"Tovarichka, please come in and sit down, we would have words."
"Father? Starosta? What is it?" she asked, obediently entering and seating herself between the two men, who were standing. "What is wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing, Snegurochka," the starosta said soothingly. "But there is something important we need to discuss."
"You are so serious," she said tremulously. "You are frightening me."
"I apologize for that, it is not our intent," Gavril said, glad the wide sleeves of his cassock hid his fists. He felt nauseas.
"So," she said nervously. She was like a wild animal, scenting unknown danger on the wind. "What are we to discuss?"
"It is our wish that you remain here, with the starosta," Gavril said firmly. "He is not doing as well as he pretends, and requires your help."
"Very well," she said in sudden relief. "That is not so very dire. For how long do you need me, starosta?"
"Until the end of my days, I'm afraid, Snegurochka."
"Until…"
"That is the way of it, tovarichka."
"But…I am your assistant, Father. I thought we…"
Her plain confusion was tearing at his heart, but he built a bulwark between himself and the bleeding wound and soldiered on. "Kyiv has seen fit to send a properly trained acolyte to tend to me, so you will no longer be needed at the chapel."
"Oh…oh, I see."
The crestfallen face she desperately tried to hide nearly broke him. Would she not fight? Why was she so accepting?
"I realize you must feel an inordinate responsibility towards me, but please know that I have not been myself as of late. I have said and done things that are neither appropriate nor in my character," he brutally continued. "I apologize if anything I said or did may have led to misunderstandings, but you are merely an assistant provided by the village. We both knew that when my parish grew to size that Kyiv would be sending someone more suitable."
"More suitable…is…is that so?" The tone she spoke it in was strange.
"You will be comfortable here," the starosta said, giving Gavril a sidelong glance at the stony coldness the priest was exuding. "You were, well, you weren't exactly happy, but I hope that was not of my doing."
"Of course not, starosta! You were the very spirit of kindness and hospitality," she protested. "I…I will do as you both ask of me. I will stay here. But, my belongings, I will need to—"
"I brought them with me," Gavril said, drawing forth the bundle from where it had been placed out of her sight behind him.
"That was very…considerate of you, Father. My thanks."
"Please, think nothing of it."
Please, please think nothing of it, or of this, or of how I am acting right now…I inflict this pain upon you now to save you greater further on! But why are you so understanding of all this? Where is that fire you have been goading me with these last several weeks? Why will you not fight to remain with me?
"I believe you met with Avel Petrenko while at the smithy?" the starosta asked. The look she leveled at both of them told them she knew exactly what they were about.
"Yes, he was very kind to me," she responded. "I think he is a very good man. He seems most…reliable."
What harsh gall those words were. They stuck in Gavril's throat, as if he had been the one to speak them. They made it difficult for him to breathe.
All at once the vague but growing pain in her eyes vanished, replaced with a calm, calculating serenity. It was smooth, but it was cold, an icy wall that sprang up around her.
"You have given me much to think about," she said, getting to her feet and gathering her coat and shawls. "I would walk to clear my head. It is whirling."
The door closing behind her was resoundingly loud.
"And so the snow maiden's heart returned to ice," the starosta said into the silence.
"It is better than her dying from it."