"Father Gavril…may I speak with you?"
"Tovarichka! Of course! Please, sit!" Hastily he removed a stack of books from one of the chairs around the table in his study and dusted it with his hand before gesturing for her to take it. Once again, her eyes were downcast, refusing to meet his, but there was such a tension about her! As soon as she had walked into the room, it felt as though there was a storm building inside it. Nervous energy pulsed through the air.
It was the first time she had willingly entered his presence aside from Chanting in thirteen days. It had been like living with a mechanical doll, eerie and strange.
And heartbreaking.
"I was beginning to worry about you, and send for the apothecary," he told her, sitting in the other chair. "You seem so very downhearted, I thought perhaps it was a physical ailment. Perhaps a womanly complaint."
Her throat spasmed, but her words were firm. "I wish to leave."
"When will you be back?"
"No," she said thickly. "I wish to leave. Forever."
"To—tovarichka…I'm not sure what to say…what have I done that has displeased you so? I know you have been unhappy of late, but it is my sincere wish that we work this out together."
"You have done nothing wrong!" she cried, eyes raising for the briefest of moments. The pain he saw tore through him. Just as quickly her eyes dropped back to her hands, clenched in white-knuckled tightness on the table. "There is nothing to work out. This is the way it must be. I must leave you. You must find another assistant. I am sure you will find another as skilled as I at knowing the liturgy, and to serve you."
"I don't want another one. I want you, tovarichka," he said quietly. "If it is not me, do you feel you have done something that has angered me in some way? Or disappointed me? I can assure you that is not the case!"
"No, I know I have not—" Barely, she stopped herself from adding 'yet'. She took a deep, careful breath. "As I said, this is the way it must be."
"Why must it be?"
"I cannot say."
"Why, tovarichka? It cannot be so bad as all that."
"It is not. But it will be. That is why I must go."
"I don't understand," he said, bewildered. Lifting an unsteady hand he ran it through his hair, leaving it spiking in all directions. "But there must be something…"
"There is nothing."
"Come to the altar with me," he urged, reaching out and placing a hand on hers. "We will ask God—"
"Don't you think I have?" she exclaimed, snatching her hands out from under his. "I have prayed and prayed, and for the first time in my existence, He has not answered me! I have never been so lost! I know what must be done, but I have become the very instrument of its failure! Or have I? I do not know!"
It was the first time he had seen her weep.
Before he realized it, he was on his knees beside her, drawing her into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, and she gave herself to her tears, sobbing into his chest and clinging to him as if she were being torn at by unseen and unfelt winds.
"I cannot hear Him! What is so wrong with me that He has turned His face from me? I have done something so terrible, so awful that He has abandoned me, and I don't even know what it is I have done to atone for it!"
He soothed her as if she were a child, and kissed the top of her head. "Tovarichka, we all feel this way at times. The problem is not God, it is the turmoil within our own soul that becomes so loud we can no longer hear Him. He never stops speaking, we become deaf. It is a trial that we all go through, more than once."
"But I want to hear Him. I need to! I cannot exist without Him!"
"No, as none of us can, but you are not existing without Him." Slowly, he began stroking her back. "He is still there, and as strong as ever. You just have to find your path again. Let me guide you."
She stiffened in his arms, and with a strangled gasp pushed herself away so violently her chair tipped over backwards and she landed with a crash.
"Tovarichka!"
"Do not—" she panted, scrambling to her feet. "Please do not touch me—I am—am not worthy…"
"What are you saying?"
"I am unclean," she wailed. "That is why I need to leave you! I will make you unclean as well!"
Slowly he got to his feet. "I do not know what has happened to get you so upset, but if it is truly your desire to leave me, then I will not stop you. I wish you would not go," he said, and she looked up at him. Never before had he seen such a mixture of longing, and anguish, and most of all, fear. Terror was more like it. He had to restrain himself from reaching out to her again. It was evident his touch could not comfort her. The thought alone brought pain. "But I see that you are experiencing a spiritual crisis I cannot help you with. When will you go?"
"In the morning, at first light. I will send someone from the village to tend to your needs until you can find someone more suitable," she said hoarsely. The candlelight glinted off her tear stained face, one hand was held at her throat, the other clenched at her side. At some point the scarf had fallen off and her silvery blond hair, the first time he had ever seen it, streamed down her back in silken waves.
"And where will you go?"
"I don't matter. Only you matter."
"Varya…"
"Please…don't…" Tears trembled amongst her eyelashes, glittering and dancing.
At a loss, he rubbed his face. "Very well. Go to the starosta's house. He will see you are properly cared for until you decide on your path. Take whatever you need from the chapel. There is not much money, but take it all. You will need it."
"As you say."
"No," he suddenly barked. "If it was as I say you would stay!"
She drew back as if he raised a hand to strike her.
"Oh, Varya, Varya, forgive me," he said, covering his eyes with one hand. "You have tied me up in knots, and I don't know which way I'm going to jump next. I don't understand, any of this, or what you have said, or why you must go. I do not wish for you to go, but I know I cannot keep you."
"No," she whispered. "You cannot."
"Then go, and may God bless you. Listen for Him, tovarichka, through the chaos of your own heart. He is still there, and He still loves you. You will hear Him again. Your love for Him is the purest I have ever seen, and I consider myself blessed to have bathed in its radiance. Know that I think you one of the best of all of us."
"I will lay your meals ready until midday tomorrow, by which time someone from the village will be here. You will have to make your own tea, however. You know how to work the stove?"
"I am not so helpless as all that," he said, but the attempt at humor was weak at best.
"Then, goodbye," she said, finally allowing her eyes to meet his. He was shocked at the desperation in her gaze, as if she were drinking in every last aspect of him and storing it away in her memory.
Because she'd never see him in the flesh again.
"No…tovarichka…please don't go…"
"I must. May God bless you and keep you, my dear Father. May He keep you safe from harm, and grant your every prayer," she murmured quietly, then slipped from the room.
"God help me to understand what just happened here," he breathed fervently.
He got up before first light, only to see her figure disappearing around the bend in the road. His fist clenched as he stood in the doorway of the vestibule, as if he were physically stopping himself from chasing after her.
This was what she said she wanted, he had to respect that.
But why did it hurt so much?
He had prayed all night, and still had not seen sleep, hoping to catch her before she left. Perhaps she had managed to sleep a bit and things would not be so dire in the light of morning. But his prayers had been interrupted by the sound of the front door, before the first rays of a distant dawn began to stain the sky, and by the time he had gotten there she was well away.
It felt like she had taken all the warmth of the chapel with her, as blasphemous as it was.
Part of him was still in shock, another part desperately angry, and another…in great pain. Was it disappointment in his inability to help her? Over the course of his prayers, he was pretty sure he finally had figured out what it was that had driven her away.
She thought she had fallen in love with him.
She was a young woman, and sensitive to such things. He knew his face was considered handsome by others, although he'd never given it much thought himself. But more than that, she was very inexperienced, even taking into account her age, and could not possibly have been exposed to a man like she had been to him.
And he had been kind to her, and helpful. It was only natural.
Of course, for someone like her, it would be anathema. Her very love for God, and her limited exposure to how the world really worked would dictate the very reaction she had. He was a priest, and as devoted as she was to God she would see loving Gavril in that manner as the rankest of betrayals.
It saddened him that she was in such pain over it. It would pass away soon enough, and while she would be left with a fondness for him, she would eventually realize that her love truly belonged to God. They would get to the true state they belonged in, that of master and student, or perhaps even brother and sister…
But why did that thought rankle the way it did? Fondness, brother and sister…it left a bad taste in his mouth.
Well, it no longer mattered. She was gone and not to return any time soon, if at all. He prayed that she would be able to find the truth within herself and return where they would laugh about it. Well, he would laugh, she would most likely wear that somewhat perplexed expression she usually adopted when he was trying to be humorous. It would be another item to gently tease her about and things would get back to the way they were supposed to be.
The prospect of the days before him yawned blackly. Before he had realized it, she had become a permanent fixture in his life, not just in the chapel. When he had been afraid of being recalled to Kyiv, it was only natural to assume that she would be going with him to continue her work as an assistant. Eventually she would take her vows and he would wait for her, then they would move on to establish the church elsewhere. There had been no real reason to assume that, it just felt right.
The way things were now felt wrong. Very wrong. A joint was out and he couldn't pop it back into place. It made moving very painful and awkward.
With a sigh he turned back into the vestibule and slowly shut the door behind him. The sound echoed in the nave, which now seemed vastly empty.