"Snegurochka? And Popiy Gavril! Come in, come in!" The starosta quickly moved back from the door to let them inside the warmth of his home and they complied, Varya supporting Gavril to one of the familiar chairs by the table.
"Thank you," Gavril panted, grateful for the sturdy wood beneath him. The walk had started out quite fine, the sun was shining and a fresh snowfall kept the road from being slippery. However as the miles wore on, his weakness had soon become evident. If Varya had not been with him he never would have made it.
The starosta busied himself with the kettle, but before it was ready he brought a bottle and a small glass and plonked them down on the table.
"Before tea, a restorative I think," he said, opening the bottle and pouring it into the glass.
"I do not know if that is wise…" Varya began hesitantly.
"Nonsense, horilka is mother's milk to us. Drink, Popiy."
"I am very tired of people telling me to do that," he complained, but quickly downed it. The fiery warmth quickly spread from the pit of his stomach through his shaking limbs.
"Ah, see? It is a fine restorative," the starosta remarked in satisfaction.
"It is indeed," Varya admitted. "With the exception of the sacrament, I have very little experience with such things. I will leave it to your wisdom in the future, starosta."
Reaching up, he patted her on the head with an age-spotted hand. "There is a fine girl. Now, be off with you. Everyone is back to trade and you must be in great need. I was actually going to send word to you tomorrow that it was safe to return."
"Safe to return?" Gavril asked.
"The sickness, you see," explained the starosta. "It was very bad here. I wanted to be sure there was no trace of it. We cannot risk exposing either of you."
"I heard…there were deaths," Gavril said soberly.
"Yes," the starosta sighed. "Two, we will discuss such dark matters after Snegurochka leaves. Such dark talk is not fit for her."
"I have learned to take such hints," she said, picking up her basket where she had set it upon entering the room. "It is my dearest wish to continue to be seen as a fine girl by the starosta."
"Out, impudent child," he scolded, shaking a gnarled finger at her. She smiled at him and departed.
"I do wish to discuss the state of the village," Father Gavril started, toying with the empty glass. If he did not speak of it immediately he was afraid he would lose the heart to. "But there is something else I need to talk to you about first."
"You have decided to let her go," the starosta said, making tea.
"How did you—" Gavril began, startled.
"You did not push yourself so hard merely to talk about the village. That could have waited until you were fully well. You are not your God, you cannot raise those whom we have lost." He set two mugs on the table and took a seat. Planting his elbows on the table, he laced his fingers before his nose and looked at Gavril over them with hooded eyes. "That only left one item of such importance. Snegurochka."
"Am I so transparent?" Gavril muttered ruefully.
"Only to eyes such as mine, which have seen much, although nothing quite like what the two of you are experiencing. I honestly believe it to be unique."
"Sadly, I do not. The clergy are not so virtuous that we do not yield to temptation."
"Oh, but I do. For you and she are virtuous. If you were not, you would merely give in and feel a bit bad about it later, but would carry on with your lives."
"I suppose you are right," Gavril replied with a bitter smile.
"So what course of action have you decided upon?"
"She must go, start a new life. Leave me behind. She has proven she is capable of great love, and after a time, she will bestow it upon a man much worthier than I."
"And what does Snegurochka think of this plan?"
"She does not know of it. The stumbling block is she will absolutely not leave me until she believes I am properly cared for. I want to send a missive to Kyiv for a replacement for her. No one less than someone trained in the ways of the church will suffice for her."
"Will Kyiv agree to this? To send two such resources to us?"
"I believe so. The parish has grown, and will continue to grow. It is also on the outskirts of the church's influence. They will be eager to plant themselves here firmly and grow beyond."
"So that is one obstacle out of the way. Now for the more difficult one, her purpose."
"To be honest, starosta, I was hoping you…"
"Ah, you wish for me to play the aged and infirm card. 'Oh, Snegurochka, I am so weak and feeble, please see it in your heart to care for this feeble old man!' Something like that?"
Gavril winced. "As you put it that way…perhaps not."
"So serious! No, my pride is a small price to pay to see her healed and happy. And what of her heart? We do not have such a wide selection here, but I can think of one or two who would treasure her. They are already infatuated with her. Good lads, the both of them. It would be a simple life, and a hard one, but she is most certainly up to it."
"Y-yes," Gavril agreed. "Farmers?"
"Yes, both of them. The life of a farmwife is not necessarily one filled with variety, but it is full of purpose, which she seems to need very much. And it is an honest life. I think she would do well to settle with either of them, and raise a family. And it would go far to erase our mistake with her. Ah, that I live to see her children born. That would be a great blessing indeed. Popiy?"
"Yes, yes of course. It should be as you say."
It was the right course of action to take, it was. But why was it creating such a churning pool of acid in his stomach? It was what was best for her, it was the only way.
The alternative was to keep her enslaved by his own selfish desires. Down that path led only anguish, and eventually resentment and hatred. One day he knew he would awaken and see his tovarichka look at him with anger in her eyes.
No matter how it felt now, that eventuality left him with a dread that froze him to his marrow.
"Yes," he repeated, firmly. "Tell me what I need to do, so that we may ensure her future."
"I will get the tea."