"I go to the Kuzminski's," the starosta said, piling into his heavy coat, scarf and hat. "It is nearly time for the birth, and I would see how they fare."
"Yes, starosta. I will continue my chores here."
"I will also see about gathering the things you will need for your journey, I have not forgotten!"
"I know you have not, starosta."
He nodded and headed out into the blustery, overcast day, firmly shutting the door behind him as he went. He was not particularly frail, even for his age, but he did tire easily. So long as he was in the village, though, he would always be watched over, so she did not worry.
The last two days had been a strange existence. No Hours, no liturgy to chant, no nave to sweep or vestibule to clean, no garden to tend or livestock to care for. Only one little old man. Fortunately, he accepted her eating little to nothing as a natural state for her nerves, and so she was able to use very little of the food stored away for his use during the winter.
As it was a small house, and only one little old man, her chores were completed very quickly, and she was left with a great deal of free time on her hands. It was a strange sensation, doing nothing.
Everything, however, always led to thoughts of Gavril. As she prepared breakfast, she wondered if Gavril was eating well, being fed properly. The table she cleaned he had once sat at. The window she looked out of either faced towards his direction or away from it, the wind that blew outside was the same wind that rattled the shutters of the chapel, the water she pumped came from the same underground source…There was no escaping thoughts of Gavril.
More than once she came to herself, frozen in place, lost in wandering thought of what he was doing at that same point. Of course, she knew his schedule so well, she was confident she knew exactly what he was doing at any given time.
But was he? Was he faring well with her gone? Was he able to successfully complete the Hours? The starosta had assured her that the women who went to tend Gavril had been regular attendees of the parish, but still she doubted.
And with no one there to gently admonish him at night, he would be prone to staying up all hours, immersed in his studies, oblivious to time or the needs of his body. So too he would chop all the wood in the forest if left to his own devices. She had not thought to tell starosta of these things, and the women would need to know them…
And why were unmarried women being sent to tend him? She knew very well the answer was because the married ones had their own husbands to care for, but she still didn't like the idea. The grandmothers, or babulya, did not understand the fact that Gavril could not marry and were intent on getting him entangled with one of their granddaughters. That could only lead to bad feelings between the village and the church if the starosta was unable to explain to them.
She surprised herself with another sigh. She was doing that a lot lately. It was very strange.
The starosta had told her to throw herself into the storm within her, and she was trying to, but it was more difficult than she had imagined. Concern for Gavril constantly jerked her out of it. It was drafty in the nave, would they know which woolen cassock was best for the coldest of days?
And then the cold realization would descend; it was no longer her concern. She had run away, abandoned him not only to fend for himself against the physical needs, but the spiritual dangers as well. The demons still lurked, waiting to pounce upon the slightest hint of weakness. She had been leaving after the starosta was fast asleep, to watch over the chapel during the night, but what to do after she left? She would have to go to the other village, the starosta here would be waiting for word from the starosta there that she had arrived safely.
Perhaps she should let them think she beset by bandits, or wolves, or some other evil along the way, and killed. That way she could merely hide in the woods near the chapel and keep to her vigil that way.
But that would get back to Gavril, and she believed it would cause him some discomfort. He would think her death his fault, and she was loath to inflict that guilt upon him.
What was the right thing to do? Why could she not receive guidance on this, when it was so very important?
And once again she would fling herself into the storm.
Her desire was forbidden. Strictly forbidden. Gavril was a priest. What was more he was her charge. She was to protect him and guide him upon his path. Had she not filled the chapel with parishioners so that he could remain where she knew he was supposed to be? Had she not been instilled with the knowledge of his liturgy, his rituals? He had made a promise to God. She was a direct creation of God, not filtered through generation upon generation of genetic material, but a physical incarnation of His will.
Then why, why was she so flawed? If she had been granted so much knowledge, why was she not granted the knowledge of these urges? For some reason she shied away from the word "love". It felt like it compounded her treachery further.
She was formed only to know love for her Father, and no other. So it was not love, it was incomprehensible compulsion. But why were they so incomprehensible? If she was supposed to have them, why was she not told to expect them? If she was not, why was she not given the knowledge on how to combat them?
The only answer was because she was not meant to. Everything she was going through had a purpose.
The question that remained was; was this purpose God's doing, or her own through her granted self will?
The wind howled at the windows, counterpoint to the tempest surging inside of her, rattling the thick, streaky glass in their wooden frames.
It was bitterly cold today, he should wear his heavy mantle if he was going out into the weather. It was clean, and hanging in its proper spot, would these granddaughters know to get it for him? He would never think of it on his own.