BOOK TWO: "Anastasia, your name means Resurrection"

Human beings suffer,
they torture one another,
they get hurt and get hard.
No poem or play or song
can fully right a wrong
inflicted and endured . . .

-- Seamus Heaney, "Doubletake," from The Cure at Troy

CHAPTER 4

Why, indeed, would dreams not come true for Anastasia? Did "Awful Anastasia" even deserve a happy dream to come true?
To look for an answer, we should go back and review Anastasia's life for a while.

Unlike Augustina, Anastasia's and Drizella's parents came from families of relatively modest means. Mother's family bore rank and title--the crest of Tremaine--but not particularly great wealth. The family was supported by a handful of tenants on the estate, but as time went on many tenants left to find work in the towns, and it became a struggle for the Tremaines to make ends meet. As the parents--Anastasia's grandparents--aged, Mother's two brothers were chosen to assume the estate, and she was to be married off to a local baron she had never met, so to bring in some badly needed income.
However, just a fortnight before the prearranged wedding, she fell for a local shopkeeper--a merchant--and they ran off and married before her parents even realized what happened. Why she was so taken by this man was a mystery: he held no title, and he was neither rich nor particularly good-looking. Perhaps it was his smile, or his flaming-red hair, or his quiet disposition, but no one ever knew for sure.
But the elopement was a scandal and a huge embarrassment to the family; her mother and father were outraged at Mother's disobedience, and because she failed her family in bringing them the fortune they felt they deserved. While she was never officially disowned, Mother was cut off financially and ostracized by her family for a very long time.
Mother was never that good-looking either, but she was a relatively pleasant person, she had a decent education, and of course she was brought up learning the "proper graces" of polite society. Her running off with a commoner flew in the face of all she was taught. It was as though she had lost her mind, or, more likely, it marked a rebellion against the rigors of etiquette.
The merchant Mother married was Anastasia's and Drizella's father. At first, the family just scraped by, and he spent long times away at sea. But he began to score some successes, enabling him to purchase his very own merchant ship, and within two years they were able to move to the biggest port town in the kingdom, and live in a quaint little cottage by the seashore. It was there that the fraternal twin girls were born.
By the time she reached adulthood, Anastasia's memories of her father grew dim; they became merely fleeting shadows deep in her conscious. But what she did recall was that he was a pleasant and kindly gentleman, very devoted to his wife and daughters. One of her earliest memories--when she was about three--was of her father resting on the docks at sunset. He was standing, one foot on a stump, smoking his pipe, and gazing at the western horizon. When Anastasia looked up to him, he smiled down at her, tapped his pipe upon the stump to empty its embers, and then he picked up the little girl and cradled her in his arms, to share the sunset with her. He often referred to her as "my little Paulette" (after her middle name, Pauline).
She vaguely remembered how her father would usually greet her and Drizella after he'd finished shaving in the morning. He'd mop his face, toss the towel over his shoulder and say, "Mmm. Chocolate and strawberry, my favorites!," alluding to their hair color. Then he would chase after them, as he pantomimed eating their hair with a fork, and the girls would giggle and scatter.
If one had seen them only as the snobbish and ridiculously-dressed teenagers of later years, one would hardly recognize them in their youth. The girls were hardly wealthy in those days, but they always looked well cared-for. At the time, Drizella wore a lush royal-blue dress and Anastasia would invariably wear a pretty yellow dress; they tied their long, straight hair in ponytails with wide matching bows. And they were bright and beautiful children, with shining eyes full of life and curiosity.
One thing Anastasia was curious about was her name. She was not sure if she liked it, and she asked her father about it. She told him that "Anastasia" sounded more like a name for a disease or something about the weather, than a name for a girl.
Her father laughed heartily. "Do you know what your name means?"
She hadn't a clue, and she shook her head.
"Well, 'Anastasia' is the term that refers to the Resurrection of Our Savior on Easter Day. 'Ana' means 'up again,' and 'Stasia' means 'to stand.' He stood back up--came back to life--that Easter morning. And you, Anastasia, will always stand tall, no matter how tough life gets for you. Maybe there will come a time someday when you'll feel defeated; that you'll think you cannot carry on. But if you just have faith, you will stand up again and you will have new life . . . you will be resurrected, too."

Anastasia's father worked diligently to support the four of them. Still, Mother pushed him along, seemingly hoping that if he improved his income and status, her family would be more willing to accept him--and their marriage.
Before long, their father had built a merchant fleet large enough, that he was no longer needed to sail. His work hours grew shorter, so he was able to spend much more time with his wife and girls. Anastasia and Drizella knew when he had struck a new success; he would strut across the docks humming a jovial tune. Then, when he reached the cottage he would grab Mother, and start dancing with her, and they would dance and laugh. Then he would chase the girls all around the outside of the cottage, and when he finally caught them, he would give them his latest surprise. Licorice candy, perhaps. Or honeyed tarts. Or tangerines--a rare treat in those days. Once in a while, he would bring home amazing things. Nothing was particularly expensive, but everything was unique and fascinating.
Then, on the girls' fifth birthday, Father came in with an armful of packages and a wide grin on his face. The girls could hardly believe it. Packaged gifts, for them? And not just a single gift to share with each other--as had been the norm--but four to divide amongst themselves! Mother and Father stood together, and beamed as they watched the girls jump excitedly.
The girls unwrapped the first two. They gasped, for they had never seen anything like them before. Two handmade, hand-painted porcelain dolls. From China. They had never seen one, only heard about them. Up until that time, the only toys they ever owned were two beat-up stuffed dolls that Mother had sewn together using spare materials (and at the time Mother was mediocre at sewing, at best).
They carefully unwrapped the other two gifts. One, for Drizella, was a beautiful little songbook from Vienna. The other, for Anastasia, was a flute, handcrafted by one of the finest woodwind makers in the world. The children were delighted, because they knew mother and father had seen that Drizella had shown an interest in singing, and that Anastasia would pick up hollow reeds and imitate playing the flute. Now they had the real items to work with.
Father smiled broadly. "Now you girls will be real musicians."
"Don't be silly, daddy, I can't read a note!" Drizella laughed.
"Well, I suppose music lessons are in order, then."
Mother was agape. "Music lessons! Can we afford them?"
"Things are going to be different, from now on. We've eight shiny new ships, and they are headed for a rich port in Madagascar! We're going to live like king and queen and princesses in a castle!"
"You hear that, Anastasia?" Drizella exclaimed. "We're going to be princesses!" She sang a nonsense tune while dancing in a circle with her sister, who in turn played squawky random notes on her instrument, and they all laughed together.
It was the last time Mother ever laughed.

Over the ensuing days, the children grew excited with anticipation. They sensed their father's eagerness to receive word from his merchant fleet, and his own excitement increased with each passing day.
"And we'll be going to school, too! Maybe even the Lycée de Saint Antoine, eh? The best school in the kingdom! And we'll be great at music, and art, and dance and . . . and everything, won't we?"
School! Wouldn't it be just spectacular? They'd finally be able to play with children their own age. And the Lycée de Saint Antoine de Padua was the finest grammar school in the kingdom. Only the richest and noblest children went there. But now with their newfound riches, the girls would be able to attend, and fit right in. Anastasia and Drizella would invite all the children in town--rich and poor alike--over to their big new house, and share all their neat new toys with them. And, if by chance a poor little girl was without a toy, why, they would be more than happy to give her one of theirs.

Daddy was late coming home for dinner. They assumed that could only mean good news; that he was having trouble hauling all the incredible new merchandise to the house.
The two girls watched at the front window for hours. Finally, with nightfall approaching, they saw his silhouette against the sea as he slowly approached the house. He looked very tired and dispirited.
He stumbled inside, and stood at the door, ashen-faced.
Mother was alarmed. "What is it? What is wrong?"
He stood there for a moment, then he wiped his brow. "I just got a message from Madagascar. There was a pirate attack . . . a huge fleet broke into the port, and plundered all of our storehouses. And the port and all my ships--all burned to the ground."
"They burned everything? Wasn't anything saved--?"
"Nothing survived. We're ruined."
"How will we eat? How will we live?" Mother exclaimed.
"I don't know. I'm sorry. We'll get by somehow. I'll start over."
Mother was dumbstruck. She sat down, and rubbed her head with her hands.
But Anastasia was worried about how Father looked. He looked different; he looked weak and pale. She watched him as he went to town with all the money they had in the house, in order to pay off his debts. He returned looking exhausted. Then, when they quietly began to eat supper, he abruptly stood up. "I need to lie down."
He took two steps, and then, clutching his chest with one hand, he collapsed.
"Daddy!"
They all managed to help him up, and half-carried him to his bed. Mother nervously ordered the children to bring some cool water and a towel.
"What is it?"
"It's my heart. I--"
"You need rest. I'll get a doctor."
He panted. "There's no money for a doctor."
With no doctor to tend to him, the best the family could do was wait and pray for Father's recovery. Mother stood watch at the foot of the bed, silent. The only thing she said that night was a barely audible whisper: "If only we had money. If only . . ."

Finally, around midnight, he awoke with a start, breathing heavily. His face was ghost-white. He beckoned for the girls. Anastasia ran to the right side of his bed, Drizella on the other side, and they held his hands.
"My princesses . . ."
"Yes, daddy?"
"I want you to have something. In case I don't make it--"
"Don't talk like that, daddy!"
He went on. "In case I don't make it, there are two things I want you girls to have." He reached to a small wooden box on the table next to the bed, and pulled out two shiny objects. One was a bright silver necklace with an elegant ivory brooch. The other was a small, round pin--solid gold--with a Maltese cross engraved upon the front.
"These are yours," he said. "They have been in the family for generations, and now you are to have them. The necklace is for you, Drizella, and the pin is yours, Anastasia."
The girls didn't know what to say. They gazed upon the valuables momentarily, then back to their father, who was gasping for breath, and apologizing for his poor health.
He was barely able to speak. "I-I'm so sorry. I love you," he said to all three. The two girls caressed his hands gently. He leaned back on the pillow, and closed his eyes.
Then he breathed his last.
Anastasia remembered how she and Drizella knelt there, burying their faces in his hands, and crying uncontrollably. "Daddy, don't leave me!" they said, again and again.
"Daddy, don't leave me!"
Anastasia looked up, blinded by tears, expecting to see her mother collapse in tears herself. But Mother didn't move. She stood like cold stone, and stared at the wall for hours, as if in a trance. She didn't move or make a sound until dawn, when she silently left the house.
She would never again be the same.
For the next several weeks, Mother spoke only when absolutely necessary. And from that point on, she seldom showed emotion: she never cried or laughed, and she rarely raised her voice or smiled. Mother would never touch anyone (not affectionately, anyway), or allow anyone to touch her.

The undertakers came after a short while, and Mother quietly made the funeral arrangements. Because there was no money, Mother sold off much of her silk and furs to pay for the modest burial, which would take place in a remote part of a churchyard overlooking the King's castle, many miles away--which was all they could afford.
The burial was a lonely, harrowing affair. It was just the three of them, a single bored priest, the two dirty gravediggers, and the cold wind and drizzle. Anastasia and Drizella instinctively held each other as they watched the wooden casket being lowered into the earth. The priest sprinkled holy water upon it, as he mumbled a blessing.
"In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti . . ."