"Put this one on as well, Father Gavril."
"If I put on any more I will look like a monster made of clothing. No. Enough!"
"Father Gavril…"
"Oh, very well. I think I liked you better when you were obedient."
"As is your right, of course, Father Gavril."
"When did you learn such dry humor? It is disconcerting," he complained, but allowed her to wrap another shawl around his broad shoulders. "Praise God none of my parishioners can see me like this."
"Praise God," she echoed.
"Stop that. Now answer my question."
"You are very testy when you are convalescing, Father Gavril."
"I am not."
"Lean on me, Father Gavril."
"I do not need the help of a woman to walk through my own chapel!"
"I am not a woman, I am your assistant. Now lean on me, Father Gavril, or you won't make it past the door."
"Why am I in your room anyway?" he asked as he put an arm around her shoulders. Despite his protestations the weight he put on her was not inconsiderable. While it was no burden for her, it did show her how much further he still had to go.
His querulous nature was brought about by inactivity. His mind was recovering faster than his body, and it was making him impatient. It did not bother her. She had learned more than she had thought during her stay with the starosta. The priest seemed to respond to the dry wit she had begun employing as a buffer between herself and her emotions, so she kept at it.
In other words, the more he complained, the better he was feeling.
So she saw to it he had plenty to complain about.
"Where did you learn your humor?" he asked again. "Not from me."
"From the starosta, Father Gavril."
The chuckle that escaped him turned into a cough and they paused until he recovered. They had taken to walking around the chapel a few times a day to try and help get his strength back, and to keep him from going crazy from doing nothing. It exhausted him, which helped him to rest. She hoped he recovered quickly for more than his sake. The herbal packets were almost gone. Willow bark would not be a problem, but the others no longer grew during the winter. Perhaps she could figure out some way to finagle a trip to the village without it seeming too suspicious.
"From the starosta? I might have known!" The words were belligerent, but the tone was relieved. She found it very puzzling, but she had found much of his behavior confusing. Why should it matter who she had learned humor from, or whom she had stayed with, or spoken to, while she was away? He seemed quite keen on discovering what she had done every moment of every day during her absence, and the more he found out that she was solely in the company of the starosta and no other, the happier he became.
Very strange indeed.
"I want to try the Hours tomorrow," he told her.
"If you feel strong enough, Father Gavril."
"Even if I don't, I must. The travails of the body are nothing."
"Perhaps to you, but they are something to me, Father Gavril. I will not allow you to overexert yourself."
"Allow me? You will not allow?"
"I will not, Father Gavril."
"It seems you learned stubbornness from the starosta as well."
"As you say, Father Gavril."
"Stop saying that every other statement."
"Saying what, Father Gavril?"
"My name. I am the only one here, I know you are addressing me. There is no need to be so persistent about it."
The nave was still dark, but a rare showing of the sun leaked through the shutters and lit the floor in bright patches. The floor was clean once again, as she had scrubbed it two nights previous. Not having to sleep did have its advantages when it came to chores. Very slowly, they wobbled around the perimeter. The air was many degrees colder in here than in her room, but she supposed she had heaped him with enough clothing to ward off a chill.
"As you wish, Father Gavril."
"Gah!"
"Very well, I will refrain. I will call you by your name," she paused, considering. "Every four statements. Is that better?"
"You keep count?"
"I have not before. I will start."
"Hmph. Every ten statements."
"Every five."
"Nine."
"Seven."
"Done!" Unexpectedly the arm around her shoulders tightened in a squeeze.
"Are you well?" she asked, concerned.
"Er…yes. Sorry. I'm still regaining control over my body. The occasional twitch will happen, I'm afraid. Pay it no mind."
So long as you are all right."
"Yes, yes. I am fine."
"That is good, Father Gavril."
He heaved a very melodramatic sigh, which turned into another bout of coughing.
"Why on earth did you start calling me 'Father Gavril', anyway?"
"Would you prefer 'Popiy Gavril'?"
"I would not!"
"You used to call me Father. Just call me that again, stubborn woman," he demanded, then was seized by another fit.
"We have been out long enough. You should get back to bed."
"Yes…" he said weakly. "I think you're right."
Without further protest, he allowed her to lead him back to her room.
"I am sorry, you know."
"For what?" she asked, straightening after making him comfortable. His feet still stuck out over the end, but there was no helping that for the time being. The most she could do was make sure they were well wrapped.
"For being such a difficult patient."
"You are not difficult. You are lively and regaining energy, and those are both very good things. Now, remain still while I prepare more medicine."
He nodded and she bustled out of the room.
She had enough for two more days, perhaps after that he would be able to make do with the willow bark she would be able to harvest for herself. It would not be properly dried for steeping, but it was better than nothing, and the fever returning was her greatest fear right now. For the rest, particularly the valerian, she was down to the final dregs. Honey would have to do for the cough, she had plenty of that. It was the only thing getting him to drink the concoction now.
When she returned, he had already struggled into a sitting position on his own, and was fighting with the pillows to get them arranged just so.
"Here," she said, putting the infusion down. "Let me do that."
With an exasperated sigh, he leaned forward and let her fix them.
"There, just as you like them."
"Thank you," he said, sinking gratefully back into them. "Is it time for more of your horrid medicine?"
"I am afraid it is."
"Give it here."
Despite the rather silly faces he made, he drank it off in one gulp and handed her back the empty mug. Turning, she moved to take it back to the kitchen.
He reached out and took hold of her skirt, bunching the fabric in one large fist.
"Don't go. When you leave you take all the light with you."
"What is this?"
Looking back over her shoulder at him, she saw he wasn't looking at her, but looking down at his free hand, lying limply in his lap on top of the covers.
"Leave the cup. It can wait. Don't go. I am afraid every time you walk out the room that you will not return."
Reaching down, she covered his hand with her own.
"Release me," she said quietly.
"Say you will stay."
"I will stay, but I cannot sit unless you let go of my skirts."
"Ah!" he said, and his hand sprang open. She set the cup back down on the small shelf, then sat back in the chair. The medicine worked quickly, and he would most likely fall asleep in a quarter hour or so. It was no hardship to sit with him, although he tended to get a bit…muddled as the medicine took effect.
"Why did you return?" he asked her, settling back.
"Because I learned you were ill."
"That is the only reason?"
"That is the only reason."
"I see."
"I am uncertain what answer you were seeking, Father Gavril."
"Your count is behind, tovarichka."
"Is it?"
"The answer I was seeking…I am afraid I do not know myself, to be honest with you. I don't know what I want to hear from you, excepting your repeated assurances that you will not leave again."
"I will not leave again."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Suddenly he surged up from the bed, leaned across the gap between them and seized both her hands in his. "Swear," he breathed, brown eyes intense with unknown desperation. "Swear upon the God whom we both love, that you will never leave me alone again. No matter what happens, to either of us."
"I…I swear. I swear on my Father God, I will never leave you alone again, no matter what happens to either of us so long as we both walk this earth."
The abrupt strength flowed out of him, and he sagged. She leaned forward and helped him back to his position against the pillows.
"I am unacceptably emotional in my ailment," he said, embarrassed.
"It is not unacceptable," she replied, readjusting the covers that had been knocked askew. "And I believe it is up to me to decide what is acceptable and what is not."
"You are different now, you know."
"Am I? How so, Father Gavril?"
He smiled, head sinking back, fighting the battle against the medicine. "You are so confident now. I like it. Very much."
"I suppose that is a good thing."
"To be honest…I adore you, tovarichka. I have for some time."
She had to quickly turn away to keep him from seeing the spasm that gripped her face. Fortunately, he seemed to be sliding down the gentle slope of sleep apace.
"I am glad," she replied with a ghost of her voice.
"You are so very important…"
Squaring her shoulders, she turned back towards him and finished the minor adjustments that she knew would make him most comfortable.
"You are important to me, as well," she told him, slipping the hair from his forehead with a fingertip. "I am to be as your sister, remember that."
"Sister…Tovarichka…"
The smile that prompted with bright with pain.
"Yes. Sister Tovarichka."