Comrade Cowgirl

by Yolanda Wallace

  Anastasia treated herself to a sample of the chocolate sauce cooling on the counter. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Elena slapped the back of Anastasia’s hand with a mixing spoon. “You can keep your fingers out of that bowl and use them to set the table.”

  Anastasia yelped in both pain and surprise, then tipped her invisible hat and drawled “Yes, ma’am” in her best approximation of a Western accent.

  Elena chuckled and waved her away. “Are the two of them always that polite?”

  Anastasia grabbed knives and forks from the cutlery drawer and placed them on the table. “From what I’ve seen, yes.”

  The loose ponytail Elena was wearing was starting to come undone. Ignoring it, she blew a lock of hair out of her eyes.

  “That’s going to take some getting used to. The men give me an occasional compliment every now and then when I make a meal they especially like, but none of them says ‘thank you’ regularly or removes his hat whenever I enter a room. I hope Shorty’s good manners rub off on them instead of the other way around. Do you think he’ll be okay in the bunkhouse by himself without you to translate for him?”

  Anastasia spotted the interest Elena tried to downplay. She couldn’t resist teasing her about it. “You’re not worried about him, are you?”

  “Me?” Pretending to take offense, Elena drew herself up to her full height. “Of course not. I was just remembering how hard it was for me to make the adjustment when I first started working here. It was quite a change from what I was accustomed to. But he has lived this way and done this kind of work for quite some time now. I’m sure he’ll be fine. They both will. I have my doubts about you, though.”

  The comment made Anastasia so anxious she nearly dropped the knife in her hand. Had Elena seen the way she had looked at Laramie when Laramie was using the hose to wash her face and rinse her muddy clothes? Had Elena guessed her secret?

  “You have doubts about me? Why? What have I done to cause you concern?”

  “Nothing yet,” Elena said with a wink, “but it is only your first day here. You have plenty of time to stir up trouble.”

  Anastasia kept her eyes downcast so Elena wouldn’t be able to see the relief in them. “I’m not looking for trouble. I’m just here to do my job. Nothing more.”

  “That’s good. But sometimes you don’t have to go looking for trouble. Sometimes trouble finds you.” Elena looked at her hard. “You seem like you have run into your fair share of it over the years.”

  Anastasia focused her concentration on the remaining place settings. Two more to go and she would be home free. “Does it show?”

  “It’s in your eyes.” Elena came over to her and held her face in her hands like a mother inspecting a young child’s first attempt at washing its own face. “There’s something—” She gasped and released her grip.

  “What’s wrong? Do I have chocolate sauce on my face or something?” Anastasia licked her lips and wiped the corners of her mouth with her forefinger and thumb, but she didn’t taste any chocolate or see any telltale brown stains.

  “It’s nothing. It’s just—” Elena tapped a finger under her own eye before she pulled the two layers of the cake out of the oven and set them on the counter to cool. “That’s an interesting birthmark you have.”

  “Oh, this.” A dark spot called the nevus of Ota covered part of the white area of Anastasia’s left eye. “It looks unusual, but it doesn’t affect my vision in any way. It often startles people the first time they see it up close, though. Just like it did you a moment ago. Aside from a nurse who passed me on the street and mistakenly tried to treat me for a head injury I didn’t have, your reaction is one of the most dramatic I’ve ever received.”

  Appearing embarrassed by her outburst, Elena cleaned spilled flour off the counter. “I don’t know why I didn’t notice it earlier. I think I was so excited to hear you say you come from Drezna that I didn’t pay attention to anything else. Have you always had the mark?”

  Anastasia shrugged. “I suppose so. I don’t have any pictures of me when I was a baby. The oldest photo I have was taken when I was six or seven. The mark was there then. I’m hoping it’s hereditary. If it is, I might be able to recognize my mother or my father if I ever run into them on the street.”

  Elena paused. “What would you say to your parents if you were to meet them?” she asked hesitantly.

  Anastasia felt a familiar heaviness weigh her down. At times like this, she envied Mischa. He had a lightness about him she doubted she would ever possess.

  “I used to have a whole speech planned. It took me almost twenty years to draft it. I was proud of the finished product, but I don’t see the point of reciting it anymore. All I want to know is why they decided to create me if they knew they didn’t want me.”

  Elena resumed cleaning the spotless countertop. “Perhaps they didn’t have a choice.”

  “We all have choices. And my parents made theirs the day they decided to leave me on the street like I was nothing but a bag of garbage.” Anastasia slammed a dinner fork so hard it bounced off the table and landed on the floor. She bent and retrieved the utensil, then placed it in the dishwasher. “I’m sorry,” she said, grabbing another fork from the cutlery drawer. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to take out my frustrations on you.”

  “That’s okay. You can talk to me.” Elena placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. “That’s what friends are for.”

  “Thank you.” Anastasia felt a lump form in her throat. She had just met Elena a few hours ago, but it seemed like they had known each other all their lives. She didn’t know if she could tell her all her secrets, but it felt good knowing she had someone other than Mischa that she could confide in. “Do you need me to do anything else?”

  Elena stirred the frosting and began to spread it on the bottom layer of the cake. “Go ring the bell. Dinner’s ready.”

  Anastasia peered through the kitchen window and eyed the large bell tied to a rope on the front porch. In a place as quiet as this, the sound probably carried for miles.

  “Unless you want them to be ringing all night, be sure to cover your ears.”

  Anastasia sneaked another sample of chocolate sauce while Elena’s hands were occupied. “I think I can manage that.”

  What she couldn’t seem to manage was the one thing she wanted to control the most: her emotions. If she intended to last more than a few weeks at this job, she needed to get a handle on her feelings. And soon.

  * * *

  Laramie noticed the confused looks on the men’s faces as they gathered around the dinner table. Yevgeny asked Elena a question in Russian. Elena pointed at her as she gave a short reply.

  “Should I be worried?” Laramie asked as Yevgeny glared in her direction.

  Anastasia closed the book Vladimir had given her when he walked in. “He wanted to know why we are eating an hour earlier than usual time. Elena told him to ask you.”

  Laramie felt like she had spent most of the day arguing with Yevgeny over matters both trivial and profound. She steeled herself for yet another confrontation when Yevgeny stomped his way over to her. He said something, then folded his arms across his chest. She could practically see smoke coming out of his ears while he waited for a reply.

  “He would like to know why you changed the meal times without consulting him first. He says you were brought here to train the men, not the cook.”

  “Here we go,” Shorty said under his breath.

  Laramie knew he was expecting her to lose her temper. Yevgeny had been pushing her buttons all day and she was close to blowing a gasket, but she was determined not to do so in front of Yevgeny. She had dealt with people like him before. People who loved to sow discontent. She had always preferred chaos to tranquility. If she let Yevgeny see how much he irritated her, his behavior was guaranteed to get worse instead of better.

  Two can play this game.

  “Shorty and I were brought here to train the team,” she said. �
�Elena is part of that team.”

  “He says she is just a cook.”

  “She’s much more than that. If you ask me, this ranch wouldn’t be able to run without her.”

  The translated comment brought a smile to Elena’s face. A smile that quickly disappeared after Yevgeny turned to gauge her reaction.

  “Are you turning against me, too?” he asked.

  Not backing down, Elena held Yevgeny’s gaze as she replied to his question.

  “Don’t be stubborn,” Anastasia said, translating Elena’s words. “Listen to her. What she says makes sense.”

  After Elena gave her an encouraging look, Laramie motioned for everyone to take their seats.

  “I had planned to have a meeting after dinner, but we might as well do it now.”

  Yevgeny sat at the head of the table. Everyone else quickly assumed what were most likely their usual seats. Andrei and Vladimir sat on the left side of the table. Fyodor and Ivan sat on the right. Both Andrei and Fyodor left an empty seat between himself and Yevgeny, emphasizing the chasm that existed between Yevgeny and the rest of the team. Hoping to bridge the gap, Laramie took the empty seat between Yevgeny and Andrei. Anastasia sat across from her. Shorty and Elena claimed the seats next to Vladimir and Ivan.

  At home, the meal would have started with a prayer. Laramie didn’t expect this crew to hold hands while someone said grace so she closed her eyes and gave a silent invocation while Andrei and Vladimir began to fill their plates with offerings from the many platters of food. Everything smelled so good Laramie didn’t know where to start. Deciding to follow Andrei and Vladimir’s lead, she helped herself to a little bit of everything. Anastasia and Shorty did likewise. Shorty must not have taken quite enough food for Elena’s liking, however, because she dumped a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes on top of his already large pile.

  “I could get used to this,” he said as he tucked into his meal.

  Laramie’s stomach growled in anticipation, but she kept her hands in her lap rather than reaching for her fork. While everyone else ate, she slowly and methodically listed all the changes she hoped to instill in the coming days.

  “I think it’s obvious to everyone that there is a tremendous amount of work to be done around here.” The men nodded in agreement after they heard Anastasia’s translation. “If we begin the work day earlier, we can get more accomplished.”

  “What does an earlier work day have to do with eating dinner before the sun goes down?” Yevgeny asked. “It hasn’t been that long since we had lunch.”

  “The schedule will begin to sort itself out tomorrow,” Laramie said. “An earlier start time requires an earlier bed time, which means earlier meal times. Effective immediately, I want everyone to assume their posts by five a.m. each day. Breakfast will be served at four thirty and lunch at noon. Dinner might not be as elaborate as it was today, but it will take place at the same time.”

  Laramie heard more than a few grumbles of protest, but Ivan shrugged and said, “Getting up early is nothing new for me. When I was baker, I used to rise before dawn each day so I could have vatrushkas and pirozhki prepared before morning rush.” He looked at his fellow ranch hands. “It is adjustment, but it does not take long to get used to.”

  Laramie nodded in Ivan’s direction to thank him for his show of support. She hoped he would still be on her side after she revealed the other changes she had in mind. Her heart sank when Anastasia relayed Fyodor’s question.

  “He would like to know where vodka is. There is usually a bottle on table during dinner, but bottle is missing.”

  Laramie turned to Fyodor. “As I said before, there is a great deal of work to be done on the ranch. If we are to accomplish our tasks as quickly and efficiently as possible, we need to make sure we provide our best effort. That means getting plenty of rest. Thus the earlier dinner time.” She glanced at Yevgeny before turning back to everyone else. “It also means no drinking during the work week.” The grumbles she had heard when she announced the new schedule grew louder. “Some ranch owners use Breathalyzers to make sure their employees follow the rules, but I don’t feel the need to go that far. You know why?” She looked each man in the eye. “Because I trust you. I trust you to do what’s right. I trust you to take pride in your work. I trust you to be professionals.”

  “You cannot change way things are,” Yevgeny said. “This is our culture. We are Russian, not American.”

  To emphasize his point, he grabbed a bottle of vodka from the liquor cabinet and placed it in the center of the table.

  “You look thirsty, Fyodor,” he said, slapping the much smaller man on the back. “Drink up.”

  The other men turned to Fyodor to see what he would do. Fyodor eyed the bottle but didn’t reach for it. He patted his stomach and flashed a gap-toothed grin. “My wife says I need to lose weight. Less vodka means more room for dessert.”

  He licked his lips when Elena handed him a thick slice of cake.

  “Coward,” Yevgeny said.

  Fyodor paused mid chew, then grinned again. “If you had met my wife, you would be afraid of her, too.”

  Everyone laughed good-naturedly. Once when Fyodor said it and again when Anastasia repeated it in English. The only person who didn’t seem to find the joke amusing was Yevgeny. Laramie attempted to placate him.

  “I’m not trying to change who you are. I’m trying to change what you do. My goal is to make this ranch not only successful but self-sufficient. If Shorty and I help you do your jobs, it will cost us ours because you’ll be so good at what you do that you won’t need us anymore.”

  “We don’t need you now,” Yevgeny said as he reached for another helping of beef stroganoff.

  “Thankfully, Duke doesn’t agree with you,” Shorty said. “If he did, we wouldn’t be here.” He leaned forward as Elena pointed to the nearly empty platter of stuffed cabbage leaves. “Why, thank you, ma’am. I think I will have some more. Don’t tell your mama, Laramie, but this is the finest meal I’ve had in a long time.”

  “Spasibo,” Elena said after Anastasia relayed Shorty’s compliment.

  Shorty shook his head. “No, ma’am. I should be the one thanking you. A few more meals like this and I might forget how to find my way home.”

  Laramie tried to prevent Yevgeny’s dark mood from turning pitch black. She leaned toward him so she could keep what she had to say between the two of them. And Anastasia, of course.

  “You’ve made your position clear and I respect you for being up-front with us. But, like it or not, Shorty and I have jobs to do. Why don’t you stop standing in our way and let us do them? The faster we get this place up to speed, the faster we can move on.”

  Yevgeny’s bushy eyebrows shot up. The idea of her early departure obviously pleased him. “What about your contract?”

  “Like promises, contracts are made to be broken. If the men prove they can run the ranch without us, do you honestly think Mr. Ivanov is going to pay us to stand around and do nothing? He’ll either send us home or send us somewhere else. Either way, we’ll be out of your hair. That’s something we both want, isn’t it?”

  Yevgeny picked up the bottle of vodka and poured himself a generous serving. “Finally something we agree on.”

  * * *

  Laramie seemed content as she ate her cold food, but Anastasia felt torn. If Laramie and Shorty returned to America before their contracts ended, what would happen to her? They had jobs waiting for them at home. She didn’t. Sergei was generous with his money, especially when he was trying to impress a potential bedmate or business associate, but she doubted he would pay her to be a translator if she had no one to translate for. Teaching Elena English wasn’t in her job description. It was something she had offered to do for fun, not for a fee.

  She wanted to get out of Godoroye and go back to Moscow, but she wanted to keep earning a paycheck, too, and Sergei was the only one who was offering her one. That meant her future was inextricably tied to Laramie and Shorty’s. If Laramie
and Shorty succeeded, so would she. But if they did their jobs too well and were asked to leave, she might not be too far behind.

  She considered sabotaging the Americans’ efforts by intentionally providing incorrect translations, but she quickly discarded the idea. She didn’t want to make Laramie and Shorty look bad in front of Yevgeny. Even though it might cost her in the long run, she would do everything she could to avoid having that blowhard think he had been right about them all along.

  After dinner ended, Shorty thanked Elena for the meal and headed to the bunkhouse to get some sleep. Laramie returned to her room so she could do the same. Yevgeny went upstairs to brood over the dwindling bottle of vodka. Andrei, Fyodor, Ivan, and Vladimir, meanwhile, sat on the front porch and smoked.

  “Andrei usually plays his balalaika after dinner,” Elena said, “but I guess he isn’t in the mood tonight.”

  Anastasia looked at the ceiling as the floorboards over her head creaked. From the sound of it, Yevgeny was pacing back and forth. She wasn’t foolish enough to think he was trying to alleviate his anger. She knew it was more likely he was trying to think of ways to exact revenge. She was tempted to call Sergei to complain about Yevgeny’s behavior or drop a word in Mischa’s ear so he could say something to his uncle the next time they spoke, but she refrained. If Sergei already knew what Yevgeny was like and didn’t care, she would be seen as the troublemaker, not him. She didn’t want her actions to reflect badly on Mischa so she decided to keep quiet. For now.

  “Andrei’s either excited about the task Laramie has assigned him or he doesn’t want to risk angering you-know-who,” she said. “Is Yevgeny always this unreasonable?”

  “He’s like a bear waking up from hibernation. I find it’s best to stay out of his way.”

  Unfortunately, Laramie and Shorty were already in his cross hairs. Anastasia set the book of poetry Vladimir had given her in a safe place, then began carrying plates from the dining room to the kitchen.