Whenever Anastasia would talk to Maria about her feelings on this matter, that she felt such an aversion to the very thought of being touched by man after man after man, Maria would blame it on her father’s blood. Many things over the years had been attributed to her father, some bad, some good. Maria had found him to be a wonderful scapegoat, when she could think of no other way to answer Anastasia’s questions.

Many things flitted through Anastasia’s mind as she waited for Maria’s bad news, things other than speculation of what that news would be. She could guess if she put her mind to it, but she didn’t want to know, not yet. The continued silence was a balm at first; it did not contain disaster. But it lasted too long. Suspense intruded, and became unbearable.

Finally Anastasia could stand it no longer and prompted, “What is it, Gran, that you do not want to tell me?”

A sigh, a brief, heartfelt one. “Something that I have delayed far too long, child. Two things, actually, both of which will cause you considerable distress. The distress, you are strong enough to deal with. The abrupt change that will occur to your life is what worries me, and why I want to see it done soonest, while I am here to aid you.”

“You have foreseen something?”

Maria shook her head sadly. “I only wish I did know the future in this instance. But you must make that future yourself, and the decision you make will be for your good or ill, but it must be made. The alternative, you have said yourself, is unthinkable.”

Anastasia knew then, what Maria was being so cryptic about. Her marriage, or rather, the husband she was to marry. “This is about Nicolai?”

“It is about marriage, yes. I must see you settled into it this week. It can wait no longer.”

Anastasia panicked. “But the day you set, it is not for another two months!”

“This cannot wait until then.”

“But you know I hate him, Gran!”

“Yes, and if only you had known it before I accepted the bride-price for you, then you could have married another long ago. But Ivan, that wily son of a goat, he came to me when you were only seven, five years before you would be old enough to marry, long before you realized that Nicolai would not suit you. Ivan, he was taking no chances, that someone else would beat him to you.”

“I was so young,” Anastasia said bitterly. “I cannot understand such haste. He could have waited until I was old enough to decide the matter for myself.”

“Ah, but we were visiting with another band, you see. And the other barossan showed too much interest in our family, and asked too many questions about you. Ivan was no fool. He asked for you that night. The other barossan asked for you the next morning, a few hours too late. Ivan gloated over that for many years.”