Dreaming Anastasia by Joy Preble Read Free Book Online

face. Those dark eyes that seemed to hold so many secrets.
    â€œAnastasia,” he said to me, just as I was certain we would pass without speaking. “You have become quite a young lady.”
    I smiled at him, not sure of what—if anything—I should say next. And it was then that I noticed his clothing: his long brown robe, and the small, wooden cross that hung on a leather string around his neck.
    â€œI am of the Brotherhood now,” he told me. He gestured to what he was wearing, and for the first time, he smiled.
    â€œLike Father Grigory?” I asked him, assuming he would know I was referring to Rasputin.
    He made a face at that, which surprised me, even though, as you know, I was never fond of Father Grigory and always felt uncomfortable when he was with us. Like the face you made, Tatiana, when my spaniel, Jimmy, did his business on the floor of your room.
    â€œNot like that, exactly,” he told me. “What I am now is much, much more. That is why I have come back to see your father. That is what I have told him.”
    â€œI am sure he was pleased for you,” I said.
    I saw something angry glimmer in those dark, sad eyes of his. “Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps not. It is hard to say.” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his robe as though he wasn’t sure what else to do with them. And then he smiled at me again.
    â€œI know a young man whom you would like,” he said abruptly. “But he is not for you. And besides, he is a serious sort. And he is certainly not someone your father would approve of.” He smiled again, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “But then, Anastasia, your father does not approve of me either. If he did, perhaps a fine portrait of me would grace that lovely Fabergé egg sitting in his study.”
    He said your and not our, but I think I understood anyway.
    â€œI will tell Papa that he needs to do so,” I said, feeling suddenly very bold.
    He laughed and said to me, “So. You are Anastasia the Brave, are you not?”
    â€œYes,” I told him, and I laughed too because I knew what he meant. It was, after all, one of our mother’s favorite stories to read to us. “Yes,” I said again. “Like Vasilisa. I will go into the forest of my father’s study and tell him that you are very nice. And if there are any witches in there like Baba Yaga, I will beat them over the head until they are gone.”
    Oh, sisters, how clever I thought I was being. But he looked at me very oddly. Like he was seeing me, but also seeing something else. “Be careful, little girl,” he said. “I have met Baba Yaga. And she is not particularly nice. You would not want to get eaten. Although I do thank you for your kind wishes on my behalf.”
    And then, sisters, he walked away without another word.
    There is yet more to come in this tale, but as I have decided, each piece belongs to one of you, and I must tell it in the order in which it should be told.
    Until then, be happy sisters, wherever you are. Remember that we are OTMA: Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and your loving,
    Anastasia

Tuesday, 4:35 pm
    Anne
    What you need,” my mother tells me, grinning, “is the tiara.” She lifts the little silver-and-rhinestone crown from the display case and settles it on my head. I’m already wearing the matching rhinestone bracelet, but as you can never have enough tacky bling, I let her have her way.
    We’re standing in the Jewel Box, the vintage and estate jewelry shop my mother helps manage. It’s a small store just a few blocks from Miss Amy’s Studio, where I’m headed for my five o’clock class.
    â€œI am so the princess,” I say as I peer at myself in the little mirror standing on the counter. The bracelet is heavy and really kind of ugly, with dozens of rhinestones alternated with marcasite to up the sparkle level. But I like the tiara, because honestly, what girl