“It’s just a butterfly,” Vera says, thinking it is not so lovely as she’d thought; certainly it is not a substitute for her papa’s laughter.
“It is all we have,” her mother says gently.
Vera wraps herself in grief as only a teenage girl can, but as the winter wanes and spring blooms across the kingdom, she begins to feel burdened by her melancholy.
“It is not fair that I cannot go to university,” she whines to her mother one warm summer day, many months after their makeshift funeral at the park. They are kneeling in the black earth weeding their small garden. Both have already worked a full day in the city; this is their summertime routine. A day’s labor in the kingdom and then a two-hour cart ride beyond the walled city to the countryside, where they rent a small patch of ground.
“You are too old to be whining about fairness, and obviously you know better,” her mother says.
“I want to study the great writers and artists.”
Her mother sits back on her heels and looks at Vera. In the syrupy golden light that falls at ten o’clock at night, she looks almost pretty again. Only her brown eyes remain stubbornly old. “You live in the Snow Kingdom,” she says.
“I think I know this.”
“Do you? You work in the greatest library in the world—there are three million books at your fingertips each day. The royal museum is on your way home. And your sister works there. Anytime you wish you can see the masters’ paintings. Galina Ulanova is dancing this season, and do not forget the opera.” She makes a tsking sound. “Do not tell me that a young woman of this kingdom needs to go to university to learn. If you believe such a thing, you are not”—her voice lowers—“ his daughter.” It is the first time her mother has mentioned Father and it has the intended effect.
Vera slides sideways off her own heels and sits in the warm dirt, looking down at the fragile green rosette of a baby cabbage beside her.
I am Petyr Andreyevich’s daughter, she thinks, and in that reclamation, she remembers the books her father had read to her at night, and the dreams he’d encouraged her to dream,
For the remainder of that week, Vera contemplates the discussion in the garden. At work she wanders around the library, walking amid the stacks with the ghost of her father beside her. She knows that all she needs is someone to help her understand the words she reads. It is as if she is a seedling, with a tender green strand pushing up through earth that resists her movement. The sun is up there, though, if only one keeps growing upward.
And then one day she is at the counter organizing parchment rolls when a familiar face appears. It is an aged man, walking with a cane across the marble floor, his tattered brown cleric’s robes trailing along behind him. At a table near the wall, he sits down and opens a book.
Vera approaches him slowly, knowing that her mother would not approve of her plan, but a plan it suddenly is.
“Excuse me,” she says softly to the man, who looks up at her through rheumy eyes.
“Veronika?” he says after a long moment.
“Yes,” she says. This man used to come by the house, in older, better days. She does not think to mention her father, but he is here between them, as surely as the dust. “I am sorry to bother you, but I seek a tutor. I haven’t much money.”
The cleric removes his glasses. It takes him a while to speak, and when he does, his voice is barely more than a whisper. “I cannot help you myself. It is the times in which we live. I should stop writing.” He sighs. “As if I could . . . but I know some students perhaps who are not so afraid as an old man. I will ask.”
“Thank you.”
“Be careful, young Veronika,” he says, putting on his glasses. “And tell no one of this conversation.”
“This secret is safe with me.”
The cleric doesn’t smile. “No secret is safe.”
Fourteen
It was almost midnight when Meredith finally got home. Exhausted by the length of the day and yet captivated by tonight’s story, she fed the dogs, played with them for a while, then changed into a comfortable pair of sweats. She was in the kitchen making herself a cup of tea when a car drove up.
Jeff. Who else would it be at twelve-thirty?
She stood there, her hands gripping the sink’s porcelain rim, her heartbeat going crazy as the front door opened.
Nina walked into the kitchen, looking vaguely pissed off.
Meredith felt a rush of disappointment. “It’s past midnight. What are you doing here?”
Nina walked over to the counter, grabbed a bottle of wine, found two coffee mugs in the sink, rinsed them out, and poured two glasses full. “Well, I’d like to talk about the story, which is becoming pretty damn detailed for a fairy tale, but since you’re afraid of it, I’ll say what I came for. We need to talk.”
“Tomorrow is—”
“Now. Tomorrow you’ll be armored up again and I’ll be intimidated by your competence. Come on.” Then she took Meredith by the arm and led her into the living room, where she got a fire going by pressing a button.
Whoosh went the gas flames, and on came the heat and light.
“Here,” she said, handing Meredith a cup of wine.
“Don’t you think it’s a little late for wine?”
“I’m not even going to answer that. You’re lucky it’s not tequila, the way I’m feeling.”
Nina. Always the drama.
Meredith sat on one end of the sofa, her back tilted against the armrest. Nina sat on the opposite end. In the middle, their toes brushed against each other.
“What do you want, Nina?” Meredith asked.
“My sister.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You were the one who took me trick-or-treating when Dad was working, remember? You always made my costume. And remember, when I tried out for cheerleader, you helped me with my routine for weeks, and when I made it you were happy for me, even though you hadn’t made the squad when you tried out? And when Sean Bowers asked me to the prom, you were the one who told me not to trust him. We might not have had much in common, but we were sisters.”
Meredith had forgotten all of that, or at least, she hadn’t thought of it in years. “That was a long time ago.”
“I went away and left you. I get it. And Mom is not an easy person to be left with. And we don’t know each other very well, but I’m here now, Mere.”
“I see you.”
“Do you? Because frankly, you’ve been a bitch the last few days. Or maybe not a bitch, just kind of mopey, and one woman who won’t talk to me at dinner is pretty much my quota.” Nina leaned forward. “I’m here and I miss you, Mere. It’s like you don’t want to look at me or talk to me at all, I think—”
“Jeff left me.”
Nina sat back abruptly. “What?”
Meredith couldn’t say it again. She shook her head, felt the sting of tears. “He’s living at the motel by his office.”
“That prick,” Nina said.
Meredith actually laughed. “Thanks for not assuming it was my fault.”
The look Nina gave Meredith was caring and compassionate, and Meredith knew suddenly why so many strangers opened up to her sister. It was that look, the one that promised to comfort and care, but not to judge.
“What happened?” Nina asked quietly.
“He asked me if I still love him.”
“And?”
“I didn’t answer,” Meredith said. “I didn’t answer. And I haven’t called him yet, haven’t gone after him or written him a passionate letter or even begged him to come back. No wonder he left me. He even said . . .”
“What?”
“That I was like Mom.”
“So now I think he’s a prick and an asshole.”
“He loves me,” Meredith said. “And I’ve hurt him. I could tell. That’s why he said it.”
“Who gives a shit about his feelings? That’s your problem, Mere, you care too much about everyone else. What do you want?”
She hadn’t asked herself that question in years. She’d gone to the college they could afford, not the one she’d wanted; she’d married younger than planned because she’d gotten pregnant; she’d come home to Belye Nochi because Dad needed her. When had she ever done what she wanted?
Strangely, she thought about the early days at the orchard, when she’d started the gift shop and stocked it with things she loved.
“You’ll figure it out, Mere. I promise.” Nina came over and hugged her.
“Thanks. I mean it. You helped.”
Nina sat back. “Remember that the next time I burn the hell out of the stove or leave a mess in the kitchen.”
“I’ll try,” Meredith said, leaning forward to clink her glass against Nina’s. “To new beginnings.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Nina said.
“You’ll drink to anything.”
“Indeed I will. It’s one of my best traits.”
For the next two days, Mom shut down, turned from quiet into stone-like, even refusing to come down for dinner. Nina would have been upset by it, and maybe even done something about it, but the reason was obvious. All of them were feeling the same way. As the days turned tonight and moved forward, Nina found herself unable even to think about the fairy tale.
Dad’s birthday was approaching.
The day of it dawned bright and sunny, with a cloudless blue sky.
Nina pushed the covers back and got out of bed. Today was the day she’d come home for. None of them had mentioned it, of course, they being the kind of women who didn’t talk about their pain, but it had been between them always, in the air.
She went to her bedroom window and looked out. The apple trees seemed to be dancing; millions of green leaves and white blossoms shimmied in the light.
She grabbed her clothes from a heap on the floor, dressed quickly, and left the bedroom. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d say to her mother on this tenderest of days; she just knew that she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. Her memories.
Across the hall, she knocked on Mom’s door. “Are you up?”
“Sunset,” Mom said. “I’ll see you and Meredith then.”
Disappointed, Nina went down to the kitchen. After a quick breakfast, she set off up the driveway to Meredith’s house, but all she found there were the huskies, sleeping in sunny patches on the porch. Of course, Meredith had gone to work.
“Shit.”
Since the last thing she wanted to do was roam through this quiet house on Dad’s birthday, she returned to Belye Nochi, plucked her car keys from the bowl on the entry table, and set off for town, looking for anything to occupy her time until sunset. Along the way she stopped now and then to take photographs, and at noon she ate greasy American food at the diner on Main Street.
Before the day ended, though, she was back at Belye Nochi. She slung her camera bag over her shoulder and went inside, where she found Meredith in the kitchen, putting something into the oven.
“Hey,” Nina said.
