“Captain Vadeem Spasonov.” Vadeem shook his hand, sizing him up. Despite having the grip of factory worker, not a hint of vodka dimmed Pyotr’s bright blue eyes, something rare for a man of Pyotr’s age. In fact, Vadeem wondered how he’d been able to take the man down so easily. Pyotr had Viking shoulders and the girth of a man familiar with the rigors of hard work.
“I’m sorry to surprise you so early this morning,” Pyotr said, screwing up his broad face in apology. “But my mother asked that I drop this off immediately. I’m on my way to morning prayer service south of here, in Bersk.” He held out the package to Kat. “It’s a book.”
She took it like she was accepting a newborn child. “What kind of book?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never read it, nor seen it until last night.” He took a deep breath. “My mother was very upset after you left. Something you said unnerved her.” He motioned to the sofa, asking Kat to sit.
Kat was chewing her lip as she sat down, eyes wide. Vadeem remained standing, not entirely sure she wasn’t out of danger.
“Listen, I have to tell you that my mother is… well, she’s old. She’s lived a long time and seen a tremendous amount of history. She fought, shoulder to shoulder, with the men at Stalingrad, and I’m sure that’s never left her. War ages people, you know. I don’t really remember my mother young. She and my father had me late in life. I think they believed they would never have children. She wasn’t the kind of mother who played games with me, but she is loving, and I know she wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”
Kat frowned. “What are you saying?”
“She may or may not know the people you were looking for. But she thinks she does, and if it proves to be false, it’s not because her intentions aren’t authentic.” He swallowed, looked away, at the window, where dawn pressed through filmy curtains. “She goes in and out of the past these days. She calls me Pavel, my father’s name, more often than I want to admit. If it helps, I know that she used to live in the west somewhere, near Moscow. And there are many things about her that I don’t know, things she’s buried that make me wonder. Like how she can speak a little Polish, or why she never talks about her parents. The answers to these questions are in the past—one that may or may not have anything to do with you, or your search.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Does this make any sense?”
Kat looked at the pastor, and Vadeem recognized a look of kindness that made him appreciate her even more. “I think so.” Her eyes glistened. She gazed down at the package, wrapped in brown paper.
Pyotr cupped a hand around his neck. “I think she believes she is helping you in some way by giving you this. I don’t think she’d part with it otherwise.”
Kat was moved. Vadeem could tell by the way she nodded, her chin quivering.
“Open it, Kat,” he urged.
She looked at him, and the hope in her eyes was so palpable it lodged a lump in his throat. She slid a finger under the wrapper and tore it gently away.
Inside the folds lay a book. Fraying twine bound its leather cover, twice around. It smelled of dust and age. Kat looked at Pyotr, then carefully untied the twine.
Curiosity pushed Vadeem closer. “What is it?”
Kat opened the front cover. He saw her swallow, hard. Her face, when she looked up, was raw with emotion. She opened her mouth, and after a long moment, words finally emerged. “It’s the diary of Anton Klassen.”
“I’d like to talk to your mother.” Kat lifted her chin, her gaze unflinching as she stared at Pyotr. Her tone had turned bolder now that she’d downed a cup of cocoa in the hotel café. At least some feeling had finally returned to her body. Shock had turned her numb and it wasn’t until Vadeem suggested they grab some breakfast that reality brought life to her muscles.
If the information Vadeem had unearthed yesterday proved correct, the past lay right beneath her fingers, contained in a four-inch by six-inch book, between yellowed, dusty pages of tiny printing. She traced the cover with her finger. “Please, Pyotr, your mother must know something.”
“I don’t think you should ask her anything else. I’m not sure you would even find answers.” Pyotr stirred his coffee with a red stir stick, then let it go and watched it circle round with the momentum. “She’s pretty… incoherent at times. She has wild stories.”
“She didn’t seem too incoherent last night.”
He smiled, sadness ringing his eyes. “She had a good night.”
Kat considered him, his posture seemed slightly defeated, shoulders rounded as he stared into his cup. He smiled ruefully. “I’d like to believe all her wild stories are true.”
Kat touched his arm. “Maybe they would make sense to me.”
He looked at her, and she noticed he had the kindest set of misty blue eyes, congruent with what she suspected of a pastor. “You know, maybe they would.”
His words lit a flame of hope. “When?”
He checked his watch then leaned back, rubbing his wrist where the watchband had creased a mark. The sun streamed through gauzy gray curtains, bright light flowing over the wooden café floor like syrup. Vadeem sat across from them, stirring his tea, watching Pyotr as if the pastor might be a spy, ready to pounce if the need should arise.
Not that Vadeem had needed a reason before. She couldn’t believe he’d flattened Pyotr, poor guy. Thankfully, the pastor looked like he could take it, with his sturdy muscles and solid frame.
Still, it made her smile to think Vadeem had pounced, protecting her. Again. It seemed to be becoming a habit over the past few days.
Pyotr scrubbed his hand across his chin. “I have a morning prayer meeting in Bersk then I need to do some visitation. I’ll be back in town for our local prayer meeting tonight. Why don’t you meet me here, around six o’clock? We’ll go to the meeting, and then I’ll drive you out to talk to my mother afterward.”
“Prayer meeting?” The idea of worshipping with Russian believers had Kat’s heart leaping. “I’d be thrilled.” She looked at Vadeem. “What do you—”
“No. Forget it, Kat. You can go. I’ll stand outside the door.” Vadeem’s expression sent icy daggers through her soul. His words from their conversation outside Pskov came up like a wall. Faith destroys.
Her faith was all she had. It held her together, built her up, kept her alive, gave her confidence that this crazy quest was worth the costs
She nodded, not agreeing for one second. “See you tonight, Pyotr.”
She’d find a way to get Vadeem inside that church tonight, and she’d start with prayer.
Pyotr stood up and held out his hand to Vadeem. “No hard feelings, okay? I know you’re just doing your job.”
Vadeem looked like he’d been sucker punched. He blinked at Pyotr then his head dipped down in a half nod. “Right.”
Pyotr turned to Kat, his signature kind grin on his face. “And I’ll see you tonight.” He clamped his hand on her shoulder. “Kat, whatever happens, remember that God has a plan in all this. He hasn’t forgotten you, or your family, wherever they are.”
Words failed her. She nodded.
Vadeem watched him go, suspicion swishing about his eyes. “Creepy.”
Kat frowned. “What do you mean?”
Vadeem leaned forward. “Aren’t you feeling the least bit weird about this? Last night I tell you you’re related to Anton Klassen, and today his diary shows up in your hands?”
The way he put it, it did sound incredible. But then again, his disbelief discounted God’s omniscient ways. The Almighty had a knack for the incredible. Like Phillip’s ordained meeting on the road with an Ethiopian searching the Scriptures. Or Saul, before he was Paul, helping to stone the very first martyr, Stephen. Or even Joseph, sent to Egypt years before famine, to become ruler and save the family that had betrayed him. Holy coincidences. “Not weird at all, Vadeem. Maybe planned. Maybe this entire thing has been planned out from the beginning by the Master. I have been praying for His intervention.”