Pure (Book 1, Pure Series) (2 page)

           
There was another long stretch of silence.

           
"Annushka, there are lights on at the Mstislov mansion," Galina said at last, her tone low and edged with fear.
 
It sounded as if she was afraid of GM's reaction.
 
I had a feeling she was working back to the topic GM had forbidden before.

           
Galina continued.
 
"The house has been deserted for a long time.
 
You know when that house was last occupied – it was eleven years ago."

           
I could practically hear GM shrug when she replied, but the unconcern seemed false.
 
"Perhaps his son has decided to take over the place.
 
It would be nice for someone to sweep out the cobwebs.
 
It was a grand old mansion.
 
It should be restored to its former beauty.
 
The house itself certainly never did anything wrong."

           
"They opened the old airfield two weeks ago and began fitting up a plane," Galina said quickly.
 
She seemed encouraged by GM's non-reaction.
 
"That's what made us decide to come here."

           
Again, GM was carefully unimpressed.
 
"So?
 
It would be nice for everyone in the area to have a proper airfield.
 
It might encourage good things."

           
"Annushka," Galina said urgently, "
his
house is lit up again.
 
And it was
his
plane they were working on.
 
You know, the one he bought when he first amassed his fortune."

           
"I saw his plane myself," Aleksandr said.
 
"I believe he reached the U.S. ahead of us.
 
We had to get our travel documents in order."

           
"Hush, Aleksandr," Galina snapped.
 
"Annushka, please, it's him.
 
He is free.
 
And he will seek out—""

           
"Galina, I warned you not to bring this up."
 
GM's voice was cold.

           
"Annushka!" Galina cried despairingly.

           
"He's dead, Galina," GM said sternly.
 
"Enough."

           
"He's returned!" Galina cried.

           
"Nonsense!" GM replied angrily.

           
"Annushka!
 
How can you say that?
 
He killed your daughter!"

           
A chair scraped back, and I could tell GM had jumped to her feet.

           
"Superstition killed my daughter!" GM shouted.

           
"Annushka!
 
You must listen!" Galina wailed.

           
"Get out of my house!" GM cried.

           
I heard porcelain shattering against a wall, and two more chairs scraped back.

           
I jumped to my feet in alarm.

           
I watched, horrified, as Galina and Aleksandr ran down the hall with GM chasing after them.

           
Galina fumbled furiously with the locks, and then she and her son escaped out the door.
 
GM ran out after them.

           
I quickly followed.

           
The cold night air cut through my thin nightclothes, and the pavement scraped my bare feet as I hurried down the walkway in front of the house.

           
GM was standing at the end of the walkway, breathing hard.
 
Strands of silver had worked their way free of her ponytail and settled in scattered array around her head, glinting softly in the moonlight.

           
Galina and Aleksandr jumped into the car at the end of the driveway.
 
The engine roared to life, and the car took off, tires screeching.

           
I watched the car's red taillights disappear into the night.
 
I shivered in the cold, but I knew it wasn't the cold alone that chilled me.
 
I had never seen GM so angry.

           
"GM, what's going on?"

           
GM whirled around.
 
She stared hard at me for a moment and then looked down at the silver cross she always wore.
 
It gleamed in the moonlight.
 
She wrapped her fingers around it and gripped it tightly.

           
"I'm sorry," GM said quietly.
 
"I wanted to spare you all of that.
 
I never should have let them in."

           
"Are you all right, GM?" I asked.
 
Suddenly the floodgates were open and more questions poured out.
 
"Who were those people?
 
Why did the woman – Galina? – why did she say a man killed my mother?
 
I thought she died of a fever."

           
Anger blazed in GM's eyes.
 
"Your mother did die of a fever.
 
Galina doesn't know what she's talking about."
 
GM's expression softened as she continued to look at me.
 
"Come back into the house, Katie.
 
It's too cold out here."

           
GM put her arm around my shoulders and guided me back toward the gold rectangle of light that streamed out through the still-open door.

           
I stopped suddenly.
 
I thought for just a moment that I had seen a tall figure standing in the shadows near the house.
 
I blinked and looked again.

           
The figure was gone.

           
"Is something wrong?" GM asked, looking around as if she feared that Galina and Aleksandr had returned.

           
"No, it's nothing.
 
I thought I saw something, but it's gone now."

           
Back inside the house, GM steered me into the kitchen.
 
"How about some warm milk?"

           
I shivered again as I looked around the room.
 
Three of the chairs around the kitchen table were pulled back and stood awkwardly askew.
 
On the table itself were two of GM's blue-and-white china cups.
 
One of the cups lay on its side, its contents spilled on the table – a brown puddle on the white surface.
 
I could see shards of a third cup littering the floor, and a brown stain ran down the far wall.

           
"GM, why did you throw a cup of tea at them?"

           
GM made a derisive sound, and releasing me, she went around the table and kneeled down to examine the broken cup.
 
I knew that GM was very fond of that tea set, and she wasn't the type to lose her temper easily.
 
Something was terribly wrong.

           
"GM, what made you so angry?"

           
GM ignored my question.
 
"It occurs to me now that it was a bad idea to bring you in here.
 
I'm sorry you had to see this."

           
She straightened up and pulled the band off of her ponytail, and the rest of her fine silver hair swung free to join the stray strands, forming a straight, shimmering curtain that covered both sides of her face.
 
With a swift movement, she smoothed the hair into a tight rope and recaptured it in the band.
 
GM was suddenly herself again – all trace of out-of-control emotions banished.

           
She put her hands on her hips and looked over at me.
 
"I think this will all keep till morning.
 
Never mind about the warm milk now.
 
We've had enough excitement tonight.
 
It's back to bed for both of us."

           
Frustration welled up within me.
 
"GM!" I cried.
 
"You're acting like nothing happened!"

           
GM gave me a puzzled, slightly wounded look, and I felt a wave of contrition wash over me.
 
I wasn't used to shouting at my grandmother.
 
I went on more quietly.
 
"Why won't you answer any of my questions?"

           
"I did answer one – about your mother," GM replied, averting her eyes.

           
I wasn't going to let her get away so easily.
 
"No, you told me something I already knew – my mother died of a fever.
 
You didn't tell me why anyone would believe she'd been murdered.
 
That is what Galina was saying wasn't it – that a man from your old village had killed her?
 
And why wouldn't you allow Galina to say his name?"

           
GM looked at me, and I could see a distant flicker of pain in her eyes.
 
I could see, too, that she was fighting against it.

           
GM held out her hand.
 
"If you go upstairs with me, I will tell you a story.
 
It will help to explain."

           
I hesitated.
 
Too often, GM had distracted me when I had asked questions like these – she had diverted my attention from the past and sidestepped my questions without ever refusing to answer them outright.
 
I feared she would talk around me again.
 
My questions would evaporate the way they always did.

           
"Come, Katie, please," GM said, her voice low and pleading.
 
"You know the past is difficult for me."

           
I resigned myself and took GM's hand.

           
We went up to my room.

           
GM switched on the light.
 
The lamp by my bed had a faded shade with yellow sunbursts on it.
 
I'd kept it for years, refusing a new one when GM had wanted to redecorate.
 
For some reason, the old shade reminded me of my mother.

           
GM smoothed back the quilt on my bed. "Let me tuck you in."
 
She sounded sad and tired.

           
After I had settled under the covers, GM sat down beside me.

           
"I will tell you something I have never told you before, Katie.
 
The night your mother died—" GM's voice quavered and she stopped.

           
I was instantly alert.
 
GM never talked about my mother's death.

           
I watched as GM's face worked.
 
She was struggling with something within.
 
Eventually, she overcame it, and her expression settled into composed lines.

           
"The night your mother died was the worst of all – for the fever, I mean.
 
It had raged through her body, and she had reached a point at which she could no longer find comfort of any kind.
 
She couldn't eat or drink; she couldn't sleep.
 
She couldn't even close her eyes for more than a few moments to rest.
 
She said closing them made the burning behind them worse.
 
On that last night, she kept calling for your father, and of course, your poor father was already gone.
 
She was crying out for him to protect you.
 
Even in her delirium, she knew she wouldn't last long."

           
GM paused again.
 
Her chin had begun to tremble.

           
Tears were stinging my eyes.
 
It was hard for me to think of my mother wracked with pain and tormented by fear.

           
GM went on in a low voice.
 
"When I could make her understand who I was – when I could make her understand that I was her mother – she begged me to protect you.
 
She said, 'Swear to me that you will always protect Katie.'
 
She need hardly have asked for that – the desire to protect you had been in my heart since the day you were born.
 
But I swore it to her then, and I swear it to you now.
 
On my life, I will always protect you."

           
GM stared at me steadily as she said the words, and the tears in my eyes began to sting even more fiercely.
 
Soon they began to fall.
 
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't hold them back.

           
GM put her arms around me and pressed my head to her heart.
 
I could hear its steady beating.

           
"After I made my promise," GM said, her tone unsteady, "Nadya seemed to grow calmer.
 
She asked to see you.
 
I brought you in, and she kissed you on the forehead.
 
You were sleeping and didn't wake.
 
Then she sang her favorite piece of music – no words, just a vowel sound.
 
Do you remember it?"

           
I nodded weakly.
 
When I was a young child, my mother had often sung the same melody to me.
 
It was from a piece of music by Mussorgsky.