher, and was trying to open Photoshop on the laptop.

“I found this program. I do not want to shop for photographs, but am hoping it will allow me to look at them on a device larger than the camera. Is this correct?”

“Sure.” Jerry picked up the SLR and popped the SD card out. “But that program is best for manipulating—changing—your images. If you just want to see how they look, nice and big, follow me.” He took the card over to the big LCD screen, slipped it into a slot on the side and then took Ana by the hand back to the couch where the remote control was. Making sure she could see which buttons he pushed, Jerry cued up the disk and started the slide show. Ana giggled and clapped her hands when the images first popped up, but she quickly became critical of her own work, condemning blurry images or ones not properly lit. Jerry got a kick out of listening to her express frustration in the same way he did with his own photos, but eventually he had to call it quits and get some sleep.

@o@TheTaoOfJerr: “Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent.”

~Victor Hugo

A GENTLE TOUCH
brought Jerry out of an oddly dreamless sleep. He’d only closed his eyes to ward off the headache he felt creeping up, but exhaustion had snuck up behind him and dragged him down.

“Wha—”

“Just me, my Sweet.”

Jerry blinked the mental blanket away and sat up, slowly. “What’s up, Shvibzik?”

“I would like to go to church, please.”

“Really?”

“I remember something about the Russian calendar changing the year I died, but it is still Christmas time and I would very much like to say a prayer for my family. I—” Tears welled up in her eyes. Jerry opened his arms and she slipped into his embrace, her face snuggled into his neck. Her body shook gently as she wept. Jerry held her close, not knowing what else to do. If there were such a thing as a relationship handbook, he was pretty damned sure comforting a royal ghost wasn’t covered by it. He kissed the top of her head and let her emotions run.

After a short time, Ana lifted her head, wiped her eyes, and pulled out of Jerry’s arms. “Thank you, sweet Jerry. I am quite ready, now.”

“For church?”

“Yes, please.”

He glanced over at the laptop and could clearly see a Google map on the screen. “I’m guessing you know which one.”

“Of course. I did my research before I disturbed your slumber. St. Sophia would have been perfect, as I am Russian Orthodox, but they are not open today. Instead, I would like to visit Christ Church Cathedral, even though it is Anglican. It is quite close and in the photographs it appears grand and beautiful.”

“Sounds good. Christ Church it is, then. I’ll put on something nicer than a sweatshirt and jeans.”

“I’m most certain God doesn’t give a whit about your attire, only about your intention.”

Jerry chuckled. “Oh, you are
not
going to get along with my mother at all.
What
we wore to church was far more important than what was in our hearts. It wasn’t about faith or religion; it was about social appearances. You should have heard the muttering in the congregation when the new priest arrived with his family. The two boys had
long
hair, and his wife was a
dyed
blonde. It was scandalous in the eyes of my mother and her church ladies.” He switched out his sweatshirt for a dressier sweater.

“Whether or not your mother and I are in accord on matters of church and fashion, I most certainly hope to one day meet her.”

“Some day, maybe.” Yeah, that’s what he wanted: his humourless mother meeting the girl who resided in a book of poetry. God help him if the two of them were ever in the same room together.

“Jerry?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you certain you are feeling able to come with me? It is only six or seven blocks—I can easily walk there and back again.” She slipped into her coat and placed the book in the inside pocket.

“Don’t be silly. I should say a few prayers myself. Oddly enough, I find churches very comforting.”

“That is not at all odd. God’s house
should
be comforting.”

“What’s odd is that I’m not a real fan of the services or the Hallelujah-choir-thing, I just enjoy sitting in peace, feeling the slow pulse of the place, thinking that in that single instant of time, God and I actually understand each other. Of course, just when I think I’m about to have my epiphany—life, the universe, and everything—someone interrupts and asks me if I’m joining them in the Parish Hall for coffee.”

“
Coffee
? Oh, I would dearly love to taste coffee once again. My kingdom for a coffee—
and a cigarette
.”

“You
smoke
?”

“Smoked. Once upon a time, and it got me into no end of trouble.”

“You little imp.”

“
Exactly
.”

Jerry held the door open for Ana and flicked off the light switch, leaving the Christmas tree and the laptop to give the loft a warm glow. “How about we drive? Do you think you could navigate?”

She held up a folded piece of paper and smiled. “I printed a map, silly goose.”

JERRY’S RESEARCH HAD
revealed that Ana had been raised amongst some of the most beautiful structures in the world, like the massive, columned, white, green, and gold Winter Palace, and the five-storey, heavily gilded Mariinsky Theatre, so he really didn’t expect a 20
th
century Anglican church to impress her; but she stood in the nave, looking down the length of the cathedral, her tears running down her cheeks and vanishing once they fell free of her face. He felt so humbled by the immenseness that he was near tears himself.

“Jerry, it is so
beautiful
,” she whispered. “In Russia everything is gilded this, and solid-gold that, to make it shine and sparkle, but what has been done here with grey stone and dark wood and arches and vaults is . . . the raw, primitive power of God the Father.”

“Yeah. Wow.” Soft, elaborate pipe organ filled the air while they stared at the dozens of pillars arranged in four rows down the length of the cathedral, the dozen or so astounding stained glass windows filtering the crisp afternoon light, and sharp-peaked archway after vault after archway, all the way up to the roof, far above them. Alternating with the pillars were tall, white-lit Christmas trees, magnificent in their simplicity. Jerry was stunned. The nave had to be almost a hundred feet across and a hundred and fifty long, he estimated. It was the biggest non-sports arena space he’d ever been in, and yet, even with no more than twenty or thirty people scattered throughout the pews, it seemed as comfortable and intimate as his Aunt Mavis’s sitting room.

Ana stepped forward, lowered herself to her knees, and stretched out, prostrate. Her forehead touched the stone floor with a soft thump, but no one seemed to notice. Jerry bowed his head, crossed himself, and waited until Ana stood beside him again and took his hand. In silence, she led him forward, to the rear-most row of pews. She nudged Jerry to the long wooden bench on the right, while she took a place on the opposite pew to the left of the wide aisle. He started to follow her, but she already had her head bowed in prayer, so he went to his “assigned” pew on the right, swung down the padded kneeling bench, and lowered himself onto it. A quick glance over at Ana showed that she was glowing ever so slightly, almost in a holy light. And then it hit him.

He wasn’t just in a church on New Year’s Eve, he was there with the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nicholaevna Romanova, of blessed royal blood. Not only hadn’t she been struck down or banished from his world when she entered this holy cathedral, but she seemed to be
enhanced
somehow. Tears escaped his own eyes and he lowered his head and whispered a prayer. “Dear God. Um, Holy Father . . . I ask for nothing for myself because You’ve already given me so much, so I ask You to please give guidance to that beautiful, lost soul over there. Help her find her way. I don’t want her to leave, but sure would love it if You could give her a hint of why she’s here with me and not with her family, wherever they are.

“Speaking of family, Father, say hi to Dad for me, and hold him close. Tell him it’s all good down here, for the most part. Also, could You send some love my mother’s way, please. Some days I think she’s as lost as Ana is. And please bless my new friends and family here in Victoria, and send a huge divine hug to Isis and her family. Please send that beautiful little girl someone who will appreciate her amazingness, never pity her, and take joy in everything she’s capable of.

“Oh, and before I forget . . . thank You. Except for the occasional headache, you’ve given me a pretty cool path to tread so far. Thanks. Love Ya.”

A shuffle of cloth on cloth and leather on stone told Jerry that Ana was done. He kept his head bowed and eyes closed and looked up only when he felt Ana’s weight make the bench creak beside him. She smiled, but fortunately the glow was gone. No, he corrected himself; there was a little extra shine in her eyes. She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his palm, then closed his fingers over it to hold the kiss tight. He smiled and stood, letting her take him by the hand and wander off to explore the cathedral. They drifted along, unhurried, warmed a little by the winter sunlight filtering through each story-telling piece of stained glass, feeling the solid, cold stone of the pillars, and marvelling at the Christmas tree decorations obviously done lovingly by the children of the congregation. Pipe cleaner mangers and cut-out-and-crayoned angels hung side by side with gingerbread snowmen and more tinfoil stars than they could count.

“It is marvellous, Jerry!” Ana whispered. “May I please make something for your tree?” She reached out and gently nudged a hanging tinfoil star, making it spin a little left and then back right.

“
Our
tree. Of course. I’m sure there’s tinfoil in our kitchen. Pipe cleaners may be scarce, but where there’s a dollar store, there’s hope. We may have to wait a few days. The stores are all probably closed tomorrow, New Year’s Day. But we’ll see what we have at home to get you started.”

“Wonderful!” And then she went back to her self-guided tour, leading them to every nook and cranny open to the public.

JERRY FINISHED UP
his call to Bryce the carriage driver, confirming all of the details for the evening, and disconnected the call. He could hear Ginnius and Ana behind the changing curtain in the costume shop, giggling and whispering, and so he closed his eyes, just to rest them. He didn’t hear the scuff of shoes on the worn hardwood floor, or the soft cough, but he felt the tap on his shoulder when Ginnius woke him.

She whispered softly, just between the two of them. “If you haven’t already fallen in love with this chick, Jerry, you will now.” She raised her voice for Ana to hear. “And now, for one night only, Anastasia, Queen of the First Night Ball!”

What sleep he didn’t blink away in the instant before the curtain swung open, vanished in wisps blown on a wind of pure beauty when Ana stepped out, made a tiny curtsy, then spun slowly to show off Ginnius’ work. The emerald green taffeta caught the light in such a way that Jerry was certain the dress shimmied and shivered around Ana like a living thing. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful in all his life.

Ana stopped her spin and faced him, waiting. He was silent, so she prompted him. “Jerry? Is it acceptable? What do you think?” Then another thought occurred to her. “Are you well? Are you having a spell?”

She took a step toward him, forgetting about herself, but Jerry raised a hand to stop her. He took a deep breath. “If being completely overwhelmed by the exquisite grace and refined beauty before me is a spell, then I am fatally wounded and you are my slayer. Wow, wow, and . . .
wow
.”

Ginnius and Ana both laughed, then Ginnius ushered Ana back behind the curtain. “Let’s get this in the box. Jerry, your tails are hanging in the men’s change area, if you want to duck in and try them on, now that we’ve done the big reveal.”

“Sure thing, though I hardly think anyone will even notice me when Ana walks in. I could be in Bermuda shorts and a tank top and I’d be lost in the blaze of her sun.”

“There will be two questions on people’s lips tonight, Jerry. Who is that beautiful princess, and who is the man lucky enough to be her prince? You won’t be noticed first, dude, but you
will
be noticed, and talked about.”

“Then I suppose it behooves me to dress my best. Give me a minute and we’ll see if I measure up.” He found his costume where Ginnius said it would be, pulled the curtain shut, stripped down, and climbed into the finely crafted suit one piece at a time. It took almost five minutes for him to figure out all of the various and sundry parts. Most of that time was spent struggling over the studs in place of buttons. Eventually he was ready, and took a quick, squinting look to check himself out in the narrow mirror, straightening the white bow tie and shrugging the jacket to adjust how the small shoulder pads sat. “Not bad, if I do say so, myself.”