I had received everything I hadn't even known I had wanted.
The adoration of the man I loved without sacrificing either of us to his fate.
I should have been happy.
I should have been wary.
~:~
"That was terrible," he groaned, referring to the lonely service they had just performed. His first on his feet.
"God sees your efforts, and does not care about the results," she told him, helping him into his study. She had put several heated bricks in the room earlier, so it was passably warm. More importantly, there were no drafts to bother him. His strength continued to grow day by day, and he no longer needed the infusions for fever or headache. Just tea with honey for his cough, which was diminishing rapidly.
He no longer needed to lean on her quite so heavily, but she was still ready in case he experienced a sudden lurch, as he was not quite steady on his feet.
Nearly a month had passed, and she had been able to get to the village but once, and then not for long. Barely an hour with the starosta. It seemed that the illness Father Gavril had been stricken with had swept through the village, and two people had died because of it. She had thanked the starosta again and again for the herbal remedies, as she was convinced that without them…she hadn't had to say it.
But all he would accept were her thanks, no offers of cooking or cleaning would be listened to. "You have already given this old man a gift beyond measure," he had told her. "I have been reading your Bible, and I believe the correct phrase is 'a price beyond rubies'. "
It had puzzled her exceedingly, but he had bustled her out the door to return to the chapel.
So she had come back, and on the starosta's advice, not visited anyone else in the village. He strongly urged her to avoid the village entirely until he sent word to her. Reassurances that she would not fall ill were ignored.
She had not yet spoken with Gavril about it, but she intended to. The passage that the starosta had referenced spoke of the worth of a virtuous woman.
Needless to say, she had not felt very virtuous since her last discussion with Czernobog.
Which was another item that was of a growing concern to her. The two of them had been at their weakest during Gavril's illness, and the demons had not stirred. There was nothing she could do until they did take action, so she tried not to dwell on it.
"What chores do you have yet to complete?" Gavril asked her as she got him comfortable at the table in his study, as he had requested.
"Not many. The livestock have been cared for. We lost none, which is a blessing indeed."
"Thanks to your foresight and diligence as well."
"As I have been granted by God. As to the rest, nothing that cannot wait. Why?"
"Put the other chair here," he commanded, pointing next to him. "Beside me."
"Very well," she said and did as she was bid. "And then?
"And then you sit in it."
She smiled, but obeyed. "And then?"
"And then you learn to read."
"You wish to teach me? Now?"
"Yes, now. My studies still make my head ache. This will keep us both engaged. Reach behind you, there is a sheaf of papers—yes, that's the one. Hand it to me. Thank you."
It was a slender bundle of paper in a leather wallet, which he undid and spread the papers across the table.
"There is also some ink and something to write with. Did you thaw the ink as I asked?"
"Yes, this morning."
"Good, now, this is an A. You pronounce it 'ah'…"
"…and the snow maiden looked upon the mortals below and wanted to know them, become of them. So she left her snowy mountain home and descended to the realm of man. On her journey, she met a young shepherd tending to his flock, and was struck by his beauty and kindness. The shepherd's name was Lel, and soon he confessed his love for her. She wished to love him in return, but did not know how. Seeing her daughter's plight, her mother, Spring, granted her the ability to love. With great joy Snegurochka returned to Lel, but as they embraced, so great was the heat of her love for him that the heart granted to her by her mother Spring overcame the body granted to her by her father Frost, and she melted away into nothingness."
"You read well," Gavril praised her.
"Thank you, Father. This…is a very sad story," she said, staring at the paper Gavril had written the story out on in order for her to practice her reading.
"Yes. She knew her greatest joy, and it destroyed her. It is a cautionary tale."
"So I see."
"Are you all right? I should have chosen a different story."
"No, no. It is only a story. For children, yes?"
"Yes…although I must admit, I chose it because of you." He had deliberately chosen the story, although it had indeed been inspired by the villager's name for her. They had not discussed the fact that she was infatuated with him, and he had hoped that this might add as additional buttressing for her.
Now he was regretting his choice. He saw that it had been callow, and it pained her.
"Am I destined to melt?"
"I certainly hope not," he said, laughing. "No, I had a dream about you, as Snegurochka. Probably because I was sickening, and it is what the villagers call you. You were dancing in the snow…have I told you this before?" Why was he saying this? That dream…he knew it would embarrass her, but he had no control over his tongue. He was not as yet as recovered from his illness as he had hoped.
"Something of it. You mentioned it while you were fevered." As expected, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but that was lost in the wash of something akin to terror as her words sank in. He had been talking in a fever dream? And she had heard it?
"I did? Did…I mention anything else?" he asked, gathering the papers and speaking in what he hoped was a casual way.
"That I was not very nice, and that you wished I would be nicer, as I was in your other dreams of me. You made me promise to be nice."
The laugh he gave was self-conscious and forced. "I was indeed feverish. I have not dreamed of you all that often."
"I know this. I prefer to think you have not dreamed of me at all."
Ouch.
He cleared his throat. "But your progress is remarkable. Have I only been teaching you a few days? You picked it up even faster than I had thought you would. I am proud of you."
The words made unexpected warmth spread through her. "Thank you."
"Well, what would you like to do now?"
"I have washing to do. I have put it off all morning."
"Please, tovarichka, even the Lord took a day of rest."
"The Lord did not have a household to maintain."
"Tovarichka!" he exclaimed. "That is close to blasphemous!"
"Nearly, but not quite," she said serenely, getting to her feet. "Besides, I have come to believe that He has a sense of humor."
"Not like yours, I hope."
"That is not very nice. And you were saying I was not nice?"
"Out, woman. Tend to your duties."
"Yes, Father Gavril.
Her hand was on the door latch when she heard, "You were very beautiful."
Had he no control whatsoever?
"I was? When was that?"
"When you were dancing. You looked so…happy. I have never seen you smile like that. I want to see you smile like that, tovarichka."
"Perhaps you will," she said quietly. "If you will excuse me."
After she had gone, there was the usual sense of deflation, as if she had taken some of the light and air out of the room with her. And as usual, it was all he could do not to pursue her, to be in her presence, and return to that light and air. When he was helpless in bed, it was much easier. He'd had no choice. Now it was a battle he waged several times a day, and each time she walked away the battle was harder fought and even harder won.
As it had ever been. The ability to choose that God had blessed and cursed man with.
Reaching out, he drew the pages she had been writing on towards him, the progress of awkward and chunky letters smoothly progressing to an elegant and flowing hand. Reading and writing had come very naturally to her, and while he was proud of how swiftly she had learned it, he was disappointed that there would be no more lessons.
The bitterness at the disappointment was surprising, and he was unsure how to react to it.
For all his time convalescing, he had not allowed himself to dwell too much on her return and how he felt towards it. He ran a fingertip over the letters she had so painfully, hesitantly scribed in the first lesson. Her concentration had been so intense, it had made his heart swell to see it.
Sister Tovarichka…that phrase had been echoing in his head for some time now, he wasn't sure when it had started. It was layered with meaning. Meaning he should take seriously.
He had called her his tovarichka, but she was not his, she belonged to God, as did he. Neither their lives nor their hearts were theirs to do with as they pleased. They had both consigned it all to God the Father, to do with as He saw fit.
Why couldn't he have met her before taking his vows?
When he had awakened, fully awakened, and realized she had returned to him, he had been unable to believe it. The recent dreams of her tending to him had not been fever dreams, born of a desperate and yearning mind, but reality. He had needed her, and she had come.
It was selfish, but he was very glad, and he had resolved to never let her leave again. When she had teased him about doing just that, a dark anger had risen within him. If he had not been so weak…at the very least a tantrum would have been the result. It shamed him to admit it, even to himself.
When she had finally revealed her intention to stay, the relief had been so great he wasn't sure he would be able to bear it.
After she had left, and he realized just how badly he had failed her by not being strong enough to get over the shock quickly enough to realize how dire her fate could be, things had devolved quickly. He had not meant for them to, they just…did. Meals tasted like ash, so he ate less and less. Sleep brought dreams of her, so he slept more and more. Then the women had come. They were his parishioners, and he would not think ill of them, but…
They had tried his patience.
They had followed him everywhere, chattering incessantly. The chapel fell into disarray, and he had been of no inclination to correct it. Much easier to resent them, and blame them for being something they were not and never could be. To compare them to an impossibly high standard and then feel injured when they inevitably fell short.
To escape he had fallen to his past-time of chopping wood. He was relatively certain that it was this particular foolishness that had gotten him sick in the first place.
Had it been worth it? Nearly dying, in order to have her return to him?
He was forced to conclude that it was. They were closer now than ever before, but it was more difficult as well. For instance, when he discovered he was in her old bed, and not his own. Sweat had erupted from the pores in his skin at the thought of lying where she had lain, his body pressing where hers had pressed.
It had created certain…physical effects that were somewhat awkward to deal with in that state. The emotional had been even more so. It had not diminished! Sleeping where she had slept, dreaming where she had dreamed…it was enough to drive a strong man mad.
And the things he had said to her…O Lord, the things he had said! Half remembered through a blurry haze, he remembered telling her he adored her, begging her not to leave him, making her swear upon God Himself never to leave him.
And she had!
A promise he could not hold her to, of course. He had been raving, and she had been trying to keep him calm.
But she had sworn it. The words she had spoken were not in the same fog as the rest of it. The words she had spoken to him were crystal sharp.
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.
Such an oath!
Truly she believed she loved him. And he was taking advantage of that to keep her next to him. He knew what he should do, he should release her from the oath and his service. She had loved a man once, she would love another, proof she was not ready to become a bride of Christ. He should encourage her to divert her affections to another.
The very thought of it made him want to break things.
He was a man, and he was weak, and his weakness had a name and silvery blond hair and he was perfectly willing to accept that. Too willing.
And too willing to keep her chained to his side in a manner that would only lead to her sadness and despair.
Brow furrowed, he stared sightlessly at the papers in front of him.
As soon as he was able…a trip to the village. He would speak to the starosta. The starosta would understand, and help him. Her original intent had to be held to.
There had to be a miracle in Rechka.