Under This Unbroken Sky (17 page)

Katya answers, “Just me.”

Maria drags her to the bedroom, screaming about taking something that didn’t belong to her and that her father would deal with her when he got home, because she is afraid of what she might do to her. Her hand tight around her daughter’s arm, she worries that she will bruise her, but God forgive her, she doesn’t let go. When Katya starts to whimper, Maria yells at her to stop, that she has nothing to cry about, she isn’t the one who is hurt, and that she best get on her knees and beg for forgiveness. And Katya does, even though she doesn’t know what she’s done wrong.

Dania offers to wash the blanket. Maria tells her to burn it, get it out of the house. But Dania scrubs it with snow and hangs it between two pine trees to air, with plans to wash it properly tomorrow.

Sofia keeps rolling the dough. She tells herself,
Katya’s little. They won’t punish her hard. Not like they would with me.
She’s older, she’s supposed to be like Dania and take care of the smaller ones. Sofia rolls harder to block her mother’s sobs.

It is dark when Teodor and Myron get back. Ivan sees them first from his perch at the window. Maria can barely contain him long enough to wrap the scarf around his neck and pull the hat down over his ears, but when it comes time for his mittens, they are nowhere to be found. When he is warned that he can’t go outside to greet his father unless he finds his mittens, he breaks down and confesses that he lost them. He is promptly stripped of his winter clothes and sent to stand in the corner.

When Teodor and Myron return home, the women set the dinner plates in silence. Each of them senses the tension that will shatter, injuring them all, if anyone dare ask, “How was your day?”

Myron eats quickly so he can finish chopping the wood. He can’t bear his father’s silence anymore. Ivan has fallen asleep in the corner and Dania carries him to bed. She then excuses herself. Sofia, who wants more than anything to see the money and ask her papa for a new dress from the Sears Roebuck catalog, hides the advertisement under her pillow, thinking it best to wait.

All the children are in bed early, but only the smallest are asleep. The others’ ears are straining to hear the sound of money. Maria lights the oil lamp and sets it on the table. She sits across from Teodor, who is finishing a lingering smoke. He butts the cigarette and reaches in his pocket. He lays the money on the table. Forty-two dollars and seventy-five cents. He sets ten dollars aside.

“This is already spoken for.” He doesn’t meet her eyes.

Thirty-two dollars and seventy-five cents. That’s it. She wants to cry. She feels it climb up her throat and push at the back of her eyes. Her cheeks flush.
Don’t
, she reprimands herself.
Don’t.
She takes a deep breath. “What do we have to get?”

Teodor’s fingers rub the rough tabletop. “We need a harness.”

Maria counts out the money.

IT IS THREE IN THE MORNING WHEN THE FINAL PENNY is divvied among the piles. Teodor and Maria sit exhausted from their negotiations. Teodor will have to wait for a new shovel, hardware for the granary, and getting the horse shod. Everyone will have to make do with the boots they have, save for Ivan and Petro, who can’t get through the winter with what they have now. Lesya won’t get new shoes. Only the eldest will get new long underwear
and winter stockings. Their old winter underwear will be passed down. Myron won’t get his fur-lined hat. Maria will knit Ivan new mittens and socks for the men. She will try to stretch the fabric to make three heavy skirts for her daughters.

She will need to patch the men’s pants again. There won’t be enough meat to get through the winter, but hopefully the potatoes and rice will carry them through. Maria has already evaluated the preserves and vegetables, and noted the ones she will try to trade in February for more meat. She picks up the remaining thirteen cents and squirrels it away in the tobacco can on the highest shelf. She calculates the pennies, nickels, and dimes. They have a dollar and eighteen cents for emergencies.

Teodor checks in on the girls. They sleep blissfully unaware. Katya and Dania are snuggled back-to-back. Little Katya’s legs are stretched out against Sofia, who is pushed to the edge of the bed.
Where will the baby sleep if it’s a girl?
he wonders. He should build a cradle. He has a birch log. He was saving it to make Maria a cupboard, but that will have to wait. Dania rolls over and wraps her arm around her little sister. Her long blond hair is loose around her face. She is almost a woman. Soon she’ll marry and have her own farm. She’ll be like her mother. Practical and sensible. She’ll make do with what she has.

I’ll keep you safe
, he wants to tell them. He tucks Sofia’s arm back in. As he pulls the quilt up, he notices the piece of paper protruding from under her pillow. He slides it out and unfolds the catalog page,
Girls and Misses’ Cloth Dresses
. Circled, in the bottom corner, is an illustration of a young girl, her arms tucked behind her back, her head tilted demurely, her hair short and curled. Teodor reads slowly, stumbling over the odd words.
Girls’ Dress made of all-wool flannel, bolero effect, shoulder flaps, high-standing collar and band in front are made of black velvet,
trimmed with white cord. We can furnish this dress in royal blue and red. Price $3.75.

He doesn’t know the words
bolero
,
velvet
, or
royal.
But he understands the price. He folds the page back up and slides it farther under the pillow. Of all his children, she is the one he worries about the most. She wants to be someone else. Katya groans and stretches, digging her feet into Sofia’s side. Gently, Teodor reaches under the covers and lifts her legs. Katya squirms, her eyes open blearily.

“Tato?”

“Shhh,” Teodor soothes her.

Tears spring to her eyes. “I stole Mama’s blanket.”

He thinks she’s had a bad dream and is about to say so when Katya breaks his heart.

“Do I have to go to jail now too, Tato?”

M
ARIA NEATLY FOLDS DANIA’S OLD WINTER STOCKINGS for Lesya. The legs might be a little long, and the wool is picked, but they’re clean and darned. Dania washed them herself yesterday, while she and Teodor were in town getting supplies. She built the fire, cut through the ice, hauled water up from the lake, filled the washtub, and topped it up with snow. It was ten below yesterday.

When they arrived home before dinner, she was still outside. Her hands raw and cracked, the front of her coat and sleeves had frozen. She was churning Maria’s blanket for the third time through the steaming water. She had scrubbed the moldy patches and raspberry stains with a horse brush. She was down to the last thumb-sized cake of soap. The dyes in the wool had leached where she had rubbed. The grass stains were impenetrable, but still she scrubbed. Maria told her,
That’s enough
.

From the window Maria can see it hanging on the line, frozen stiff. The sun bleaching its pastel colors to bone white. Tonight she’ll hang it by the stove, let it thaw, and see if the smell is gone. She plans to nail it to the back wall to keep out the wind’s chill. Put it to some good use. She lays the folded underwear in the bottom of the basket. The clothes smell like winter.

She tucks in one bar of soap, two skeins of yarn, and Petro’s new boots, size 7. She hopes they’re large enough. His toes were poking through the old ones. Ivan hasn’t taken his new boots off all day. Last night, he tried to sleep with them on. His feet were
jutting out from under the covers so he could admire their shine. When she insisted he remove them, he set the boots in front of the woodstove, beside his father’s, carefully lining them up to face the door. This morning he slipped them on, in unison with Teodor. Left foot first, then the right. He laced them across, giving a final tug, mimicking his father. But he still needed help tying the bow:
The rabbit comes out of the hole, goes around the tree, and back down the hole again.
He has been clopping in and out of the house all morning. She caught him twice bending down to wipe snow from the toes.

If there had been a middle boy, Ivan would be wearing hand-me-downs, like his sisters. But Myron’s old clothes have long been reused as rags and patches and his old leather boots have been cut up to repair harnesses and saddles. Ivan has always been the roughest on his clothes. No matter how many times she tells him to stay out of the mud and not to drag his toes, he doesn’t remember. He’s worn a hole through the toe on his left boot, and the leather has cracked and split at the seams from the constant soakings. She had to get him new boots this year. She tried not to make it an event—she just casually passed them to him.

He let Katya touch them. Sofia pouted and kicked her boots against the table leg until Maria swatted her still. Sensing that it wasn’t fair that his boots hadn’t lasted another year, he did his best to hide his feet under the chair. When Dania unwrapped her new winter underwear, Sofia ran to her room and didn’t come out for the rest of the afternoon. Later, Maria found a pile of shredded paper under the bed; all she could piece together was the head of a young girl with ribbons in her hair. She is thankful school is back in and the house is quiet today.

Maria folds a little bag of candy and hides it in the folds of the linen. Lesya will make sure Petro doesn’t eat it all at once. Dania
divided up their stash: two black balls, three peppermints, four butterscotch, and one lemon drop apiece. None of them took a bite, instead they squirreled their treasures away in their trunks, hiding them in socks, under skirts, and in pants pockets. Even Myron, who initially said to give his share to the little ones, was relieved when Maria refused his charitable act. He tucked the lemon drop in his shirt pocket.

Maria sucks on the butterscotch candy she pilfered last night. There are five more stored in the tobacco can. She prefers to bite down on these hard candies, feel them shatter between her teeth, but then it would dissolve too quickly. Instead, she holds it in her cheek, her tongue gauging the halfway mark, when she will wrap it in wax paper and hide it back in the tin.

It’s been harder dividing the food. The way Anna has been eating, she’ll empty the pantry in a month. And she’s not convinced that Anna will salt the meat or that Stefan will freeze it properly. Maria decides to ration the supplies: half a pound of sausage, a pound of chuck roast, a pound of sugar, two pounds of salt, and a pound of rice. She adds four jars of preserves to fill out the basket. She ponders including a chicken, but knows Stefan will want it roasted and then will eat it in one meal, whereas she can stretch it for weeks by turning it into jellied chicken, making a broth, and using the feet, gizzards, and heart in stews. She reassures herself that it is best that she administers the food. She can send over a basket once a week to replenish their supplies.

“It’s ready,” she tells Teodor, who is repairing the ax.

IVAN HOLDS TEODOR’S HAND AS HE TRIES TO MATCH HIS father’s stride through the snow. His leather boots squeak. He looks back at their tracks. Big and small, marching side by side,
we
were here, we were here, we were here
. He stumbles and scuffs his toe. He wears a pair of Myron’s oversized mitts. Mama has promised to start knitting him a new pair tonight with the gray wool, and he’s asked for a red stripe.

He breathes into his scarf and it condenses wet against his throat. Overhead, dark clouds hang low and heavy. Tato says it’s going to snow. He can’t wait to show Petro his new boots; they’ll have matching pairs. He wonders whose will be faster.

Tato carries the basket. The ax handle sticks out from under the linen handkerchief that Mama used to cover the presents. Teodor lets go of Ivan’s hand and shifts the weight to his other arm. He pulls his glove off with his teeth and reaches into his pants pocket. Reassured, he puts the glove back on. Ivan races around him and takes his other hand.

They sneak up on the horse first. Its head is cocked and ears pricked when they round the corner. It neighs and tosses its head, like a good joke. Teodor reaches in his coat pocket and brings out a palm full of sugar. He winks. “Don’t tell your mother.” The horse licks appreciatively.

They cut through the barn and Teodor is pleased to see that the cow has been milked. He unties the sack and pours a handful of oats into the feed bucket. Ivan fetches an extra armload of hay and stacks it where it can be easily reached. The cow chews on it like it’s nothing special.

On the way to the house, Teodor assesses the snow-covered pile of wood and makes a note to split a week’s supply before he leaves. He can’t let his sister freeze.

He bangs on the door. He hears Stefan’s muffled voice. The door opens slowly. Petro pokes his head out.

“I got new boots,” Ivan beams and sticks out his foot as proof. “And so do you.”

But Petro doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even seem to care. Ivan notices that Petro is wearing his mittens indoors.

“Where’s your mama?” Teodor asks the boy. His sweater has unraveled at the bottom, the front is soiled. He has no socks on in his ragged boots. And he’s not at school.

“In bed.”

Teodor scowls, it’s almost noon. “Tell her to get up.”

Petro shuts the door. The sound of voices, a man’s grumbling, followed by heavy footsteps. The door swings open. Stefan looks gray and shaky. Teodor looks past him for Lesya. He finds her at the stove, trying to restart the fire. The house is freezing.

“I’m here to see Anna.”

Stefan squints into the bright light as if it’s burning his eyes. He heads to the table. “Shut the door.” Teodor follows him in.

Stefan pushes aside the tin cup and the empty flask tipped on its side. He ignores the dirty dishes and empty jars. “Anna, get up, your brother’s here.” Teodor glances to the mound of covers that shift and groan. A layer of ice has formed in the pail of water.

Stefan sits down heavily. “My head’s killing me. It’s been throbbing since yesterday. Need something for my nerves. Do you have that fire going yet?”

Lesya nervously squeaks, “No.”

“What’s taking so long?” He rubs his forehead, his own voice jarring the pain. “She let it go out.”

“I was milking the cow,” Lesya protests feebly.

“I don’t give a goddamn, it’s freezing in here.”

Teodor watches Stefan’s shaking hands sift through the remnants of cigarette butts. “Do you have a smoke?”

Teodor’s first reaction is to say no, but Stefan’s eyes are desperate. He retrieves his one hand-rolled from his pocket. Stefan lights it from the oil lamp. He breathes in deep.

“Thank Christ.” His body relaxes into the nicotine. “I’m going crazy cooped up in here.”

“It’s going!” Lesya blows on the crackling fire.

“Get some wood,” Stefan orders, and Petro, who is standing behind him in the shadows, flinches, startled that his father can see him through the back of his head.

Petro reaches for the ax, but Teodor stops him. “He’s too small.”

“No, I’m not!” Petro stands as tall as he can.

“Mind your manners,” Stefan snaps. Petro lowers his head. “You think you’re strong enough to chop the wood? You think your uncle is wrong?”

“Yes,” Petro answers, staring at the holes in the toes of his boots.

“Pick up the ax, hold it over your head. Higher.” Stefan leans back in his chair and blows a smoke ring. “Hold it there. Show us how strong you are.”

The ax wobbles for balance. Petro spreads his legs farther to brace himself. The ax pulls him to the right. He straightens, his arms tremble, his face flushes pink.

“Look at those arms, there’s no meat on them at all. Do they look like a man’s arms?”

Petro sways backward. The ax tilts and Teodor grabs the handle before its weight pulls him over. Petro drops his tingling arms, his ears flush with shame.

“Your uncle’s right. You’re not strong enough.”

Teodor sets the ax on the table. “You get some branches. Your father will split the wood later. He’s strong.” Stefan glares at Teodor as if he’s just been trumped.

“I’ll help,” Ivan offers, eager to escape the danger he senses but can’t identify.

“I don’t need any help.” Petro storms past.

Ivan wishes Petro would put on his shiny new boots and then he’d be happy too. But Petro slams the door in his face and he has to run to catch up. His new boots squeak with every step.

“Maria sent some things over.” Teodor sets the basket on the table and speaks to Lesya: “There’s something for you in there.”

“Don’t be shy, take a look.” Stefan waves her forward.

Lesya lifts the linen cloth covering the basket, sees Dania’s stockings neatly folded, with a lovely new soap perched on top. Stefan’s eyes brighten.

“Is that sausage?” He sniffs. “Mmm…smell the garlic. And beef. You’re cooking that tonight. No more eggs and stale bread.”

“Maria thought you might want to salt it.”

“And ruin a good cut of meat? Tonight we eat like kings. Anna, come see this, get up.” Anna grunts and heaves herself up. Her hair is disheveled. As she swings her legs over the bed, Teodor sees a purple bruise across her shin. Anna modestly pulls her hem down and looks to see if Teodor noticed. He has. “I ran into the table last night,” she murmurs.

“She’s up all night pacing. Bumping into things. Drive a man right out the door. Stoke that fire, girl, we need the oven hot.”

Lesya, who wants to touch the winter underwear and feel its softness against her skin, limps back to the stove.

Anna swings her bloated belly off the bed and gingerly puts weight on her leg. It was her fault he threw the log. He didn’t mean to hit her. He just wanted her to stop rattling the dishes so loudly. When he gets his headaches, he can’t take the noise. She knows that. She knows the pounding in his head only goes away with a shot of whiskey. He felt terrible afterward. She calmed him with a warm towel on his forehead and promised to be quieter from now on. She pads across the icy floor in bare feet. “Make yourself look presentable, woman, we have company.”

She brushes the hair from her eyes, which are outlined with dark circles, and investigates the basket of goodies.

“Is that jam?” She helps herself to the strawberry preserve. “Can you open it?” She hands it to Stefan, whose spirits have lifted with the prospect of food. He twists the lid firmly and it pops off. He hands it back like he’s a champion.

“What time is it?” she asks, absently dipping her finger in the sugary concoction.

“Time for lunch.” Stefan pats his belly. “Looks like you made a killing, Teodor.” He fishes for a dollar figure as he rifles through the basket. “Candy! Any lemon drops?”

Teodor can’t help but notice his sister’s size. “Maria might come by tomorrow, she wants to see how you’re doing.”

“Tell her I’m fine.” Teodor searches Anna’s eyes for the truth, but a smile is pasted on her face.

“Stefan, I need to talk to Anna alone. I’m hoping you’ll understand.” He lowers his eyes to avoid a confrontation.

“There’s nothing you can say to her you can’t say to me.”

“I know that. It’s between us. Brother and sister. I know it’s your house, I’m just asking for a few words.”

Stefan, confident that Anna will report back everything to him and not wanting to spoil the moment of gracious host nor jeopardize his newfound riches, acquiesces. “I’ll step outside. A gesture of my goodwill.” He pushes back the chair. “I don’t want any bad feelings between us, Teodor.”

“Neither do I.”

Stefan nods regally, one gentleman to another, and stands to leave.

Anna panics as the familiar sense of him leaving rears in her stomach. “Whatever you say to me, you say to him. He’s my husband.”

“It’s okay.” Stefan pats her on the behind. “I’ll go see how the boy’s doing. Maybe split some wood.” He takes the ax. “You wouldn’t have another cigarette?”

“No.”

Stefan hides his disappointment poorly.

“Can you send Ivan back in?”

Stefan suppresses a pang of servitude. “Of course.” He smiles graciously. “Ivan, your father wants you.” He leans on the door frame and smiles thinly. “Back home, I would think you were planning a rebellion.”